/lit/ - Literature

rollin'

They see me rollin'

tRollin'

>>3318312

I hate the ocean. I hate it so god damn much it hurts me to think about it. Not that it really kept me from boarding, I guess. I’m glad I’m at least on my way. Ocean or not, at least I’m not sitting back at home with my thumb up my ass. Or at least that’s what I kept telling myself.

As I sit in my cabin, trying to pretend I’m not miles off the coast, in the heart of the sea, I get a knock.

“What?” I ask, the tone in my voice a little more annoyed than I’d have preferred to let on.

“Whoa, sorry.” The capital throws his hands up apologetically. “I just wanted to get to know my…well, one of my only passengers. You don’t seem like the seafaring type, and I-“

“Look,” I start, cradled into myself, trying to shut everything out. “I really appreciate that, really, I do, but right now I would really appreciate it if you left. I can’t do this right now.”

“That bad? Well listen, the thing about being at sea is you can’t think about how you’re, you know, at sea. Think about something else, anything else. You’ll be fine.“

I roll my eyes, a little exhasperated. “I’m trying to do that now, actually.”

“That’s good? Can I get you a towel? Some water? Anything?” He fidgets around my cabin, adjusting things, primping and preening and fussing and meddling. I’m beginning to wonder what his deal is.

“I’m good.” I shut him down curtly.

“Thankfully, you don’t have much of a window here, that’s always good. For people like you, I mean. Cause if you don’t have a window you won’t see the ocean, you know? It’s helpful because it helps you keep your mind off the ocean.”

“No. Seriously. Shut up.” I break a little bit. “I need you to just, stop talking. Go away.” I continue. “You’re in my space, it’s bugging me. Just…I don’t know, if you could go, that’d be great.”

>>3318446
(CONTINUED)

I can tell he’s a little pissed at this point, but he seems to understand, I guess. He nods. “Alright. Sorry. Really. I am. I’ll go now.” He says.

“I’m sorry.” I say. I really am. But there’s too much on my mind to have this weird sailor all up in my shit.

He leaves unceremoniously. He returns, his head cracking through the door. “I just wanted to say again, apologies. I had no intention of-“

“Okay, seriously dude?”

“Sorry!” He slams the door, nervously. It’s weird seeing a guy so big and burly so nervous and jittery. Seriously, the guy looked like an actual pirate. At least physically. Hairy and swarthy, he definitely didn’t seem the type to get all hot and bothered over every single one of his passengers? Why would he be doing that?

“Whatever.”, I decide, preferring not to dwell on it. I stumble over to my cabin, barely able to walk still. I can still hear the capital chuckling about “Getting my sea-legs!” in that dumb saccharine voice. Maybe I’m just a little too on edge after everything that’s happened this week.

I look out into the window. The water doesn't seem to bother me, at least, not this time. All I can think about is the other side of the ocean. I look into my pocket, I look at the watch and the letter. “Don’t worry.” I say to myself. “I’m coming.”

Just one more week. If they can last one more week everything will be better and I can help them out and things will be fine, just wait.

That’s all it takes…

Just one more week, and I’ll be off this ship.

I hear knocking again. “Come in.” I say, groaning a little.

“Hi, me again. Just wanted to say that I’m very sorry about being so intrusive earlier and I don’t want to blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.”

He just kept going like that for I don’t remember how long.

God damn it. It was going to be a long ass week.

Roll

>>3318459
>>3318446

capital should be capitan*

god damn it for some odd reason I kept misspelling it among other typos i guess

oh well

boys please post these in pastebins or something. ffs

>>3318475

captain****

.

rrrrrrrollin

henry rollins

rolling

roll

roooolll

.

>>3318503

I gave up ten minutes in. I can't write when I'm not stoned.

Radley struck his pecker with a claw. The marrow in his thigh sung out in plumes, a spurt of heaven juicy red. the call of sirens. Weeping Jezebel in droopy knickers, wrapped about and all around in blankets, cozy drawers, a robe in nightblue satin. Colored as the straw beneath the damp of slippers.
He was Radley in the morning, stroking feathers, chasing dawn. Puppy eyes through scented glass peered out the arbor's terrace, shucking out the last of them and making Dixie take her rounds about the boys in stead. They eyed her pluck of skin, the dots of red in play with all the wraparound, the little guys in heat just clucking left and right with bobbing heads. He took her out then once a year, he took out all the feathers, keeping eyes up through to see if she'd come rightly yet the way she had some time ago. In leggings, little bows of pink clipped native to her winnowed stalks of shitbrown hair, a lover splayed in linen. Called him Archer as he shucked another feather from the maiden. He would line them up there weekly, threes and threes, the boys all stuck to waiting, shrugging turf up from the matted ground beneath.
It's Daisy in the afternoon as arbor's edge is gilded with the foreign light. The rabble drowse the rousers from their sleeping in the corners of the city's edge. All red and velvet, plush and white, the colors scream like little wisps of cotton through the naked mind and wrap around the sight of liquored Daisy. She was kneebone, thighs, a world wide of mammaries and mellow skin. Her drawers would rest along the dirt and seed as Radley's pecker roused beneath her.

>>3318503
Jason applied the lube to his penis, careful as to not spill the viscous liquid on the fur carpet. As he watched the vivid images flashing before him on the computer screen he made sure, lol fuck this i dont have any pet peeves

http://pastebin.com/44LytH2J

>>3318517
this is pretty funny

>>3318296
rollins

>>3318517

Like this, folks. Paste your work in pastebin and post the link here.

Also, >"I have a hard time telling, because I'm a bird." When I first read this, I lol'd.

ill roll u and pop a cap in yo ass

>>3318536
thanks man. i was gonna be all EPICFUCKINGSTORRY but then was like "that's actually dumb"

>>3318500
When did you end up with that stupid man? I do not get it. He is just a six feet child, who thinks he is the smartest person in the world. He thinks he is smart for knowing that once upon a time, the Arabs and the Tartars were a treat to many people. "It's nice to talk with someone who knows History", he said once to me. Philistine, you didn't know who Wallenstein was when I asked you about his actions during the Thirty Years War. Stephanie, that's basic knowledge, but since you are a dumb girl, you can't tell the difference between an apple or a pear, and that's why you believe that your boyfriend is God. I am already thinking of what you would say if you read this. Since your vocabulary isn't really that wide, the only thing you would say is "evil". Seriously, what's the matter with every girl of your kind? Everyone is evil for you and your brethren. I am evil for trying to show you how wrong you are. I am evil for not having the same views as you. I am evil for seeing that idiot as the swine he is. So be it. I must land in the depths of hell, according to you.
Stephanie, you are kind of cute, I will give you that. It's a shame, though, that a head with beautiful silk hair is only full of air. I was an idiot for admiring you. However, I am thankful to you. You showed me what I don't want in a partner, that not everything that shines is gold, that I must treasure the mind and that some people will just remind stupid.
Thank you, Anonymous.

Rolling.

Post! Post, damn you! Even if you think it sucks!

>>3318296

1 of 2

Fear, & The Disharmony of Keys
Who fears time? Only every man and woman ever born. Time is the great equalizer. It makes us wrinkle, it makes us grey, it makes our unfinished dreams dwindle like someone outrunning us to a horizon we may never reach. Time is death. They are interchangeable. To experience time is to slowly die, to be slowly chipped away, to degrade down from the DNA all the way up to the largest organ. And so, even if all other fears are trivial, perhaps this one thing is worth fearing.
When I started writing my novel, I wasn’t sure what it was about. I could tell you it was science fiction, or it was about the falling apart of America. But neither of those would be true. It’s about her. She was someone I met when I was 18. I had red hair… always red hair, in every name, every incarnation, every iteration of the story. She is the antagonist, the love interest, the savior, the villain. She was every one of those things to me. She nearly sent me to prison. She was only fourteen, but I didn’t touch her until she asked me to.
Now I write, punching furiously away at these plastic little keys. They click and clack like a murder of birds in some dead world, chirping away infinite nothings, recalling the corpses of their dead dreams. Every word I place on this page is a quarter of a second I won’t ever see again. Another quarter of a second she steals from me. And in that way, every word is a death of its own.

Roll, again.

>>3318296
2/2

Fear & The Disharmony of Keys

What I fear most is that it will never be finished. Another thing she will have stolen. All of this time, all of this life dumped into a word file, where dead dreams and dead crows cry their disharmonies, red-haired cacophonies, her name unspeakable because it is time itself. It is not possible to pronounce, but in the words of a story I may never finish because she won’t let me.
How does it end? Who dies? Is it the premise that I find irreconcilable fault with, or the characters? The action? The climax? I don’t know. But something is blocking me from finishing it. Something doesn’t want it to take this transfer of my soul, the only one I have for there is surely nothing of me that is eternal after fucking her, and let me live on in this words.
Who fears time? Only every man and woman who has ever loved. The love of a dream is to fear time. And no dream exists that was not born of regret.

>>3318558

I hate shopping for hats. I don't like the way they look, but every man has to have his hat. Especially men like me.

Either way, I don't have time to get a new hat today. The sheriff's coming by to take me in as a witness. They took my gun away last night and told me to get some rest. Initial hearing would start today in the afternoon. I'll give Gerard the benefit of the doubt. I could've left town, but I didn't.

And now I wait. I won't bother changing my clothes, but maybe brushing my teeth and spraying some cologne on myself won't hurt.

>>3318296

Rollan

>>3318542
http://pastebin.com/h6Eka4DK

>>3318579

Abuse will fuck your mind like a pvc pipe broken off crooked, leaving that jagged end that cuts like nothing less than folded steel.

Abuse is hard to define because it is such an amorphous evil; most of the time, the giver and the receiver both have no idea what it looks like, even after it's come and gone.

The best analogy to describe what abuse is, is a form of communication. But it is the dead form, the decayed form. The one that's rotting from the inside out, full of maggots and putrescence with the skin slipping, there is nothing beautiful or commendable in it, there is no art which can be made from it, unless in absolute defiance.

There were certainly billions of people who had it worse than me. of course, there were billions who didn't have it so bad, too. What he did- and I regret that he was a he, because so am I, and it would be so much easier to preach if he had been a woman and thus an impregnable Other- was help me go to the bathroom when I was a little boy. Maybe three or four. Not older than five. I threw a fit and he yelled at me while my pants were still down. Such anger. The veins erupted from his face and forearms like they were pumping some vital fluid that kept him alive. Maybe it was rage that kept him alive. He was a green beret as a young man, a drunk and a cheater when he was old. And nothing is more pathetic than a little four year old boy who can't wipe his own ass without kicking. Boy, did he let me have it.

That was the first time I knew what it meant to fear another person. No hitting no rape, just humiliation. And because of it I haven't been able to take a piss with someone else watching for the last 23 years.

Abuse will fuck you like a blade. Why, because that's the point of it. It is the poison that invades us when the antidote of our compassion runs out.

PS, totes retumbl this if you agree.

>>3318568
Braunschweig Avenue, during the last days of Summer, it is beautiful. Nowadays, there aren't any traces in it of the dark days of the war. I was only a child back in the days, but my mother told me stories about how the people who lived in it had to plant potatoes in its beautiful gardens. Survival. In the end, we humans do whatever to survive. But survival isn't guaranteed. Take my father as an example. He must had done everything he could do to watch his family again, but he found death on a filthy trench in the Western Front.
I can't truly tell if I have had better days, but many years ago I had some crazy experiences as a private eye. Here in Braunscweig Avenue is where I have my office. A small desk and three chairs, enough for the kind of people in need who request my services. But once in a while, some gorgeous woman enters through the wooden door which has my name written in the small window it has. Guillaume Olivier, P.E.
It all began in August, four years ago. Braunschweig Avenue, the eye candy it has usually been. Green trees, greener grass, such an ephimeral beauty isn't seen by the people who board the tram. Thirty minutes east from here in those trams and you will arrive at the Imperial Palace.

>>3318596

>PS, totes retumbl this if you agree.

I chuckled.

>>3318587

Nigga you hilarious

Roll

Roll.

roll

>>3318587
>http://pastebin.com/h6Eka4DK
lol

roll

rolleng

Rolling. Will hopefully deliver once my ban for something I didn't do expires (writing this on my phone) although I can't promise anything since I'm recovering from a rather nasty illness so my mind isn't at its sharpest.

>>3318809

I had one too, but it went away.

Gotta rollll

SUPER ROLL

lets see

Fuck it it's 4am and I hate being alive. Don't even know why I'm on /lit/. BIG DICK

rolling

rolling

>>3318823
Mike arrived to the Gymnasium. Today was going to be a good day, today was going to be great, today was going to set Mike's soul on a path to the path of infinite cosmic ecstasy beyond the walls of the dimensions time and space. Today was bicep day. He had watched Pumpin Iron thrice this week. The words of Arnold echoed in the halls of his mind, unifying with his focus: "The greatest feeling you can get in a gym or the most satisfying feeling you can get in the gym is the pump. Let's say you train your biceps, blood is rushing in to your muscles and that's what we call the pump. Your muscles get a really tight feeling like your skin is going to explode any minute and its really tight and its like someone is blowing air into your muscle and it just blows up and it feels different, it feels fantastic. It's as satisfying to me as cumming is, you know, as in having sex with a woman and cumming. So can you believe how much I am in heaven? I am like getting the feeling of cumming in the gym; I'm getting the feeling of cumming at home; I'm getting the feeling of cumming backstage; when I pump up, when I pose out in front of 5000 people I get the same feeling, so I am cumming day and night. It's terrific, right? So you know, I am in heaven."

Mike's path was set. He walked to the dressing room with the poise of a gladiator ready for a fight. He changed his clothes, while his mind was already elsewhere. It was stoking the inner fire, the flame of his soul for the grueling task ahead. Twelve sets of bicep curls, the last three of which are Supersets - a test worthy of a Spartan warrior. He set out from the dressing room. He opened the door, confidently setting his foot inside the Gymnasium. He was now in a state of controlled ferality, all the primal energy within him was ready to spring at the command of his mind. Mike's path was set. He approached the power rack...

Solaris was not really bright place despite its name. The townsfolk were quite used to the lack of sunlight. That was probably because they were Batoraviolis. They were snail-like creatures who couldn't see well, and worked diligently to please their king.

Being an agrarian species, they still needed the sun to show up every now and again to let their wheat crops grow. These crops would be turned into beer and bread for their king. Their king promised them purpose in exchange for these products, and thus the people happily obliged him. Many found great love for their king and decided to make a large statue in honor of him.

However, one Batoravioli was quite apathetic towards the goals of the species. He felt as if there were more to life than just farming for their king. He believed in a world of harnessing the flight of the Gorangatorns: a group of flying predators who constantly attacked Batoraviolis outside the village. He tired of his life and dreamt of a place outside his king's desires.

So he traveled to the highest mountain to shout his grand idea, but no one listened. He went down the hill to think of a better way to get people's attention. He knew an alchemist who could control fire and create a deafening roar that escaped from whatever vessel it was in.

He quickly befriended him and slowly started to ask questions pertaining to the use of these explosion spheres.

The Alchemist said he would not tell him this for free. He demanded that this Farmer give him some wheat in exchange. They came to an agreement, and the Farmer learned how to created this Explosion Sphere.

He started mailing these bombs to various markets and threatened the local printers that more occurrences like this would happen if no one printed his manifesto. The local Kingsmen decided not to give in.

Then the Farmer walked into the King's chamber with a magnum in one hand and a brew in the other.

"Welcome to freedom bitch."

The Farmer then shot the King 12 times in the stomach.

rooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooll

>>3318857
I hate science-fiction and I also hate dialogue :<

"Wo bin ich?", fragte ich
"Auf dem Planeten Hugo."
Der Mann sah nicht aus wie ich Männer in Erinnerung hatte.
"Und wer bist du?", fragte ich weiter.
Er sah mich mit seinen drei Augen eindringlich an und ließ mich dann alleine.
Ich befand mich in einem Raum mit einer runden, silber-schimmernden Wand und einem Ausgang an der Decke, durch den der Nicht-Mann eben verschwunden war, der für mich aber unerreichbar schien. Selbst, wenn ich hätte fliegen oder sehr hoch springen können, war ich immer noch hier festgekettet. Die Luke im Dach öffnete sich wieder und eine rosa Gestalt schwebte zu Boden und landete vor meinen Füßen.
"Wer bist du?", fragte ich, nicht sicher, ob ich nicht doch lieber alleine sein wollte und hier sterben, denn freilich war mir die ganze Situation etwas unangenehm. Ich erinnerte mich noch daran, dass letzte Nacht die Welt untergegangen war, wie das eben manchmal so passiert und dass mich etwas an den Füßen geschnappt hatte und in hoher Geschwindigkeit durch die Flammen gezogen hatte, Kilometer über Kilometer von Flammen und durch brennendes Wasser und an brennenden Sternen vorbei.
"Ich heiße Hugo.", sagte die Gestalt.
"Ich dachte, der Planet hieße Hugo?", fragte ich.
"Hugo."
"Hugo?"
"Hugo."

Hugo befreite mich von meinen Fesseln, nahm mich an der Hand und flog mit mir nach draußen. Wir befanden uns nun in einem noch größeren Raum mit silberner runder Wand, diesmal ohne Luke.
"Ist das ein Raumschiff?", fragte ich "Habt ihr mich gerettet?"
Hugo spiegelte sich in der Wand, ohne mich anzusehen. Es kam mir nicht vor, als würden wir uns bewegen und ich flog auch nicht in der Luft, wie man sich das so vorstellte, wenn man mit einem Raumschiff von einer brennenden Erde gerettet wurde und nun durch das Weltall flog, um auf einem menschenfreundlichen Planeten Asyl zu bekommen.
Hugo drehte sich nun doch zu mir um:"Beep, beep."
"Hugo?", fragte ich.
"Hugo."
Das gleiche Spiel wiederholte sich noch einige Male, bis ich so frustriert wurde, dass ich meinen Kopf gegen die Wand schlug und sich eine Delle darin formte. Hugo lachte und sein lachen schallte laut und dreckig und metallisch.
"Huhuh-ha-hu-go."
Mein Kopf tat nicht weh.
"Was passiert jetzt?", fragte ich.
"Du bist hier gefangen. Ich bin auch hier gefangen. Das war der Preis."
"Welcher Preis?"
"Hugo."
Hugo lief jetzt im Kreis an der Wand entlang und murmelte etwas vor sich hin, das ich zwar nicht verstand, aber wahrscheinlich etwas in Richtung Hugo war. Nach zwei Runden drehte er sich um und lief die Wand andersherum ab. Er hielt inne und drehte sich zu mir: "Wollen wir jetzt eine kleine Runde laufen?", fragte er und packte mich wieder am Handgelenk, um mich in den anderen Raum zurück zu entführen, wo er eine kleine Runde lief.
Dort trafen wir den Hugo wieder, der mich geweckt hatte. Sie nahmen sich in den Arm und liefen im Gleichschritt ihre Runden. Hu und Go und Hu und Go und Hu und Go. Ich setzte mich auf den Boden und sah ihnen dabei zu, bis ich mein Zeitgefühl verlor. Einer der Hugos, wahrscheinlich der ältere von beiden, streckte mir die Hand entgegen und führte mich im Kreis.
"Hugo.", sagte er tiefsinnig.
"Hugo?", fragte ich.
"Hugo."

Und so lief ich im Kreis und lief im Kreis, manchmal einen großen Kreis und manchmal auch einen kleinen.

>>3318901

You sit there and don't move. Are you better than me? You hate me don't you.

I try talking to them everyday. They simply keep staring out the window. When the nurse brings us our meals, I make remarks about how terrible the food is, and I'm ignored. I make remarks about how good the food is, and I'm ignored.

It's not so much that I love you, or want to be your friend, as much as I'm just tired and lonely.

Your family stopped coming, and no one else visits. So why do you ignore me? Maybe you're happy being alone and not moving, but I think you're dead. If that were true, they'd take you out.

Once a day, they carry you out and clean you. I don't understand why, no one would come visit you anyway. Why should you smell good?

I never do.

You grunt at night. That's the only thing I hear out of you. You must be asleep because the noise is natural, not repressed.

What is most upsetting, you know me. All of me. I've told you everything. Things a girlfriend, mother, friends, psychiatrist, or anyone else would never have heard. You know me most and don't even care. It's sickening.

You probably wish I were dead.

You die first though. You even beat me at that. Woken up from nightmares, I peered at you last night, and you stopped gurgling, stopped moving, stopped hating me.

You ignored me, and then you left.

Your replacement never shut up.

>>3318818

I suck at film noir. here goes:

Of course it would end like this. Of course it would. Everything has an ending, after all. Every chump ever born thought life was the exception, that his life was the exception. Mortality never much factors into things until a sap has to deal with his own. When that curtain call finally comes, the sum of a man's life is just a line chiseled between dates on a tombstone. And yet, when pressed with the reality of imminent death men try desperately to cut a deal with the hangman. Frank was gazing down the wrong end of a nickel-plated .38 revolver, trying to cut just such an bargain. “Jesus, Janie!” His breaths came strained and ragged, escaping from him half-formed and suffused with fear. “I'm tellin' ya , it ain't what it looked like! I didn't even kiss her!” He was dimly aware that he was sweating. Odd, that. The ambient temperature in the office was cold to the point of being mildly unpleasant. Not to the point where breath could be seen, but certainly chill enough to preclude perspiration. It was strange what a man noticed when he thought he was going to die. Cold sweats. Sweating bullets. Jesus Christ, don't think about bullets at a time like this, man!

“Then what was you doing, Frankie? She lost an earring down the front of her dress and you was just helping her out of her slip to look for it, right?” The voice came hard and fast, staccato and full of contempt. Jane had played the limpwristed fairer-sex con game so well that Frank had been taken aback when the dame pointed the shooter at him without even flinching. She had drawn it from her coat with practiced nonchalance, thumbing the hammer back with a scoff. She wasn't crying, she wasn't shaking, and she wasn't in hysterics. Frank had the sinking feeling in his gut that he had misjudged his fiancee; Jane was no shrinking violet. His eyes searched for some sign, some indicator that she wouldn't do it.

>>3318891

I woke up my family laughing at the whole cumming diatribe. Is that real? Is that based on something somebody actually said?

>>3318944

cotd.

There! An almost imperceptible tremor in her gun hand? A slight quickening in the even rise and fall of her minks? He needed to know that the prospect of murder made her nervous. A signal or a sign. Something. Anything. Then Frank looked at her eyes, and knew that this crazy broad was playing for keeps. She was going to do it. He opened his mouth, but no words came. What came instead was the bizarre metallic snap of a gun jamming, and a labored grunt of surprise as Jane tried to unjam the pistol.

And that was as far as I got in 20 mins.

>>3318891

Cristopher arrived at the gym. He had had a long day at the University, and on the top of that he had a work shift coming up later today. He needed the income to fund his medical engineering studies. He studied hard and his grades showed that. He had come from a poor family. His father had ran away the moment his mother had told him she was pregnant. He and his mother had very little money when he was growing up. and the financial crash of 08 was hard on them. The last nail in the coffin of their financial solvency was her mother's cancer. The cost of the medication was a sheer impossibility for their destitute income. She died after a year. Cristopher's academic success and the resulting tuitions saved him from homeless poverty, although he still had to work to support himself. He took care of his physical health so to avoid the fate of his mother who he loved dearly. He had took up Olympic Weightlifting.

His dream was to build medical machinery at extremely affordable prices so that there would be no more needless deaths. He had won his tuitions by building working prototypes, which one senior professor had called "ahead of their time"

He changed into his gym clothes. He walked to the gym. He was thinking about what he should buy for his 4-year old godchild(a daughter of a professor who had become his tutor) as a birthday present. His routine started with back squats, an essential compund movement that conferred strength for the Olympic Lifts snatch and clean & jerk. He had won local competitions. As he approached the squatting rack, he spotted a gentleman doing bicep curls in it. He waited until the man had finished his set and went to ask from him in a controlledly polite voice: "Excuse me, may I work here between your sets?" The answer came snappinly: -NO. The sound was like animal snarling. Christopher opened his mouth to make another enquiry. Alas, the sound never came...

>>3318296

Awaiting orders.

>>3318961

well shit write more i want to know what happens

roll

>implying i can write

>>3318949
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pN253RLDdM8

>>3318978
fuck is a film noir rolling again

row lin

>>3318985

oh my god this is amazing

>>3318949

Arnold Schwarzeneggar said it. It's from some interview he gave back in the day. John Stewart used a clip on the daily show which was where I saw it.

>>3318970
Mike, who had ingested nasally 4 grams of Jack3d and two scoops of Cell-Tech 30 minutes before, fell upon him in a carnivoristic fury. His sight was engulfed in a red mist, his limbs attacked with a viciousness unknown to him, his mind on a cruel psychopathic autopilot intent on imposing the darkest, most barbaric parts of the reptilian brain within us upon the corporeal world. His hand found the barbell, he swinged madly, he tossed it away, he took the dumbbells and threw all of them with the power of an enraged gorilla.

After the dust had settled it took 3 hours of the coroner to confirm Cristopher's indentity from his teeth profile. The task was made harder by the fact that about half of the teeth were crushed. At the police station Mike sobbed in his hands. "The devil, the devil, it made me do it... I did not mean to curl in the squat rack, I did not mean to attack him, I did not mean dropping a 120lb dumbell on his broken face..."

The judge rejected the Non compos mentis implorement and sentenced Mike to 55 years of federal prison.

e

>>3318973

I am alone.
I was first attempting something, then looked to the left.
JIBUUUUN WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
The window acted only as a mirror in the darkness of night.
I was alone with my reflction, distorting my appearance.
The mask I wore faded into solemn recognition.
I saw myself through the distortions as only I could.
I was just a character.
Am I breaking the fourth wall?
...does it matter?

The urge to piss felt like an electric coil of pressure slowly eveloping the lower portions of my abdomen.
What is it like to have kidneny stones and prostate cancer?
I wouldn't want to know.
I do know.

>>3319041

Arising to my feet was an easy matter, the limbs and muscles responding fluidly, languidly dancing their fantastic forms through the aire as though lascivious housemaids attempting to play an accordian and saw to tempt their master into wedlock.
How quaint. The phone vibrating in my pocket set my crotch-lightning on fire and a shiver went up my spine and down my feetsies, which is probably where the lightning went.
I brayed like a horse in midair.

Unconsciously and without my consent the patriarchy of my right hand withdrew my touch-screen pro-green smart-phone from the enveloping womb of my wool panda pajamas, lightning-alighting-quicksilver-on-fire quick, as though Clint Eastwood were aborting a phone fetus, with a hanger.
In the 70's. Made of lightning. Very frightening.

"Hello?" Harsh, voice husky and affirmed.
"Hi sorry I tried calling your house phone I just wanted to let you know that-"
The beep ending the call - the sweet sweet sweet music of irony.

>>3319043

"I'LL NEVER KNOW WHAT YOU WANT ME TO KNOW, BECAUSE WE CANNOT COMMUNICATE, HA~!" I shouted with a delightful squeel to the empty household.

The elitist oligarchy of my right hand slipped the phone back into my panda pajamas, as though Clint Eastwood were subtly picking some pre-birth from a post-aborted fetus-harness (vagina).

I made my way down the dark hall, occasionally drifting to the left and rubbing myself against the wall like a bear would a tree, or another bear.

The light of the bathroom was blinding. I lit a candle instead.

I situated my being in a perpendicular fashion adjunct from the base of the john, legs set apart at a thirty degree angle and hips canted to the right slightly.

My penis, now and always erect, I solemnly navigated with skilled movements and slight twitches downward to the urine lagoon below.
I compensate for the height and angle of the piss, but the acceleration and upwards lateral movement may never be known. I clench my prostate in a pre-fire ready-check.

My phone rings.
The vibrations now like a truncated worm of saran-wrap kissing my penis with vasoline lips in a summer pool, I can't help but laugh.
My laughter and the vibration resonates and increases, until even my prana is rhythmically churning in chorus.

>>3319046

I piss everywhere, my Johnson waving about like an unmanned firehouse as deep belly-laughs pulsate across my midsection.
I take a step back and
FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK A LEGO

My entire existential force reacts in anguish at this transgressor, sending my body multiple plateus laterally, I try to land on my left toe but I slip in the puddle of piss and hit my head on the tile floor, breaking it.

The patriarchy of my right hand, in true modern gunslinger fashion, answers.
"Hi oh it just sounded like the line hungup so I-"
"DOWN YOU GO!" I scream, the air of my lungs like a moses in the sea of blood that was my lungs.
My right hand executes its plan.
In the warbling gurgling giggling that followed my left hand, overwhelmed with the manliness of the Right Patriarchy, slided loosely, lubed by blood, into my pants.

The Right Patriarchy ain't gay.

rollin

>>3318994
>a story about something you fear
>implying anyone will read this

The first thing that hit was the strong scent of marijuana. The small, cramped room was hot and had sweat on the walls. What have we got here? She was standing in the doorway with her thoughts stumbling together. Now she was pulled in. Sucked right into this boiler room of an apartment. Looking around the room there was scarcely any furniture. Directly infront of her a pair of four windows covered with rugged curtains. Under these windows pushed up against the wall, a thin mattress with suspicious looking stains splattered on it. To her left, on the opposite corner of the mattress was a neatly placed video camera on a tripod. She could hardly believe the situation she was in. She felt like she was about to slip into a different world where this wasn't happening. The door slamming behind her startled her back to reality. Look what we have here. Suddenly there was a pain she hadn't felt before. Something was grabbing her arm with brute force. She looked over at her right bicep. The contrast from her pale milk white skin being torn and abused, manhandled by strong black fingers. It was something she had longed for what felt like an eternity. Now she wasn't sure if this was a dream come true or a nightmare. She was pulled in more and more and more and more and more. She found herself in the middle of the room. Surrounded by them. Six or seven or eight. Never was good with numbers. Then the touching began. The fondling, the grabbing, the roughness she seeked. She stood completely still. Motionless as her clothes were pulled off her with near superhuman strength. The room echoed with shouting and screaming and hollering and lollery but she could hear none of it. A quick push to her stomach and she was on the bed. Now at eye level with the video camera on the other side of the room. The last thing she saw was her reflection in the camera lens, before the blackness swallowed her whole.

>>3319046
>>3319047

>>3319091

:-(

I was screaming and shouting for her to turn around, running down the dark ally, soaked to the bone, empty inside. The dried blood on the left side of my face was finally being washed away by the rivers of tears that were clouding my vision. I only wish she would stop. Turn around and realize that it was an accident. A mistake.
Each drop of rain that hit my face my back, my bare neck felt like needles stabbing me over and over again. Needles coated in poison that ripped apart each capillary in my skin. I kept running down the ally screaming at the top of my lungs but each time I opened my mouth the drops of acid burned my tongue. I stopped when the ally opened into a much bigger road and her car continued among hundreds of other vehicles. Although I would be able to distinguish her car from a million, I pretended I couldn’t. I looked around, trying to confuse myself, to lose her, but my eyes kept drifting back to the same, speeding red car I knew so well.
I fell to my knees, bloody, crying and confused
“…Come back…Come Back…” I kept whispering to myself.
Could she hear me? I wondered. Of course she couldn’t. I wasn’t thinking straight. She would never come back. I would live the rest of my life regretting what I did. There was no point in going on without her… with her hating me.
I staggered to my feet and slowly walked out into a large empty street. I stood there. Waiting for deaths hand to take me.

bumping so i can roll later

>>3318296
rolling.

rolling

Roll

k

Rollin'

rolling for trips

>>3322775
fuck so close

>>3322776
why not.

>>3322773
Lighting a cigarette with a match, she strode across the carpet; crimson heels floating through a beige cloud. The tapestry of her skin ran in lockets from her neck, gliding to the base of her ankles. Perching a finger upon my lip, she hopped onto my lap, legs outstretched; crushing her body to mine. A warm embrace.

And then I realized It was my mother. No plot twist had prepared me. When I looked up, I saw my mother. My long deceased mother; from when she was 80. Her fat hobbling skin crushing my spine. The stale odor of dulled skin, bleaching my nose. I screamed. She wouldn't stop. Nothing in the world had prepared me for the shock I endured. She just sat there, laughing, giggling, moaning, grinding. I tried to sit up. I tried. Pushing myself, or so I thought, did nothing. With my own mother. My dad was there as well. He was laughing. Encouraging her. Jeering her own as I just sat, impaled to the crusting black mahogany leather chair, sobbing into her soddened breasts. I could do nothing.

For an hour, a nightmare. Unlike others. It was in an attic. A dingy attic full of previous heirlooms; embalmed in cobweb. Foiling into the beams of the floor.

If I could go back and tell my younger self just one thing, it'd be this;
Never masturbate over incest again.

>>3322803
"Good morning Emily, are you ready for work?"

I awaken to the sound of my slave-boy, Danny. He stands looking over me in my spacious bedroom. Holding a cup of tea and pancakes with my morning nutrient. His dick is hard and wrapped, his brown hair cut short except one tail, his little leash.

He is smiling. "Have you taken your drug yet D?"

"No Master, do you wish it?"

"No, I have night work I haven't finished. Come with me and bring the food while I begin."

"Yes master."

I sit down at my console as Dan sets his pillow in front of me. I can tell he's lying about the X pill, there is no way that he could be like this so early, especially not with the beating I gave him last night. I do not care, but his lie will have to be met with a suitable punishment.

"Processor E-234, open console challenges 456 from night prior. Engage Felion injections."

D bends down in front of me and runs his tongue along my toes.

"Interior Control, clamp slave's legs."

Now we are ready.

The challenges flow by like a haze, each decision I make on distribution, spatial restructuring, and knowledge references rewarded with a lick closer to my wetter and wetter pussy.

"Emily, please, let me fuck you."

Thwack. He must understand we have to wait until after I do my work. There is no other way. I am his master, but not my own.

It's possible he's overdosed at this point. I reach a break and look down at him. He has reached my inner thigh.

>>3322819
(cont.)

"Interior Control, insert beads into slave's anus and attach strap-on"

"direct attach or provide?"

"Direct, the usual"

Danny shivers as the beads slide up his asshole.

"D, would you like them to move in and out?"

The computer doesn't even wait for his answer, and I see the shit-covered beads flow in and out while I lift his head up to meet my rubber cock.

His dick is rock-hard, and I see the drug's effect on him in his eyes. He will listen to me with no force, no violence, no effort, he is my toy.

I ram his face into the strap-on. He gargles and spits up like the multitude of ancient pornography I've censored for the public. He moves his hands up to my ass while I watch his legs chafe and bleed.

My pussy grows wetter. I need a tongue.

"Computer remove strap-on"

"Yes, Yes, your pussy."

Danny moves forward with his mouth ajar, licking up my thighs. He moves his face quickly, but each motion upward ends with a quick adjustment downward or to the side. He knows my tempo, and can see my cunt start to flow.

His tongue moves up to my clit, and the Felion kicks in.

>>3322820
post-review

Well, I definitely have been taking a break for far too long, not to mention I'm exhausted. But I think I have something to work with at least. I'll let the shit stand on it's own though, no reason to apologize for it.

>>3322819
sorry, I'm this roll
>>3322777

aight. I'm game

>>3322822
Post review
>lines and lines of speech

Rollin like a baus

>>3322777

"FUCK ME, HENRY!!!!!"

Sally's straddling the Narwhal's rigid johnnie with a strap of garter leather, slapping spunk around between her thighbones. Henry's sixty incher pummels Sally deep and thorough, clacking clavicle and mandible in kindred, spewing gutmush through her gullet as she moans.

'It's Georgie Peorgie on a bender, love. Your cradle's gravy, yes. A train of such. Yes. Love me muck and manna: Do the twist!'

Ollie Oxenfree the brigadier in stirrups leads a nation full of faggots through the arch beneath the tenement. The cluckers in the back sup dry the leaky glans of troopers. All are satisfied. The order's called for seven in a row to bend on over, pay the duty-dance to Uncle Sam in knickers, thirty feet of plaster dug in stone is reared up with Unk's cute image - lippy, Jezebel in whitebeard - all the cluckers get to shafting out their peckers in the wallets of their buddy's rears.

Henry's johnnie cleaves white Sally clean in half and square beneath her Uncle. Hops a two-step as she rolls off Henry's condomflask of pruneflesh, making rounds about the scattered faggots drenched in manna, keeping in a mess of innards poorly with a naked arm.

"Hoopla! Velveteen! Can't you see that it's amore?"

"Fuck! A bootstrap in a boatleg!"

A dozen sailors climb up from the rabble in the west:

'BALI HA'I MAY CALL YOU'

Sally's halves, sown clean together , rush-jobbed with a mesh of rashy pecker skin turn tricks for pennies in the tent, her suitors half-dead, guzzling:

'ANY NIGHT, ANY DAY
IN YOUR HEART YOU'LL HEAR IT CALL YOU
COME AWAY COME AWAY'

>>3322836

Trixie Nelson's hard on gave me shivers on a whim
And Mary Jane's white velvet ass shook Luna from the crib
Billy Brighton's jersey's ring of salt done made me sing
As Freddie Turner's donk a donk whole swallowed cock and deep

arnold

down, up

>>3322913

Alabaster Crowley was a friend of Danny Oakley
But Annie never had a shot or two
A seldom prude and wary still of rosy puckered gutsy
The membership was never hers until she'd fucked a few

Danny Dearest kept his word and sallied all us over
Annie kept her gun locked in a drawer
Alabaster's membership was swimming in a cozy
Lined about the puckered social more

A line or three and buckled knee had seen us to the hamlet
A row of dirty pussy for a steal
Of mice and queers and pirouettes and mandibles and mallets
Sang us 'till the clap came with the deal

Ceiling wax ne'er tasted rich as Annie's sooted linen
As Allie and her brother'd often share
But naught is kitch as Belvedere in little Grey Goose mittens
And harlot's just a sister in repair

Let's do this.

>>3322928

Bumping for attention while eating the whole bag of chips.

What if I'm your neighbor or some distant acquaintance? Maybe we talk a couple times a year?

>>3318296
Rolling.

>>3323197
Alike any other daily escapade, two self-proclaimed psychonauts eagerly fantasised about space, time and other intangibles.
"Simon."
"Yeah."
"When we've done high school, we should totally become astronauts."
Simon laughed.
"Yeah, man."
"No, seriously.", insisted Kim in a visage conjunct with hazy, pink eyes.
This kind of conversation was not anything new for the two young men in their tiny dormitory room. What the other did not know, though, was that the one was not joking.
"You know, Simon, I wonder what it's like tripping in space."
"Probably pretty damn space, man."
"I wonder who's the lucky one to experience it first.", Kim continued.
"I think feelings must have a reason... other than the obvious reasons, I mean."
"What...?", Simon questioned wearily.

>Fuck, my 20 minutes are up.
>Critique if you see any shred of potential, I would imagine there's none in this kind of story.

rollin rollin rollin

roll with us

ROLL

>>3324369
I've never read a blog post before in my life

That's not even fair. I'm guessing it's a diary entry or a news report or an essay depending on the blog?

>>3324371
THE CRAZY CORNER
>posted today
THE DEATH OF ART

It's over folks. Call it in. Art is dead and we killed it. Earlier today
A hunter in the remote area known as Oregon killed something in a local forest that has been identified by scientists to be art.

"My family and I were hunting artists in the forest a couple miles from our house. It looks like a hippie house or something. They were protecting this big ugly creature. It looked like bigfoot. It didn't talk, it didn't even scream when I shot it in the ass. It just let out a light whisper asking for help. We then proceeded to kill the artsies one by one. My son Odie even got himself a picturebook from centuries ago. It might be the last book like that ever."

Local news-reporters interviewed Odie about his souvenir and
what he thought about his dad killing something the United States government has been hunting for the past five decades. He says that art isn't dead, only sleeping and that people shouldn't be too quick to judge. "My boy isn't too bright" the hunter admitted.

This took heavy inspiration from a flash fiction I've read before in a flash fiction book. In it "the story" dies and it personifies a bunch of other rhetorical devices and techniques. Again, haven't seen a blog post other than news posts I guess.I don't read personal blogs,that's not my bag.

hjlkuf

>>3322829
well it was a 7 which is science fiction with lots of dialogue. I know I could've just kep it erotic, but I wanted a challenge.

>>3318296
Rollin.

Hit meh

Welp

A shooby dooby rolling

>>3324805
Rolling again, because I have no fucking idea how to write an epic poem.

Sorry to be a pussy.

Rolling.

Let's see what I get...

roll

>>3324818
Not actual noir, just where my mind went with the plot. I tried.

My neighbor’s parrot used to talk, eventually he got tired of it, I guess, and worked his way down to squawks, rasps, cackles. It used to be convincing enough, that when I came home I’d hear the bird’s voice through the wall, and I could have been tricked into thinking she had guests over. Not anymore, unless her emphysemic grandfather decided to stop by often.

The parrot crosses my mind sometimes at work, lots of things do. I’ve been taken off patrol rotation, guess I’m too old, and now they have me doing the paperwork and giving the orders from behind a desk. Every day at my two-PM slump I make a fresh pot of coffee and minimize any work I have on my screen, close up any folders out on my desk, and read a few pages of a book, usually true crime or something, until I finish my mug of coffee and then get on with it. People must have noticed my ritual by now, but I guess I’m such a fixture around the office that no one complains.

Did you know David Berkowitz snapped because he thought his neighbor’s dog was talking to him? I saw my neighbor walking out as I was getting out of my car one evening, and I waved to her and said that her bird didn’t seem to be talking much these days. She laughed and said she had never gotten him to talk. So what does that say about me then, imagining talking animals where there aren’t any?

>>3318517
I really, really enjoyed this!

>>3324831

You remain to feel normal. not "normal", more as in nothing at all. You can still taste your breakfast in your mouth. This, you realize, defines you. You are the runny scrambled eggs and crumby toast. There is nothing else to feel, nothing else to detect within you. And you like that. Vacations are supposed to take you out of who you are, and this hospital has done that for you. Not for free, you did have to take an ambulance and stay several nights, but you have left who you are behind for the moment.

Enough being scrambled eggs, you have lunch in your bed, and you are getting evicted within the next few hours. You need to think. Eggs can't think. Eggs are an analogy for the mind of a meth-head. You want to stay here. you feel like the guy in Fight Club staying with all these fucked up people. but it makes you feel better about yourself. Its also really fucking cozy. Its also been 20 minuts and you don't feel like finishing this.

Rolling

>>3318517
Some pretty good lines there. I approve.

Rolling

Rollapalooza

rolling

okay i'll try

rollin rollin rollin

>>3325143
I'll tell you why. Therefore, it is my hope to avoid detection, and the mystery of the king and queen moult Sunday In the end, it's been a long time since I lost all my joy, he resigned from all offices that practice I know, and indeed, it is difficult for my character the lovely frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile cloak, this is great sky-bridge, air o'erhanging brave, the roof of this prestigious bother golden fire, why, one missing crew toxic fumes and other things which not only he could. What a piece of work man! How noble cause as a school are endless! Form and movement as excellent express! Events, like an angel, as the fear of God in the world! Beauty. Animal Paragon. And in any case, to me, it's the core of what powder? Man, I do not like. No, not the wife, and his smile seemed to think so.

>>3325146

High Fantasy

And on came the night. Glaufu stood between the moons an sighed. He looked down into the valley where the little ones slept and smiled. "Sleep soundly," he said. A large cloud spread itself over the sky and the moons were lost and the light with it, and Glaufu walked onwards in the dark, the children behind him, clouds over him, and dawn ahead.


I was gonna write more but I'm not feeling it.

jk rollings

rallin bitches

This post is my roll.

>>3325185
Ugh I can't believe I rolled a five. Here's ten minutes of improvisation at the keyboard.

I sing of arms and the mayonnaise
Who, as first among the condiments,
Sailed from the Spanish shores
To prove her supremacy among pretenders
Like ketchup, mustard, and relish.
With her cousin aioli, she has besieged
The walls of that diner where
Ketchup boils day and night in vats
The size of a dozen men.
O muse! Bring us to that diner
Where the gods see fit to judge
Which condiment will dominate.
Smear mayonnaise everywhere!

>>3325178

Where was your face? Hiding between the bacterial multitude. Probably. Who knows, really. You've been hired for this job, Alan. Hired. Okay? Money involved. The world revolved. This is how it turns: you work, someone pays. That's it. Remember what Tom used to say? Questions about the object of the job must be compulsory thought, without hesitation, doubting and diffracting clues into questions and questions into clues. We detectives follow an abstract cookie crumbed path. Questions on the nature of the job, however, must be erradicated from the mind's semantic possibilities. All logic is circular logic, but only when the object of it's aphorisms are logic itself. Used as a tool, logical thought is the expertiese by which we follow the crumbed path. Philosophy, however, must be outside the realm of semantics: it's object is itself. So, no, stop thinking that. Remeber what Tom used to say. Or at least paraphrase it. Look for her face, follow the crowd. Only the invisible can find the invisible. Open Case: Dissapearing of Vyvyan Hollister, date 14/3/77, probable location Montpellier Avenue 190, Apt. B. Case Status: Undisclosed to the police. Why? Private detectives hate working with the police, but I doubt Ewan Hollister would avoid the police on the grounds of my preferred modus operandi. And her picture... What was that face doing in Monpellier Avenue? Such a grim circumstance for such a lovely conjuring of symmetry poured into flesh. And he knows, and I know, that Black Dice used to control the Montpellier Av. District. He's supposed to be dead. But I suspect. And this... No. Stop questioning the job. Question the object of the job. Marla was the last person that saw her. That interview was sketchy. Hiding something. And Riordan. His files. And Redcap Enterprise. Her time schedule. Everything. What happened to you, Vyvyan? Ewan will pay forever. But you know, you know he's hiding something too. Never question the question. Where are you, Vyvyan?

>>3321826
http://pastebin.com/BGwDi155

I actually had a fun time writing this. It's in Portuguese, though.

>>3325222

i wanted to continue the story but i hit the maximum characters on this bitch so i wrapped it up

>>3325210
Oh btw guys Google tells me I am the first person to pun on "mayonnaise" and "man" in this context.

rollinindadeeeeep
ihadmyheartandsoul
butyougaveittodabeat ~

>>3325307
nah fuck sci fi that shit's for plebs lemme roll again homes

>>3325131

Meh, had to go for a moment, but then tried to keep the 20 minute limit.

Anyways, here: http://pastebin.com/QuPH3A6M

I just couldn't help to add some sci-fi, and it technically was not forbidden (I hope).
Enjoy.

roll?

rollan

>>3325307
DrinkinSunnyDeeeeeeeeee
ihadafartandCold
ButiAteitwithsomebeans

Rolling again.

JaRolling

check that roll

>>3322803
Absolutely beautiful.
10 / 10.
Better than the garbage her.
Orwell would like this.

okay.

Rollongjshvshsb


Hahahahaha!!!!!!!!! IT'S A CAT READING ULYSSES!!!!!!!!

Come on Doubles!

>>3325681
You are a sadist on a Friday night, seated on a computer in your basement. The year you are in is 1992. You have booted a sketchily vague floppy diskette to find what is for potential amusement. You feel a vague and painful loneliness for another night. After a complex and irrecollectable series of command line entries, the monitor boots up.

> WELCOME TO "HOSPITAL SERIAL KILLER." C 1989 JOHN "GIGANTIC DICK" BORGES

You wonder briefly why this supposed software writer has an issue with his masculinity.

> YOU ARE A SECURITY GUARD STANDING IN A CANCER WING. THERE ARE TWO TARGETS ON THIS LEVEL: 1 NURSE 1 PREVIOUS UNITED STATES CONSCRIPT DYING OF AN UNMARKED UNKNOWN DISEASE IN A SPECIALLY CORDONED OFF HOSPITAL WING

> COMMAND:_

You wonder why there is such needles complexity before typing.

> COMMAND:HELP

> HELP: YES THAT IS WHAT I NEED.

You wonder whether or not this is sardonicism or something more approximately sinister.

> COMMAND:_

> COMMAND:GO TO NURSE

> YOU ARRIVE IN HERE PRESENCE. YOU ARE AN ARMED GUARD. WHAT DO YOU DO?

> COMMAND:SHOOT

> I WOULDN'T DO THAT. YOU SEE THAT SOLE MAN IN THE WARD IS CURRENTLY ATTENDED BY THREE COVERT OFFICIALS.

> COMMAND:SHOOT

> I WOULDN'T DO THAT. YOU SEE THAT SOLE MAN IN THE WARD IS CURRENTLY ATTENDED BY THREE COVERT OFFICIALS.

You wonder why it is so recursive before hashing out something else tl the command line. And suddenly.

> COMMAND:EXPLAIN

> I AM THE NURSE.

You wonder why a nurse would be a man of uncertain Hispanic heritage.

> COMMAND:GO TO WARD.

> NO. MAKE LOVE TO ME.

You pop the disk out and come to no uncertain conclusion on why you own the disk.

You go upstairs.

You know your dad is a collector of text adventures.

You yell: "Hey, dad!"

You have not prepared yourself for the long night.

You feel the need to micturate.

This should be interesting.

>>3325693
She doesn't know what art is. Her parents tell her it will never put food on her table, that she'll only be famous after she dies. Her friends seldom speak of it but when they do only place the title on paintings and hand sketches. They too have no idea what art is. Her sociology teacher tells her that technology is changing art, and that Instagram allows people to more easily enter the arts. But she doesn't know that arts should not be easy. She was taught by everyone she met that art had no function in her society, that it is better left to the homosexuals and other low-lifes.
Ten years from now, when she has two children and a husband whose attention she is starving for, because the women on 'The View' telling her she should never be satisfied—they too haven't an idea what art is—on one of those days she will be meeting with two other ladies on the street and this word, art, will be said in passing, probably in reference to a practiced skill exhibited by a carpenter or a chef. And she will never expose what was placed deep within her at the time of her conception: a bright skill waiting to be sculpted away. And she never had the means to display and practice it, and she never met a person who could encourage her to let it spew from every facet and visible part of her body, and she never asked or spoke about it since she was a little girl.

Good idea. Rolling

>>3325720
oh man look at those typos. yeah well it was a phone post. fuck you, me.

rollin'

>>3325722

Kael limped through the congested streets of Elkhold avoiding merchant upon merchant hawking their wares and bobbles to locals. Oh how they gaped at what one merchant, a tanned and mustachioed man in stained robes, called a “Manticore’s Paw”. It was mummified and hanging from a brass chain wrapped around his index finger. He emphasized the size of the pads on the bottom of the paw, and every time he uttered the phrase “Manticore’s Paw” he would dangle the paw out above the small crowd of people (for he was standing on a soap box to get a good view of the street) and startle them a bit, just a bit, enough to keep their attention.
Kael, who watched this from across the street, of course recognized the paw as one of a big cat similar to those that skulked out of the Western Deserts from time to time. How this merchant came across one so far away from the West he knew not. He began with a price of one hundred gold pieces, a ridiculous sum even if his lies were true. Kael walked on sick of the show.

Maybe.

again

haven't written in a while so ok

Rollan

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RYnFIRc0k6E

Rolling

Hey, don't these types of threads break a universal rule?

I'm gonna do this.

>>3326472
What the hell ... I want something else.

>>3326459

Even when I'm awake I can still hear it, that sound that haunts dreams that every part of my soul tells me are memories even though every part of my brain is screaming that it can't be possible.

But she just turned my world upside down, toying with things she didn't fully understand and left me with the dreams that feel like memories, even though if they were they would have happened thousands of years ago.

I suppose that's what I get for getting involved with a witch, I suppose that's what it means when a pagan girl tells you she wants to explore the connection she feels to you through a ritual. Though in my defense, it goes back even further than the first time we spoke (in this life anyway), it goes back to PCP fueled nights where my pen seemed to write on it's own, telling me all about the witch with redhair who was going to tell me I was "special" who'd say I was an "empath," the girl who would help me "remember." I put those nights behind me because I thought I was on the brink of drug-induced schizophrenia and I wanted nothing more than to just forget all those seemingly endless days.

And then there she was three years later, telling me the same words I put out of my head before and I felt compelled to continue talking to her.

Never assumed it'd turn into me waking up in a cold sweat with memories of a life that happened thousands of years ago. Or that i'd still hear the chanting that sent shivers down my spine even when I'm awake, with all the feelings I felt back "then"

But that's life isn't it?

>>3326486

it's garbage but whatever.

Let's do this. Camus can wait for 20 minutes.

>>3326486
I enjoy my time here, that's enough for me.

>>3326491

>less-than-worthless populist namedrop out of left field

Don't bother.

>>3326494

huh?

>>3326502
I'm just reading The Outsider.

>>3326473
"Look at them," he points at some kids that were walking up the stairs of a heavily graffiti'd building. "Our little brigade of Nazi-haters. Leftists, spineless anarchists who will gladly consume everything that is given to them by the state. Flagburners, history delvers who are blind to everything but the suffering of people they will never meet. In the end, they are just another bunch of extremists. " His voice is bitter, I can't fathom why.
"What's even worse, our town condones them. National pride is something that is shunned, singular viewpoints on the Nazi-regime supported, other opinions simply vaporized by holding up the suffering of Jews into ones face, " he rants on, oblivious to my confusion.
He glares at me, or is he? I can't read his face too well, kind of funny, since he's the guy to wear his emotions on his sleeves. A heavy sigh parts his lips and momentarily drowns our one-sided conversation in white mist.
"But in the end ... I think I know what I don't like about them. "
My eyebrows perk up. "And that would be? " Maybe he'll rub off some wisdom on me.
"They're trying to cover up human nature. "
"Huh. "
Silence reigns between us as we walk into the bakery.
"I mean, " he picks up on his conclusion again as we finished our meals. He likes to do that, to start and end promptly. "How much do you care for other people, really? "
Oh god, I don't like him asking me this kind of questions. The worst thing is, he doesn't judge you, he'll only nod at your opinion and file it away. But never tell you what he thinks of it. I begin to stutter, then fall silent again.
He nods, seemingly content with my not-existing opinion. Then he sighs again. "But I'm no better than them, " he shrugs and sits down on a bench.

>>3326491

The corridors are empty, deserted. Yet your ears are full of noise, the background radiation of the place, the old whine and purr of the machines, now left in their places to rot and die and rust, not even cannibalized for their components. You look up, down the corridor, expecting motion. Nothing. A light flickers, then stabilizes. Nothing. You know that the room is empty, you have seen it before. But you have to try. The knob is cold under your hand, and sends a small chill up your spine. It turns, effortlessly. Click. With careful slowness, you open the door, as your other hand reaches for the switch. When you find it, the room is bathed in light. Harsh light. You don't even notice when, or how, but your eyes are shut tight. You take in a large breath, and as you exhale, you force yourself to open them. Nothing. The room is empty. Even dust has refused to settle. It smells of medicine, covered up by the closed air. A sickening smell. Your stomach dislikes it, but does not act up. You know this room. Room 467. The first time you were here, it smelt sterile. A different kind of sickening. Over time, you've been here many times, for different reasons. Here was the last place you saw him. Your best friend. His words still echo in your mind. "Thank you". Your body shudders, and you shut your eyes tight, screaming internally. It passes, and you're alone again. Struggling to stop the shaking, you move your hand in your pocket, and grip something in it. It's small, soft, but solid. It's also not yours. You've had it for most of your life, but you've never owned it. Your steps echo within the walls, until you stop, in the very middle. Your hand leaves your pocket, accompanied by the stuffed cat. You place it down carefully, after giving it one last kiss goodbye. Then, you leave. You turn off the light, close the door, and walk down the long corridor. You brace yourself, prepare to cry, expect a wave of emotion. But the future refused to change.

rolling

>>3322803
Holy shit this is amazing!

>>3322819
>>3322820
What the fuck is wrong with me I really liked this.

>>3325727

Just had to reply to say how much I enjoyed this.

>>3327416
It's just a fetish. Nothing's wrong with you.

rolling

The unwelcome rhythm of the boat haunts you day and night, you understand there is no escape, after all you realise that it was you who signed up for this, you who decided that this was the best thing you could do at this point in your life, to fill the void that was your life with something that you though might, perhaps, show you something you enjoyed doing, though you understood it was more likely the experience would, at the very least, give you a benchmark of unhappiness that you would judge every experience that happened after it against – or at least give you time to write.

You lay dormant in your cabin. It is freezing. You have absolutely no idea just where your location on the ship corresponds with the location of your actual self in correlation with the infinite expanse of ocean that you are separated from by, no matter how thick it is, a solitary wall. You curse the day you signed up for this.

The endless days of sempiternal horizon drudge on, with nothing to visually or physically judge the boats progress against, it seems the horizon retreats from you at the exact same pace as you move towards it – an endless and fruitless struggle or a journey, not even a journey, just a constant movement from nowhere to nowhere.

As you lay in your bunk and try to write in the notebook that you brought with you, the lines on the page seem to swell with the movements of the boat, the blank first page ominously staring back at you creating at once a sense of dread and sadness.

Was this a waste of time? Will you write anything?

You close the notebook and try to sleep.

You can't.

rolling

pic related

>>3327968
This is terrible, but at least I tried. Also not a native English speaker.


The rain was puring down on my while I waited outside. As always. Jonny was the guy to get in and handle the contract. As always. My hand rested on my gun in case anything would go wrong. I was ready to storm at any second. The neon lights of the city did glow in the distance and changed the nightsky into a mixture of bright red and yellow. I checked my clock. Half past one. He was in for a good fifteen minutes already. Had something go wrong? I wondered. Jonny was a pro. He had been doing this far longer then me, but you never know, right? Let's wait for a little longer, I told myself. There is nothing worse then a hotheaded idiot storming in and ruining a perfectly well trade. On the other hand... that shit should have been done by now. Hell, he should have been out there ages ago. We should already be on our way back. There was something wrong. I listened. Nothing. I walked over to the old door, put my ear against it and listened. Still nothing. I opened it, trying not to make a sound. Darkness greated me. I was thinking for a while, then I went inside. The steps of my feet seemed to echo through the dark corridor. I shook my head. Fucking superstition. I will probably run into Johnny at the next corner, making him scream at me what the fuck I think I am doing. But that didn't happen. I walked on for a while, trying to be as quiet as possible. When I heard something. People talking.

>>3328080
Dumb jewish asshole. Trying to steal. Will geht what he deserves. I could hear other words too, but I couldn't understand the whole conversation. But I had heard enough, they were talking about Johnny. I was pretty damn sure, that I understood what was going on. Those two voices probably belonged to some stupid gorillas watching the door that lead into the actual meeting room. Think. What can I do. Is there a way to take them out without making any noice? I checked the gun I had. No silencer. Great. Well seems I have to go with plan B then and burst into the meeting waving my guns around and killing as many as possible of them. I took out my gun. The voices indicated, that they were about ten metres away from me. Now I have to bee quick. I stormed foward. I could hear them mutter something. It didn't matter. The corner. I jumped around it and saw two figures infront of me. I didn't even need to think for a second as I pressed the trigger. The first one went down without doing anything. I heard curses as the second one grasped what was going on. To slow. At the moment he was able to raise his gun, I had already fired two bullets at him. He fell to the ground motionless. No time to waste. I went for the door and kicked it in.

Welp

The trees shake, their verdant spires shuddering in the wind. The forest seems to tremble, bushes quiver and branches crack in his presence. Fear wells up inside me. True, primordial, fear, not the anxiety over scraps of paper and green cloth all too common in the concrete jungle. My ancestors shared my terror over eyes in the dark and growls echoing in the midnight air. But this is different. Their worst nemesis became their friend, spindly wolves driven away by rocks or fire. This was different. I grasped my rifle, a tiny thing only good for small game, the birds and squirrels that served only as delicious carrion to my pursuer. No shot could pierce his hide, and to engage fist on claw was suicide. Fight or flight we're my options, and I chose the cowards path. Sprinting from my shelter under a shadowy pine, I leapt over mazes of roots towards safety, wherever it may be. But my actions we're met by a thunderous roar, and all of a mountain of fur, claws, and flesh charged after me. Dark arms reached out to me, their dry needles stabbing into my flesh. I could hear him breathing. I could smell him, the musk of blood and sweat. I could feel him, his jaws, like the traps that slew his kin, snapping through tender meat. I fell, screaming in agony, and his claws raked, tearing deep channels that quickly filled with blood. Then he left, and I could feel the touch of his close companion. Death.

>>3328045

what a beautiful little thing.

not a native speaker, but rolling anyway

rveolic has

Henry Rollings

>>3328379
I've been staying with my sister for a while, which is hard because once you start masturbating, a little brother-big sister relationship is just a countdown until she sees your penis. It's statistics, 'cause big sisters just barge into rooms and little brothers are constantly masturbating. It's a numbers game.

And I'm not going to stop jacking off just because I'm living with her, so I've been staying out a lot when I know she's in the house. I went to see Django Unchained alone. It was a great movie, so I stayed for the credits. I watched the whole thing through. Finally, it was just me alone in the theatre and the lights came on, and this cleaning dude came in. I had never stuck around this long so I didn't know people came in and cleaned up right after the movie.

I assumed this didn't happen because I've walked into a movie theatre that wasn't already covered in popcorn and spit. When the guy first came in, I thought for a second that he was gonna dump a vat of soda from the top row and just watch it pour down all over the floor.

So I stuck around to watch if the dude does his job, and I could tell he wouldn't if I wasn't there. He was being kind of a dick about it. I don't like to criticize cleaning people 'cause there's no way to do it without sounding like a rich asshole from the 1600s. There's never been a nice, down-to-earth dude who was like, "the waiting staff is absolutely incompetent."

But this guy was being all bratty and giving me looks all the time and shit. So finally I bent down and stuck something underneath the seat in front of me. I made it look like I stuck gum under there, but it was actually twenty dollar tip. Which he probably didn't find 'cause, y'know, "fuck this cleaning shit I gotta go home and jack off before my sister gets home."

>>3328464
i lol'd and heard it in hannibal buress' voice

>>3318296
Rollin

>>3328499
It was another lifeless day at the office - Don woke up at the same time as he always did, rode his Mercedes to work, then sat there lifeless for the next 7 hours. His life had seemed to get less interesting every day since the death of his wife in an automobile crash 6 years ago, he hadn't remarried, but he had experienced regret of the days with his wife nearly every day.

It was on that day, when Don was riding home from work and he sondered a little more than usual...

well its worth the roll

>>3328517
He was about halfway home, when he saw a young couple. The man was dressed in a suit, with an umbrella guarding his young mistress who was wearing typical clothes for a cold day. The traffic was bad as he looked out to the happy people, for a second he saw his wife's face in the lady, then he saw himself in the man.

It was at that moment that he broke down, he just couldn't take it anymore. Was a lifeless existence an oxymoron? Why had he spent the last 6 years of his life in constant grief, constant apathy to every thing. He pulled the car into a diner, but left the car on. He had no intention to go into the diner, it was 7 o' clock, too early for dinner. He sat there for a few minutes, thinking, unengaged from the bustling city around him. Why had his life been governed by the will of the cold chains that remained from his marriage? He couldn't free himself from the chains metaphor; he remembered his wife's funeral, he had stood holding his mother in law gently.

Who wants to know what happens next? It’s like spoiling a good movie, like starting from the finish line and going to the start.
“What happens next?” He’d asked his father once.
“Fuck if I know, son.” He gave a godly, all-encompassing shrug. “When I was your age, I didn’t know what would happen next. I asked my dad the same thing and he told me two words: future fears.”
“Poetic,” he said, brushing off his grandfather’s passed on words like his father had brushed off his question.
His father leaned in. “Think about it, because it’s pretty fucking obvious, son.”
Out of college, with a useless degree. Aimless, blind, and at his core, afraid. Afraid of the road ahead, afraid of knowing it. Fearful of the future.
He had a feeling of what would happen next.
He would grow, at least bodily. Maybe he’d harden up, quit being a pussy, start lifting. Maybe he’d begin to slouch at his desk, soften up, probably become more of a pussy.
He’d grow mentally.
He hoped he would, at least.
But say he does. He would learn and reconcile with the fact that he’d never be a writer, never become the fantasy he coveted. He’d get a cushy desk job with a cushioned chair, doing whatever. Get paid well for whatever. He would make new friends, wherever he was going.
But friends are okay, just okay. They’re nice to talk to. Deep down, everybody wants someone to cuddle and fuck.
He’d eventually find somebody. He wasn’t afraid of being lonely. He had dealt with it, learned to deal with those long stretches of waking up and walking alone. But he’d also learned to appreciate those briefer, sweeter times of waking up with someone awkwardly in his arms, morning breath pressing against his face like a nice breeze.
He wasn’t going to be lonely, however. He was sure he’d find somebody.

>>3328562
But would that person be ideal? Like everyone else, he had an ideal image of a woman: cute, smart, well-read, good taste in music, and funny. A ten out of ten, best new girlfriend.
But that’s not what he’d get.
Someone imperfect. Someone who wouldn’t be a two-dimensional fantasy that he thought about on his lonely nights. She wouldn’t have everything he wanted, but hopefully she’d have some of it.
She’d have her flaws and he’d hate them, but he’d learn to tolerate them, learn to look past them and look to the good parts. Then, when their relationship got tough, he’d look back at the bad things.
He’d look at all the missing pieces. All the things he wouldn’t get. All the things he’d have to give up for a few good things.
He’d be angry, childish.
But then her stomach would swell. She’d be sick, moody, but he’d take care of her.
His future self would have his own future fears. But after the initial storm of childish fear, he’d man up, grow some more. He’d set aside his fears for a little while for the sake of another, the sake of his own kin.
He’d take care of the child. He’d love it, protect it. He’d hide the troubles in his marriage for the sake of the kid. Put away money so the kid could have a better future, so the kid wouldn’t fear the future.
He’d be a father. He’d bury his father. Maybe he’d be a divorcee, maybe a widow, maybe leave a widow behind. Then a grandfather, maybe a great-grandfather.
Then he’d die, hopefully with a crying family around him, but maybe with an emotionally distant nurse giving him false reassurances before she had to deal with another dying old man.
He’d be a memory, an ancestor, a man forgotten after years of being remembered.
But maybe none of this would happen.
But, if it did, he would learn to love it, because it’s all he would get and all he deserved.
He’d get over his future fears one way or another, break them or let them break him.

ROLLIN ROLLIN ROLLIN

>>3328487
aces, man

I am rolling grammatically correctly.

>>3328464
You are honestly pretty funny, dude. That read like your average Gawker article, but without any kind of tryhard humor.
8/10 would like to see it as a novel

rollnana

Rickrollin'

ROLL

blehbk

so many rolling, so few doing it

Oh, mighty /lit/, roll me away from this dreadful block.

roll.

I'll roll.

J.K.Rollin'

(reroll if 8)

The pots that came and clattered thus I work
My role to scrub to carry out garbage
The scent of dinner grasps and tortures me
I shall not cancel duty to my chef
The devil speaks and schemes inside my head
Walk out the door, anon, your work is done
Time to leave and endlessly smoke bowls
You Fiend! says I, how can you tempt me so?
My shift ends not till quarter after twelve
You work too hard, his forked tongue slurred
I hate to see my dearest friend distressed
Enough, I say 'tis time to clean and scrub
You will not find a nobler profession
At this the devil closed on me and smiled
And spoke to me with soothing words and charm
And told me of a land I had so missed
For that my memory hath lost it so
A land of couches and a place of peace
A place for gaming, smoking weed, beauty.
Across my face a tear rolled softly down
The Devil held his arm toward the door
And made me master of my own demise
For when I walked out Chef's voice called:
"You're fired, anon, do not come back again."

>>3329012
I got a 5 when I rolled, in case that wasn't clear

GET FOR AMERICA

Roll.

transform and roll out

>>3318296
Fuck it, haven't written in years
Rollan

time to roll again

>>3329182
The deck stank of the sea and blood
Gulls swarmed above, a frenzied chorus for the cacophony below
On the deck men scrabble and stumble, blades shining in the high noon light, they go about their gruesome work, swearing and spitting as metal caught on bone
You sigh amidst the ruinous sight, this isn't how you imagined your career ending
No glory, no joy, no recognition under the merciless sun
You cough, a trickle of blood, the old enemy come again, pain like a saber in your left lung
No, not like this, not at all
The men, faces triumphant, their foe gone for another day, turn in shock
The gallant captain slain at last

"So you coming to the wake then?"
"I suppose, he was a nice man"
"I never knew he was in the navy"
"Aye well, kept to himself didn't he, you coming? It's fucking freezing"

The two men turn from their old captain, their faces set against the drizzle
Down by the harbor a trawler is putting in
Her deck stinks of the sea and blood

I'm shit but whatever

maybe

>>3329237
http://pastebin.com/FFKJa9S1

I took a little longer than 20 minutes on it, I admit. It's an idea for a sci-fi story I've been thinking about for a while, a point in the future where having some prosthetic body parts becomes the norm rather than an unusual thing.

>>3328629
that's awesome. I'm only familiar with Gawker as that site where the crazy lady wanted to stalk celebrities, but that's still cool, thanks