/lit/ - Literature

I've been wanting to see what you guys think about this one for a while, so here it is:

An inhuman passenger
leeched onto my sole
and gargled my blood.

Then, another came,
followed by two more,
until I had a new shoe.

Eventually, I craved
a bed of hot coals
to purge my foot.

So I laid one down
and set a searing gait,
leaving me scarred red.

Buzz buzzing the fly flies
buzzing in my ear, out of sight.
The wings flap, the air vibrates,
the eyes that don't wonder
wander into the doorframe.

The fly flies aimlessly
like an autonomous vacuum
or homeless man from Cleveland
whose nest was probably
the flying fly's home.

Sometimes I wander out of my bed to the window and look at the streets
And she says buried in the sheets I love you and I say I love you and we are connected by the contraption of words forged as chains in the parietal lobe 24/7
And then we are in silence and her turned-on growl reaches me when I crawl along the walls sexily hastily searching for lube and condoms
And then I drop them and stand still in the dim-unlight of a room we call ours and she asks me why did you do that and I ask her if she still wants to have sex with me and she doesn’t answer
So I pick them back and she growls again
We have sex like we live angrily hungrily without pause but the pauses we have to change position and fuck again ass mouth cunt cock and licked balls and shaved pubes that I know excite her so very much
Licking her clit we fuck and she moans and then I know she will gulp down every ounce and I get a raging pubescent erection like every time every fucking time and she comes and I come
We lay still and she cuddles like she does every time and I kiss her neck like every time before and after
And I roll away giving her my back she asks me what have I done are you angry and I stand up looking for the gin and she kinda starts crying like when you have watery eyes and sob sad sobs from the back of your throat and the post sex growl comes back why do you do that
But I knew she would have asked that and I know I’ll do something else and then she will react
If I go back to bed we will cuddle and make love again and she won’t remember and I won’t remember maybe in the glowing astral-industrial morning
If I stay still and look at her she will start screaming and sobbing and my heart will tear and we’ll remember what but not what and how and for what
If I go to the bathroom she will cry and I will puke and we’ll feel like shit but maybe we will make peace or maybe not but does it fucking matter in the end in the morning again
And the timelines are entwined and superimposed and dreadful in the inevitability of choice and standing here thinking I’m already choosing
And it doesn’t matter because what we’ll do will happen and it will have happened and it will be past and there’ll be a present and a thousand futures or maybe even more
And we’ll always do something and it will be just that no more no less
It will be and the rest won’t be while being in thought and oblivion
And we choose
We choose and keep choosing
Even if we don’t we do
And I go down and kiss her and cry and she asks why and I kiss her again and beg to go back to sleep
And we sleep surrounded by the screams and graves of the thousand us dead in the futures that are now past or present for the briefest split/second
And I know they’re there and I know she knows because it happens every damn time
Choosing oblivion we rest and suppress
Choosing oblivion we die and live
Choosing oblivion what is is and what isn’t isn’t but could have been
And please please please let me forget-

Live,
vile, evil veil;
live on the devil's silver
spotted liver and onions.
Shake the cool hand
of disaster's child:
misfortune:
the spouse of the last
of Death's sinful offspring:
pestilence.
Live as though
you're entirely unseen
by heaps of ignorance
and flesh and bone.
Free and prosperous
are not, the heaps:
the heaping masses.

So live like you
shan't die
nor cry.
Live like the future
is not terminal
and existence's existence
is permanent
(at least yours).

>>5290391
Like it, especially the syntax. The imagery is maybe a little stale, but gets the job done. May want to extend it though, it would work better as a longer work.

>>5290359
bad
>>5290367
bad
>>5290374
bad
>>5290391
poetaster

>>5290458
Well then, help us (my poem is the third) understand why, I'd be more than grateful.

>>5290458

constructive criticism is appreciated even among lesser recipients, bro

A thumbtack to the heart,
a momentary migraine,
suffocation in a hiccup.

Every few hours
my body sends a meager glimpse
of what's in store.

But smoke
is a fine pesticide.

And the weather is nice

just ask the mosquitoes.

>>5290339

A foot for every year

>>5290458
What is worse, a poetaster or bad?

>>5290583
Break this down, I can pull absolutely zero deeper meaning from this.

>>5290367
I like this one

winding along,
I find all that there is
or was

without a taste for tumult
or an ear devoid of emotion
in earnest

even if,
the road is paved with the silt
of sticky lilting phrases
following Status Quo

leaving all in front
locked to those yet to appear ahead

bump

Forsooth! And speak quickly.
Brevity is at h

>>5291194

funn-

>>5290374

I don't dislike it, but I can't help but think that you can condense it strongly so that it reads more like poetry and less like prose.

>>5291147

I'm sorry, but I find all that there is boring and vacuous.

>>5290583

The ephemeral aches are it, not a glimpse. My diagnosis: curable with subtlety and a focus on the bloodsucking insects. Think about what you're trying to convey, and then treat it like a secret you can only hint at, but with appropriate affect. Here you are too blatant for something that is hardly interesting in the first place. Try metonymy.

>>5290391

I enjoyed it overall, yet it needs something similar to twine; tie it together more tightly. For example: your last line seems a tad lazy.

>>5290359

I really enjoyed this, but the first line doesn't sound right. 'Inhuman' is too obvious considering you're literally talking about a leech and metaphorically about the ailments of the spirit, which are usually far too 'human,' or human caused, than should be acceptable. And 'passenger' simply has too many syllables, not to mention a connotation of consent (which you might be going for). Just a suggestion, but maybe try: "A cold-blooded soul" or "An esurient beast/force/creature." Anyway, just my two cents.

My hands are cracked
No brainpower can allow
Their animation to create

The arts of my fingers
have fallen through their course
and ended where they begun
without creation, and dull.

Uncertain swarths
of lively livestock
gladly yielded too,
to their mind.

(a)

That is to say:
they did what they do;
Which is to say:
they do what they did.

(e)

A lucky cricket
is caged within a cage
happily barred in
a Chinese bar inn.

(i)

Legless irony
is found at the hospital
where they invented
the iron knee.

(o)

I jest, however.
I plea and bargain, for:
I didn't do it judge;
I didn't do what I did.

(u)

Now, I vow, only with vowels,
in this consonant-less continent,
to not be a cricket amputee.
I swear to hop horribly free.

Part 2

These gods are cracked
No brainpower can allow the hands,
their animation, to create. Are

The arts dead or better
yet have fallen through than
beginning dull
without creation, as compared to other ones.

A painting
hung up so dry
and dreary, lifeless.
Many attempt with failure
to recreate that original sensation
of immaculate communication beyond
the common thought; No longer!
Art is dead.

We stand,
In this planet full of people.
With wolf like shadows,
Howling at the faces of moons,
Who grin,
And say “cheese”.
Taking our picture,
They leave imprints on our minds.
Imprints that serve us,
As reference points,
As bookmarks,
As creased pages.
That we can always turn back to.
And read,
Over
And over
Over
And over.
Words that keep us warm.
Words to live by.
Words to remember.
You are my creased page,
In this planet full of people.

In my mobile-home rots a possum
half in the toilet, half in the sink.
So when in Rome she pots a blossom,
determined not to spoil it, drain the pink.
And a stale taxidermist's business card
reminds me Grandma isn't really dead.
Romulus and Remus are of a canard
that has sunk through history like lead.

Mary-Lou, my morning mirror, how I love
the world en route around you, and you.
An iron sword slices a gladiator's glove,
a death that applause cannot eschew.
I unhitch the trailer at around eleven,
to head towards Denton, or Timbuktu.
August's end falls in line with heaven,
whereas July, with slim luck, knew,
That the road under my house excites,
the inch of me that hates to know
why I can't recall what thought incites
the simple desire to just let go.

>>5291739

Is your poem supposed to be as meta as it is?

>>5291755

This part is better, though still not excellent.

>>5291770

Art isn't dead, but your poem is. Sorry.

>>5291801

It's kinda nice but could use improved execution. The general gist is fine, especially with the last two lines bringing the poem together, but your imagery could use some serious improvement: "wolf-like shadows" doesn't conjure up a magnificent or highly meaningful mental picture, maybe try something else wolf related.

And in the crowd I knew I'd sunk
The clamour taking hold of us
and buried in the waves of someone
else's love, I sighed.

My thoughts will mirror no one here
They reach for the banal and dreary
relics of a life so serious
to fade with time.

Waiting on an autumn storm
I met a hundred carnivores
and how I grew to hate them
so distorted were their smiles.

meetings of this kind are such
That bitterness displaces love
and played out in my head, I come
To label them unkind.

And so the foundations were set
in mighty stone upon my head
for walls against the leagues of dreaded
harbingers of fear.

A shaken hand will hold a stake
And friendly teeth will clench and break
Are all their passions forced and fake
and changing by the year?

Their limits are as high as mine
a sprouting shoot will only climb
not dither by the mountain side
in a daze of dying songs

The terror when you realise
that parts of you aren't left behind
They're chained, for you to spend a life
Just dragging them along.
Will drop a bit of constructive feedback on some others, I guess.

Mental midgets
reach for the top of the high horse

as the self assured
self righteous
self proclaimed

black sheep huddle around steel barrels
feeding the heat with self indulgence


The ventriloquist feasts on the bones of the innocent
and goes home to the rat-hole
across the street
from the used bookstore


on the verge of chapter 11

>>5293022
Love it. The form really lends it a powerful bleak atmosphere.

>>5291801
There's a couple of images at the beginning which aren't particularly clear, but the premise is sound and clever. The ending is suitably sharp, and works well

>>5293040

Hey thanks, really appreciate it

Cleveland is
a drunken town
the sidewalks
and the sewers drown
in weary light,
and broken cloud
the streets are rolled
up in a shroud
of close and troubled
waking dreams
the steam grates
bleeding at the seams
a swagger laid off
by the merchant marine
props a gray alley wall,
like a sidelined machine.
and I have stood
outside the bars
and watched the furtive,
straggling cars
at three A.M.
as they struggle past
to find their home
and rest at last.
And seen the vagrant
wavering moon
that rose too late
and set too soon
and shed too little
hazy light
upon the sodden
Cleveland night

>>5293266

It flows well, is clear and concise, and uses a great set of words that invoke solid imagery. Well done.

I also find it funny that this is the second poem in the threat that involves Cleveland >>5290367

>>5293266
nice try but clearly plagiarized https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EsSeULiElrc

The heightened peak,
The initial the,
The breaking oar,
The sighing captain,
The brumous air,
The dying sherpa,
The rippling sea,
The diving gull,
The iridescence,
The timorous Tim,
The swooping heavens,
The catapulted hopes,
The robbed cadavers,
The stuffed sepulchers,
The flooded wards,
The banal extremists,
The absurd absurdity,
The redundant repetition,
The real realizations,
The self-reference,
The Reverend's reverence,
The river end's severance,
The poems pits,
will have been,
not in vain.

>>5293429
Huh. I posted this on /lit/ last week. I'm at work so can't see the video. is somebody using it?
I don't know whether to be mad or encouraged.

Here's one I wrote recently, still a work in progress. I'd love to hear your thoughts.

A man that means
Quite a lot to me
Asked me a few questions.

Within it all
He's asked me what I've reckoned.

The man doesn't speak so fiercely
As to force consideration
But instead
Proffers a certain condemnation
In what I've 'reckoned.'

Not to give it probing thought.
But rather reduce it
A proverbial weigh of the scales-
Flailing hands balanced
But roughly akimbo.

Not a thought, but a reckon.
He doesn't take me seriously.

Philosophy means nothing
Like a rock falling
From dirt that has been earmarked
For disseminating in the wind.

He doesn't want anyone
Taking anything too seriously,
I reckon.

>>5293440

I really like this. Care to share any houghton on writing it?

>>5293466

Thanks man, and yeah no problem. I began with the basic premise: create a list of nouns and have them all abide by one verb: many things, one function. Then I began playing with the order and decided images. "The heightened peak" came first because it's at the top of the poem; the breaking oar/sighing captain, brumous air/dying sherpa, rippling sea/diving gull all suggest an interaction between one another, yet lack any actual action (save the present participle 'sighing,' but that is only a descriptor). Then I began playing around with some meta commentary: 'the initial the,' 'the self-reference,' 'the poem's pits,' mainly because I wanted to convey a certain sense of self-awareness about the whole thing, and partly to retain a good sense of humor about it all. And eventually after the string of seemingly random and pointless and disparate sets of images and things and disembodied ideas, I wanted to acknowledge that upon retrospection, the aforementioned things will not have been, nor will ever be, pointless or arbitrary or 'in vain' (at least to me (and hopefully to the reader)), they will have been anything else, but not in vain.

>>5293030

"else's love, I sighed" feels a tad cliched. In fact, your poem has several cliches: 'thoughts will mirror,' 'fade with time,' 'autumn storm,' but in the end they're not horrible. In fact, it picks up quite a bit half-way through. My advice would be to tighten it, phrases like "meetings of this kind are such" are unnecessarily wordy. You have a decent chassis for a poem, so you could really turn it into something good if you focused on shedding the fat and leaving nothing but quality meat. Also, make sure your images are consistent, they come off as slightly uneven.

>>5293034

Are criticizing others or yourself with this? I can't tell how self-aware you are.

>>5293459

I get the strong sense that this poem was heavily influenced by someone you know. Either way, it has nice moments: 'a proverbial weigh of the scales,' your use of 'reckon.' But some things in it don't make sense: how can arms akimbo be flailing? How can a rock fall from dirt? These are questions to ask.

21st century good time

dfghfgh

eyes of blue,
dsfdhfgolkjl
i haven't words

HOLD YOUR BREATH
this won't do!
djkfgjfhgsaf
(but it will hurt)

fine print stating
asdfgfhg
terms of use
sdghdfpsioo

"fuck me hard"
i'll stain this, yeah
dosfigaasa
her cunt is loose

chronic, chronic
masturbator
jerk it hard
shame's for later
rotate tab
petite girl skater

painal creampie

anal prolapse

beefy guy with

mighty rolex

happiness is a warm gun
blue eyes to the camera, get done

this is nothing

chronic, chronic
masturbator
no shame in this!

cause shame's for later,
o, chronic, chronic,
masturbator

>>5293512

The image I was going for with the rock was if you take a handful of dirt and slowly let it drift from your fingers in the wind, hidden amongst that can be a hard falling rock.

Acid Rambler, The
Sitting there in her high chair
dispersing intermittent emissions
of indistinguishable fluents and influxtions
vocal calculus ricochets in’er skull, sanctum
Under throes of dysmorphic delirium

“Been-smoothened! I’m steamrolling!
We are the un-nothings who negate
all … we don’t annihilate.
Apophatic vassals of kenosis,
Composite neuroses metamorphosis.
Adjoining disjunct syntax
produced “ov” I, defunct thorax
uterus historEcally fecund
wore hide tanning ultraviolet sunned –
erring, non-lotioned-skin abrades
surface surfeit shade wan unto red fades.”

She, aqueous vessel, vacillates
to hold silent or bloviate.

The world is not against you
Rather it does not notice you
The fallen log across your path
Cannot make a fist with its branches
The mud that squeezes your wheels
Is not doing so with its jaws
So fly fast young one
your talons are fleeting
And soon you will be reduced to flesh
And the flies that happen upon your body
Do not search for your wallet

>>5293781

First-rate anon, really great stuff. My only word of advice is to change the last line to "will not search for your wallet," for it has not happened yet.

>>5291749
the only good one so far

The State Of A Fair

Whirligig scene of a calliope dream
a rousing carousel crux in hell
destriers undulate under apples held bloody
circling gyre spun yaw a round spire beam
gagged marzipan lacquer coats pastel
flush horseriders sate on RedRum all-ruddy

Lips fuming flues laden of booze
firewater breath lit alight in the night
rotate returns on wheel in nocturne
along axle bob cars catching coast’s blues
sunset nadir dunk sunk out of sight
in dizzying tizzy for such affairs I yearn

>>5290583
like

>>5291739
kinda like

>>5291749
not sure if like

>>5291801
like

>>5293022
very like

>>5293034
like the gif

>>5293266
really like

>>5293713
meh-like

>>5293781
the first two lines feel, like, really familiar

I’m just the mountain man, and you’re my chickadee.
I walk the road, kicking up dust,
You fly on the low winds, just ahead of me.
We have visions of splendor, ideas of grandeur.
Feet with lightweight soles,
And feathers held aloft by love,
Aren’t exactly held by many borders.
The backpack I carry with me,
Hold our virtues, our sustenance, and our compassion.
My dear chickadee.
I won’t smother your spirit.
I’ll mend it.
My sweet chickadee,
I will walk under the sky, with you just in sight,
You’ll always be able to leave, without much fight.
But I hope,
My shoulder,
Is where you will be the most happy,
My one and only chickadee.

I live in a tiny apartment with my mom and my sister, who have autism. The house smells like shit. Empty bottles and McDonalds trash litter my kitchen, but you couldn't tell because that litter is buried under McDonalds trash and Wendys trash. The upstairs where they live is fucked up. These are two people who are always on their phones or watching t.v. They used to draw and write poetry and still do sometimes, but not as much as before when Max Martin didnt write every song on the radio. Now I get a bad feeling every time I turn it on. My room is fucked up in a sense of the term that you probably haven't figured out yet. There are two tvs, one of which takes up an entire wall of the small room. There are two computers. On the walls are thrashed skateboards and a Colorado flag. There is a poster of a beautiful girl. The furniture is wooden and inspired by nature. There are many candles and lamps and books. And one marble table that is hundreds of years old, where my keyboard and mic sit. There is enough static to bring me back to my roots. A spotless room would be uncomfortable and out of place in this house. Every one of a great number of people I know will or has been unable to define this house. The decorations are mostly pieces of somebody's manifested insanity. There are a lot of unique rocks too. There is a beach ball in the living room. The furniture has all come from thrift stores but it looks really good. None of it matches. It would be much nicer if there wasnt human shit everywhere but then it wouldn't be as human. McDonald's looks like ikea and ikea looks like your apartment. And radio and the traffic is pissing you off. If you are cool really, if your feet are cold, If you feel too weird to live but too rare to die, come live here with me.
I'm anxious to hear someone's opinion

>>5293956
this style of writing would make for a good book. but not good poetry. I'd read that book.

>>5293979
Thanks man. I'm glad to know you would read it, but I don't know how I would put it in a book. Id write a song but I don't think it would be heard. I didn't pre type this so I couldn't put it into a poem, but I think it could be poetry

>>5291749
breddy gud/10

>>5293942
Gay

>>5294073
thanks

>>5293942
I dig it, anon. It feels very warm. Perhaps the description of the contents of the backpack is a bit too explicit.

>>5293781
>>5293830

Excellent work.

I'm partial to the way it is. I don't think it would have the right feel if you put the last line (or last 2) in the future perfect.

Dick Tracy sits in a dentist's office
Writing love letters
To a girl named hate

I love myself because nature made me

>>5293956
Alright so maybe it isn't poetry but is still like to here some anons opinions

>>5293713

Interesting concept, refine it.

>>5293757

Comma, placement the in front is unnecessary. Anyway, acid trips aren't so verbose and congested. They're a sensory experience; your poem has turned delicious words into choppy salad: wordplay in to work. No fun.

>>5293879

Circumlocutory. Inflated.

>>5293942

Simply and effective.

>>5294162

Terse, but could use a bit more. Maybe parentheses around the last line.

>>5293956

You describe and set the tone well. But I have to ask: how can two autistic people incessantly be on the phone? I'm assuming they're actually autistic because you stated it too explicitly to be figurative.

>>5294231
thanks for the feedback mate

>>5293757
This is wonderful but composite neuroses metamorphosis needs reworking if you're going for a Deleuzean inspired flat geography thing. It has a wonderful flow, but even the acid rambler would see its contradiction with the rest of the speech. Good range, cute references, just overstepped it with that line.

>>5294231
They mostly play video games on them.

>>5294308
nah son. I've heard of deluze but i only know a tiny bit about rhyzomatic thinking and nothing else about anything else he's done.

I'm not explaining the line, but what you're getting out of this line isn't what i meant to put into it. I'm not afraid of anything seeming contradictory about it.

thanks though. I'm glad you liked it. I might eventually change stuff.

>>5294329
His and Guatarri's critique on Freud is what l saw in it, especially because of the composite. It holds a lot in common as a work with psychoanalysis post Deleuze, but regardless the contradiction would stand: a neurosis is always a metamorphism, and always fabricated, and both of these things combine to make it redundant and contradict the unmaking parts. I get that it makes the Ovid in the next couple of lines stick, but reading the poem with any Freudian backing at that line makes the options you present a) the speaker is referencing Freud hoping nobody read him or a dictionary since, b) the speaker is just producing word salad.
It might be that you're aiming for word salad, but the meaning of neuroses and the baggage it brings with it allows for the first case, and you seem to think there is a meaning to be conveyed which is at odds with both those cases.

mes pensées s'égare vers cette douleur
de ne me pas s'être emparé de cette douceur
cette fille semblable à la douce brise
elle volette, douce, baladeuse

en attendant je me torture du souvenir
Je n'en saisis pas encore le but
serais-ce afin de me repentir
de ces méfaits que je me rebute

à considérer comme tels

i remember when we drove up past seattle and we went
into the mountains and we stopped by a big lake
and then i took off most of my clothes and i sat on the edge of the bridge and i thought about the ways i could get hurt
but oh, the deep deep water
i remember jumping in it didnt take long and i dont remember it
but i do remember thinking "this was not my best idea" and
my chest caved in and i
shrunk into a bedbug and i
swam beneath the surface and i
saw you with a drunk guy and i
came back up for air and i
realized my lungs were shot

it scared me so i got back out and dried off in the sun,
i climbed on up to the top of a rock and i considered what i had seen and then
i sat back up on the lip of the bridge and i jumped off into the abyss
and it was still just as cold as the day i arrived and i got into a submarine that took me to the zoo and i had a fun vacation but its time for me to go, i miss you quite a lot now and home really isnt home

Spoon island: moldy green countours
carved by the Connecticut meandering
south. Lazy and free of its northerly
bordering duties, the river now more
inclined to paint landscapes rather than
maps.

>>5290339
What is the sex of the person in the OP?

False start nipped. These clippings, fertilizer for a new beginning.
Shambling down untrodden roads, I gaze at the horizon.
Knowing fell well what awaits me down the shining path envisioned.
But if it were that I had slipped
And had trodden down a path I had trodden prior,
It would make no difference to me.
When gazing at a mirror image of another,
Through a rippled fountain pool of mesmerizing reflections,
Indulgence and self-sacrifice go hand in hand, wading into the abyss.

My feet hurt.

>>5293956
>If you feel too weird to live but too rare to die

Fleur-de-lis
could be lost
imagine us
if we were different
could be left
imagine being gone

Enamored with concept
swingset is gone
fireside is gone
it wasn't as admirable as you had hoped
lying on grass
moonlight is gone

Comfortable silence
embracing the pauses
don't let last too long

>>5295148
What the hell does this mean

When I was young and naive
And the world was in front of me,
My dreams were infinite
And heaven was a place so high
That I'd do anything to get my feet off the ground

A few years later,
I was still naive
And the world started narrowing it's options for me.
I fell in love like a vase from the Empire State
And broke just as hard.
With tears in my eyes.
One by one,
I picked my feet off the ground
But it wasn't quite the same.

And now that I'm older and slightly less naive,
I have no dreams
And hell is a place in my own mind
And with this rope around my neck,
I finally got my feet off the ground

>>5295484
i think he means that you plagiarized that little saying from hunter thompson

Little littles linger lithely along linen
sheets, what the fuck does that mean?
Said the crab fisher, in his ripe old age.
The pustular pus filled pustules pulsed
with some icky goo that grounded a gamut
of chemicals and particles and physicals too.

Eventually I said that eventually the dead
might be said to be eventually no longer red.
So I came and I saw and I conquered nothing;
revealing that something left right can be nothing.
Haha, the laugh of a treatise's remorseful victim
resounded in the distinct hallway of marble.

Then, I died and felt compelled to mark from
the grave, the grave, we all dread the grave.
So please, please, please your fellow inmates
of this prison that we can't not call life and reality.

An echo is still heard in the end:

Fuck,
shit,
fuck.

The darkest corners
aren't corners,
they're the middle of squares
and promenades.
They are where people
supposedly flourish under the sun
like sun flowers, or perennial roses.

People, persons, individuals, bodies:
function in terms of one another.
Science, a linear love of light and matter,
sources the sorcerers source of material
without really knowing it.

Everyone, every one, loves to love,
for no one, nobody loves to hate,
except for Satan, who loves to not exist.

So, sew, sough, I wait.
I wait for the end of the beginning of the end.
And also I wait for a thing that makes me
smile and laugh and be anything but miserable.

Crickets chirp and chirp
chirping, chirp, for chirping's sake,
ending sometime soon.

Ladle the soup,
serve it to the poor people,
Ladle the soup.

One, two, three, four, five,
I can not count to seven.
One, two, three, four, five.

>>5293266
this is awesome.

>>5290339

On OP's Pic

That Italian hand, with no further justice could
Render our Noir Narcissus, in bathhouse of wood.
What hues hide in this tincture of reality?
(So familiar -yet nothing peach or carmine,
Ripples azure-less, the yoga mat un-green.)
All life is incarnadine, and rarely acted
As though a frame from Kurosawa, redacted
-That exercise bike of yore forever still,
The lapping pool, between takes, growing chill-
And yet released in subsequent red-band trailers.

the hollow crash of waves on sand
is behind me.
now the sun, through sand,
sears my feet callused.
from sand to wood,
from wood to pavement,
and home.
my skin glows like a coal.
i can still hear the water
as the ocean slowly follows

I edited this because I wanted do better at bringing people closer to understanding what Im thinking and trying to say. I would really appreciate hearing what message different people get from this. Its pretty long, but reading it at the very least gives you some kind of insight into someone else"s life. I just really wonder if anyone is on the same page as me with this. It was a fast edit so please be considerate.
I live in a tiny apartment with my mom and my sister, who are both autistic. The kitchen in my appartment looks like shit there is trash everywhere and stacks of bills or important documents in weird places and the sink is over full with dishes and the dishwasher is still loaded. In the same room there are machines that only a few legendary people in the world fully, or maybe even barely, understand even the most basic workings of, This has shit on it. Its fucked but there are two turtles in a tank on the floor. Those turtles are cool and should be moved soon. Because right now they are watching from the corner of a room the insane situation that is the crash of the autistic brain into what looks like or should be called the future. The upstairs where my mom and sister live is fucked up. These are two people who are always on the internet somehow or watching t.v. They used to draw and write poetry and still do sometimes, but not as much as before when Max Martin didnt write every song on the radio. Now I get a bad feeling every time I turn it on. My room is fucked up in a sense of the term that you probably haven't defined yet. There are two tvs, one of which takes up an entire wall of the room which isnt very big. There are two seperate computers. On my walls are skateboards that I have done fome gnarly things on. I took most of them from my friends and made them into a thing that can only be defined as the term chuckus. Those have seen some gnarly and really terrifying and weird shit. There is a commercial grade colorado flag. Its the large size of what they hang up in front of post offices. My chick poster is one of the hottest girls. The furniture is wooden and inspired by nature. There are many candles and lamps and books. One shelf of the
bookshelf has some expensive bongs on it. On the shelf above that are family photos. There is a small marble table that is hundreds of years old, where my keyboard and mic sit. My mom picked up an alex grey coffee table booklike book from a bookstore that was going out of business before alex grey was discovered by fags. Thats on there too. There is enough static and dulled perception to have me considered as a pa

rt of the family. A spotless room would be uncomfortable and out of place in this house. Every one of a great number of people I know will would be or has been unable to define this house. The living room is warm and not scary at all despite its closeness to the kitchen .There is always a comfortable place to sit wherever you end up you will be comfortable. The decorations are pieces of someone or anothers manifested insanity and its beautiful. I think that the hand me down thoughts may usually broken, but they do glow with the gold of sunshine. There are a lot of dead posters. There are unique rocks from france. And there is a beach ball in the living room. The furniture has all come from thrift stores. No matter where you are its always comfortable. It looks really good. McDonald's looks like ikea and ikea looks like your apartment. If dr. luke and the traffic are pissing you off. if this future and its weirdness scare you, if your feet are cold, if you use the term fucked up, If you feel too weird to live but too rare to die. and especially if youre starting to become cool really, come live here with me Im trying to lead phouse.eople to a life like mine. I heard George Clinton was not offended by the maggots in the brain of mother nature. but I dont really know. All I know is if he swam out of his own shit then he was gnarly.

These are actually words I'm writing for a song:

I was distracted at the colour of your afternoon
Reading a book called telegraph avenue
You were written into every single line
Your name's italicized in my mind
Its a flashing red
I have to stop and think when you walk through my head

>>5297197
I actually like this. I'd honestly love to see the finished product

>>5297197
i liked it too!

>>5297246
>>5297251

Wow - sweet thanks guys

>>5297194
This intrigues me. I can't make anything of this guy. What do you guys think it means ?

>>5297270
well what do you think it means?

>>5297283
I think its insane and that is all

>>5296891

Thank you, I've never had a poem written about me before

>>5291749
I like b, o, and u

>>5294611

Firstly, something tells me this >>5290359
is also you. Anyway, I really like some lines, specifically "and I thought about the ways I could get hurt." As a whole, however, it could use some formatting, in more ways that one.

>>5294693

A relatively nice exposé of words.

>>5295121

It feels a bit disjointed, though I'm not sure precisely how. Your best line was "my feet hurt.

>>5294904

I'm a dude, but if you're attracted to me then don't think that means you're queer, I'm just slightly effeminate looking (especially in that photo, which is not to be taken seriously).

>>5295431

Fleur-de-lis: a stylized lily.

>>5295500

Morbidly fun, but it hardly reads like a poem.

>>5296950

Neither terrible nor brilliant.

>>5297192
>>5297194

I like it man. You definitely have a unique voice that I find to be entertaining to read. I also feel like there some microscopic (or maybe macro) seed of truth to all this, but that's just me.

>>5297197

Good show!

>>5296030
>>5296223

And I wrote these two last night when I was drunk, but I'd really appreciate a critique or two.

>>5297775

>>5294611

sorry I meant >>5290374, not >>5290359

Tepid rapids repudiate
whales, and their kin.
Manatees, dugongs, sea cows?
They're on the line,
you know,
strung between the telephone
poles that slope while the crab lopes,
maybe up, maybe down, always around.

But I don't concern myself
with the blueprints' details.
For I'm only an architect.

he always thought
but never did
he lacked composure
then he slid

he paced the world
with worthless feet
he chose to see
sat on his seat

he grasped a lot
but grabbed for few
he lived a live
and now it's due

>>5298652
nice

>>5298652
oops, that's supposed to say "life" not "live".

>>5298813
thanks.

Just finished a draft of the lyrics I had already posted:

I was distracted at the colour of your afternoon
Reading a book called telegraph avenue
You were written into every single line
Your names italicized in my mind
Its a flashing red
I have to stop and think when you walk through my head
Its gone on the green
Ive turned the page and its imaginary
From what I can see I can't see it through
Vanishing points in my point of view
You were taller than the city and all tied up
All except our hands had come up stuck
Its black and white
And Im pretending and Its alright
Its black and white
And Im pretending and Its alright

The sterile air
still makes me cringe
I said I flossed
so now I'll binge.

The humming drill
reels my nerves
while I can't ignore
the nurse's curves.

"Beautiful smile,"
the dentist smirks
but I bet he says that
about all his works.

So I take the baggie
and say goodbye
dreading my return
in July.

>>5299811

wouldlistento/10

What type of music do you make?

>>5299891

I'm total amateur. Arctic Monkeys, Alex Turner's singer/songwriter stuff, is my biggest influence. I am in a band and I get to sing this song though.

>>5290367
I like this, but I don't like the repetition at all. It makes what could be a somber poem a little corny IMO. I don't like the line "the eyes that don't wonder" or "like an autonomous vacuum". Overall though I like it.

>>5291749
I like this.

>>5293022
Very cool. Great form, vaguely creepy and thoughtful.

>>5293266
My favorite in this thread.

>>5293781
Another great one. Try eliminating words like "rather" and lines like "fly fast young one". They're weird with the tone of the poem and take away some of the impact. Also, this >>5293830. Otherwise great job.


Here's one of mine. I'm not sure whether my poems will stay poems or eventually be used as lyrics, probably lyrics because I have a musical project developing and will need some. Regardless I'd like any lyrics to be held to the standards of poetry anyway as they feel a lot higher than the standards for lyrics.

Sorry I didn't get you that souvenir
It was awful nice of you to wait for me here
I have to admit, I didn't expect that
So I'm sorry, sorry I didn't get that
postcard or shotglass or t-shirt
or maybe I'd get you a snowglobe
and in fifty years we'd laugh about it
laugh about that first stupid gift
well I guess we'll never know
I guess you never really know

Bring it back, bring it back
I fell asleep on the Amtrak
Broke my neck napping on the interstate train
Two hundred miles in two hours without a step
Two hundred miles on a couch, I can't complain

Four hundred miles across Wyoming
Hiked and rode and hitched without really knowing
Where I came from or where I'm going
Had to get on the Amtrak when it started snowing
Where am I from, my God where am I going

Spent a week in Colorado unloading my head
Bought some books in Denver, filled it up again
Asleep outside the Greyhound station
It's hard to remember why you ran

Down by the border in New Mexico
Perfect disguise above but no oceans below
it's true what they say, it's true you know
in the desert you remember your name
I knew mine for a few days or so.

Well I guess we'll never know
I guess you never really know
I should've bought that fucking snowglobe

niggers ruin everything
i wish they all would die
someone stop the rioting
whites all wonder why

>>5300110

I think you might be right in that your 'poem' might function best in another format. That being said, I quite like it. It gives one the impression of a midsummer road-trip that has no destination, eventually leading you into a dead-end, a loveless dead-end. It also reminds me of a Courtney Barnet; she writes really interesting and unique lyrics. You should check her out. Anyway I like it, though think it could use a little polishing (sorry I dont have any specific suggestions), but keep on keeping on, you write well.

>>5300162

I once was a nigger,
dark, grimy, and pungent.
So I bought bleach,
pooled it in my tub,
and jumped in
to erase my color
and stench.
Then I realized,
"niggers can't swim"
So,
drowned I did
and Nigger I am no more,
for I
am no more.

If I can't glean some kind of coherent story out of your poem pic related is where it goes.

pussy, pussy, pussy, pussy, pussy,
gotta get that pussy, bruv
lick it up, eat it
smash that
pussy, pussy, pussy, pussy, pussy,
stick it in the butt, stick it in the butt
pussy, pussy, pussy, pussy, pussy,
gotta get that pussy, cuz
gooey wet pussy
drip drip drip drip drip
i eat that pussy all day long

>>5300190
what if you're just dumb?

>>5290339
I've started to give up on my literary ambitions so I guess I'll throw it out there... contrarily, in picture form so it's not archived, just in case.

If you don't like poetry without obvious structure don't bother.

>>5300216
i'll allow this

>>5290339
the migrant bird of flocks
flew over the mighty blocks
of redstone buildings
cometh to life by hangings
paintings and merrily faces
did you cash the check yet?
our time, Ivan, is on the bet.
one and two red bricks
three and four led kicks

>>5290339

And I want to sit on the steps smoking till your neighbour comes home and sit on the steps smoking till you come home and worry when you're late and be amazed when you're early and give you sunflowers and go to your party and dance till I'm black and be sorry when I'm wrong and happy when you forgive me and look at your photos and wish I'd known you forever and hear your voice in my ear and feel your skin on my skin and get scared when you're angry and your eye has gone red and the other eye blue and your hair to the left and your face oriental and tell you you're gorgeous and hug you when you're anxious and hold you when you hurt and want you when I smell you and offend you when I touch you and whimper when I'm next to you and whimper when I'm not and dribble on your breast and smother you in the night and get cold when you take the blanket and hot when you don't and melt when you smile and dissolve when you laugh and not understand why you think I'm rejecting you when I'm not rejecting you and wonder how you could think I'd ever reject you and wonder who you are but accept you anyway and tell you about the tree angel enchanted forest boy who flew across the ocean because he loved you and write poems for you and wonder why you don't believe me and have a feeling so deep I can't find words for it and want to buy you a kitten I'd get jealous of because it would get more attention than me and keep you in bed when you have to go and cry like a baby when you finally do and get rid of the roaches and buy you presents you don't want and take them away again and ask you to marry me and you say no again but keep on asking because though you think I don't mean it I do always have from the first time I asked you and wander the city thinking it's empty without you and want what you want and think I'm losing myself but know I'm safe with you and tell you the worst of me and try to give you the best of me because you don't deserve any less and answer your questions when I'd rather not and tell you the truth when I really don't want to and try to be honest because I know you prefer it and think it's all over but hang on in for just ten more minutes before you throw me out of your life and forget who I am and try to get closer to you because it's beautiful learning to know you and well worth the effort and speak German to you badly and Hebrew to you worse and make love with you at three in the morning and somehow somehow somehow communicate some of the overwhelming undying overpowering unconditional all-encompassing heart-enriching mind-expanding on-going never-ending love I have for you.

It's more than likely shit, but it's the first poem I've written.

"Say goodbye to Hollywood"

Neon empires rise from vines
Built by hands of gold
Laid on slates of tattered dreams
Where blood flows like wine

Silver screen lust, grit in your nails
Broken, beat and scarred
Stardom took you in, spit you out
And hung you six feet under

There will be no fanfare
no trumpet cutting joyous air
no laughing crowd or waving friends
no orchestral tremolo, no shimmering end
no diamond, silver, bronze or gold
no warm embraces, no stories told
there will be no flowers thrown
you will walk the long black carpet
alone

You will reach the stand
to give your speech
their eyes turn up
implore; beseech

With broken breath and aching sides,
Through your raw throbbing throat
you manage:
“he has died”

“your flowers are not welcome here
so fold your banners and slander your peers
toll the bells and go away
and don’t come back on any day”
those you trusted, those you loved
have burned your wheat and drowned your dove

there will be no trumpet, dear
they’ve packed their bags
and left us here

jews are the diseased rats
scampering over the floors
of this sinking ship
we call a world

drive the rats into a pit
and let righteous fire
the vermin cull

turn the ashe into the ground
and let nature lay to rest
our jewish oligarchs.

>>5300630
10/10

>>5300319
I think that's excellent. I'm not just saying that, it's definitely my favirote of the things I've seen in this thread. Got any more?

>>5300319

I really like how your last line falls into place with the sight/light theme; it makes the whole poem feel oddly like an ensō, pic related.

>>5300358

It needs some renovations.

>>5300396

And it runs on and on and on and on and on and makes me want quote my middle school English teacher: quality over quantity. That being said, it's a nice idea that could use more masterful execution: make it more fluid.

>>5300407

You definitely have a proclivity for writing, but I can't say that it doesn't read like your first. "Hung you six feet under"is the perfect example of what I mean. It's a mismatched metaphor, rather than being internally consistent: it doesn't fully make sense (other than the obvious reason that being hung necessarily means your above ground) because I believe you're trying to go for a sort of indifferent cruelty and the whole hanging bit isn't in line with that as much as the "spit you out" is. Try keeping the comparison of food, use 'butcher' or something like that. Anyway, keep up the good work and stick to your themes.

>>5300438

It seems to have been written hastily. Right or wrong, take that as you will.

>>5300630

I don't think I can offer my two cents about this one.

>>5300864
>>5300319

forgot pic.

Anyway, here's a haiku in the spirit of Nipon.

I walked on a bridge
wearing stilts and a top hat
looking for giants.

I shanked Little Tiny
in the center of stage.
A mess in the mess hall
made the whole rabble rage.

I drew glances
trembles too,
even from the warden:
Mister Shoe.

He said it's hermitically sealed
I said time has its tools;
so solitarily I was left to pry
for having broken all the rules.

Spoiler alert: the film ends in a fire
unquenchable by sweat or tears,
yet it's still better than an electric pyre
at the end of forty grueling years.

For: Freedom has many a flavor,
any of which I'd like to savor,
so do me this one last favor,
and let me try the 31st flavor.

||||

tumblr girl please hear me now
the life you lead is cause for shame
for if your nan could see you now
shed wish you didnt share a name

your nana in the house remained
you the home leave every day
nana toiled for family's gain
you the jew slave for, oi vey

at night the table overflowed
your table empty, cupboard bare
in family's company nana glowed
your table's never seen a baby chair

a family man nana bewed
you a new man each night bed
nana a happy blessed life led
tumblr girl may as well be dead

>>5300864
Thank you very much! Only one that I'm proud of. It's already online somewhere so I have no problem pasting.

The Child skipped to gleeful tune
humming favorites, 'cross the squares
mind toward radio, unstressed
the child danced from start to there
where path concludes and game is true
the only focus not to err

The child rotates, humming still
prepared to retrace play
Again he will embrace his steps
In comfort of docile day
Yet next that the child peered
At borders of the squares

He considered the sidewalk, adjacent stoops and their
cracked structures
Soon, the child was aware of the city
of all the world
Sooooo Beautiful, The child cooed to himself
like the permeating sensation of warm saline injection

So he went skipping down the street
Terrified
But Whistling


>>5300864
Thanks! I spent quite some time debating whether or not to include the original final line, "I apologize" but decided against. It was tempting just because I think there is merit to the idea but knowing what not to write is the greatest skill you can learn.

>>5300941
>Spoiler alert:

Ive had women with double D tits
and sucked their juicy milky nips
and poked them in their female bits
in the hole between their pussy lips

Im not a virgin 's what im trying to say
ive had lots of sex before
every night another lay
into bed with babes galore

if you're old and still a virgin
you might as well be gay
i feel sorry for all you spurgin'
get a fleshlight and go halfway

>>5301120

Ok.. well hopefully we've got that our of our system. Now for something that I think people will find a little bit easier to consume..

I wanted you to feel my soul
When you wrapped your strong hands around me
And even though I said yes
Yes
Yes
And don't stop
Keep going
You raped my gentle body
As only one with privilege can
And now I am broken, useless tired and degraded
Because sometime yes means no

>>5301168
I hope to god this is satirical

I stand with that great green monster staring me in the face,
Four clovers, one two three four, stabbing in outward expressions
Expressions of art, anime, abandonment, and utmost anarchy
Drowning out my inward paranoia by browsing the horrors lain before me
Glazed in honey and filth to hide the burning souls trapped within
That great green monster, the beast that grabs your mind.
Alas, I haven’t the time for pleasantries and power-struggles over one’s obscurities
And lo must that red box hold my infinite hours
Protrusions of various moments in time burn my every pore
My eyes have been melted into pools of red, white, and blue
And perhaps they deserve it for the incessant monstrosities I have sought out.
And lo must that great green monster and that red box exist in parallel, intersecting worlds
And must those ancient myths of blindness be true
True as you or me or we, burning in the spirits of the liquor stores.
And drowning to death at coffee shops and McDonalds, invisible wires
Drilling slowly into our brains, addiction seeping in ever so slowly, yet invisible
And lo must we gather our fruits and juice to proclaim amongst the dead and lost
“We are not slaves anymore as the wires set us free!”
Because the wires set us free.
We have endless abounds of pussy in its various definitions.

>>5301488
cont.

And on and on and on do we see that great green monster
That burning light in my soul as p4k drones and Catcher in the Rye-tier plebs
Lighting the pages of the magazine for their digital age in Technicolor
That amazing dreamcatcher entangled in the webs of consciousness
Igniting my flesh with battery acid and lighter fluid
Capturing spirits and liquors that God hath no love for
And lo and behold, videos of Crimean protestors getting beaten by the cops
And lo and behold, a plane gone from existence over the sea
Low, and be holed, drill your meat into the leaves until the twigs stab it to death
Drain your ejaculate from your blood to turn yourself black
And drain the blackness from your soul.
A cell smaller than the sperm and larger than the egg is lit on fire
Captive in the chamber of Sudetenland and witness to the attack on Trayvon,
I step outside to breathe the air of smog and filth and perfection.
The endless wall of lights blinds me, binds me, does everything I could need
At least until humanity drops of the face of the earth.
Contact with junkies and royalty drowning on their fat thrones
Drunk off the wine and elixir of mankind’s unity
High on that grandiose imagery in Warhol and Pollack and Bowie
Stoning the king of all for his sins against the cross
Nailing the rats to their pads of glorious indefinite pain
Stroking bliss against the valves of oppression and draining the memetic notions of hatred
Quoth the Raven, Nevermore. Never is not ever anymore.
Amy Pond stands at that great empty Oculus while Facebook opens a rift
The dragons lit their bones aflame to kill off their sorrows
The dragons who did not ever exist, at least not yet
The dragons who, lo and behold, are now dead and never to be seen again.
There Be Dragons in my infernal mind, dragons the size of the sky.

>>5301488
>>5301490
cont.

You are registered as a participant in a mass disturbance
You are registered as a participant in a mass disturbance
You and me and the whole world.
The concentric cancer cells melt into the flesh of our fathers
As the guns blaze in the night against the backdrop of shadow and sorrow
In that mighty jungle of urban cowardess and hypocrisy, I see
The chamber of the cacophony, a free jazz headache,
The echoes of a tyrant named Reagan who shook the earth,
The creation of gore and ironic punishment,
The rabid beasts howling into the minds of our youth,
The fruits all juiced in the street corners and school halls,
The women feared for speaking in support of women,
The violence toward Anita Sarkeesian, the great and terrible woman,
The monsters grabbing leaves from the highest branches,
The low-hanging fruit dropping onto Steven Fry’s head,
The howl of the wolves caged into death and drug-abuse
The grinding teeth of the owls in the halls of society, eternally asking “Who?”
The shattered glass on the floors of the chapel, stained to look of blood and wood and flesh,
The sadistic thirst of the mechanical vampire on the other end of the cables,
The timid cries and follies of a bandit chasing rainbows out of the sky,
The perceptions that have been made flesh in the fire,
The twigs ignited until they become cinders in the pit of eternal despair,
The literary idiots drowning in the Dead Sea and becoming one with the salt and hydrogen,
The fools trapping clowns in the attic of the mind in order to become the highest of the morons,
The literal figures of insanity and the unsanitary conditions of the asylum,
The cries of help from a burning building that can never be heard or seen in all the universe,
The wisp of black fog that is rendered gray in the sorrow of Canada,
The Silicon Valley melting down into the core of the earth to become blood,
The lowest point in history without a soul to breed,
The Australian gamers trapped in their dismay,
The one who stands in the yellow to build anger and wit,
The Dickensian twist of fate at the very end of our lives,
The Wilde twist of fate at the very beginning of our lives,
The floodgates opening on the mountain to flow upward to the peak,

>>5301488
>>5301490
>>5301496
cont.

The time travelers who can only travel forward at the rate of one minute per minute,
The great time travel machine that can travel backward infinitely,
The Pony Express founded by Alexander Majors brought to its knees by Al Gore’s invention,
The ninety-nine percent, the one-percent, all trapped together with the twenty percent,
The flag-burners who stand on the principles of a nation of idiots rather than a nation of villains,
The children who read and reenact stories about fellating gun barrels for the fame and final recognition,
The Jolly Roger flying through the infinite seas to reach the dock and steal great art,
The great green monster practicing carnivorous deeds and swallowing mounds of dirt with it,
The whiskers of time sensing death and rebirth in the wind,
The mud draining from the swamp to reveal the perfect beauty of Swan Lake,
The dichotomies directly from the Dionysian sources,
The foster homes for abandoned and sickly ideas to get better and get homes,
The excellent taste of blood in my mouth as it drains from the sky and into my toes,
The melted chocolate staining my arteries and transforming my fingers into Doritos,
The speck of dust resting on the speck of dust resting on the speck of dust resting on the end of God’s dandruff,
The Satanic memories of creation when the Devil put dinosaurs underground to trick us,
The horrorshow ultraviolence of adolescent obsessions,
The injections creating mental illness in our youth,
The lack of injections caused by mental illness in our adults,
The cancerous breath of dragons and elves and raptors,
The priest kissing fags on the lips with their insides black and setting his insides blacker,
The decades drained from the sands of time, allowing freedom from passing,
The rabid beasts devouring the rotted bones of the queens,
The darkness engaging in romantic attraction with light to create the beauty of the stars,
The sun exploding into dust the instant we stop looking at it,
The needle in the hay shining brighter in the daylight than ever before,
The mules all hee-hawing at the way Peter Griffin sings his song,
The sheeple all following themselves ‘round the corners of their minds,
The objectivist apocalypse creating a city in the clouds the size of Heaven,
The sensationalist “literature” being sold as evidence of religion,
The sensationalist “religion” being living proof of the power of literature,
The fiery twists of light through the millions of nerves in my body,
The Rotters Club sentencing you to thirteen-thousand, nine-hundred and fifty-five deaths in a row,
The jagged piece of metal sticking out of my skull and into the skulls of hundreds,
The erection of a statue the size of the universe,

>>5301488
>>5301490
>>5301496
>>5301503
cont.

The millennial falcons all reaching down and swooping money from their mothers’ purses,
The falcons’ mothers all reaching up and swooping money from their mothers’ graves,
The dead souls of Liverpool all in loving memory of John, Paul, George, and the other one,
The deadly taste of Chinese air in the aftermath of the Red Scare, and the look of red hair,
The ginger who has no soul to live with, to lie with, to pray with,
The bronies and the trekkies and the whovians all sharing erotica,
The semantic, seminal, Seminoles trapped in the pedantic prisons of pews,
And the endless breath of God blowing across the universes and into our collective throats,
All impaling my every pore and addressing my every flaw with disgust,
Disgust and disdain for my lack of foresight, hindsight, or sight of any kind, variety, or type.
So we all do the Harlem Shake for a week.
And we do the Gangam Style for a week.
And we do the Hustle for a week.
And we do the Twist for a week.
And we do the Tighten Up for a week.
And we do the Cupid Hustle for a week.
Until the weeks add up to days,
Which add to hours,
Which add to minutes,
Which add to seconds,
Seconds left to live and think and dream.
Seconds of hope to light up my life and kill the sorrow the darkness has placed on us all.

>>5301488
>>5301490
>>5301496
>>5301503
>>5301504
cont.

And so I stare into the hatred of Mormon, and the desire for more men,
And I witness the pleasure machines growing nerve endings,
And the artificial stimuli all pump one two three in my ears.
I stood and saw the aftermath of Justin Carmical,
And there I slept with my mind aflame with memories of his optimism,
His spirit alive with every laugh a man shall birth,
His soul meeting with the world’s in our hearts, our tears, and our chuckles.
But lo and behold, the dangers of depression left untreated,
And lo and behold, the power one man can have on thousands.
And yes, you can pray this, you can pray for God to be known forever,
You can pray for man to be united under our device of unity,
You can pray for love between all who ever lived,
You can pray for yourself to understand the world at large,
You can pray for eulogies to grow less common,
You can pray for the greatest minds of our generation,
You can pray for the cross to stop running parallel,
You can pray for the glory of Christ to light our hearts on fire,
You can pray for us all to stop hanging ourselves on our thin white ropes,
You can pray for divinity to be possible,
You can pray into the days and into the nights in memory of Justin Carmical.
Because you are not stupid.
But in this time of forward thinking and thoughts of the world as a whole,
Can we not think of our own friends and family on occasion?
Because I remember you, Nicholas.
May shelter of an eternal rhythm burst around you,
May red and blue fill your eyes to the whites,
May the pounding of my own life perpetuate yours,
And may God gift you with love, and light, eternally.
And when you died with your head filled with flames I had no reaction.
I knew not how to react.
And lo and behold, an eternity has been born into the universe.
And lo and behold, an eternity has died.

What if we use all these poetry for spamming?

The collection of glass by the spring winds is what calms me most.
Walking with the morning gusts to see foliaged television sets,
Uncover themselves and chameleon the seasoned tea shades.
I can write my name in that static auburn, and see the faces crack.
I've known the falling trees well, they've counted my age with fallen branches.
Through that groundless pathway, I can slither like the boa through the arches.
With arms and legs, grown by the end, I can dance with the marionettes.
Those still and graceful things, carried by dappled paths, I can hope to be.

'Let me be held by the laughing winds' I hear you say,
As the shattered leaves and dancing glass, fiercely ambers your form

>>5301513
You have a strong voice in this poem, and some unique wording, but I feel like your idea requires some further development to quite reach the status of good.

>>5301521
I completely ran out of canvas space when I type this out. Thank you for the quick critique, and I will try to improve upon my ideas. It means a lot.

a poem I wrote as an edgy, pretentious, anti-establishment teenager that I now regret:

I am an egg beater.
To quote the gun, “Bang.”
I buried my head in the sand of rainbow-colored America,
Digging to the soul of the world.
My body is made of leaves and navels that drown the sounds of the drums
Under their realm of European pop stars and dance songs,
Kissing the lips of the world that spin right round baby right round like a record baby right round round now.
My tongue is on Warhol.
My hips sit on the hips of Whitman.
My brains are spread on the floor of a gay rights rally in San Francisco,
Gathering good and bad fruits that fell from good and bad fruit-trees.
It’s all like a before-and-after photo of the Battle of Hastings—
Shifting from collective organization to chaos and paranoia.
I prayed to God the other day.
Satan was dancing on the head of a pin,
Grabbing underneath angels’ dresses and stealing their halos.
Meanwhile, Ezra Pound is an oil painting.
He floats above the water.
And I am an egg beater.
I’m an egg beater in the center of the modern-day tolerance of the rainbow.

>>5296939
im anxious to hear opinions

>>5300190
so is >>5297192 trash? What do you glean out of it?

Wave-licked
with thigh-rolled jeans he had strode
out to where the sea catches its breath,
forgetting the fresh packet of cigarettes in his pocket.

And in that wind-plucked foam,
made a father-pose,
though no sandal'd tussock bug rolled the dunes
waving the prize of a perfect wooden pistol,

and the shore was repeatedly planed clean,
clear of all gust battered figures.

>>5301613
effective love story

>>5301724
i really like the idea of just forgetting that your cigarettes exist for a moment

The final draft is a little bit tighter but this is all I have right now

Kiss the Sky

As to the rule of the Lord
there is a sword in between the
ocean and the stream, through
the heart splitting apart my notion
of a perfect beach side dream

The sand is my lust, and just a stone's thrust
from my spot on the river, yet closed to I,
oh, how I despise how her water makes
me shiver, and thus lost am I from my beachside
for a love of pleasure and a hate of the tide.

Big and blue is my god above, his face
a disgrace to mine eye. Oh,so high could
I contempt your grace wit my facade? My mortal being is so odd-

Hate and lust is what I find inside my mind
though I define these as shouldn't be,
what was your plan when you made me?

How I adore the look of this sea shore.
though I loath this tease of a place.
The apple of my eye is what I despise
I hate it but still I find there is never enough time.

Im not going to blow anything out of proportion by quoting anyone, but I think there is a genius in this thread.

>>5301767
who is it

>>5301780
me obviously

Swallow a marble. In a shower,
test the shelves of my collarbones
with your fingers.

Find me in a drum,
an anxious and hand-brushed bowl
of bedsheets and arrhythmia

pressed at, the product
of diligent flossing
bloody in my sink.

Itches in my head agree that I can't.
Fingers scratch and then pick
apart septum stalactites;
the closest I'll be to clean inside.

Sirens ring and I listen;
they've little to say,
but something tells me
things better left unsaid.

I step back and wince
I step again and resent
Just a mirror. Just a picture
It says more words than I'd like,
but it all says more words than I'd like

So concludes a layered cake
that has turned cryptically sour;
another night digging for tunnels
in my head, through my apartment,
in a letter to yours, but I'll just
knock on your door and tell you.

Now I drift through the Poem of the Sea;
This gruel of stars mirrors the milky sky,
Devours green azures; ecstatic flotsam,
Drowned men, pale and thoughtful, sometimes drift by.

Staining the sudden blueness, the slow sounds,
Deliriums that streak the glowing sky,
Stronger than drink and the songs we sing,
It is boiling, bitter, red; it is love!

I watched the lightning tear the sky apart,
Watched waterspouts, and streaming undertow,
And Dawn like Dove—People rising on wings—
I've seen what men have only dreamed they saw!

I saw the sun with mystic horrors darken
And shimmer through a violet haze;
With a shiver of shutters the waves fell
Like actors in ancient, forgotten plays!

I dreamed of green nights and glittering snow,
Slow kisses rising in the eyes of the Sea,
Unknown liquids flowing, the blue and yellow
Stirring of phosphorescent melody!

I have jostled—you know?—unbelievable Floridas
And seen among the flowers of wild eyes
Of panthers in the skins of men! Rainbows
Bridling blind flocks beneath the horizons!

In stinking swamps I have seen great hulks:
A Leviathan that rotted in the reeds!
Water crumbling in the midst of calm
And distances that shatter into foam.

Glaciers, silver suns, waves of pearl, fiery skies,
Giant serpents stranded where lice consume
Them, falling in the depths of dark gulfs
From twisted trees, bathed in black perfume!

I'm bored of boarders
or rather hoarders
can't stick a line in
sand where there hasn't been
a set foot in trenches
or blood in vengeance
steeped by stone, the majors
hold upon a wager
that next time we'll
struggle together, he'll
give the command and you'll
pull the hand of pencil sorters
"Let's re-pack those boarders."

>>5301780
its you buddy

>>5301780
this one. hope you dont get a complex
>>5297192
>>5293956

>>5301510
this guy is genius too. I would spam this one >>5301488 on /b/. There are many great ones in here

>>5301864
o yea also thought those were gr8
wouldnt call it genius tho but gr8

>>5302004
well I liked them a lot and there was a totally unique style. The descriptions are extensive but I think its on the verge of something insane and powerful. I think these kinds of thoughts are so big that they get broken easily.

Delicate beauty.
What is it?

The sea?

Or perhaps
a painting of
a quiet dreamy
landscape?

or
maybe

simply

an empty bowel
sitting
on
the counter
top

and the light
coming in

from the
kitchen
window

>>5302273
Awesome. Can I have more?

The swampy green monster,
that filed away his taxes last September
and coated his teeth in flimsy film
made out of liquid rubber
processes from rural China
under very poor working conditions
that lead to three suicides last annum
the former year of our Lord and savior,
the Lord that brought life
oh, and death too,
used to wrestle professionally
and for fun at home
with his two kids
that he eventually abandoned
for some lipstick-caked Vegas broad name Nolean
who also happened to have nine toes
and used to date David Copperfield
ran amok in town
his local town, you know, just some town,
and killed eleven people,
all of whom were kin
because it was that kind of town.

>>5302292
Being holed up
in a car

marooned in
traffic

waiting
for
the
hallucinatory

green light

one can easily
feel
as if

we're living
in the
margins
of many jails

through
the marriage
of many nights

but the
pale light
from

the moon

falls on
the
dashboard

and there's
nothing more

>>5302403
>>5302273
C-can you teach me how you do meter? P-pls senpai.

Thanks anyway.

>>5302273
>>5302292
>>5302822
Your poetry is some of the most boring I've ever read, it has about as much integrity as a samefagger i.e. you

For sale:
Used condoms
never worn

>>5301763
My pedantic punctuation fixes:
>side dream.
>should not be.
>What was your...
>sea shore,
>I despise.
>I hate it, but
Work on your meter.

for chad

you leave tomorrow
or would that be today?
1:10 am
drunk and alone
borne aloft by folk songs to make me cry, not trusting
myself to be sad enough for you,
because you deserve to drain me
and dry me out
until I tear myself in two

i see a darkness
and under the light and tv screen
I type and type and type
because I shouldn’t stop
for you

I’m drunk
for us
and them
and they’ll leave the next day
but tomorrow
you leave

“You were one of my first friends
in high school
in a place that didn’t give me many friends”
and I cry
because I don’t deserve that
because you deserve that

We thought of love as just a cuss
Have never brought no good for us
Yeah, love was just another chain
Electric impulse in your brain
So when you left, no tears were shed
Another day, another bed
But now that it has been so long
I wonder if we both were wrong

>>5302994
bump

any critiques?

it makes you ugly
it makes you old
it makes you sad
it makes you cold

it turns you off
it gets you down
it gets you down
it gets you down

>>5298652
really like that one.

>>5303316
can't tell if not really trying, but i actually like it

A heart and mind fate's rope does break.
Another one, a soul to take.
Travels innocence through heaven's gate,
Whilst chance and sin play devil's game.
Lies strung together by the scruff of their neck
A chain of examples dominion does set.
The face obstructed, no eyes to see
'Till spirit escapes, a soul set free.
One life taken. The next one sought,
As another falls victim to the 'forget me knot'.

To err is human
That much is for certain
Are we divine, then, for
Forgiving such transgressions?

I doubt it,
Who am I to say
You, you, and you are OK
Whilst this man will bear his err forever
That's a long time, you know, forever.

Hell, I just have no idea,
Let this guy do it, he's made himself clear
An absolute moral in an uncertain realm
I'm wrong, but forgiven
By our divine helmsman.

The sun is my friend
But it burns to no end
and dances upon
the waves and my skin
and I can't get enough
Till the waves get too rough
and I'm forced to return
back under the fern
then I notice the burns on my skin
But I'll return to the waves once again

>>5304237
the last line should read rays not waves. >.<
I don't blame you
but I am so confused
I don't know what to do
or why I feel used
all I do know
is the meaning of the blues
and the shades of my life
it's colored with delight
and outlined with hatred
it's solely a picture
of what I've made sacred

I miss my friends
but I love my enemies
they offer a lot
in lieu of a friendly beam
they taught me that
everything ain't
quite what it seems
and that
all we can do is dream
sometimes I feel like a fiend
then I remember:
Life's the field of dreams
and we're all on
opposing teams

Words-
let them become you
and consume you.
Losing yourself,
you find them.
Between the definitions
lies the sound
the root of all things.
and it lives without meaning.

I wrote this about my dog

One day I'll look into your eyes
Knowing it will be the last
To know you're free, rid of pain
Will comfort me through the night

On wild green pastures you'd roam
Romantic dreams in a river of hope
Rushing over you with love and with life
I'll be with you soon
In only a matter of time

And together we'll be one
As it always was
Hand in hand, peaceful skies
Over as we embrace
Forever more
And I wrote this about my mom (was her birthday)

Madre Luna, northern rise
Roots raised with velvet palms
Cracked and aged
With promised frays
Knots severed
Life's untethered eyes
Watch over you
With your thin disguise

Perils unmasked
As days go by
My heart tightens
For each breath
You'll make my life

And for each moment
As seconds whizz by
You brought me in
You gave me life
You'll always be the world
Forever more in my eyes

Fug

>>5304663
no fug u

>>5303323
thanks, man. hearing that is encouraging.

sorry for exposing you to this atrocity... this came to me all at once, while I was cleaning my room, and I wrote it instantly

---

older than the

sun & moon

it endures,

patiently, dancing to the music

of the occasion

within

its otherworldly air

>>5305045
What are you talking about though?

>>5305053
the immortal spirit

A new couple walks past
Feel her look linger
You're mine
He reaches out to remind her
She keeps her head angled
Like she was watching the wall

What a strange pattern those bricks made
She tells him when they're alone
Which bricks? He asks
The red ones
The quiet ones
The ones which sit
And sip coffee
Spinning stories around strangers

She approaches hoping to see what's behind
She smiles and meets his eyes
But he's already a brick wall
If someone was watching
It's a touch they'd miss
A quick grey trace
Of quiet concrete between bricks
She wanted to know if he's lean toward her hand
Why do you still need this
It's not holding you up
Only keeping you in
And the rest of us back

I watch walls marked with words
That others put there
And wonder if bricks know
All the things their face is saying

>>5305095
i guess

Does anyone do open mics? The bane of my existence is "buzzfeed poets"
>>5305095
>>5305045
>writing about "deep abstract things"
>writing about "deep abstract things " with only cliches

Yup it's bad
>>5304504
>you'd
Try using "you will roam"

I like the body of the poem, however, you shouldn't have to explain the subject. It should be entirely self contained, try modifying it towards that

>>5304298
>Sometimes rhyming
It makes me shudder. Consistent internal rhymes or no rhymes
>>5304237
Not bad, kinda cutesy, not reaching but solid
>>5304282
Same deal here, not too subtle or anything
>>5304032
>You, you, and you are OK
I do not like this line at all. The poems not amazing either
>>5303615
Clever, little edgy but the last line makes it worth
>>5302994
>for chad

Is that the title? I feel like this is a troll?
>>5302822
That's not meter
>>5302381
>that lead to three suicides last annum
I like this one. Was going to complain about your use of the word annum, changed my mind
>>5302273
>an empty bowel
Either an exceedingly clever joke or a misspelling

>>5301827
Awesome. Super evocative but I'm not sure of what

>dawn and dove

Two different soaps

Been through this thread. It's all shit.

>>5305178
>buzzfeed poets
Explain pls

bury me where I fall

head screwed on too tightly
my neck worn
stripped

for days I sit on my couch
and replay our conversations
“Just tell me.”

I’m tripping over air
heels way above my head
a tossed marionette

hacked and sewn back together
I can’t find the words
“Just say it.”

you know
you make me wild
and fucked

hacked and sewn back together
bury me where I fall
“Just tell me what you’re thinking.”

>>5305207
>ten reasons why ______
>I broke up with my boyfriend and it is not a good thing
>remember pop culture? Gosh I sure do
There was a guy who just listed off 90s things and that was it
>>5305205
>criticism
Awesome. Now help us construct

>>5305232
>Now help us construct
No. Fuck you. Just give up.

The Locals Eat Chipotle

And me, I’m no stranger
to culms of bamboo.
In bubbling cauldrons
of hot pork chop stew.
The cyanide, coconut, sweet pickled string stalks
Are tumbling down streets
where they don’t know the climate.
Atlantic coast rock beaches native to pandas
Where leopards and rice-field rats
sleep at the wharf of Boothbay.
Don’t go confusing home life with hotels
Things never do work out
When we lie to ourselves

How could a person
still live that way now?
Turning limp cartwheels
in dried up canals.
The spirits you slept on moved West after Wednesday
And now all the paddies are
next door to juice stands.

Where forty years prior
our ancestors just made it
And half of me used to fly
in plasticine steamships
Your other side sometimes
still overcooks the broth

All of the reverends
you made into statues
Are kind of at fault now
for why they can’t move.
Don’t you forget what old acronyms spell
Things often don’t work
when we lie to ourselves

And you, half your pride points
are rooted in skin tone.
So forty-five colors are
all royal purple
While orange pulp and pajama robes
falter towards laminate
Card stock and flower heads
wallop propellor fins
Slithering adjectives grope to your viscera
Holinshed’s ospreys are
fishing for contretemps
Masked finfoots fulminate
over your nakedness
How could we get lost
inside such minor acreage?

Often when we sneak around
Things don’t work out
When we lie to ourselves

>from my blog

>>5305251
posting its thematic companion piece

Go to bed, Nietzsche

It’s hard to be unique with so many niches
I guess it means nothing; oh, go to bed Nietzsche
At page 12 on Google they never will find your
Half-decent passages posted to pastebin
It’s nice to think all of my talents are wasted
Because fear of success is for people who’ve made it
I’m clinging to classicist notions of artistry
to justify four years of buying an arts degree
And while you were mastering mora-timed prosody
I sold eight blank notebooks of ironic poetry

I thought that making my generation heard
Meant laughing at dry folks who said, “hashtag is not a poem word”
But I don’t even like Twitter; I just saved some clever screencaps
“Dust in the wind,” how about, “We are all but snapchats”?
So I set my texts to verse and wove sonnets of emojis
“You just must be joking; where are the meadows, where are the feelings?”
They said,
“If you can’t convince yourself then why the hell should I bother read it?”
I replied,
“There’s more to what say than the extent to which I mean it.”

So I ramble like I make things up
People ask how much I mean
I guess, at worst, I’m half sincere
If I’m doing it for free

>>5305250

>>5305251
>>5305264
I like your style. Link to blog?

>>5305283
postmetakolsti.tumblr.com

>>5305230
anything? anything?

>>5305309
If you're in middle school, nice job. If not, no.

>>5305309
>please rate my stuff I'm just going to sit here not rating others
>not realizing that most poems in this thread have no responses
>>5305230
>>screw metaphor
Cool I like where this -
>changes metaphors seven more times
Niceeeee

because of the gluttonous gnats
we are shifting cautiously in the dark
to starve them of the yellow meal

the scallions; hollow by touch and
headstrong, refuse to lift their scented ghosts,
illuminative as airline aisles
in the dark
on our fingertips

and the thread of the night, taught from ear to ear
hisses a shiver into the pitch
mingling with the metaphorical laments of our gnats
and whether they can feel the throb of the swarm

around them
are our things
the strips of kitchen molding
our shuffling and bumping and chopping
the unsticking of naked feet from the tile
the sound of muscles remembering what we forget
so nothing but milk is spilled
in the dark

do we have enough
food for thought and tiny stomachs?

are there
clouds in the space between head and ceiling?

>>5305303
Oh, it's you again. I think you're incredibly talented and likely the best writer on /lit/, but I don't get all the hype.

>>5305419
>rhyming scallins with around them
I fuck with it

>>5305532
did not intend that in the slightest

>>5305458
I think I am a better writer than this guy

>>5305568
Based on those two poems or based on knowing about the Phuc Kid/Kolsti thing and knowing his other stuff?

>>5305568
Which poems are yours?

>>5305576
Based on those two poems. What are you referencing? I'd like to check that out.

>>5305600
I'm this guy
>>5297192

>>5305612
>>that pile of undifferentiated nonsense

>>better than postmeta

No.
You should feel bad for even saying that

>>5305612
This is a smaller scale version of that guy the other day who thought he was better than Pynchon and Joyce. Phuc Kid/postmeta/Kolsti is on a higher plane than you.

Listen and tell me what you hear.
The river of motors swirls
black Motorcycles and fast blue automatics
Glide over the surface of sounds
A trickle of fireworks too weak for the big show
arise like smoke signals to say
"we hear you. July fourth is not one day"
Thumping soundtracks from a dozen cars with their windows down
A low flying airplane like a crocodiles tail


>>5305112
( this is also me)

>>5305630
Its a style and it has a purpose.
>>5305635
I haven't read any Phuc kid but what I just read was reflective at best. I haven't written in at least a couple years but what I just shit out was a complicated concept that you probably won't touch or a long time.

>>5305669
If you didn't understand it then please tell me what you got out of it. And if you got nothing out of it then you shouldn't be reading it.

>>5305669
Dude is 17 and he made this:
http://postmetakolsti.tumblr.com/post/92882440475/opening-paragraph-to-something-im-writing
Understand that he wrote that shit at 16. You're alright, but you don't have shit on the Prince of /lit/

>>5297775
You look atractive in a feminine way and italian in a male way.

I want to lie in bed with big hipped women with large breasts
And loving eyes
And feel their arms around me. This will be my medium.
A sort of Aphrodite moaning and writhing and
Fucking the sea foam
The sea is white with cum and you wake up and the bed is wet
It is stained like your mother’s womb
Aphrodite had no mother
God you wish you didn’t have a mother
Why couldn’t you be Aphrodite
Springing from the dick of your father
Barreling up through the sea foam to be painted by Botticelli
You’d be a beautiful subject
If only you didn’t have a mother

>>5305669
>he thinks his throwaway prose could even sit at the same table as the prince of /lit/

>>5305735
whos the prince of lit?

>>5305744
He's mostly known around here as the Phuc kid. We found his tumblr by googling his writing and his name is Kolsti Nguyen. That guy >>5305303

>>5305669
>It has style
If illegibility is a poetic style, I understand why it has remained unpopular
>and purpose
I wouldn't know because I literally couldn't parse it. It feels like you have run on sentences. Your words lack purpose. You explain stuff too much.

>>5305735
Its not the prose its the message the prose is a tool to help you get there.

>>5305777
your prose is so bad that nobody knows what the message is
git good

>>5304504
>One day I'll look into your eyes
>Knowing it will be the last

And you'll never forget that look. My dog dying destroyed me for a while. I don't even want to get another one with the knowledge that one day i'll have to feel that again.


>>5290339
Just recently started writing. Might be...mechanically simplistic. Be gentle/brutal, I can take whatever.


Sunny days
Summer haze
Thoughts lost among reflections
Of scattered rays
Each sliver reminding me
Of better days
Of purer ways

Of mirrors that didn't show
A frowning face
Memories that slip
Further and further away

Sunny days
Summer Haze
Ocean skies where a man
Glides above the maze
In a sailboat made to fly into
A distance blaze
A distance may

A place for old souls
And mangy strays
To plow their own fields
And help seeds to raise

What does it matter, anyways?
The sun will set down
And the river will raze
Red streams of light
Will break along with the waves

I wish I could stay
In these sunny days
In this summer haze
In this flow and way

overwrought describes most of the poems posted so far. there are a few worth rereading, though.

>>5305777
On the one hand, nice trips. On the other hand, I still can't believe you're deluded enough to think your shit message can carry your shit prose enough to make you better than the prince of /lit/, who is decidedly better at both.

>>5305791
This might be me being old fashioned but I hate it when a rhyme scheme doesn't make sense mechanically. I'm not sure what the message of this poem is, it seems sort of singsongy. Not bad for early work

>>5305795
Ok well I'm not well versed enough in the writings of the prince of lit to understand that great truth. And sorry my prose is bad. I was trying to capture something and I guess I failed. But I know prose. And if I refined it, then you wouldn't call me deluded.

>>5305816

There was some instrumental in my mind at the time i wrote it, it's meant to go the rhythm of that. Unfortunately I can't find or remember the track.

>>5305773
I was trying to be illegible to an enxtent. And I was trying to run on and describe things ultra thoroughly. But I guess I went too far with it to the point that now its just garbled, like my house. Thanks for the criticizm.

Because you're not believing us when we say "this is bad" here's the breakdown

>>5297192
First: formating. Can't tell the prologue apart from the main body.

Proofread; you misspelled apartment

Paint a picture of these "machines." Most interesting thing so far but you just breeze past.

You use the word "autistic" too often. Choose literally any other word. Describe the state "their tortoise minds" or "their frayed kite brains"

>appartment looks like shit... Documents
Aside from being a terribly constructed sentence, describe the image of the pile pile and don't say "important documents." "White papers like a dozen ghosts" of some shit

>...is fucked up
Show don't tell

Why are we seeing your room? Why would I care? I'm interested in the "fuckery" not the details of what your room looks like


The focus wanders without a purpose. You're our only vision into this place and your gaze isn't focused

There's something here, find the diamond

>>5305821
Just search "Kolsti" in the archive. He did
>>5305697
>>5305303
http://postmetakolsti.tumblr.com/post/93431295505/300-words-i-wrote-about-yeezus
http://postmetakolsti.tumblr.com/post/94266060295/prose-experiment-in-restraint
http://postmetakolsti.tumblr.com/post/94308221880/more-experimental-prose
http://postmetakolsti.tumblr.com/post/94414020870/i-listened-to-joanna-newsom-and-went-a-little-overboard
http://postmetakolsti.tumblr.com/post/95050561255/if-sincerity-is-lowercase-letters-what-if-i-type
That's the general Prince of /lit/ starting point based on his tumblr.

>>5305772
He looks pretty attractive. Maybe if my work was googled and there was an similarly attractive face to my work, I would rival this man. Maybe that's how all of this works.

>>5305864
http://postmetakolsti.tumblr.com/post/93431295505/300-words-i-wrote-about-yeezus
I could write that

>>5305872
He's a talented teen writer with piercing eyes and a recognizable yet not gimmicky style. He's basically our Rimbaud.

>>5305877
But you didn't. And now someone younger and better looking has. He wrote that shit at 16. He wrote half the shit he posts here at 15. He's gonna be Pynchon after his Master's degree and you're gonna be Ben Brooks at best.

>>5305877
>I could paint that
But you didn't

>>5305878
Hey that's me! I could be like your Jim Morrison! Hahaha!

>>5305791
How old were you (and your dog) when your pal passed anon?
She's getting on in age and I woke up from a dream of me having to euthanize her myself, so I wrote that poem.
Bad feels.

>>5305884
That's pretty amazing. I don't think I could paint that. But I did draw this, and I don't even draw!

>>5305898
And this too. In class. I even drew on my sat krkek

>>5305908
Being more arrogant than you are talented isn't going to net you any fans. Kolsti is Prince of /lit/ because he's a relatable, humble kid. He's everything we wish we were at that age. He doesn't namefag, he doesn't viral market (or else we'd have some Tao Lin shit going on), and he doesn't brag. He knows how popular he is here.

>>5305885

Was 21, had had her since I was 10. I had similar dreams when the end was getting close. Would dream of going through the daily routines, not even noticing she wasn't there with me.

Stay strong anon

>>5305917
Oh shit, he does know
http://postmetakolsti.tumblr.com/post/94962926010/your-blog-is-the-best-one-out-there

>>5305920
Fug anon, I've had her since I was around 10 as well. Throughout all my endeavors, failed relationships and shenanigans as a teenager - she was always there. She's always been there. The only constant in my life, the only structure.

I don't want to lose my best friend anon.

Nothing will prepare me for the day she's finally gone. I have no idea what I'll do.

Pic related, my Peanut Butter.

>>5305908
>>5305898
>dat shallow grasp of symbolism

>>5305864
Jesus, he's a handsome genius

>>5305917
That's good that he is humble but I am insanely talented. I am not exaggerating when I say that I can do everything. And I think I know a rare breed of people that can do anything. They are gnarly and fucked up, and those terms are becoming a new concept that is impossible to explain, which is fine because explaining it is contrary to the point of it. I'm someone who knows that something will come soon that can break the current system, because I know and roll with the really brilliant people that you haven't seen yet. And if you can't speak my language, then you are too old fucking old for it!! You might as well just die already!!!!

>>5305986
you sound like a bunch of gay assholes

>>5305920
I want people to watch for the change in the concept of fucked up and gnarly.

>>5306000
Just do that, and if things stay gay and shitty and retarded like they are now, then I'm a gay asshole idiot. But even if in the end I am that, I will still have lived a better life than you.

>>5306000
What does this have to do with the post you replied to?

>>5305986
what the fuck is going on in this thread

>>5306015
I'm trying to show people meta metamodernism. Its what I hope happens after people get fed up with the way things are. I'm high maybe I'm going a little insane.

>>5306015
a revolution, man. listen; if you have to ask, you might as well die already.

>>5306012
Oh, sorry. Meant>>5305986
Just forgot to add it in there

>>5306034
At least in my head. But do other people see it too?

>>5306032
You'll never be as important to the board as Kolsti is. A couple years of critique thread brilliance created a minor cult following for an unknown person. But then, we learned he was 17 and therefore wrote and posted most of his most beloved works at 15 and 16. We found his blog and he's not a dick. You're just some tryhard faggot.

>>5306043
no, you are high and feeling grandiose.

>>5306032
>meta meta modernism
I'm going to cry

>>5306032
That's nothing. The kid's blog is literally named postmetakolsti. His Yeezus copypasta from almost a year ago literally uses the phrase meta-metamodernism. He coined the fucking concept, at age 16 no less, that you think is brilliant enough to propel your whole art. You should just pack it in and either give up on art or become a disciple of Kolsti.

>>5306056
That sounds like something bipolar I hope not
>>5306058
The name is a placeholder

>>5306080
>placeholder name
You act like you invented some new concept. Kolsti fucking Nguyen had that shit in writing months ago and he's likely been sitting on it for years. Just face it. He's the genius, you are the imitator. He is Shakespeare, Cervantes, Joyce, Pynchon; you're a poor man's Steve Roggenbuck.

>>5306054
I guess this wasnt the place to go to voice my opinion. There already seems to be one here. Btw I am typing all this from my iPhone.
>>5306071
Ill read his stuff. Im 18 and havent spent long in this board. But based on what I've read, his ideas on what meta meta modernism would be disagree with mine.

what the fuck is going on in this thread

>>5306099

>>5306094
I haven't even fucking heard of him! I didn't even know he used the term, and meta meta modernism was the quickest term I could think of to match what I'm trying to describe. I'm not trying to be like him. I think my ideas are more accurate.

>>5306109
>>/lit/thread/S5282093#p5291083

>>5306117
What the fuck? None of these people can write. And the one you're most impressed with ESPECIALLY can't write. He's just spewing buzzwords and /lit/ triggers onto the screen. It's like being impressed with poop because the chunks of corn are especially fine, was
Someone's opinion. You are pedo fanboy, and I had sculpted abs at 16 too.

>>5306135
He's a weird hybrid of Tao Lin and DFW with a bit of Joycean prose brilliance and you're just mad that you'll never match him.

>>5306135
His ab picture was from 14.

>everyone viralling their own shitting fucking work ITT
you are all mediocre to absolute shit that nobody will read ever, let alone in 400 years

jesus christ stop jacking yourself off

>>5306195
>implying

>>5306135
Fanboys
anyway, I'm right and puch is wrong. He's lucky he started writing early and developed a style that beautifully describes his ideas. He is a great writer, and definitely has a lot of people convinced that he knows where things will go. But i dont think he can't see the future any more than you. You can't agree with George and aldoux.

>>5306205
oh hush it babe you're blatantly mediocre and everyone knows tumblr wannabe writers regularly viral their poopoo here like you do. maybe if you're lucky you'll get a writeup in the new yorker or praise from bret easton ellis out of it

>>5306217
/pol/ pls go

>>5306222
why would you think im from /pol/ tho

>>5306227
>people praise Tao Lin
>fuck off Tao
>people praise Kolsti
>fuck off Kolsti
It's obvious you're racist against Asians

>>5306104
Shade getting thrown in all direction nobody talking bout poems

>>5290339
A train station crowded is no common thing.
A thousand souls commuting
to the hum of shuffling feet;
Come arisen the tunnel’s heat
Despite the cold ignorance that each person reserves the other.
Staring ahead or down or feigning sleep, maintaining the austere identity of Stranger.

Trapped in the tube stand souls
Supported by cold metal poles
A black mother in her seat
Thinks of her long gone children, either grown and distant or dead in the streets
Nobody to tend her or her to feed
Nobody left to need her now, the black mother sits and pretends to read
A tramp lays in the far corner
With neither money nor home to his name save for
The needle twitching in his arm; his glazed eyes staring in voided space
As bystanders stand and sit by without heed of the tramp’s dead gaze.

And the train stopped and everyone left
Save the expired nobody, he of friends and family bereft.

The subway filled the next day,
Everyone glossing over the corpse where it lay

>>5306237
sounds like it was written by a nigger too

>>5306236
It's all because some fuccboi said he was better than someone else.

>>5306237
I like this a lot. Beginning of the first stanza, my eyes slipped and I read "tribe"
And it really fit. If you don't take that I will

>>5306235
#lel i thought he was slavic

>>5306195
Fuck you dude. I'm not trying to have the best blog out there. But I am smarter that a lot of people and I have been a part of a whole group of people who I think are going to change things. It seems now like I am no longer a part of that group, but even if I am not, the world will still be much different than most people, especially this guy, think. And if you want to see what the future really looks like, look at the people who are actually gnarly. Ive seen these people do incredible things without much practice. Look for people who live exactly how they want and do everything they want. I think these people can do anything, and I think they will inspire people to live like them.

>>5306252
Holy shit dude. You could condense that whole paragraph into:
>please notice me Kolsti

>>5306252
You're really bad at writing. I got tldr on your 4chan post. Who says gnarly

Oh sorry is that a meta meta meta meta commentary
>>5306243
Just casually insult him while focusing more on the rest of the thread

>>5306241
>tfw I'm whiter than snow

>>5306245
not sure about the tribe thing, but thanks either way bruh

>>5306252
Are you seriously positing that you're better than Kolsti because you don't practice and that makes you "actually gnarly"? This better be an elaborate troll.

>>5306273
Nah he's 18 I remember being 18... Maybe I should write a poem about it

>>5306217
I didn't post that but I don't even have a blog. I barely even write, so I'm ok with being a mediocre writer. That means I can improve. Hopefully someday I will have studied enough that I can put things in a way that will make people care about what I have to say. Then I can tell all of you to suck my balls because I was right and you were fags on the Internet.

>>5306283
The trick is to make them not sure if they're missing something. Outbursts like that make it pretty clear

DFW didn't get Broom of the System published until he was 25 and a grad student. And that was horseshit compared to everything that came after it. So don't get too down on yourself if you can't write for shit yet and you're young. And when young people write like they're already in the canon, it's something to watch for.

>>5306273
No you dipshit
God damn
Kolsti is a great writer and has complicated views. But there are people out there who are great at everything because they understand something that you don't. And if one of those people became a writer or found some way to show everybody this lifestyle, then things wouldn't suck so hard. For me this thread was like one big poem and I can accept the fact that I might not be able to write well. But if and no one finds the people who are gnarly or fucked up like that, then art and expression could fade away into laziness and the genius of this time will have been wasted. Ignore the manic times where I said I was a genius with better pecs then puc and just think about how people are now with their phones and shit. And then think about who you follow. Idk.

>>5306342
On a less insane note I can't wait to actually read some of this guy.

>>5306342
So Kolsti's big ideas simultaneously transcend modernism, postmodernism, new sincerity, and metamodernism with a unique brand of post-sincerity.

Your big idea is "man, this generation with the phones is so un-gnarly."

>>5306352
Just read through his blog.

>>5306353
Well ya to an extent, but gnarly is a bigger idea than you realize. When things get too wrong ususally they flip. I don't think I'm an idiot I think I need more time to grasp and articulate this idea.
I'm really enjoying kolsti a lot right now

>>5306342
>doesn't actually use the term gnarly correctly
> uses it in every post
Your ideas are not new or innovative. Get good at writing and gain life experience

>>5306366
The word from the water at a waves edge
The unpredictability of how the white water will flow
It's not merely rough or tough or terrible
Chaos inside and out

>>5306367
>>5306367
I guess I need a new term. You can't really tell anything about my life from these posts. I have had a lot more life experience than most people. Maybe its affected me unevenly. Idk why people glom onto the things they do.
>>5306375
I have nothing to say other than I like it

>>5306393
>>5306393
>>5306393
>>5306393
>>5306393
New thread

Wicked laughter down the lanes
horror down the lanes
the lanes
bobby the lanes
watch the lanes
off the road
why did you drink so much
watch the lanes
there is a car bobby
goddammit
explosioncrashloudnoicesboombangcursingohshitter
bobby?
bobby?
oh god bobby why didn't you watch the lanes?
bobby I can't feel my legs
I can't feel my legs
bobby that baby is dead
bobby you killed a baby
their mother too
their father is screaming
bobby why didn't you watch the lanes
i can't feel my legs bobby
what is mom going to think?