/lit/ - Literature

i am drifting in the wind
like a bag of water
ooosh, o'er the hills i go

>>3698097
>ooosh
I like it.

The fires of a thousand barbecues are around me.
The sand stretches out for miles,
The hot sun beats down upon my prone back,
I am like that crustacean, that bottom-dweller,
I am like the abalone.
I am alone.

I'm at the motherfucking beach
And someone stole my car.

oh the pain the pain the pain
blood and tears and 666
fuck me kill the devil
fuck the devil kill me
i am hopeless and a fraud
i a fraud and am hopeless
i and hopeless fraud and am
inad frohpedussel ad anm
haha i speak german now
weiner

Beer is cold, the sky is blue.
I like beer, do you too?

>>3698188
The sky is dark, yet full of stars.
I do love beer, especially at bars!

jesus christ
im a loser
getting older every day
working for shit pay
jesus christ
im a loser

I text her, "Goodnight"
"Sleep tight"
"Don't let the bed-bugs bite."
She texts me "<3"
My eyes fill with tears and I wish,
I wish I would send her
My arms to hold her,
My kisses to please her,
My penis to fill her
Just the way she likes it.

I cry a little, then walk to bed.
I masturbate to tentacle porn.
I'd say I'm a sick fuck,
But she likes that too.
Perfection
Is Her.

Grummy slush, what a rush
Turning time,
do gather and unwind
In a place of quiet kind
For no seeds shall ye sow
If you do naught but stroke and blow.

Everyday I post on a forum
It isn't even a forum
It's an image forum
They say repetition leads to loss of meaning
It's not like it'd ever mean anything
Because I am anonymous

>>3698171
>haha i speak german now
Clever political satire.
>weiner
Indeed, the Germans are dicks.

There once was a girl named Medea
Whose pussy seemed pretty and clear,
I fucked her real hot
And this is what I got:
Herpes, AIDS, and Gonorrhea

wouldn't it be nice
to have a qt 3.14 gf
to talk about books with
>tfw no
>gf

The city so quiet
As I lay in bed with no rest
As I pull on my pants
As I slam closed the doors
(Neighbours be damned)
As I drag trough the streets
The city, so quiet.

(I'm pretty inebriated and high right now. I am aware of the horrible quality of tbe poem I'm posting. But it feels good, getting stuff out. It really does.)

Failure sits upon His throne,
Fire out, ambition gone.
Frowning, fearful, lost in anguish,
Empire burned and flair extinguished.

All he had; pulled away,
Power plundered, led astray.
Merits buried, laid to rest,
No-one remembers; he won’t forget.

For now he’s a Failure,
Sitting on His throne,
Succeeding success already sewn.
For error has a hefty price,
Pursue perfection; don’t think twice.

Ego bent, Intrigue torn,
The past persists, a relentless thorn.
What once was, no longer is.
Distinguished? No more.
Who’s fault? His.

Failure sits upon his chair,
Staring solemnly, frail and scared,
Across the room at a dust-ridden shelf,
With no-one to blame, except himself.

---

I'm overly abstract when I'm inebriated. Give me your worst, /lit/.

I am what I am to be,
And whatever that is, is me.
A pecking dove,
I could be a wily coyote,
Or a bird, high in the clouds above.
A man on the moon,
and a two hundredth-dimensional being.
And whatever that is,is me.

The present, is nigh,
while past lands draws close.
The future in another guy,
I man, I touched, almost.
Oh, the times are radical,
and extreme,
benevolent and kind.
If I were to be a parakeet,
marching in line,
I would soar away,
to find my wings clipped,
my beak clamped,
My feet shackled.
And I would cry,
If they allowed it.

My stomach becomes my face,
My ears, my hair, and everything else,
Plays a game of Chinese fire drill,
Whilst in a Picasso.
I go flip flop,
My bottom is my top,
And I curve unto myself,
Whilst in a Picasso.
Why, oh why,
Is it but a painting?

Most of the poems ITT are pretty good.
You sell yourself short, /lit/.

The whale ruptured in Pakistan
As they tried to crane it away from the land
And make it someone else’s problem,
Spew its viscera into India.
Diplomacy is the gift of a corpse well-timed.

Walking home across the Cambridge cobbles,
Shoes dangling from my hands,
Smile dangling off my face,
I feel like a million pounds stolen from David Cameron
And given to Cancer Research UK.
I feel like a traffic cone liberated by drunk students
And placed atop a spire of Kings Chapel:
Elevated above my station, surveying the city,
Loving it and smiling down with my big orange smile.
Tonight has been good to me
And the cobbles feel like a massage to my feet.
Tonight has been very good to me indeed.

Now light blue paper
The hair retreats up my arm
We blind the night sky.

This is one of those awful evenings
Of forced smiles and socialization;
Cheap wine on rotating tables
With rapid-fire dinner guests
Until we musical chairs away at a bell
And it’s the same questions again.

What are your interests?

Reading novels, underling copy errors in pencil,
Letters to the editor.

Where were you born?

The hospital.
Obviously.

What do you do for work?

Weaponise my neurosis to let loose upon
A readership of other neurotics.

I like your tie.

That’s not a question.

What’s wrong with you?

We don’t have long enough.

It was late and John was walking down Clairemont like it was the hallway in his own grim, industrial, mansion. He could have been in a bathrobe and felt not the least out of place. By now he could navigate by smell and sound alone, a whiff of sulphur dioxide here, the scream of metal on metal there, it was as good as longitude and latitude. To enthusiasts like John this was a hotspot, per square kilometre it was by far the most richly adorned sector of the city, and to the amateur historians among them, prime candidate for ground zero. Through a chain link fence, down an alleyway, behind the refuse bins, was his favourite verse. He'd transcribed it long ago, John was known for having one of the most complete versions of the testament yet collected, but when he felt adrift he came here, to reaffirm himself as a witness, to be in the presence.
He deftly made his way down the alley, his feet remembering the puddles and glass. Inside he was mad at his own sentimentality, the city was more than big enough to get lost in, why was he going somewhere he'd already been when there was so much waiting for him? He should be investigating the newly discovered tiles, the changing character of the verse was a subject of fierce debate on the messageboard. Where once there were prophecies and relevations there were now judgements and imperatives, an unbefore seen urgency. But even people in John's rarefied field find comfort in the familiar.
At the far end the alley opened up into a disused courtyard, cracked asphalt permeated by weeds, surrounded by concrete walls.
It was there, carved into that wall that he first saw it all those years ago, hastily he had made a rubbing with notebook paper and charcoal he found in the yard. It was that rubbing he took from his pocket and unfolded now, holding it up to the original. It read "In the beginning was the word, and the word was with us, and the word was us. Now it is lost, but it can be found."

I'm impressed at how decent most of these are. /lit / should write a book or a zine or something. I raise my glass to you all.

>>3698471
>>3698505

Confession time: I wrote >>3698491 >>3698485
and >>3698476 and actually got them published on Ether as part of a bigger collection. I think a lot of stuff on this thread could find publication in the right place.

>>3698516
What. No. Seriously!?

TELL US HOW, /LIT/ERATE SENPAI-SAMA

>>3698516
You...
Lied? ;_;
Anywho, how do you go about getting published?

>>3698520
>>3698521

Honestly, I heard about this place from a friend on a Creative Writing course I was doing, submitted a poem I'd written for coursework and... it got accepted. Which was awesome for me because it was a dark-humour poem I'd written about this breakup I'd had a few months ago so now maybe a few dozen more people have read about it...

It's actually quite easy to get published. It just seems scarier than it is.

But hey, if you could do me a favour and download the Ether Quick Reads app, download some of my free stuff or even my paid stuff (I do like food!) that'd be a big help.

I mistook intention for action, and thought I was good.
We judge people by who we want them to be.
Above all else I blame myself
I need to be kind to me.

two times I take a puff
and this shit is dank indeed.
when the going gets tough,
this herb is all I need.
now I'm totally blazed
and the car window is smeared,
my consciousness is raised
and my lungs feel weird.

swag me up I say-
swag is us I hear,
the night becomes day
and my mind is now clear

>>3698583
Ohai, Justin Bieber

We washed up on the shores of six o:clock
the orphans of a dying afternoon
we sat together on the floating dock
and watched the fleeing shorebirds race the moon

Lines and curves make up my words
There is no thought to them
It is in your mind
Your own thought behind
Perception of fluid movement

>>3698392
Not bad.

There are fewer more distressing sights than that
Of an Englishman in a baseball cap
And we'll die in the class we were born
Well that's a class of our own my love
Did you see the stylish kids in the riot?
We were shovelled up like muck
Then set the night on fire
Wombles bleed truncheons and shields
You know I cherish you my love
But there's a rumour spread nasty disease around town
Caught round the houses with your trousers down
A headrush in the bush
You know I cherish you my love
Oh, how I cherish you my love
Yes it's eating, no it's chewing me up
It's not right for young lungs to be coughing up blood
Oh it's all,
It's all in my hands,
And it's all up the walls

Very good stuff, lit. I'm impressed.

A tiny bald man
tells me I need to
sell more membership
cards.

Should I just try to
sell more memberships
or should I wring his
neck?

my dick needs a be a mistletoe
i am so sexy
i am so sweet
fuck with me, get wrecked
ego gigantic
your girl wants to fuck me
i wont let her, maybe she can suck me
fuck off faggot
do you even lift
do you even thrift
do you even shit on dicks
are you even hip
no
richer than your dad
where is my crown

My father's hands are rough
To the point at which I've
Wondered
How they feel to my mother.

my shitposts are masterpieces
suck a dick and lick on feces
fucking bitches into pieces
i got my dick sucked today
what did u do
posted on lit
u are not shit
ill get my dick sucked 2moro
what will u do
post on lit
lol im super angsty rn
im buying marijuana 2ommoro
what r u doin
lmao irrelevant

There was a red-haired man who had no eyes or ears.
Neither did he have any hair, so he was called red-haired theoretically.

He couldn't speak, since he didn't have a mouth. Neither did he have a nose.
He didn't even have any arms or legs. He had no stomach and he had no back and he had no spine and he had no innards whatsoever. He had nothing at all!

Therefore there's no knowing whom we are even talking about.
In fact it's better that we don't say any more about him.

4chan

Standing in the still mansion, he gazes to the night
Huntched by the burning embers, the salesman ponders life

Dreaming of leaving abroad, he settles to solemn slumber
Mind with wonderous tales, only to wake with reality's encumber

Fantasy grins whiping away, impassive looks arrange once more
Years pass without a change, all his wishes end with deplore

Growing old in age with a clock, knowing soon comes his time
Sending one final letter, warnings he states in his closing chime

Darkened casket contains false dreams, the burial holds none but him
Now on the other side, sitting austere his emotions so grim

Face fixed on a screen, reading the SOS of the deceased peer
"Unbelievable" he said laughing, unknowing he was next in a coming year

This is the internet where warns are given, only damned to be repeated
Where nature takes its course, till natural selection is completed

[11:42:48 PM] Alex M.:
nigga u aint shit
i gots my fedora
my spaghetti is hot and saucy
bitches be in my land rova'
my hawaiian shirt makes me look refined
my khakis do too
when i go to gamestop
i promise myself that i dont poo
thats right im da best
im no autist
ich saurkraut nigger
testudo erat numen
tu madre es gorda
fuck

nigga u aint shit
i gots my fedora
my spaghetti is hot and saucy
bitches be in my land rova'
my hawaiian shirt makes me look refined
my khakis do too
when i go to gamestop
i promise myself that i dont poo
thats right im da best
im no autist
ich saurkraut nigger
testudo erat numen
tu madre es gorda
fuck

the only things I can make are jokes and sad poems, anyone else unable to branch out into something?

my life is subpar (crying sadface emotion)

I took three steps and pulled a rock out of my shoe
and then I took three steps and pulled a rock out of my shoe
and then I took three steps and pulled a rock out of my shoeand then I took three steps and pulled a rock out of my shoeand then I took three steps and pulled a rock out of my shoe and then I took three steps and pulled a rock out of my shoe and then I took three steps and pulled a rock out of my shoe and then I took three steps and pulled a rock out of my shoeand then I took three steps and pulled a rock out of my shoeand then I took three steps and pulled a rock out of my shoeand then I took three steps and pulled a rock out of my shoeand then I took three steps and pulled a rock out of my shoeand then I took three steps and pulled a rock out of my shoe and then I took three steps and pulled a rock out of my shoe and then I took three steps and pulled a rock out of my shoe and then I took three steps and pulled a rock out of my shoe and then I took three steps and pulled a rock out of my shoe and then I took three steps and pulled a rock out of my shoe and then I took three steps and pulled a rock out of my shoe and then I took three steps and pulled a rock out of my shoe and then I took three steps and pulled a rock out of my shoe and then I took three steps and pulled a rock out of my shoe
and then I took three steps and pulled a rock out of my shoe and then I took three steps and pulled a rock out of my shoe and then I took three steps and pulled a rock out of my shoe
and then I took three steps and pulled a rock out of my shoe
and then I took three steps and pulled a rock out of my shoe

fuck i can't think of anything
it must time for another
line break
soon

Drunk again
feelings reconciled
thinking
writing.
To hell with her
I don't need anyone
to love anyway

I fucked a cows ass
It cries out murderous screams
I laugh and cum inside

>>3699074
can a cow really scream?

Don't be silly of course it can, only if raped though...

Free verse is indeed
The master race of poetry styles
I won't argue with you
Faggot

your legs wrapped in mine
the twisting of and time and space
my hands wrapped in yours

taking a photograph
of nobody in particular
on a not so sunny day

can't get to sleep that slight ring in my ears and i don't want to get up for what I have to do tomorrow even though it won't be that big of a deal I still don't really want to do it. a girl awkwardly asked if i wanted to go makeout tomorrow, in that way that is joking but not really and I didnt know what to say back on facebook chat so i just said garbage. I dropped half of my university classes and my cymbalta makes me feel sick and my klonopin is almost gone and I have to think a lot of people are feeling just like I am right now about everything.

aww

if I said I was John Galt I'd be lyin'
I'm more of a Railsplitter man myself
Old Man Lincoln used up his days and I'm
pretty sure it's not my fault that
everything you did wasn't
what I mean is
I didn't you

DARKNESS clouds my mind
living in endless suffering
I'm the reaper among the wolves
the shadow in your mind
not among the light walkers
i slip into oblivion
the rope guides me

2013 xx_Cloud_D00m_xx
Original Poem
Do not Steal

>>3699148
haha!

Jesus christ I hate myself right now the first thing I wrote I was thinkign the whole time that I'll write something and everyone will expect it to be terrible but then everyone will read it and be like 'hey that is actually really really good'

>>3699153
ha i do that with everything
have to constantly remind myself that no the expectations were right
good times

i'm so damn high
why didn't i smile at you
we coulda talked
then blondie coulda talked
and then she's sucking my
wallet dry with her two kids
but she's still so damn prettyhttp://www.google.com/recaptcha/api/image?c=03AHJ_VusvWuDyconiKfxeVjzfpzTFo7hrC7fPzDurzJ5KfwZyDUr_Ej94mrTpEj1K4UD8BgpnVgBLQ3-WinVbtyvGn2wqf_ime3IuMEoks5eP3remkySJ8UeAXWu_jpcl3tFCHIvmeeC3DSvQY3DtMpcrnoc-gNrTYDyNg8_nXDIoREce-mMdDG8

>>3698090
Burned, molten, quenched,
the tension running through the body.
Twisted, broken, wrenched,
the soul turned unholy.

>>3699232
what are you, 14? wit yo abstract signifiers

ode to that bitch

bitchhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
i was so infatuateddddddddddddddddd
whore'd me around for monthsssssssssss
shit on my harrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrt
then you moved awaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayy
definition of bitchhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
sexually frustratedddddddddddddddddddd
angryyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy
like a birdddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd
1 day i will find uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu
u will payyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy
revenge will b soughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhht
with u on this coooooooooooooockkkkkkkkkk
bitch
slut
trick
faggot
fuck you

>>3699265
#real
#pain

Here's one from when I was 15. It's not that bad looking back on it.

I spent so long trying to force open a stuck door
That only once it was locked did I realize
I was standing in a grand hall
But now there must be a send-off
To what surely lay beyond that door
To half daydreams dreamt not by me
To thoughts of comfort
That sting all the more when the daydream dies
I must bid farewell to the youthful fantasies
Of worlds unseen, unknowable except in arrogant knowledge
Because that door would not open for me
Had it known me, would it have closed all the same?
Would it have opened?
These are the only two answers, and I prefer neither
I step around this hall that I now stand in
And realize
That in a world that knows not me
One where daydreams do not produce character
That these fleeting images are meant to be spoken
Thought to speech filter be damned
Because if fantasies remain only that
The doors remain stuck
And I remain lonely

>>3698245
loool

Nice
epic
I like it

>>3698245
I loved this one, would laugh again/10.

>>3698491
>the hospital

i really like this type of cynical wit, are you actually like this in real life?

I want to be wittier ;_; how?

the bed feels a mile long
when she's in it i hug the wall
or hang from the edge
when i'm alone i sink into the center

No se que pasa últimamente
Que en cualquier esquina está la línea del frente
Y es que ha vuelto a cargar la policía
Por la ciudad de las farolas rotas y las calles encendidas
Pero tu burgués ya te enterarás
Los problemas de la calle no son de los demás

Well that was pretty edgy

I fucked up, maedieval more than modern
some bitches bodice and banging guts
her disapproving look
makes me want to hatefuck her all the more

The wilderness years
all years, ever year
got a beard and shit
rugged

i be smoken the bongs yeh,
fucken like jamaican yeh,
drinking the emu export like a boss, yeh
yeh, yeh, yeh

I read New republic and Nation
I've learned to take every view
You know, I've memorized Lerner and Golden
I feel like I'm almost a Jew
But when it comes to times like Korea
There's no one more red, white and blue
So love me, love me, love me, I'm a liberal

Once I was young and impulsive
I wore every conceivable pin
Even went to the socialist meetings
Learned all the old union hymns
But I've grown older and wiser
And that's why I'm turning you in
So love me, love me, love me, I'm a liberal

İ cried when they shot Medgar Evers
Tears ran down my spine
I cried when they shot Mr. Kennedy
As though I'd lost a father of mine
But Malcolm X got what was coming
He got what he asked for this time
So love me, love me, love me, I'm a liberal

Sometimes when the sun rises, I'm just going to bed.
Sometimes when it sets, I've still dreams in my head.
Sometimes the sky is blue, sometimes blood is red.
Sometimes I really wish I were dead.

>>3699922
I feel like this would be an emotional unstable chubby autists attempt at a poem. I like it.

>>3699922
The sun doesn't rise nor set. It's just an illusion caused by the world spinning while circling the sun.

i walked down the street
wine jug heavy in hand
i felt
a coyote in a canyon
tvs were on in the windows
the glass shattered in the one near me
and i felt the lighter for it

She said she dropped her phone in the toilet
I wondered
How
How How
And then I did it too
It fell out of my back pocket
When I pulled up
My pants
I wondered
Why
Why Why

Goddamn the woman's car in the train
I just wish, that one day a month
On one train, on all the trains
They'd let rapists
Rape all the women in just one train
On one train, or on all the trains
In all the houses
In all the countries

Red blotches on my skin like little mars
I suffocate them with cream
Why today, when I didn't sleep
Does it add to my burden
And make it easier to see me for what I am
A blotchy mess
of a would be man

how's this for an opening

"A slowly setting sun shone softly in the evening sky, sending inquisitive fingers of light through the innumerable leaves of towering trees as they stood watch over two figures sitting on a decrepit log."

I blindly hate anything and everything I write so i can never tell if it's any good or not

>>3700084
you come into my house, give no one else feedback, and expect your own?
eagerly refreshing no doubt

>>3700107
the entire thread is poetry despite the op and I can safely say I know nothing about that so I didn't critique it.

She was snoring again, and this time the shuddering of her nostrils were not fake. There would be no awakening this time, no perchance intervention. He peeled the bedclothes back, fingers trembling and threatening to send ripples of incriminating fear onto her bosom. Her hair fell softly to one side and hung lamely over the bedside. The sight of her bare navel tempered his courage, and he drove on. Unseaming her from just beside her belly button, he revealed her internal organs to the air for the first time. The scent both aroused and nauseated, and the sight of the bodily fluids bubbling and coagulating in the air accentuated this. Still, he had a dream to fulfill. He squatted over this new orifice, pleased to be actualizing his desires. She was oblivious to both her mutilation and his naked scrotum hanging just a foot above her, still in the throes of an endless sleep. Finally he began. Squelching first, the feces came sliding down his small intestine. It reached his rectum after a minute's suspense, and he felt his arousal heighten. At last his child slid out. A perfect, 10 inch turd slid into the hole in her stomach and sat cosily between what looked to be two vital organs wrapped around each other. He patted it lovingly into place, as both bile and blood bathed his creation, and he saw some of the feces break off in the surrounding blood and be carried off into the unknown frontiers of her body. Soon he would be all over her. He swallowed the saliva that had built up in his mouth, and sutured the wound up. Sweeping the hair back under her pillow, he left her there in the night, unknowingly tampered.

The next morning she arrived at the breakfast table. "I feel a most unusual sickness in my abdomen, father," she said.

>>3700615
oh my good fucking lord what

>>3700615
You can always count on a degenerate for a fancy prose style.

10/10 submit to the New Yorker ASAP.

>>3700615
Please be an accomplished author. Simply fantastic.

>>3700615
i don't even have an appropriate reaction image

>>3699951

And >>3699962 feels like an emotionally unstable chubby autists attempt at literary criticism.

>>3700615
Disturbing, yet genuisly so

The Doctor slips inside and pulls shut curtains
Smile yellowing
And fumbles small-talk at my jagged chart.
Yes, that'll need surgery, donated calmly
Eyes have to go. Very brave.
You don't need both kidneys or most of your skin
And your lungs would fit this smoking Lord nicely.
Dave-On-The-Telly says no to your blood -
Turns out beggars can be choosers on BUPA -
And we're only taking blood from celibate (but heterosexual)
Male Protestant euroskeptic Tory voters.
We'd prefer asexuals if you have any.
We'll let you get "married" - but don't you dare save lives, faggot.

The flower bowed to the image of the sun,
other days it would have looked up
but not this day.

Today was a day of bowing
precisely because it had stood tall
for the pride it had held as it flowered
was a mere cover for weakness.

Despair.
How could it want to be
what it had always been,
now that it knew what it was.

Eternally dying in despair
of being.
Forever dying,
never dead.

Excerpt from a novel I'm working on:

Monstrous spanks echo in the dead of night; basso farts rumble insolently in the Gothic mansion; and, poised on top of the highest tower, Peter's anus spits liquid shit at the stelliferous Texas sky. The whole fete is an otiose turpitude against the Gods.
''God is Dead,'' says Mary, pissing in her wine glass. ''So's Nietzsche...'' They have seen the Crusaders in their dreams, burly men encased in silver, galloping divinely toward the mansion; they know that a battle is inevitable. Peter walks into the room nakedly, his buttocks stained brown with asswater, and thrusts his gnomic cock in Mary's mouth, effectively ending her philosophical pontification. A young man ecstatically stripes a wall with feces. He proclaims himself the modern Rothko, the modern prophet.
Fifty or so sexagenarian prostitutes, attired like the Romans of yore, pop into the room and readily soak everything in sparkling vaginal juice. But our darling heathens must act more swiftly still, for the Crusaders are already near. The hooves of their horses shake the ground and the warsome cries of their masters swell in the impenetrable darkness outside. Peter and Mary must act quickly.
''I have an idea,'' Peter tells Mary. He slaps (sssssssMACK!!!!!) his mastodonic penis, thereby gaining the attention of the partiers and accidentally knocking a blonde woman unconscious with the unfortified (for Peter is Jewish) tip of it. ''We must intensify the revelry, the degeneracy, the speed of our actions.'' The fucking, shitting and pissing reaches such a pitch of rapidity that our noble heathens melt into the Great Wazoo. The Great Wazoo outgrows and obliterates the brittle mansion. The crusaders, riding out of the forest, come face to ass with the Grand Wazoo. It ejaculates a sea of warm shit, under which the crusaders drown in a cacophony of muffled cries.

>>3700928
You're doing depravity wrong.

Nobody likes me, everybody hates me
For that I blame no one
I wish I could fight in the valley,
With hand grenade and gun
Then speak calmly over dinner, of all the men I've killed
To be a part of history
And have my hollow life filled

English is such a simple language
Así que ahora cantaré en español
Gringo maldito, si lees a Bolaño
en una burda traducción,
mejor suicídate y se parte de
la metaficción

>>3698090
With the sail unfurling
Let the ship be free
I will drag you down
You will be steeped in place
Your freemdom will forever ride the sail
I will hold you tight though
Let the lives above you fail

Len's left leg was crossed over his right and he rested his cheek over onto his fist which propped his lazy head up. His facial expressions were shifting every three seconds into more and more ridiculous and childish forms. One moment his cheeks would be sucked between his teeth as his lips pursed comically outward and his eyes buldged like a fish, and the next his nose would scrunch up in outward disgust for all to see and he'd mime with his thumb over to the rotund man sitting next to him as if the guy had released a heavy row of flatuence. Not content with the level of immaturity he was thus far presenting, he removed his cheek from its pedestal and shoved his fingers into both sides of his mouth and pulled at its sides until all his teeth were bared ahead of him and began quickly snapping his chompers up and down in rapid succession as if he were a large-mawed beaver futilely trying to make its way through a tree too big for him to bite down upon. His wide eyes darted left to right in a cartoonish display of confusion.

"Mr. Len?" A nurse called out from behind the waiting room counter.

Len, with his teeth still bared ravenously, made the gesture of perking up his ears at the call of his name and animatedly turned his head at the nurse; who at the sight of his chaotic visage widened her eyes in bewilderment and stated with reproach that he was cleared for visitor access. He returned his face to normality and turned his view back to the small moonfaced red-headed girl who couldn't have been any older than four. Her sparkling tears of sadness and possible loss had finally subsided and she was now smiling with vivid joy and did her best to imitate Len's catalogue of funny faces. Sticking his tongue out at her one last time, he rose to his feet, walked out of the waiting room, and--with his hands shoved deeply into his pockets and walking on with a slight forward hunch--made his way down the hallways of sterile smelling death and black body bags of the deceased.

>>3700955
Doesnt strike me as hateful as it does just sad.

>>3701046
Not really a short story or flash fiction but the intro to one of my novel's chapters.
Still shitty though, so I think it applies.

>>3700928
Galloping divinely walkign nakedly, wTf? It seems you tried to replace as many words as possible using the thesaurus in those few sentences, you need to find a balance.

Len's left leg was crossed over his right. His cheek rested onto his fist which propped up his lazy head while his facial expressions were shifting every three seconds into more and more ridiculous and childish forms. One moment his cheeks would be sucked between his teeth as his lips pursed comically outward and his eyes buldged like a fish, and the next his nose would scrunch up in outward disgust for all to see and he'd mime with his thumb over to the rotund man sitting next to him as if the guy had released a heavy row of flatuence. Not content with the level of immaturity he was thus far presenting, he removed his cheek from its pedestal and shoved his fingers into both sides of his mouth and pulled at its sides until all his teeth were bared ahead of him and began quickly snapping his chompers up and down in rapid succession as if he were a large-mawed beaver futilely trying to make its way through a tree too big for him to bite down upon. His wide eyes darted left to right in a cartoonish display of confusion.

"Mr. Len?" A nurse called out from behind the waiting room counter.

Len, with his teeth still bared ravenously, made the gesture of perking up his ears at the call of his name and animatedly turned his head at the nurse; who at the sight of his chaotic visage widened her eyes in bewilderment and stated with reproach that he was cleared for visitor access. He returned his face to normality and turned his view back to the small moonfaced red-headed girl who couldn't have been any older than four. Her sparkling tears of sadness and possible loss had finally subsided and she was now smiling with vivid joy and did her best to imitate Len's catalogue of funny faces. Sticking his tongue out at her one last time, he rose to his feet, walked out of the waiting room, and--with his hands shoved deeply into his pockets and walking on with a slight forward hunch--made his way down the hallways of sterile smelling death and black body bags of the deceased.

>>3701077
Not really a short story or flash fiction but the intro to one of my novel's chapters.
Still shitty though, so I think it applies.

>>3701078
>>3701046

eh?

Here's some useless Haiku that I came up with.


----
Swollen circus tent
Amidst Arizona sands
Fleeing clowns lie scorched
-----
Speaking through cold hush
Frost bitten hand in pocket
Embers glow within
------
Well of life he shares
Stirring and soiled I sit
Unable to drink


Haiku is great for people who write shit poetry,
though I do love the form. Anyone care to share more?

>>3701093
I deleted the original post and adjusted the first sentence so it wasn't so fucking run-on and shit.

The end of the world is an intimate event
Seeing entropy, like a lover, from within.
All you need is the right place to stand.
Let’s sit under a table and compare eschatologies.
We find ourselves trombone-tongued when it comes
Screaming up the Aire from the south
And it washes away the old men fishing,
But leaves us behind for a river’s reasons.

We melt from our hiding places once the noise stops
And the angels stop pouring out jars, go on break.
We think the worst has passed until Gabriel
Finishes his ciggie and rolls up his sleeves.

This end began in London, of course, but left it alone;
The people there are too important for consequences.
We’re all in this together

>>3701096
Ah, fair enough.

>>3700615
Goddamn.. I want to hate it but there's something of a Bataille quality about it, disgusting

He was never the same after that weekend
Of stammering in a hospital bed.
Was there blood on the brain?
Is it traumatic repercussion or slow neural erosion?
He used to be an engineer and now he leaves
Bananas in his pocket to go off and leak
Saccharine regrets of a dying mind

And so much he shouldn’t have survived.
Tuberculosis before real medicine,
A year in a sanatorium (not a hospital)
Where you had nothing to do but tell stories
And hope the dice were kind.

His heart rebelled in my third week
(Before my first hairs; now see my knuckles)
And then again a few years later
Until a stent pulled him back. He wouldn’t dare
Die; he was too scared of his wife.
And what about her? What’ll she do now
With the ashes?

“I’ll trade him for a kitten” she’d laugh at dropped cups
Which always upset little Katie
But now I’d welcome a furry reincarnation.
We’ll call him Francis and put his bed on a stack
Of Gilbert and Sullivan cassettes.

>>3700615
Did she died?

>>3700615
I feel sick.

Sketch made of stars,
the Human in me,
with clear and soft sky;
groom of a soul, fear,
and false light.

His dark and shadowly smile,
a Satyr in me,
purple, crimson serenity;
whispering, dancing,
just being.

A subconscious passage,
the Limbo outside him,
hazel, silver maybe;
a two moon nightscape,
forest of deaf trees.

Pain and laughter,
the Duality off me,
yet satyr, yet humanity;
will murder, again,
what I used to be.


thank you Nietzsche (it was hard writing this, I'm a native spanish speaker)

I'm so lonely
i got a boney
under my covers
i like to pretend im a lover
with my right hand
ill remove the sand
from your vagina
baby

>>3701426

what if i dont have a vagina

I’m chewing on a piece of bacon right now.
There’s little bits falling from my mouth and landing in the carpet.
I can’t tell if I think it’s disgusting or not.
I wish I was someone else.

my life goes as follow
it begins and it ends
i feel no regret or sorrow
in this new years eve

drinkers and tramps
come together in joy
fire away those lamps
and burn them to the ground

=J

Your words cut through me at my request.
I ask you to insult me and you do
Instead of telling me to have hope.
Yet you say you love me?

>>3701426
HIlarious, top lel

>>3701709
No regret and no sorrow would have been better, as long as you put a comma after ends

In it's drunken sleep
I will stroke unnaturally smooth legs
and in sober sleep
I will dream of your smooth skin
and the difference is hard to point
and impossible to feel
and in drunken stupor we can be
smooth

An Aztec pyramid is not wheelchair friendly
and does not allow all to speak to god
Maybe in the cold but covered heavens
a God will beg - "Fat or stupid, it has no base"

Every crack knows that peeped secret
over a metallic snap

>>3698997
the fuck did i read?

to walk, to walk, to walk.
what lie will be stirred up now?
I make amazing poems.
hehe

Stolid abrasive cunt
Unshaven, stolid, abrasive cunt
Superlative dijk
Of Northumberland:
Holy Christfuck!

Handball Suarez got it big time
With his digits
And now his gob
Racist to boot
Pinches Negros!

John Terry as well
Dodgy bigot
Footy Footy diggle
His piddle
Spurts gratuitously

Dicks Dicks Dicks Dicks
Regressive, undulating
Perspicacious Dicks
A bag of them
Swallowing up the best
Of Liam Neeson's elk-smooth voice
As I gametize the front page
Of People Magazine

Never tighter a slaughter weened!
This Dick! This sW0rd!
This MASSIVE PEEN!

(We really ought to have vocaroo or whatever dramatic-ass readings of whatever poem in the thread strikes y'r fancies most, and such.)

>>3703136
u da best maygne! U DIID EET!

>>3698090
Fuck you and your titties of destruction!
I hope you die and turn to stone.
I hope the wind picks you up and throws you into a volcano
I hope you are eaten by sharks

>>3698135
I really like this
Like, REALLY like this
Like really, I mean it
This:
I LIKE THIS

servus servus servus
here we gone wound the bickering bear
here we gone wound the bickering bear
here we gone wound the bicking bear
At 4 o' chan clock in the morning
OmmmmnOmmmmNommmm

This how the world ends
Not with Wonton Soup
but a swisher
after I brringdingding yo' girlfriend

NOTHUNG!

(so goddamn melancholy itt, more humor goddamnit!)

If there's somewhere to discover
a baby, I'll be its mother
a walk in the summer
a moment of calm in the bluster

It can overcome you
and leave you all flustered
but if you get through it
then you'll have prospered

these are the moments worth living
this is the time worth giving
I gave you a couple words
those are only two verbs

but I hope that they mean something

>>3701095
talent you have not
see guys, I am pretentious
now I'm in the c/l/ub

A new bridge burnt
The crossing over the river styx and into an ephermeral
Un touched realm of reality
When all walls come crashing down
And you are forced to look at your reflective gaze
Cast back at you
Those tears falling into the water
Meant nothing more
Than a touch on the heart

>>3703299
humorless cunt!

>Oh /lit/, you're really shit,
>Your stories are conceded,
>And your taste? Childish.

I don't know why
I seek your approval
You're kind of a dick
You took my bitch
And yet, I try to befriend you
For God knows why.
Also, please stop telling me about how you fuck her every other day.

There once was a moronic pleb
Who quite liked to call himself "Lev"
He liked to browse /lit/
Although he wrote shit
At his sanity this would ebb

... I suck more than I thought.

You speak to me from a distance,
Yet you seem to close.
You speak words of encouragement,
But your presence is unnerving.

Am I real and you fake?
Or am I fake and you real?
Who is in control of this crowded vessel?

But this is not the deal,
You drive
I direct
Don't worry about who is real.

>>3698252
not sure what this is about

>>3698259
neat idea no writing

>>3698336
clear and gonorrhea are intriguing

>>3698370
bad

>>3698392
not bad

>>3698394
imagery but no flow

>>3698407
well done, could use one more rhyme

>>3698434
didn't really convey anything to me, bad last line

>>3698476
preachy but not terribly done

>>3698482
be more British

>>3698485
cute

>>3698491
underlining*? neurosis and neurotic is more repetitive than it is wordplay but I liked it

>>3698583
oh you want to go there

I'm a walking contradiction with an affliction of a condition of addiction for lyrical diction
shut up and listen

dead serious, you hearin this
delerious experience
a myriad of tyrranous
appearances the lyricist
mysterious with spirit bitch
got pyramids of clearances
I'm steerin this shit period

/mic

I saw a dog with bleeding gums
And pearly foam on its lips
The thundering of lamb-skin drums
Is calling horrors from the deep
My shipmate ate his own left hand
And gnawed on bones till they were dust
I saw a dog and was prepared
For god is death and death is just

Hang and sway
as the falling feather
drifts
a w a y

captcha: asorypr 1900

Online conversations are like games of chess
I study strategies, develop my knowledge
every day I have partners to engage with
they' play by the rules, every move is understood

there is one
they do not play by the rules
they do not respond to correct strategy
always their timer runs down and I am left waiting

sometimes I try to study their tactics, their thought
get into their
head
understand

I play against the rules and the games become twisted
I do not respond to their strategy, they seen befallen
victory is ever closer, their responses become familiar
the timer runs
down

She is the ultimate puzzle, unsolved riddle
She never finishes a game, yet I am always left at a loss
She does not follow the rules, and yet they follow her
She never wants to play, yet is startled at every farewell

I cannot stop playing, the game consumes
I continue to study, theorise, hypothesise
There will be no passage until this riddle has been solved
Perhaps one day I will mate her

i'm drunk too, i apologise; bear with my lame poetry

love words;

There’s something of the dust in you

The taste of factory pipes
The smell of city wastes

Something

Ferns and concrete
Coal flakes on the skin

Something of the dust in you
A lamppost to the sky
The only tree of the city
She said ‘We should leave the city’
I said ‘We should leave the city’
It was raining the next day.
She said ‘There’s something about the city’
I said ‘There’s something about the city’
The weather was overcast that day
A woman stood on the bridge
Looking down the river
Windswept
She fell
Once there was a big carousel
With wooden horses electric lights and spinning chairs
In the middle of the park around naked trees
The chairs never once spun
Outside the school there would be large fences
After class we would lie against the fences a long time
And watch and talk and laugh and go back to our houses

I want you to feel me like a drawer of knives
Filled with your paranoid delusions
of whispers blowing through your hair
and demons crawling in your skin

I want you to save my toe clippings
shave my hair
bottle my breath
and lick the dead skin from underneath my feet.

I want you to look at me
your face scrunched ready to roar
- your nose scrunched, your eyes bloodshot
and your hand clenched.

>>3703602
first line was good, 3rd line was ok

It' 9 am - again
and I'm drinking coffee in the second act
tellin friends on skype that I'm good like its a known fact
all I can see is the blurry lines around jack
and still wondering when the depths of my lungs will turn black

not like downstairs
I don't equivocate my abuse to my number of chest hairs (notmuch)


is it a downhill struggle?
am i discontent at merely being a muggle?
I'm writing rhymes when I could be a-snuggled

shell

dreaming abut situations that will never come to avail
or about that chick who used to give me tail
while in this state
but never about the parts while I'm writing this late

consider it fate that this lonely washed up shape
be a mess buy what he thought was his soul mate

>>3703617
>muggle
stop

>>3700615

10/10

Spilled some of my coffee.

>>3703610
Thanks bud. It is hard to write anything at 3 in the morning that is any good at all

Betrayal running beneath my gasp
I breath for air continuously until I feel what is right
No need to lie truth is all I needed
but it was a different outcome from the one I needed
I lay in disbelief as the truth would never come
Lies can be easy but when the moment of truth comes in hand it's not easy facing the fact

>>3700615

Damn, what. 10/10 prose, 10/10 oh god what is happening material.

>>3700615
Lord Sade has risen please continue.

>>3700615
I feel like i was actively violated

The thought that you not listening to music could have had something to do with the mood you were in that night didn't cross your mind because that night you weren't in the introspective mood which you find yourself in now. Your left hand is resting in your pocket holding your phone waiting for it to vibrate so you can take it out and check what made it vibrate. In particular you're not paying attention to anything. Your eyes are unstrained; knocking through buildings and people. You look at your Casio on a spasmodic basis while you wait so people know you're waiting. You don't want people to think you're just standing there not waiting, that wouldn't be normal, and people shouldn't think you're not normal. People should think you're an incomparable and irreplaceable individual and by checking your Casio regularly while you stand there they'll drift further towards that idea. You take out one cigarette and smoke it, and when you're done with it you look In your jacket for gum. You would of asked yourself why you continue to continue smoking, but that night you didn't due to the absence of an introspective mood. You want a lot of things, you want a lot more things.

The cosmonautian cannabis grew out of the ruttyholes of walls and the wallyruts of floors and in the crackycracks of the vertebrae of the non-believers of the world. In the atrium of the heart of the word the seismologicologistical leaders of leads gathered, discussed, and ramblytalked the ground to sleep. Rivers of rivers cried and skies splintered into crammyhooks of clouds. Ideas grew out of buds of thoughtrees and roots arcing back to the renaissance reconnaissance branched into unexlopred territories of the inner workings of the mind of things that could be and the memories of things that never were. Boundaries shifted and the mortal coil of life uncoiled into a tangled mess of life, being, and the unreal. Everything merged together and together merged with everything as nothing consumated with everything and produced its offspring of something. Things died, lived, and lived and died at the same time .:. resistance shifted :. shifts resisted .: stance reshifted and restance hifted and lifted and shrugged and every.:.thing collapsed in on itself it's back to front insides and outsides. Boundaries became obstacles over which the immovable jumped and daytime went to sleep. Time was busy elsewhere as faceclocks and clockfaces echoed the threat of the immemorial. Time stopped its aching and retted hands from moving and arms grew tired and wearysome and stiff as the heads of armclocks rested still and stationary, and a tad confused. Confused and abused and used and fused solid like a thousand souls of dead men and headeads deadheads and bodydeads and the rotting corpses of newlyweds.
Enter stage front centre-back and off to both sides, Seargent Lefteelius Monk, of the Left Heel of the Law. Oblivious to it all and tumbling into oblivion with a smile on his face of faces.
And at the end of it all, life rumblytumps and tumblythumps on.

As Theodore Belt strolled in the sun-drenched park, a thought occurred to him: 'I am aroused'. Indeed, the unmistakable throb below his overhanging beer-gut, that second heart beating and pumping faster as he took each step towards the animated playground, commandeered his conscience. It must have been the pleasing sensation of naked skin's friction against greasy over-sized trench-coat that activated the state of arousal. Without a second thought, Theodore took shelter beneath a phallus-shaped oak tree, inconspicuously located behind the playground's rusty barriers. The familiar sight, sound and smell of children soaked in sweat reached out to his flaring nostril. He voraciously inhaled the sweet, mildly pungent aroma, which transmogrified his previously limp shrimp of a penis into the hardest object in the vicinity, the barrier's metallic bars included. Spotting an angelic, Aryan boy swinging in the air, he began to slowly massage his man-part through his conveniently-placed pocket hole. "Swing, my little monkey, swing with your little butt cheeks pointed to the heavens" he murmured, as he began panting in delight. In an explosive flurry of cosmic indulgence, the fabric around his groan darkened, spreading in a flower-shaped aura. "The deed is done", he thought, out of breath. Suddenly disgusted by the sight of the stupid little brat, he walked back home, feeling the warm, moist man-sap trickling down his legs and into unto his Birckenstock sandals.

I wrote this in about 5 seconds.

>Halting Quiet

Blue is red,
Red is blue,
So I’m fed,
That I should bend to you.
Give and take
Throw and catch
It must be good,
To think I’m best.
Willows weep,
Cats cry,
Oh why oh why,
Must I lie?
Clouds laze,
Urchins laugh,
Life is a maze,
Unless you’re daft
Is it me?
Is it you?
Who’s to say, it isn’t new?
What do you see?
Why must I pretend to know?
When all your answers,
Are truer than mine,
Even if they’re less thorough

>>3701077
Bumping.

I went to the store once and bought some milk.
But I found out it was soy and died a little inside.

Now I'm dead.

no one seems to care what i write
i feel dead already

I only want to fuck an actress,
That is the one want I need;
A woman with pounds of excess
And only the weight of Shakespeare to breed.

Womb bare, life fleeting, beasts heaving,
Her legs are like porcelain, broke,
But her persona is bare, undeceiving.
Through her the Bard's truth is spoken

Without filtration, pollution, or fear.
She is an unspotted stream!
Cordelia's purity is near
And I cannot touch it, in this dream.

>>3704874
Get this shit published. Now.

>>3701101
I love you for using the word eschatologies friend.

"Good morning!" said the
dog. He disappeared in a
thin, greenish vapour.

I ate a whole bag of nails
it was trite and pointless but they tasted good.

I wondered if she saw me eat those nails.
They hurt as they went down my throat.

I mean, I was coughing up blood,
how could she not see me?

Maybe she'll be impressed.
I mean, what kind of great man doesn't eat nails?

Not poetry, but I wrote this last night while drunk as I'm keeping a notepad full of my drunken thoughts:

I've never made the decision to stop drinking whilst actually drinking, because despite the sunny prospect of finally getting and staying sober and making this drink my last that would contrarily make it the saddest drink in the world. It'd be like saying goodbye forever to the love of your life whilst making love to her. No, the decision always comes the day after when I feel my bruised legs and taste my dry, lemon chiffon tongue; when I peel myself off the lounge that was the grave of last night and is the cradle of today; when I look at myself in the mirror slick with yesterday's grease and what I see is something so loathsome but I've deadened my emotions with drink so much that I can't even hate myself. It's in these times of acute self analysis that it feels good to say that this is the last time I will ever see this haggard caricature of myself but there's always a nagging hollowness in it because no-one knows better than me just how full of shit I really am.

It's tritely worded, but there it is.

>>3700627
>>3700753
>>3701147
>>3703848

Was it something I said? Jeez, I didn't think it was that indecent.

inb4 no response

Blazing catharsis
Ice-cold cleansing
Quest for the bonfire
Beneath the colossus

Bringer of the dawn
Bearer of light
Brilliant betrayer
Burn to be reborn

Brittle bone to dust
Brain like a bonfire
Leyline of failure
Leave but a carcass

>>3705063
Question. Where did you study and what made you write this particular piece?

>>3705253
I am a buttflustered Irish teen who is in school. I was impressed at what I thought was the most depraved thought I'd ever had, and wanted to write it out. Just to see if I could make something of it.

>>3705352
I am a buttflustered English teen who is school. I also write depraved shit. It's nice to meet you.

I find culture in general to be a vile thing
Do you
Do you see my problem?
Do you
Do you see my agaony?

Projecting despondent stares.
Begging to be approached,
Begging to be alone.
Which will they decide?
To let you wallow in self pity or to illuminate you with pseudo-happiness.
Today,
It was both.

I wrote this for a stream of consciousness thread earlier

Slipping sideways on the sidewalk
pass! pass! pass!
my eye sides hurt
Where are you going?
My teeth feels smaller; I should eat less
What's that hissing whine is it the television?
I've left the bathtub on I know it
John Muir, where'd you go?
are those footsteps or is the freezer making ice?
is my vision prescription up to date it's fuzzy lately
I left the sink on! damn!
I'll take on the extrovert
good god I've left the fan on
my blog followers will crush the king
who the hell has a home phone
I can't shake the feeling
That I've forgotten something

between poles, invisible wire, and me
walking along, balancing, trying to find
you, and how i can better know you,
and how you can better know me.

I'm never writing a poem ever again.
...
Oh, fucking hell.

When I finish this one I'll go to sleep
Whether it's pointless or not I still want to try
the dog makes it worthwhile
I'm done now
time to pour another

inhibited by me
inhabited by them
with
out

Lights are on
It's an upright uptight world
Beautiful bars keep me yearning
But nothing keeps me searching.

Fucking bread
Shit on a Niggers
Anus
So they all say

So much depends upon
A red wheel barrow
Glazed with rain water
Beside the white chickens

tendrils of a cold salty breeze,
up her fair thigh,and over
the soft magenta of her vulva,
briskly,
pressure point,
vibrant coiling of nerves.
alas our hint of woe is common;
every day some sailor's wife lets off
log after log of auburn shit,
right into the ocean,
ass perched over the deck like some
shameless
fattened
seagull.
"please be careful dear, you'll fall in"
he tells her as she springs back on her feet,
sphincter forced shut--a guillotine intersecting a gigantic turd's slow journey, cutting it in half.
with her thumb she pushes its remains back into her asshole and ponderously
sniffs her fingers.
"Oh but with all the infections that the sun
sucks up; you continue to plague me so!"
imploringly now:
"Please dear, I love you"
and by the clench of an invisible claw,
the corners of her mouth are dragged towards
her temples, into the distort of a cruel grin,
and she kneels, eyeing him still, extending first her hand,
thumbs up, brown tipped, and then into
her cunt, shit mixing with menstrual blood.
waves crash against the hull
and she cries out
"Vouchsafe my prayer!", smashing her head against
the ship's floorboards, again, and again
and again
and again
and again.

roses are red
/lit/ is dead
shitposting /pol/
has taken its toll

>>3706481

Write you own poem asshole.

sorry for making mine really good OP, i didn't read the instructions

>>3698090
>making art when drukn
?you foop

>I aint drunk
>I just been drinkin'

a poem by satan.

>>3706547
very pure.

>>3706531

That's a really haunting poem!
A haunting requires ghosts,
or sailor's wives shoving shit inside
their minge!
My exclamation marks are way out of line!

Why do English speakers think they don't have to respect meter count or make rhymes? For all I know you're just typing drivel and hitting the enter key repeatedly.

I like big butts.

No wait, I'm lying to you. Big butts are probably my largest enemy behind enemas.

Zing! That's a joke, see. I got a million and twelve and that's without snorting coke, see.

I got my heroes. Hunter S. Thompson hunting elephants for ivory. Got Orwell's coattails dying to see the irony.

This ain't rap. This is a pap smear going down on Americans who twice clapped...

That's a joke for /v/. See, joking again. This catharsis is better than friends.

>>3706577

lel, why do i feel this niggrs talking to me

>meter count
>rhyming

i refer you to William Leonard Roberts II, if you're still looking for those sorts of poems in this 150th year of our great Ford.

>>3706588
>bnw joke
>trying to excuse laziness
you're lame as hell, satan, and incredibly annoying at that
i used to respect you for the night of 100 deep&edgies but now you're only a shadow of mid-/lit/ that needs to go and make room for better tripfags such as tallis

>>3706591

i'm awesome

>>3706591

Stan is the reason I come to this board.

>>3706602
put your trip on, stan

>>3706591

I think that was a Rick Ross joke.

>>3706608

no dumbass he means the ford part, bnw is awesome, and he's just some cunt who cant poem like me

>>3706603

hrhrhr make me faggot

>>3706603

But I'm not Stan.

>>3706614

yeah you are

>>3706609
>hrhrhr make me faggot
you just did. see? that was easy

>>3706614
of course you're not, stan

>>3706614
we are all stan

>>3706618

Ok? You still haven't told me how to join the Stan horde.

>>3706621
>>3706622

stop derailing the thread or else /lit/ will have a period at me and i'll like, drown or some shit.
revert to that useless video game thread for le instructions

>>3706531

I just re-read Tempest the other day. Am I the only one who caught the Shakespeare reference?

As the last person who wrote a shit poem in this shit poem thread (and, therefore, as the last person who deserves to post in it) I declare this thread derailed and fucking SHIT.

>>3706640

idk, are you?

vis
a visavis
a vis
a visisia
via a vis avisav
svisisiav vis avis

>>3706661

nice
nicens, en nicnes nice (Think Italy)

>>3698171
clever conversion of the fifth sentence into an anagram. And in a separate language than originally used.

i'm awesome

>>3698392
You have self esteem issues. Get off of the internet and get yourself together. Do what you have to resuscitate yourself, but don't waste any more time and energy on these things that do nothing but hold you back.

>>3706669

lel, that was fast. that pic goes in btw

>>3706669
What part of Eastern Europe are your parents/grandparents from exactly? I can't distinguish if the Albania thing is a joke or not

Let me dump my shitty feels free form poetry while I procrastinate harmonizing my 16-bar bach-style composition due tomorrow

I recommend you a movie, some profound music I love
You respond in kind, but only in short
No longer do you unwind
I'm not sure if it's the language barrier, or just you living your life
But I want you to know I've encountered much strife
And that you were different, you were something new
It was what I felt and somehow knew
But I guess time creates a veil
Of memory and momentum
I could never say this to you, at least not not in person
God I hope I will see you again, and I hope you'll listen
But please just tell me something at least once
Let me know it wasn't one-sided, because that short time meant the world to me
And ever since the world has seemed different to me

Another short one

You're tired
I guess you've had a threesome
That's nice, got me wired
You've got me on the low end of the seesaw
It's great to speak to you
I hope you know
That when I speak to you
I simply go and out flow
The words
From my heart no less
I mean everything I tell you and then some
I wonder if you understand

And a haiku for shits and gigs

Bach was a genius
And his methods were sublime
But fuck this project

>>3706676

>anon asks for poetry critique
>posts psychological evaluation

you're doing it wrong m9 (mnine)

mfw

>>3706681

Holland

>>3705765
I dig *snapsnap*

>>3706687
2spooky

>>3706689
Stan have you recruted new members or are you just going hard?

>>3706689

i know right

>>3706683

>>3706692
sup goats

this one >>3706694 strikes me as odd

Zeta is Serepta. Only other Stirnerfag edgy enough apart from Stan.

>>3706696

i wanna be the wildcard. can i be the wildcard?

>>3706696
but that's me

I know not the oaks,
the willows,
The birds in them.
But they might know me,
for the man who walks alone at 4am.
Who cries on a bench,
and smokes a cigarette,
illegally.
But they might know me as a wily artist,
who scribbles in crayon.
And ooooooo's at girls,
and talks about those others cannot see.
for many of those birds die in my life,
And I forget their trills, their eddies,
And I forget the child they remember.

and many of the trees live longer than I,
So I might be a babe in their sight,
which is what I wish to be.
While I must,
Until I must not.

>>3706697

dude, it's just me samefagging

>>3706699
no, i'm the wild card

IT's 'HAPPENING'.

>>3706702

le liar

>>3706713
But I am goats

>>3706697
its true

It is 3:39 AM,
and I lie on my couch,
Because my father is staying over,
And he has a bad back.
My back is equally bad,
but he is older,
and has priority.
I put mylar on my windows,
To keep sound out and heat in,
but now I am cold,
and it is loud,
and planes seem to always be crashing,
So I stay awake,
And do more than I do by day.

>>3706713

yea you gotta watch out for goats...i'm pretty sure he's the wildcard.

anyway, i'm fucking off to watch game of thrones, i le dvr it, i heard this episode dany gives her self cunnilingus

>>3706715
Actually, i'm goats.
Wily Coygoats.

>>3706719
hrhr will the real goats pls stand up

>>3706719
Call me Bluegoats of the Fellowship of Being Goats

>>3706718

cheers m8

>>3706718
>>3706724
cheers

ITT: tripfags samefag and call themselves goats.

>>3706718
>>3706724
>>3706725
breakfast time here, until irc friends

>>3706718
>>3706724
>>3706725
"CHEERS"

>>3706728

He's reached a critical stage in his life.

>>3706728
Cut me some slack man
I came for the poetry
And then this happened

>>3706728
Hey, I just made that one joke.
I've contributed some to this thread.
satan, on the other hand...
What even.

>>3706725
>>3706729
>>3706732
Bye. :-)

I tried to write a poem,
but it was shit,
so I deleted it.
Then, I sat back,
and thought of all the great men and women,
who were great at the age of 19,
while I sat on my ass,
and wallowed.
There are people who could die,
right now,
people younger than me,
and would be remember past my own death.
And I'm okay with that,
because I do not care.
Who the fuck am I kidding,
I care more than I like.

Sparkling around me are the cuckoo bells,
which blossom and stare into my heart.
In the corner of the room, a body smells,
I do believe it reaks of a lemon tart.

And as I grow older, the wheelchair wheels closer,
and I dread to stand, tread away in the far,
for one day they'll quit, my legs will give up.
I'll fall face first in the bubbling tar.

>this thread

2deep4me

y'all need to be more direct.

I knew it wasn't mine. And I knew it was kind of rude. But I opened the box.

I remember how it all started. A thread on 4chan. My friend was making this stupid thread about what was in his box. I thought it was pretty fucking gay, and just watched T.V. while he laid on his bed, clicking away on his lap top and laughing to himself.

"Hey bro," he called out to me, "I'm going to Taco Bell. Watch my box."

"Err," I said, "Is it going to do anything?"

He just laughed and grabbed his jacket. Moments later he was gone.

I approached the box. I watched it carefully. I knew there was something inside that I probably wasn't supposed to see. If it weren't meant to be private... my friend would have opened it by now.

I couldn't help myself. I opened it anyway. There was a woman inside. A real life, breathing, woman.

More than that. It was movie actress Emma Stone.

As soon as the box was opened, she leaped out in a panic.

"Oh Gangsta Squad," Emma Stone cried, "You are so manly!"

I knew it was true, but that didn't stop me from having my way with her. From sliding the bottom of her red dress up to reveal that milky white ass.

"Hmph," I grunted, mildly amused, "No panties."

"No. Never," she said in a hushed prayer.

I smacked that milky white until it was as red as her dress.

"Do you like being smacked red by the Gangsta Squad ma'am? Do you like it when I turn your butt cheeks into dirty tomatoes?"

"YES!" Emma Stone screamed, "YES, IM A TOMATO!"

And then she actually transformed to a tomato and the whole situation was just kind of perplexing.

Oh woe! How the momentary reprieve
of scant alliterative instances, inseparably
as it were from the folly of night scented
of o-zone and blunt smoke, aid so little
ultimately in the illumination of alternatives
to these minuscule mindsets. (I think
I'll make some coffee and take a walk.)

I thought I broke the mold,
with philosophies untold.
the truth, in essense,
was mental pubescence.
Yes. I was rick-rolled.

It wants
To spank
The Ah
Vocado