/lit/ - Literature

>>5783856

This is a fairly rough section of a short novel I'm writing for practice. I'm stuck on it, it's nowhere near my quality standards but I can't figure whats wrong with it.

http://pastebin.com/L2dw7iPY

A poem I just hacked up.

We don't want you
getting wise
feeling good
feeling smart

We want you miserable
we want you crying
we want you dead
if at all possible
if you wouldn't mind

we want you
to stop looking for answers
because there aren't any
there's never going to be any
and if you keep looking
we're all going to keep hiding them from you

We're not gonna let you
feel good
act right
be kind

We're gonna bring you down
make you frown
make you feel
like the rest of us

What's the point?
What's it worth?
You can't beat life
Life finds a way
Life always finds a way
To shit on you.

>>5784103
>http://pastebin.com/L2dw7iPY
too many metaphors too much tryna be a poet and you've chucked in too many wannabe quotables that you quite shamelessly think are oh-so-deep. All that fucking writing shit and I still don't know what's going on, you've just written literary masturabtion, waxing poetic with metaphoric similes and ohsodeep

How about, you know you think of the reader and how he doesn't want to trudge through this shit. You're on a boat, or a raft, in a storm of metaphors, with a fox?

what the fuck are you even trying to say. KEEP IT SIMPLE FUCKSTAIN

>>5784538
could of just written "angst, the end". This sort of poetry you can tell is written by a 15 year old american WAKE UP SHEEPLE

>>5784565
>could of
Opinion discarded.

Fuck it.

Alright where to begin.
well, there it is.
always on the tip of my tounge,
but who the hell wants to chew something that's been on the tip of my tounge?
There, always there but not here.
always dependant on the appearance of a guest star in the tragic sitom of my life
whiskey whisk me away
coffee and cigarettes on a cloudless day.
or a girl, no no, a woman, so soft, caring.
all for just one instant give me something to say,
Long enough for me to sound like I know what I'm talking about,
short enough so that I know what I don't

>>5784602
Sorry replace the last "what" for "that"
Just cranked out this shit in the line for my electronics. Happy thanksgiving fuckers

>>5784561
Yeah, I know its fucked. I'm working on rewriting it.

Could of been less of a cunt about it and been more specific though.

they say life's a bitch and then you die,
and suicides quicker, but I prefer drowning puppy-givers in 40's of malt liquor
then butterfly feet that bitch till she shrivels like a mini-tree, bonsai
she aint a problem, cos I slap bitches before they pass by
and if she scrapes by, I got a mac-10 and the shotty ready for the drive by
I aint taking it sitting, hell I wear stilts to the sit in, I'd rather turn a blind eye face and cheek before I take this bitches shit on the chin
So the next spouting pessimism is going get her face rearranged, impressionism
this worlds depressionism, seven duece is what you're dealt, but before you go chasing the white light, brick wall no safe belt, point that light at a prism and watch the fucking rainbow glisten goodbye cynicism

>>5784657
Ur bars are mad weak

little stinker, whitey kid nitty picker/
friends with niggers, pull the top he shoot it quicker/
on a booty thicker, bend it stiff and stick it in her/
whooty licker, deepest thinker, sickest spitter, move the brick and block the kicker/

I'm just playin, skin lookin horrid man need a vacation/
Cause I'm losing my patience, loose implications, losing my breathe like noosing a Haitian/
Showed up to the funeral with the beach music playin/
Niggas lookin morbid man sheesh I'm just sayin/

Now I'm flipping the bricks, sniffing the chicks, sugar covered shit while I'm dippin the spliffs/
Met Bill Clint and I offered a hit, donned a purple cape and I'm off in a bit/
Off'a that shit, coughing a fit, 25 years cause'a chemistry kit/
A chemistry kid, catch a fuckin shiv, cough phlegm on my dick/

>>5784103
>His pet, a fox, lost a leg and has become depressed

aww
you should include a lamentation of the fox about his lost leg

he should wander over the waters of a river [with a lyre] and compose some bucolic lamentation

'oh leg of mine, a twig of willow, a cloudlight shadow, a spring of reed
oh paw of mine, so sure to tread the grass and flowers, forest and mead...'

:3

>>5784561
not every work should be simple

>>5784669
Nah, hes right.. it is way too complicated, I did sort of think I was being hardcore or something while writing it.

I'm reworking it now to be a bit better.

Not sure if troll, but, the fox does do some really depressing shit. I felt awful for writing it. MC considers beating it over the head with a rock to put it out of its misery at one point.

it also reminds me one story which happened several years ago in one russian zoo, a ferret and a parrot together fled from the zoo because they got depressed due to constant rains, i'm serious, that's how their escape was motivated

anyway what i meant that all is a kind of anthropomorphism...

>>5784701
Yeah I got the anthro thing, but I could never do that. I'd cringe at every word I write. I'll have him struggle and limp, but not communicate in any tangible way.

you still don't get me
foxes don't have self-consciousness. they don't even have 'self' the more so they cannot 'understand' some kind of loss. they can feel pain, can be apathetic, can be annoyed, can even be sad, but their emotions are closer to mechanical reactions because there is no self behind them. to call them depressed may sound pretty anthropomorphic

also what you describe rather sounds that fox simply felt strong physical pain

>>5784729
Ah, my bad. Yeah that makes much more sense.

I understand that, maybe depressed is too powerful an emotion. I meant more of the fox gives up, it doesn't hunt anymore, it doesn't act lively or how it used to. For example, if you threw a dog to water it would try to swim? In the scene I posted the fox just lets himself sink.

I never straight up say "the fox is depressed" Instead, I say that the narrator feels a great deal of pity and guilt.

Something I wrote about a week ago, then cut down recently to omit extraneous crap. The beginning of a chapter, probably.

"The lengths to which a person will go so they don't have to sit next to someone else on the train are astonishing.
I thought, as I squatted in an empty three-man seat I'd found only after walking three railroad cars, that perhaps I was contributing to the problem. The notion didn't last, since I didn't give much thought to self-criticism.
No, it was perfectly natural to want to sit alone. The second car's empty right-side two-seater had an ugly brown stain on the cushion, and I was just as conditioned as everyone else against being sociable on public transport.
Head on the elbow, arm on the window, I sat glaring at the seat in front of me, flexing my hands. A few too many washings had turned them raw and red and a few hours later, they were cracked and oozing blood.
I couldn't close my fists without opening up the cracks a little more and bleeding all over my knuckles. They were a sight to behold. I probably looked like I'd been in a fight, and the thought had me laughing quietly until I stopped and realized something.
Maybe someone wouldn't want to sit next to another guy on the train because he was glaring straight ahead, and because his knuckles were bleeding, and because he was chuckling softly to himself."

>>5784729
None of that made any sense, kitty. Isn't it wonderful to pretend that our being cunts to animals doesn't really cause them any harm, though, because they're, like, animals or something, right?

>>5784763
they feel emotions but anything more complicated it's usually we using them as our mirror
actually it's not bad to make your fox speak because it would be your character speaking with his mirror image in the fox

>>5784781
I actually do that, he talks to the fox, asking in questions and then hears answers.

He says something like "What do you think?"
then afterwards "Yeah I thought that too."

Anyway, I edited it, almost a complete rewrite, I'm much happier now

If anyone would give (useful, non-obnoxious) critique:
http://pastebin.com/L2dw7iPY

>>5784781
>they feel emotions but anything more complicated it's usually we using them as our mirror
That's basically ridiculously false, too. Did you know, kitty, that people who feel emotions - that is, go out of their way with these gestures of love and sorrow or whatever - are generally classified as criminal when it comes to psychotherapy? The emotions are a front, you see, they're sort of justificatory elements, allowing for righteous indignation, for the person who feels them to lash out for his own good should the need arise. The normal human being, then, is but a frightened robot who will cling to any sort of order he or she can, unfeeling but for in the avoidance of pain. Jesus would have been a criminal by today's standards, funnily enough.

>>5784806
Well, I guess he was a criminal back in the day, too.

>>5784806
All emotions are chemicals.

While it is true they are extremely moving, can have powerful impacts on our lives and often feel almost spiritual, they only exist as chemicals in our brain.

While I wish emotions were deeper than that, its a scientific fact that emotion is a survival instinct.

While I will agree that animals can understand the range of emotions that humans do, I will not agree that its anything beyond mechanical.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not a cynical asshole, I truly wish I could see it as more than what I do, but its just how it makes sense in my mind. It's a concept I ignore.

in a sense emotions are very primitive by themselves since even animals without personal self can have them, they are related to even more basic pain/pleasure too. we probably can make a program to feel them already, as terminator said in that old movie that when a bullet him him he felt damage

>>5784828
I don't mind that, anon. I'm basically the same. It gets to me when people think to wrap themselves up in their own special brand of existence though, which is above and more special etc. than anything else's. That's basically where slavery and Islam's persecution of women comes from.

>>5784830
Most human emotions are a lie, only more intricate because we respond to more things with them - they are and have always been our primary mode of receiving the world; the pattern gets tied to an emotion before consciousness. Kind of a sad thought, isn't it?

This discussion is getting lame and scientism-y. I'm dropping a short story on you all. It reads a bit young, but I think it's enjoyable all the same.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1_s0OJlv3ygyX8Icev21crcO-tnfZS9sddozoqzEDhyo/edit?usp=sharing

>>5783856
Critique Exchange thread!
Come post your work here as well:
>>5772924

Standing here, at the bottom of the ocean, it is impossible to see the sun, nevermind the moon and stars. But I believe the old story in spite of all that.

I spend my time strolling through the empty boroughs of Atlantis with my hands clasped tightly behind my back, dead-eyed gaze set ahead, unable to describe my own condition.

When they were still children, they promised one another that if one of them became wealthy enough, he would support the other two.

The first two died destitute, and the third was condemned to a punishment that made it impossible for him to fulfill his obligation.

At times, the weight of the ocean is so heavy on my shoulders that I cannot withstand it, and I am forced to lay down, and take shallow breaths. Sometimes a minnow will pass by and sniff my face like a dog.

That is the end of the story.

The glaciers cast shadows on the seafloor like clouds would.

>>5785855

REALLY good. You have a lot of potential.

>>5785865
Not very good at all, rather. But does have a lot of potential.

>>5785881

I have to disagree, imo it's the best original excerpt I've seen posted on this board.

>>5785891
How long have you been here? Like a week?

>>5785911
Stop being a begrudging little bitch, anon

>>5785911
Everyone knows this >>/lit/thread/S5555224 is the best original piece ever posted here

Hello ANONNN Blue
Do not be alarmed
I’m the man you thirst to see
The spirit to make your life come true


Anon sits back up against the headboard. Considerably startled but perhaps this is all a stupid dream. A scary, un-relenting, impossible dream. “Wake up!”

Anon you are awake
And most would say in luck
Theres a cause the Devil sent
He sees youre filled with gold

Anon sits guarded. If this is not a dream, and the man from the smoke is from the devil, then there’s nothing he can do but listen.

Im here to promise dreams come true
Your dreams and goals outlandish for you
But with my help and the Devils too
Well take you on your journey through

The trials of your renaissance desires
We’ve got gold, and riches, and fun you see
From you we only need one thing
Sacrifice your soul.

Your sacrifice will bring forth every dream that you desire
For just your measly little soul your life is to be filled with endless burning favor

Anything you ask is yours
A big rockstar?
The work is done
An astronaut.
Well sure that’s a new one
Anything at all you see
Everything you want and need
No more worries possibly
Just sacrifice your soul to me

>>5785914
tl;dr

>>5785916
this huge alter-ego man is about to come face to face with a deal with the devil

>>5785919
>muh faust legend

>>5785919
lol. Sounds cool, dude.

>>5784538
Message is on point, execution is pretty bad.

Pure energy manifested in a glass, unrefined power. Mixed into a sick yellow sludge. Every sip like sucking on a land line, feeling the electricity surge throughout my body. Caressing and manipulating the world with my fingertips. Shaping and forming reality with my thoughts. Processing information at the speed of light. Icarus they called me, soaring to close to the sun. Wondering when I’ll ever come back down. “Blasphemy” I shout from the heavens, more powerful than ever imagined. A god walking among mere mortals. But my wings they're clipped, my cup is empty and only utter darkness follows. I no longer stride in the Elysian fields but descend into the darkest corners of madness. Nights of endless insomnia, the image of a god burned into my retina.

>>5785914
since you write it as a some kind of piece you should add additional remarks who when speak etc, also no stuff like

>If this is not a dream, and the man from the smoke is from the devil, then there’s nothing he can do but listen.

the drama don't disclose the inner monologue that way, anon should say or sing it aloud

would be cool if the devil or they both singed together

Banal verse I came up with when I was bored in class; don't know why I wrote it down but here it goes:

Sleep well every night
Knowing I'm dead
Sleep well day by day
With a light head

Hey you! Hey you, Big man up there.
Why wont you walk me? and where is your hair?
Is it something I've done? Did I make you upset?
I see you, and the family, but you all seem to fret.
I hope your ok! I wish I could show it,
But, somethings not right.
I feel it, I know it.

>>5784571
But he's right...

>>5786002
:(

I literally just looked up from my dog at this.

>>5786011
thanks, it is sad I'm pleased you seem to get everything I'm saying with the poem but would you say its good still? Just looking for constructive advice

ive stopped looking for you
the way i used to
hoping to catch
just a glimpse of you
hoping to just be near you
enough to remember
what it felt to be insane
eaten from the inside
soul and body
by the sickness of love.

my heart no longer skips a beat
when a car that looks like yours
passes by
i no longer remember
your voice
your smell
your taste
the feeling of your skin
all thats left of you
is a memory
of all the things
that never were.
--------------------

Now tell me it's terrible

>>5786017
I liked it dude, don't really have anything to say besides that. Don't change that 'your' if it was a mistake though, it seems like it might fit for a dog :3
>>5786018
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8UVNT4wvIGY

>>5785914
I like the last verse but the rest is awful

>>5786026
It is intentional, I might change but in some other tiny grammatical errors so it becomes slightly clear that it is. That way if anyone were to question if it was a dog or not they'd know for sure. Even though it is pretty obvious anyway

>>5786038
I figured. It's good, anon. Touched me anyway :)

>>5786043
Thanks

>>5783856
I could really use some help on a scene I'm having trouble with.
http://pastebin.com/8nmq1VD6

I would be happy to exchange critiques with anyone who gives me criticism. I'm stuck on this section and I'm not sure how to fix it.

My dick is hard,
they call me the bard.

this life, in which we strive for exceptional
performance, in order to please
whoever pleads for us

speaks of sin
commits none

actions can't be undone, nothing can be unseen
I need to take a break
from this eat, sleep, rave, repeat

>>5784602
Interesting idea, but it doesn't flow very well. Try cleaning it up so that it reads smoother and it would be a lot better, I think.

Experimenting with some stuff. Here's hoping there's some value to it:


Mojave desert.

Lonesome samurai is belletristically training with katana, his movements elegant from long practice. Everywhere tufts of dry shrubbery, white as bone. Sunset now and on the horizon a man advances toward the samurai.

''Hey, Pete.''

''I do not acknowledge that name during these hourse'' samurai says. ''Did you bring a sword?''

''What the hell are you talking about? Pete, you told me I--''

''No matter. I've got a spare sword here.'' From the ground the samurai picks up a katana, sheathed, and throws it to the man; lands against his body, man says, ''Ow! Fuck man that hurt!.'' Now: ''Let us begin the duel.''

''Pete, what the hell is wrong with you? Why do you wanna fight me, I'm a film critic for chrissakes. Is this a joke I'm not getting?''

The samurai points his sword at the man. ''Look at him, ye Gods! Here is the man who has been polluting the minds of millions of people with his writings. A champion of mediocrity, a defender of all that is wrong, the man who rapes muses -- is he not guilty, ye Gods? If death be his fate, as indeed it is the fate of all, then let me deliver it, so as to make it righteous, just, give it a point. Here's my blade -- here is Truth.'' The samurai strikes a combative pose, poised to slash.

Samurai's enemy says whimpering: ''Jesus, Pete, what's wrong with you, I--'' With one swift move the samurai decapitates the man. Body falls and head rolls. Pool of blood widens in the dust. Desiccated shrubbery strains and twists to drink it.

Sunset, its red splendor spread across the desert. In silhouette the samurai moseys away, knowing his enemy to now be the food of vultures.

Some are born to fail

A beggar with a face like a bombed out city

He was a little boy once

I can tell you, and you can say "I know, I know"

But you can't know, nor I

Why bright little boys grow into sad grey men

Who never really stopped being little boys.

>>5787047
My dick is hard,
they call me bard

A DIALOGUE

BUB: Well, that's because, and here I'm only pointing out a fact without any malice, the Jews run Hollywood.

KNOB: Come on, man. Who do you think you are, Hitler?

BUB: What? No, not at all. I'm not a--

KNOB: A Nazi? In light of what you just said, that's debatable. You--

BUB: I didn't mean it in--

KNOB: Oh you meant it.

BUB: But not in the way you suppose. There's no, uh, malice, y'know. Fact, just a fact.

KNOB: You claim that Jews run Hollywood, and then you have the audacity to claim that you don't deny the Holocaust?

BUB: The holocaust? What are you talking about, I never said--

KNOB: But you think of it regularly don't you. Let me ask you this: How can a man, at the same time, whack off to those grim, sickening pictures taken of Auschwitz, and also claim that ''Shoah'' is a fantasy film?

BUB: I have no idea... No idea what you're talking about. What are you talking about?

KNOB: I'm talking about your virulent anti-semitism, talking about your denial of the holocaust. It isn't surprising that Jew-hater such as you would have pictures of baby-porn on their computer. I don't even know why I'm talking to you, you're disgusting.

BUB: For fuck's sake I've never done any of those things! Are you insane, man? What's wrong with you?

KNOB: Wait... Oh... ohhhhh... I'm so sorry. I had you confused you with someone else.

>>5784538

''10/10, a masterpiece''J.D Salinger

''I love it, amazing'' Elliot Rodgers ghost

>>5787324
Commentary on the interaction between rationality and conviction?

Or perhaps just an observation that violence is a more efficient problem solving tool than debate.

>>5787412

last line should be

Who remain little boys, til they die.


so it would be

>Some are born to fail

A beggar with a face like a bombed out city

>He was a little boy once

>I can tell you, and you can say "I know, I know"

But you can't know, nor I

>Why bright little boys grow into sad grey men

>Who remain little boys, til they die.

>>5787461
That is significantly better actually.

>>5787468
That's because I'm a good poet anon. Seriously all these pretentious poems with no rhythm or rhyme? What is that about. Rhyme isn't all poetry's about, but its pretty fucking essential to good poetry.

An epiphany

I looked through the glass
A portrait came upon
Yet, I just wanted to smash
I couldn't grow fond

I leaned in closer
Holding my breath
But unable to keep it in any longer
I exhaled towards death

The mirror was cloudy
And the vision wasn't in perception
Until I had an epiphany
Looking at my own reflection

>>5787494
You're right but too bad your poem is shit and you're a shit poet

Dammit

There is some kind of rumbling in my belly.
belly tell me what
belly tell me what to do
my hands cant think for themselves, theyve got too many fingers reaching in places there not supposed to,
my brain cant think for itself, its got too many things to do,
my eyes cant do anything, theyre almost almost shut
might as well be
so belly tell me what to do
how to breathe
how to be
how to beat out a rhythm
some kind of rhythm
some kind of something

forgive me jack
jack me forgive
jack tell you loving thing
jack tell you dont stop thinking
stop thinking jack dont tell you.
oh, that i could talk nice
oh that i could write nice
then that girl would smile back
then that love might fly back
to me.

Love I You

Can you imagine-? What part of paradise those words deliver to me would?
The kinship between happiness and good-? Those syllables engendered may have once?
Within this heart, whose sole and only conc-
ern was that angel, bauble lost
Behind the couch or fireplace once tossed
Undeserving of neglect, decay,
crying out in songbird tones dismay?
No - upon stopple petty, feeble fantasy its feet
And sit it down, and give it something palliative to eat.
To sky point him, and to the heavens proud,
To snowbanks freshly formed,
and to the wind-rush of the clouds.
Another sound-
Or no sound. Silence, manned, whose eyes so shining heaven blue
Are like hers! Lack! Alack! So far from color of the blood that once they drew!
Hurt, cast your heart away, and clutch it, and dare it fly
away until it on stubborn some old grass clot to it land designs
And lingers, while forgetting, weeds and insects oercrowd
Laughter of her time ago that heard you once,
the sound.

I'm in an egg.
Thats whats happening here.
thats why the ground is so cold and misshappen
thats how nothing can touch me
that s how i cant touch anything else
thats why the ceiling is dark
even though the sun is shining
wheres my dad's hammer?
wheres my uncles chisel?
Wheres my brothers wrench?
hell,
wheres my dad?
wheres my uncle?
Wheres my uncle?
hell
Wheres Me?

>>5788031
>>5788067
>>5788122
what the actual fuck

Slam bam thank you ma'am.
http://pastebin.com/1gQiQaND


This needs criticism as I haven't performed it live yet and I want it good when it hits the stage.


Rustle my Jimmies /lit/

>>5788157
>slam poetry
Ayyy

captcha: sinning flounder

>>5788163
I'm afraid I don't follow old chap. Come again?

>>5787324
I really like this but I'm left wondering how this style would translate into a longer piece. The samurai's little speech is pretty cool.

Here's mine:
Thick clouds descended onto the dank, dark marshlands.

A shadowy cloak shuffled from its crypt with a bundle of tools in its hand, a woman, his lover, dragged by her hair in the other. The necromancer. “Everything will be alright. Everything will be alright,” his eyes shifted solicitously at the figments of his imagination, dissipating in the fog. He splayed his rag on the ground. Stamps, a pot of salt, a knife, and a single candle.
His vacillate hands manipulated her naked form into a cross. They drew a ragged circle into the soft dirt surrounding her, stamping runes at her head, her feet, her hands, and were filled with salt. The ritual had begun. Her skin flayed by the jagged dagger’s work, her ribs splintered away; no longer did something beat in her chest. It was stolen by the necromancer and sat in his quavering hands.
Closing his eyes, he whispered to himself, “Soon,” and sunk his teeth into her bleeding heart.
Tough and muscly, the necromancer gnawed off whole pieces, swallowing chunks of meat like a beast. The taste of iron stained the inside of his mouth as slippery flesh dropped into the pit of his stomach. His body begged him to stop. He heaved and retched, sweat, tears and snot ran down his face.
At the end of it, the necromancer’s face was left a bloody mess; in the corner of his eye he saw the candle’s flame singeing the rag. A crooked crimson smile forced its way onto his visage. He approached slowly to the candle and tossed the dirty cloth into a puddle of mud. He held a cold hand over the candle and felt nothing.

>>5788774
It kind of made me chuckle. Reminded me of the joke where a kid asks his dad for thirty dollars.
"Twenty dollars! What do you need ten dollars for?"
That being said I also don't really get the joke

>>5789281
Meant for >>5787433

>>5788143
does this mean you like it? how does it make you feel? was it written badly?

>>5785855
this guy >>5785891 is pulling you down. It's a below average piece.

it feels like déjà vu in this haze
Whatever
It's not your maze that I'm stuck in,
nor your warm gaze.
But think again, this bolster can hold you or destroy you.
Maybe you're not as bold.
So it's told.

Ten percent is all that remains
fingers swollen, hands sliced
through these burns and pains
I must tune in
Or fume away
Dice dice. Spice spice, grill grill
This kitchen sure kills my thrills

Wrote this during break on a chipotle shift

>>5790205
ya thats what i thought. fuck that guy. thanks for not being patronizing

In picture.

Im not sure if this is a song or what I just write it

Body Language

Hunched
I don't want to see any longer
Akimbo
Im crossed but you read me breathing
My hands
They want to do so much more

Busy invasions
Claim my head
It hurts me to tell you
I waited all night long

>Please critique.
Hell the place where the clock ticks and never moves,
where there is no lesser pain to soothe,
where acid rain burns the skin,
where memories repeat again,
where the temperature ever grows,
where my boredom never plateaus,
where every breath I breathe is bile,
where every quest isn't worthwhile,
where I'm stuck at constant crossroads,
where my suit of skin corrodes,
where magicians never remember their tricks,
where junkies cant ever get their fix,
where the morally bankrupt roam, worst of all it feels like home.

>>5790545
you're in hell now?

>>5787927
bad rhythm

>>5790515
yawn

>>5788157
I want to fucking kill you. Not in a sadistic way. Just erase you from the world. Fuck off

>>5790545
le edgy teen

My mother mumbled something regarding my looks.
"How hansome!" She cried,
but what does she know?
all she does is watch American Idol and scream and cry at the various people who are stupid enough to put thier dreams to a vote like some kind of bill to be passed by the same idiots who can't even elect a worthwhile government and so and so.
of course her opinion matters to me, in the same way a mouse matters to the mantle of the earth.
Ever so slightly.
Same story with the rest of them, really.

the best thing ever, and the other hand the first place I have no clue who I want you in my room is the most recent version and the first place I have no clue who I want you in my room is the most recent version and the first half and I love the fact is a very nice but it would have a lot to be able too see my friends to the first place

--------------------------------------------------------

You are the best thing ever when you have a good day

for a long time ago I was just a little bit of a new one
and I don't think I can see the point of having the best thing about it
The best of all time low and "a lot of fun" and "addicting" and "I don't know if you have to"

The best of all of them
were a few years
years and years in a row in my room
for a long way toward an amazing voice of reason
why?
the best way for me

I was in my room for a long way toward an amazing voice of reason
why?
the best

The only thing
that would have to go back

and I don't think that I have a great way of the year

and I don't think that I have a great way of the year
of high quality of life and the other hand

I love you so much
--------------------------------------------------------

The end..
New beginnings
Under that old tree sprouting
Roots deep in the underground,
Deeper than my own, I find her.
There are better things I've found
But much too under ground
Gnarled in the bone and twisted in the soul
Another seed finds light, and oxygen to grow

Callous cunts cut curding cream collections, cradling collision comas. College cabaret cages caduceus cunningly. Current chemicals christen Christmas climax Cleveland while bubonic babies boil bourbon belches in Belarus. Biting bittersweet bingo billions, bassoons burn’n’bury binary baseballs bound for boomtown. Brandy brass breeches bloated bubble bags, breeding bleak bubs.

>>5791568
>and I don't think that I have a great way of the year

What does this mean?

Also.. This kinda reads like a song.. Is it supposed to be?

Hey there. The name's Murphy. It's plenty dark out there, everyone in the house is asleep, and I've got one of those goddamn spells of insomnia -- so I figure it's as good a time as any to tell my story, which I think will explain why I've got this shovel in my hand. I don't know if I should dig or not.

What happened was, I got drunk one evening, way more drunk than I tend to get. So somehow I ended up in the cemetery, and there she stood, flesh and all. She was wrapped in a pretty white dress, not a stain on it, and her hair was done nice. Bare feet in the mud. I mean I swear to God it was her. She was sitting with her back against her tombstone, obscuring her name but I knew it was hers on account of I've been there so many times. I touched her shoulder: like touching cold marble.

She never, not once looked at me. Just kept staring at something I wasn't privy to. I asked her, but she wouldn't answer. The silence almost made me sick. Or maybe it was the booze.

I sat down right next to her, and kept talking. And the talk, one-sided and quietly begun, gave way to tears. Like an idiot I sat there and cried and tried to say things I couldn't say anymore cause she ain't here. You know in cartoons when somebody opens a closet and a bunch of bowling balls tumble out? That's how my words came out of my mouth. Secrets spilling.

At some point I fell asleep. Next morning, I was woken by some hysterical woman. She had come to visit the grave next to hers. I guess it couldn't've been a pretty sight, me stinking of drink and sitting against her tombstone.

She was buried with a beautiful silver necklace around her neck, one she'd been wearing all her life. I found it in my pocket this morning. I want to put the shovel back, but can't.

>>5792002

this sounds like 1950's radio detective drama.

or maybe lines from a a Bogart script.

>>5791673
"I'm a man out of time, I don't have a good sense of the present"

>>5787935
And you're an edgy faggot. That wasn't my poem, that was my last line to improve the poem. Don't know who wrote it but they are pretty bad

>>5784103
this has been removed
>>5784538
pretty good. i feel that this speaks to the entire board of /lit/ and 4chan. it inspires in me a paranoia of conspiracies which are created to make people in the modern world unhappy. the tension between the narrator and the subject being spoken to is palpable in a 1984 big brother way.
>>5784602
your poem betrays a perception of self and of life that is empty and hollow! i am sad to say i relate to it wholeheartedly. i do believe that there may be more depth inside of your head if you would just stop looking at yourself so much... you are too self conscious to let your colors fly, so you resort to coffee, cigarettes, whisky and women. i am much the same!
>>5784657
this is sick flow which i am going to steal and put over a beat. sorry homes. great artists steal.
>>5784663
this flow is not as sick as above flow, however it would sound good if rapped in british accent in the same song as above flow with a beat by SALEM
>>5784751
this is a good psychological analysis of social anxiety and OCD. however it hits a note that is a bit too personal in regards to the author. perhaps best kept in a diary for later analysis. then again, it is beneficial to air out these sentiments in public. i wish real life didn't have to be like this, but, then again once again, it is better than the alternative, since so many people are repulsive now.
>>5785855
another very deeply sad bit of writing. author seems to be describing his own neurosis and disappointment at life...

i want to assess all of these but i can't... i'm sorry... it's too dark in here. the words seem to be jumbled...

>>5792115
all these poems are pretentious shit wow

SALLY: What's wrong?
JIMMY: I've never done this before.
SALLY: (bursts out laughing) Really? Oh... my... God! You're a twenty-one year old man, Jimmy, and you're telling me you're a virgin?
JIMMY: Don't you fucking laugh.
SALLY: I'm sorry, but it's just too funny. Twenty-one...virgin...oh my God...
JIMMY: So fucking what? I have problems, alright?
SALLY: Yeah, and the biggest one is that you're a twenty-one year old virgin. Ha-ha-ha-ha... Oh God. And now, that you have the opportunity, you can't even get it up.
JIMMY: I am a man, I should be able to please a woman...
SALLY: That's right, but you can't. Look at that little thing. You call that a cock? It's about the size of one of my nipples. (Laughs uproariously.)
JIMMY: I'm pathetic...
SALLY: Of course you are.
JIMMY: I came here happy and hopeful, thinking that things are finally getting better. Thinking I could change things. My mom died last week. And she told me... told me to have hope...that I am a nice boy who will do things... go places...
SALLY: You? Go places? Ha! The only place you're going is back to your pathetic little life, Jimmy. (Gets up, dresses.)
JIMMY: Can I at least have my money back?
SALLY: No.
JIMMY: But--
(Door opens, big black man enters.)
MANDINGO: We got a problem, white boy?
JIMMY: No...
SALLY: Jimmy, this is Antoine. You wanna see a real man, look at him. Cock's wide as a coke can and long as the Eiffel Tower. Unlike you, Jimmy, he's not a pathetic loser who can't pleasure a woman. (Smiles pruriently at Antoine.)
JIMMY: (Leaving now, tears in eyes.) I can't... I can't live anymore...
SALLY: You shouldn't. There's a bridge around the corner, use that.
(As Jimmy leaves, Antoine and Sally embrace each other, ready to have, long, hard, sweaty sex.)

>>5783856
If one would be so kind, also this might work better as a very short play.
http://pastebin.com/pD89rsnC

Chapter One

It was a time before naivety in the lands beyond the lake, a dark time in which the locals were cruel as monsters and with manners to match - a bad time for the rowboat to glide gently ashore.
Around the four men was the waste of the lands debauchery; blood and bone and ash. The men stayed silent, stepping gingerly off the boat. The very mountains seemed to quiver and quake, taller and more menacing with each glance.
The importance of these venerable peaks was confounded by the insignificance of each detail. Whole villages just a dot on the landscape. The mountains spread around the back of a huge pit of canyons and valleys, a horseshoe, the only way in or out; the lake. The lake itself spread far beyond the sight of even Rhoo, the youngest of the group at twenty-one. Rhoo looked ahead of him and saw a descending path down into the valleys in the distance.
They looked forwards towards the path but as one seemed to take a step back.
"In this place even I feel small" muttered Geoff.
"With the way your chin bounces when you talk that means a lot" Rhoo laughed and Geoff grumbled, then more seriously Rhoo continued.
"But why are we so somber? This is a dangerous land but we are fierce warriors, I for one will not feel oppressed on the first free day of my life. The first of few I hope but never the less. Let's camp for the night and drink the rest of the wine. Getting here was hard enough and we deserve a celebration."
Geoff pulled a wine skin from his belt and took a swig, then passed it to Rhoo and patted him on the back.
"I feel better already, you may have some wisdom in you yet my lad".

Squdy tines adnubilate
horrescent, trepang-associated

trephination afore my
ingression. Gelid, knurled capiscum us

ensconce? Audemus jura nostra defendere! Ingurgitations ere

anatine lollops fain suppurate

nescience.
I tried my hand at writing a poem. Thoughts? Critique?

>>5792328
Hoo boy

>>5792913
? zó

>>5792002
Fedora tipping critical mass

>>5793026
Sorry, I guess not everyone can write so-called "literary" middle-class domestic dramas.

>>5787412
This is the only good thing in this ocean of piss

>>5787324
So cringeworthy. Stop writing until you have become a totally different person

>>5793030
Fucking lol are you kidding

>>5793043
No. Are you?

>>5791226
u r an asshole

>>5793371
Thanks man

>>5792993

Miasmatic ordure.

"Yeah, we'll be at the Grand Canyon in an hour," Winston calmly said, as if smoking a Winston.
I didn't respond. I merely tried to process my dream. I couldn't. I could only think of the present–lost in rushing rapids–living in it, as if it were Christmas Day every day, as if Papa were still drunkenly pouring his fragmented thoughts into my ears without consequence. I considered the road trip, then the whole of summer. I had school in two months. College. So did all my friends. Why did they seem so contented? And why did I feel so passionless? Did I really feel strongly towards the Grand Canyon? Or was it for another reason? I dreamt of snakes, and abandonment. I told myself that I left because my grandfather died, to commemorate his life. But he didn't abandon me. No one has except the apparitions in my dreams. Did Papa really give a shit if I saw this rocky cavity? No. I knew that. I departed for no one reason, nothing happens for one reason. I left–we left–because we wanted to recapture the spirit of timeless youth, where intermittent summers between school years stretched like the expanses between the Grand Canyon. But this is just a guess. Perhaps–perhaps I sought the sight I sought because I thought it might incite some thought I needed to think, like: what a ridiculous thought.

Sweet and honeyed dirge,
A soft and wisped whisper,
I've found that little dark
In the light,
Stark gift I give to myself.
Cast fathoms below,
That old ideal,
To take hold of that
Which cannot be fathomed.
My, how I fall to chill,
Gazing upon the undarkened
Mass who will never know
The smug superiority I feel being a PoMo loving piece of fuckcunting shit.

From the heart, anons.

>>5793532
Danke, oft-inspired compatriot.

I’ve already envisioned it, I think.
The isolated smoke hanging, with the
Clock coughing a haunted clink and clank.
I see chairs; they’re dusty in my mind,
They’re deadened by the decades and the dead-ends
And they’re sitting and staying,
Expecting that conclusive kick.
The fire’s an oven, or a car engine,
I don’t know really. It’s whirling on repeat,
Screeching and spitting,
Watching me eat away and drool.

The mellow hum of the city seldom slumbering
Loiters unknown beyond my covering walls,
Wandering separate, save for the chance falls
Of feeble breeze felt by my curtains quivering,
Or the odd lights darting through my shutter.
Segregated from the humming of street toys,
In here nomads bash symbols and make noise,
Inexorable isolation, I speak, I breathe, I stutter.
‘To Paris!’, you cry, as if it is not an interrogation,
To Paris? I ponder, with deceased, shouting lamps,
And circuitous cafes and loquacious scamps.
A laughing wake, this sincere and social bouquet,
This embrace of the peripatetic pills of negation,
With glasses raised to Paris and awe and decay!

When I was born my father ate the placenta

I don't come to /lit/ and this is very short.

http://pastebin.com/1tJEythU

i've done some crazy shit in the past,
but this definitely takes the cake.
hot damn, i sure was having a blast,
performing oral sex with a snake.

http://pastebin.com/PAJB80NP

11th in a series. You might miss a few things but not a lot.
Something like 4k words so, you know, probably not worth your time.

>>5784657
It's actually spelled "shawty"

>His first 120mm HEAT round

It's a tough call delving into such details. Especially so if it's military fiction. I would drop the 120mm reference. If you described the weapon system previously I would drop both that and the HEAT reference, thus:

>His first round

Being vague with details, but not effects as the character sees them, has its advantages. If this aims to be military fiction then getting the details correct is going to be a ball buster. For example, a HEAT round's explosion can appear briefly spectacular. The actual meaty effects are more prosaic. Smashing and partially lifting a turret from its housing sounds iffy.

You might describe the damage as gouging and exposing a bit of the turret ring instead.

Since you include the idea of plasma burns, you've gone full SciFi, so anything is possible I suppose.

The point here is not so much manhood waving technical accuracy as how to present the action. The best go to guide is not some random anon, you need a real writer. Probably Tom Clancy would do you best - seek out the tank battle scenes in Red Storm Rising, and that one battle in Berlin from The Sum of all Fears. That's just a suggestion for you to review, I'm not saying your writing is bad.

>Nah, looks NC.

Readers will make an obvious connection with another, now extinct, south east Asian organization with a similar acronym. That's actually a good thing, something that pulls double duty as characterization, and is suggestive of the nature of their opponents. Intentional or not be aware of this effect - it's a useful tool.

>Somehow he didn't quite feel like smoking anymore.

This is the only one real sin you've committed. This sentence destroys the effect of the paragraph with its redundancy. Drop this one sentence and the rest of the paragraph remains vividly clear and far stronger, both message and emotion.

Though it seemed like a dream, it was not beyond reality, that on some day beyond the streetlights and sidewalks of the city, a certain appetence had carried you away to the tree-lined strand. It was by the shore of the sea you had chanced to encounter the swelling of a wave in your heart one evening as you espied her. There, through a lattice of palm leaves was she standing, as if the coy little princess had surreptitiously sneaked through the city for the seaside, with her russet locks fluttering in the breeze and her honey eyes gazing past the horizon for an attempt to appear most prosaic to the paleness of the playa sands. She had failed nonetheless; incensing in you, by the glance of an eye, the first impression of an infante to last forever.

>>5796257

Not apropos of anything, but I meant to post this as well.

He felt the sting as the bullet slid through skin and muscle before coming to rest in his lung. The next 4 four merely shook him, one penetrating his thorax and spraying blood lightly on the thousand mile foot between Colan and Keba. Colan tried to breathe as his mouth quickly filled with a putrid mix of blood, saliva and an anonymous third fluid he had never tasted before. He sunk to his knees, every atom of his being growing heavier as the blood left his body and oozed down his shirt. His two would-be victims quivered in the cold Autumn night, Kebas brow furrowed and Serah's eyes wide with fear and anticipation hidden behind Kebas substantial frame.

A short, stout police officer with a tribal sleeve tattoo and a long beard closed in through the fading puddles, gun trained on Colan's paling body. “Drop your weapon motherfucker, come on!” Colan hissed , spitting crimson, and began to draw his ancient cannon before the last and final bullet punched through his skull. His memories left through his temporal bone. His vision went bright red and slowly grew darker. He was fairly sure he heard Keba say 'Fuck' as he fell. Serah wailed the way only a woman can for a man. His brain matter drained into the rainwater, diluting and mixing, until it was a thick slop in the backstreet gutters.

> Be gentle I haven't written since high school

>>5796205

Good read, two suggestions.

>which might have actually been the case.

I think you can drop this part. Redundant.

>and then there was only death.

Too sudden, too blunt. You might give a description of him melting away, the enfolding of endless night, the falling back into the dust. Something like that.

>>5796321

>He felt the sting as the bullet slid through skin and muscle

The most common phrase I've seen to self describe a bullet impact is: 'a hard punch.'

Sliding ... suggestive of slicing, you're describing a knife at work, not a bullet.

There could be valid reasons for describing the impact as you did, perhaps other details earlier in the scene, or the character's physical strangeness, but just from that writing fragment it doesn't fly.

Last paragraph confuses who is speaking. Here's a suggestion:

>... gun trained on Colan's paling body. “Drop your weapon motherfucker, come on!”
>
>Colan hissed back,

1/3
I listened intently to his nimble words, engaging him with a few of my own, so that in conversation we were like two horses galloping side by side. The movement of his hands accompanying his speech was exceptionally dexterous so that if divested of the power of speech I had little doubt that his capacity to express meaning would in no wise be hindered. Any attempt on my part to match him in deftness of speech or movement would be mere vanity, and at best I could remain content to gallop tyronically at his side, hoping to glean something of his rhetorical prowess. He was a master of all manner of learning and debate, but what impressed me most was his marvelous aptitude for drawing on a pool of the most heterogeneous information, and then weaving those diverse contents into one whole and continuous tapestry. Alas, evening fell and I contentedly took leave of my teacher, but the night conspired against me, and my gentle sleep devolved into horrid and sanguinary visions.In dreams, anamoly is the standard, and the eloquence of beasts in that tangled nightmare forest that grows darkly in the wild corner of man's brain is really the speech of gods and star beings—for in dreams, gods and beasts are barely distinguishable.

>>5796601
2/3
In a moonlit glen I spied a shadowy being creeping ponderously about the gently sleeping foliage, and resolved by some mischevous and unnacountable impulse to follow after him whither he go. His appearance was black all over, a walking shadow with elfin pointed ears, and glowing red eyes, so striking their aspect that to glance them asphyxiated my very soul. But I am made of saltier stuff than that, and besides, once set upon its mark, curiousity is a most heedless and voracious jungle cat. By what means I don't know, I lost his crooked trail, and rather found myself facing a lustrous brown stag of a peculiarly brimming vitality standing at the foot of a massive tree. My heart sang its encomium to this noble keeper of the forest, a wordless panegyric composed of the richest feelings, inspired by the noble stature, magisterial gaze, lean and determined musculature—had I been born a pagan I would have worshipped the animal in my ignorance. The stag seemed a symbol of life itself, I thought—but what of that shadowy apparition? Before I could finish my thought the stag bounded from the tree, and with two imperial leaps was gone into the forest. With that, I gathered my fortitude about me and resolved by the grace of God to try the forest once more. To what cruel and tortuous abasements did the forest then subject me! The owls clawed at my hair, the rats picked at my feet (for I wore only my usual crude pair of sandals), the thorny twigs and brambles rose up in union to thwart me, when suddenly a child's laughter wetted my ear as if floating by on sinister eddies of sound. The notion of "child-like innocence" seems a mere nominal and colliquial designation to anyone who has once heard the murderous laughter of children in dreams, and so much the less comforting did it seem to me in that dark forest.

>>5796619
3/3
Scarcely had I heard the laughter when I spotted a moonlit clearing, and within the clearing a luminous pond decked in lilies. That pond was serenity itself, yet something afloat the nymphic body of water aroused me to investigate further, and so I cautiously approached. I was a scout in the land of mystic allegory, fated by heavenly decree to seize from that dream-world the torch of forbidden knowledge, to wrest from that nymphic grove the deep-blue secrets of the pond—or thus I naively felt. As I neared that inconspicuous object the hazy distant outlines merged and parted, formed and deformed, now a dissipated fog, now a stony image, till by degrees I made out a brown and bloodied mass—why, it was that same noble stag, now but a grotesque token of its former living presence! And who floating slyly round the body of that fallen forest-god but the black apparition feeding, it seemed, on the liquid valor spilling from its veins.

>>5783856
*Even Lovers Drown*

I surfaced in a shimmer
As the rain began to pour
In the spot where all the lovers
Re-enact the civil war

A feathered serpent from the soil
Burst from the broth and froth of fen
To ladies’ sighs and young laments
And wordless worship from the men.

I dreamed myself an Aztec God
In murky misdirection
But by the swampland’s eerie glow
I caught my own reflection

Otherwordly, yes perhaps
Not from a plane of bliss
But risen from the swampy Styx
The Amazon’s abyss

My skin was whipped and wounded bark
My nose a wet protrusion
I could not hide my scaly skin
Or craft some self-delusion

My legs were scarecrows in the breeze
I anchored them to land
My skull a reeling whaling ship
Whose bridge was then unmanned

And so I ran upon the rocks
The waves dashed on my hull
As all the ladies screamed and ran
And dodged my swampy pull

So I retreated back to where
The many tightropes rot
And found you floating there again
The only love I’ve got

Whose skin is scaly much as mine
Who is Poseidon’s daughter
Whose eyes are just suspended pools
Of putrid standing water

It is not perfect, it is not pure
The depths to which we sink
The matrimony of the damned
The romance of the missing link.

>>5796257
Thanks, appreciate it.

Arent people afraid of someone stealing your work if u post it here?
Like i am making my statement of purpose and being the lonely fag that i am i have no one to peer review it. I am not saying mine is so great than an anon might use my stuff but I am just afraid that might happen.
Any thoughts?

>>5797349
>I surfaced in a shimmer
>As the rain began to pour
>In the spot where all the lovers
>Re-enact the civil war
uuuhhh...interesting?

>A feathered serpent from the soil
>Burst from the broth and froth of fen
>To ladies’ sighs and young laments
>And wordless worship from the men.
noice

>I dreamed myself an Aztec God
>In murky misdirection
>But by the swampland’s eerie glow
>I caught my own reflection
noice plus plus

>Otherwordly, yes perhaps
>Not from a plane of bliss
>But risen from the swampy Styx
>The Amazon’s abyss
diggin the old school vibes

>My skin was whipped and wounded bark
>My nose a wet protrusion
>I could not hide my scaly skin
>Or craft some self-delusion
noice

>My legs were scarecrows in the breeze
>I anchored them to land
>My skull a reeling whaling ship
>Whose bridge was then unmanned
noice

>And so I ran upon the rocks
>The waves dashed on my hull
>As all the ladies screamed and ran
>And dodged my swampy pull
kill it with fire

>So I retreated back to where
>The many tightropes rot
>And found you floating there again
>The only love I’ve got
cute

>Whose skin is scaly much as mine
>Who is Poseidon’s daughter
>Whose eyes are just suspended pools
>Of putrid standing water
noice

>It is not perfect, it is not pure
>The depths to which we sink
>The matrimony of the damned
>The romance of the missing link.
noice

Black was the knight
sharp was his sword
the maiden wept
a dragon roared
the knight begged the king
the wizard too
the former ignored him
the latter pulled through
the knight galloped off
his weapon enchanted
he rescued the maiden
her wish was granted
the dragon was slain
the hero was brave
the king bowed down
the village was saved
the quest was long
the reward was great
thus ends the story
and seals his fate
the plot is simple
nothing too complex
I think I'll read
a romance next

>>5798636
nice. lol

>>5798041
I've never seen something in here that was good enough to steal, and /lit/'s so vain that they wouldn't steal it, even if it was good.

Even if a work was excellent enough to surpass those immense obstacles, I wouldn't mind if it were stolen. I'd be flattered.

>>5798890

The sun was hot
the sands were shifting
the saloon was packed
the spirits uplifting
drinks were consumed
poker was played
the brothel was busy
the debts were paid
the outlaw rode in
on a stolen horse
he approached the saloon
kicked the door down with force
"Where is the Marshall?"
he asked with a grin
"I've got two revolvers
and I'm gonna kill him"
the Marshall stood up
and slugged back his drink
he shot the man dead
before he could blink
the townspeople cheered
more drinks were poured
the story is ending
I'm getting bored

>>5798932
I'm sure someone somewhere is pretending the Irishguy's poems are his and getting flattered by friends and family for his great poetry

>>5798983
lol. let me try.

blood on the cobble stone,
a pale young lady dead
her hair was very blonde
and her husband fred
seems to be implicated
in the crime committed
his alibi is diamond plated
but with another he's smitten
the police detective on the case
is bristly and hardened
a moustache upon his face
proof of crimes he hasn't pardoned
he grows weary of his profession
and turns to whisky
as a reader, i have a confession
of this story i'm equally weary.

>>5798088
Yeah wasn't nuts about the "kill it with fire stanza either".

The first three verses have gestated for a few weeks. The rest was dashed off earlier today in a caffeine haze.

>>5799169
Could you explain the first verse, your thought process?
I can't really make up my mind what it's supposed to convey, but maybe it's obvious and I'm retarded.

I haven't written in months. Every critic will be appreciated.

>>5799194
"One great part of every human existence is passed in a state which cannot be rendered sensible by the use of wideawake language, cutanddry grammar and goahead plot." - James Joyce

I really like it, I've always wanted to write something similar to that but I never knew where to begin, as much as I don't know where to begin even giving you critique. If you have more I'd love to read it.

>>5799189
>>5799189
Sort of a darker take on the lovers lanes that are such popular haunts of movie monsters and serial killers. Young hearts throbbing and palms fumbling in the storm tossed ship cabin of a Chevy. There's a conflict here traditionally. The girl is cold, the young man overeager. A tiny strife, a division, like hormonal war reenactors. A civil war because ultimately they will be and once were unified but for the moment they are bitterly divided.

Our smallest human tropes are microcosms of our broader struggles

Or some awful load of pretentious bollocks to that effect

>>5799189
i suppose that they needed to rhyme 'pour' and then remembered 'all is fair in love and war' or a similar phrase and rhymed it with 'war'

>>5799214
Thanks. Yes I have more.

>>5799042
kinda choppy, didn't really sound like it had a natural flow to it. A for effort though

The manor was haunted
the thunderstorm crashed
the spirits were giddy
in darkness they thrashed
the portraits were moving
the old butler lurked
a houseguest went missing
the old butler smirked
the bookshelf rotated
a monster came out
covered in cobwebs
he let out a shout
"I'm hungry for blood!"
he bellowed and screamed
"My belly is craving
some human terrine!"
the houseguests were frightened
and scurried to leave
but the doors were all locked
so they started to grieve
"We're all gonna die!"
someone pointed out
but this ends on a cliffhanger
a shadow of doubt

>>5799225
Funnily enough no. The last line of that verse came to me first and I built the verse around the image.

>>5793649
6.5/10

>>5796341
Hm. Thanks.
That last bit, though, is kind of a reference to Hebrew folklore. Emet is "truth" in Hebrew. Removing one character from that turns it into "death."

>>5799273
I forgot to finish talking...
I'll just paste some shit from wikipedia
>In some tales (for example, some versions of those of the golems of Chełm and Prague, as well as in Polish tales and version of Brothers Grimm), a golem is inscribed with Hebrew words, such as the word emet (אמת, "truth" in Hebrew) written on its forehead. The golem could then be deactivated by removing the aleph (א) in emet,[5] thus changing the inscription from "truth" to "death" (met מת, meaning "dead").

Alright guys, i've never really written in my life. Hell I don't even read that much either. Idk why i wrote this but I did.please excuse the grammar. lmk what you guys think

>>5799223
I see.
I like it, thanks.

>>5799380
Much appreciated. It's part of a set I'm submitting to a literary magazine. My work always gets a good reception here but I could build a fortress out of rejection letters.

I think my traditionalist rhyme and metre are a bit out of touch with the modern poetry scene.

>>5799439
Well I'm definitely not an authority on all things poetry, but comparing your poem to some of the shit that makes it's way into magazines, I wouldn't understand how you'd get rejected.
Just keep trying Anon.

>>5799348
lol

>>5799567
you liked it? and critiques?

>>5799439
Good poetry is out of touch with the modern poetry scene.

Where are the identity politics?

>>5799567
You need to proofread, for one.

You kept my attention... Try rewriting it and changing things YOU don't like, then post it again and I will tell you if you caught the parts I didn't like.

Posted this here before, but never the entire thing. A bit of shitty prose I wrote on a whim a while back while lacking a lot of sleep
http://pastebin.com/wChUkfqb

i’m FotoFobic
thas why the shades
jus lifted em off the rack
an about
the jacket
it’s cuz i ride
cuz can’t afford much gas
cuz the kid
is sick
he weren’t born right
cuz his momz a coked up cunt
cuz her dad did fuck ‘er
n’ so did i
which’s why ’m in this
rut
cuz my dick don’t work
when ’m fucked up
so the rubber slipped right off
n’ rotten worm
foun rotten apple
ch’is why ’m in this
rut
ch’is why they
give me
hair gel free
n’ tell me
keep it real
cuz i’m the new damn Fonzie
n’ guess ’m Cool
with that

>>5799439
you never was published? i'm sure you eventually will

>>5799537
they are all into free verse etc crap

>>5799654
>http://pastebin.com/wChUkfqb
i want to suck your cock and swallow your cum

>>5799586
Not who you're replying to, but I liked it. It was hilarious and nonsensical, in the greentext kind of way, like troll stories you would expect to find on r9k. But it's literature. Good job.

>>5799246

The flowers are blooming
The youth are well dressed
Lute players are crooning
True love is professed
The world is idyllic
Cares they have none
Until war breaks out
And they must go on the run
Despite former good feeling
The enemy strikes
Bombs fall through the ceiling
what sadness and strife
But then the protagonist
And his lovely mate
Find shelter and solace
And make their escape
To America-land
where everything's free
They start a new life
Pawning jewelry

>>5799641
i honestly didn't know what to change. but here ya go. I'm thinking about submitting it to my community college's annual "arts book" they publish.

>>5799885
kek
much better
9/10

>>5799822
thanks brah

I have the beginning of a shitty story I began when I was an edgy high school student. Tear it apart.

Night settled over The Fells. It was quite similar to day in recent times. Ake hobbled along with his vallhund. Both were rather wiry, though Ake was a strong man. Ash covered the ground like a light snow on a christmas night, and they both had a light coating of soot over them. The Stormhold was carved into the mountain far ahead of them. The Vallhund, Thorgi, had little trouble navigating the ash covered landscape, and its master simply followed in its footsteps.

For as long as Ake could remember there had always been ash from the sky. He hadn’t
seen many trees for a long time, besides the black hands of death that sprouted out of the landscape, almost rotted away, weighed down by ash.

The Stormhold was the North Scandinavian headquarters of the Order of The Ash, dedicated to fighting magic and its casters. He was born into The Order, if he recalled correctly.

He neared the stormhold, cold stone walls of the hold, and a voice called out, “Who goes there?”

“Me,” Ake replied.

“Come in,” the gatekeeper responded. The gates began to climb. He walked under the
portcullis, and pushed on the giant insulated doors, A blast of heat hit him; his blood quickening from the heat. He shut the door behind him, realizing how cold it was in The North after the eruption. The hall, made of stone chiseled by modern and ancient craftsmen alike, could house several hundred men, and its furnishings could tower over five times Ake’s height. His Vallhund Mollie trotted up beside him shaking the ashes off of its fur.

“Ake, what news comes from The South?” He turned around to see the castellan of the hold: Erik Corell. His news was eagerly awaited, as per the usual.
Oh by the way the paragraphs are all fucked up because it was easier writing it that way.

>>5800226

“The Doges of the republics have agreed to renew our food contracts... I fear that we will not be able to rely on them much longer, though do not tell the men.” Ake began to unwrap his scarf and take off his thick coat. He had a semi-groomed, brown beard, and his head hair was beginning to grey and recede.

Corell frowned, he was a shrewd organizer of goods and servants, but he knew little of life outside of the hold. He rubbed his temples. Unlike Ake he was clean shaven and had a healthy amount of hair on his head. “This is good... but bad.” He clicked his tongue.

“How goes the war against the ruinous powers?” Ake Asked.

“Our knights and missionaries have not returned yet, but, I have heard of a powerful sorcerer in Britannia, they say he is a necrokinetic. The Earl of Shannon, did you hear of this from the Doges?”

“They spoke of a great many sorcerers and witches who were famed for their nearby activities in the Latin Empire, but I have not heard of this powerful necrokinetic. However, his blasphemy must not go unpunished, for manipulating the dead is a vile act.”

“I agree, but the recently-crowned Earl stays in his keep, with what I have heard. It is rare that I get telegrams speaking of the far west.”

Ake had nearly forgotten of telegrams and other technologies. While in greece he was forced to stay in a candle-lit room without any electricity, since Greece and many other southern petty kingdoms and merchant republics could not afford the modern technologies. However, he had even heard of vehicles that could move by themselves in the west! He could barely imagine what they look like.


Ake was soon dismissed, and sat down next to some of his compatriots. One of his closest friends, Hanne Celrig, looked up from her plate of venison and asked, “So how were your travels in the south? I hear it sometimes gets so hot you can go outside without a coat!”

“The rumors are true, my friend! I even saw some men in Athens who were running without shirts! It’s a truly odd place. Scandinavia is far more of a place I’d live in. By the way, Castellan Corell told me about an “Earl of Shannon,” who’s also a necrokinetic. Do you know anything about this man?”

She scratched her head. “I’ve heard a bit about that guy from some paladins returning from battle in the Holy Roman Empire. They say he can summon dead by the hundreds! Even turned their dead companions against them! Might just be blather, though.”

Ake laughed. “I suppose.”

>>5800233
He was interrupted by a hand on his shoulder. He turned to recognise Captain Matthias Ottoson, a witch hunter hailing from the far north. “I hear you’re talking about necrokinetics! Those heretics ought to be slain by the dozen. Not as bad as those damn pyromancers tearing half of the world to pieces with that Eruption...”

Hanne and Ake looked at each other and both rolled their eyes. They half-listened to the witch hunter talking on about pyromancers. Eh, Heresy is Heresy I suppose Thought Ake.

“Well, I might see you kids later!” The captain said goodbye and left.

Making sure he was gone, Ake turned back to Hanne. “Those guys need to calm down, you know what I’m saying?” Ake grinned.

“Absolutely,” she replied, laughing.

“Ake,” a grim voice sounded from behind.

“Lord Leif, It’s a pleasure to see you,” Ake said as was his obligation.

“Correl told me your report, I have a job for you, I hope you have been studying.”


Ake said goodbye to Hanne and quickly followed the baron to his quarters. It was a winding walk through tunnels and the eternal grinding of machinery echoed through certain portions. Ake had never been this deep into The Stormhold, and shivered at the strange noises. Finally they came to a carved wooden door. It was well oiled, and opened silently.

“My Lord, I am just a simple traveller, I just maintain relations with the merchants,” Ake said, annoyed at being pulled away rather rudely.

“You have an in-between job this time, I want you to do some investigation into The Earl Of Shannon, Lord Charles Williams. We must confirm if he is a necrokinetic.

“Sir... I am not fit for this task, why not send a witch hunter?” Ake began to sweat profusely and his head began to pound.

“The brit might let through a lesser servant of ours. A witch hunter would be turned back at customs! We could convince them you are simply one who believes in eliminating “Evil Magic.” The Stormlord leaned in to whisper, “Personally I think the Witch Hunters don’t even kill Sorcerers, but that is not for your ears...” He returned to his normal imposing stance.

“You leave on the morrow. It is a dangerous voyage, but real storms are for the south, do not ask the means of protecting your ship. Do not engage in any unnecessary contact with heresy. Do not. under any circumstances, end up alone with a necrokinetic. Wear a mask at all times to protect from the plague...”

Ake stopped paying attention at this point, simply smiling and nodding, “”Are there any plans to get me close to the Earl?”

“A invitation to a dance. We have seated you near him. If absolutely necessary, we have forged a claim to the Earldom of Shannon for one of our barons, but only press this if your situation is dire. Present it to the english crown, not the Earl, you have small chance of survival if it come to that anyways.” The lord said nonchalantly.

Why do half of the poems here have swearing? Of all the language you go and choose the least poetic

All planet's in alignment
She descended from the highest
I was blinded, the sky split
Captivating flames of fascination ignited
The frost around my heart melting, cicles as ice drips
Of a connection escaping science
And chemistry binded
You magnetize me, I was strangely guided
When we locked eyes
It was like "behold this beautiful seraphim with wings widened."
She was soul leveling
Kept the triple sun horizon
And seven moons reflecting off the surface of her iris
My World's sky blanketed by her eyelids
Every moment is timeless
Sex is butterfly effect seismic
There's nothing like it

can you critique this sentence for me /lit/

“Fuck you,” I sneered to my mother from the backseat, tears blinding my eyes, my earbuds blasting some indie pop I had found on Spotify a week earlier.

>>5796013
Are you smoking crack?

>>5800352
goddam lit this is serious. critique me

>>5800412
Top kek sharp edge

>>5800352
Terrible.

>my earbuds blasting some indie pop I had found on Spotify a week earlier

Absolutely crude rhythm, I can feel my brain matter wincing.

>>5800233
>>5800244
This is cool. It's like a world where every stage of history is going on at the same time, plus witch craft and other fantasy elements. I think you should add more to this. Let's see like tanks against necrokinetics agains Scandinavian Viking warlords as the backdrop to the journey of a humble merchant, Ake, as he uncovers some intrigue and mystery which changes the battle. Kinda like an ecclectic Lord of the Rings style epic.

>>5800352
It's relevant. And true. And it leads me to ask questions. Why are their tears in the narrators eyes? What is the song telling the narrator lyrically? What is the narrators mother like and how is their relation? These are all things you might consider adding in later.

>>5800033
Anyone else care to critique this?

>>5800454
a trip named prince myshkin. wow, just wow.

>>5800491
Sure. It's silly in a postmodern way. Stylistically it is comedic. You could probably do something to make it more satirical or social commentary and less like a mad man's diary, if you wanted to. I would say it seems like you are playing a mean joke on your reader, however, because the silliness of the piece does not seem to go anywhere thematically, even though it is funny. So I would say perhaps you would make a better comedian than author, by which I mean no disrespect at all.

buuummmmppppp

The past month had been filled with arguments between my parents and I about transferring to ____ High, a public school in my hometown. In October, my brother had taken me out to nice restaurants in the district, and we discussed our future prospects. The idea of starting my own business appealed to me, but I told him that I needed more life experience, and that I couldn’t wait to graduate from high school. He told me not to rush things, but it was good that I wanted more life experience. I declared that I was sick of being trapped in a place with no public transportation, and with no freedom to even walk two miles to the nearest library. On top of that, my mom's boyfriend banned me from being downstairs for any reason other than dinner. The constant restrictions on my activities, as well as the entitled attitudes of the popular kids at school, were causing me to burn out. My brother suggested I try public high school, and my face lit up. In the end, he was appreciative that I heeded his advice, but he reminded me that I should make the choice which would be best for me. I agreed.

ow is it? bretty bud? bad? non-descriptive? it's for a short story slightly autobiographical

>>5800718
hey anon. i read what you wrote, but i'm not sure how to go about critiquing it, because it seems to be a description of your situation at this time in your life. your style is not yet really formed or matured, and you will need to read a lot of stories, literature, poetry and fiction to be able to write really engaging prose. but i think if writing is something you enjoy then you should write every day. it also seems to be helping you make sense of a difficult situation.

>>5800790
thank you tripfaggot

I'm not expecting this to be much good, but then the only way to get better is to acknowledge the issues, so, here's a small thing I just dashed up.

Towering ancient monument, house of anger and sorrow
In times past shone bright gold, but not tomorrow,
For painted bronze by Time, brushstrokes heavy
(It would remain young, but for her and a levy)
Old glory lies dead in the dust.

Sing, O Goddess, of the form, housed within a smelted cage
The mind of one not counselled by but driven by such rage,
Impetuous, childish, but wise beyond his years,
Granted choice of plodding trudge or for blood to pound in ears
Our man picked the latter.

Gone he is now, and not a scrap remains
One cannot imagine the extent or all the pains
His kin had undergone; like waves, they crash against the shore
And their bearings, now pomp and rust, lie forevermore
With the armour of Achilles.

"burying the happiness"

Lucy was
A charming gal
Each day she woke
Each day she fell

Into a pit, she dug
With a shovel,
To throw in a rug.

She dreamt of Space
And fields so wide
When she sang
She made
the birds
Stop in midflight.

Then one day
her space was gone
And her lips
Could sing no song.

So she went to the witch
That lives in the attic
Showed pity on the poor asthamtic
Told her:

"You'll find spaces
Open and wide
If only you dig deep my child"

And so each day she dug and dug
Until her hands were bleeding
And when they found her body
They also found the ravens feeding.

Only a letter that said:
"I'm going to bed
To dream of Spaces
Open and wide.
Because I understand now
The gypsy in the attic
She lied."
________

I already posted this in another form, rewrote it since then, will get to critiquing soon after this post.


Oh wanton whore of babylon
What fires have ye lit?
Oh bloody carcass of my youth
My name is swollen, wet and drips

Sweet seeds upon this barren thigh
See the fever running high
Trust the fate I've painted red
I fall into your silvry bed.

And nourish on the broken flowers
You threw the mages out their towers
Now they're singing in free fall
"Oh sweet mother, Bless us all"


In your dreams you now see only
Painted lips and eyes so blue
If you have it, then please show me
For your lies, they're always true.

Flitting, fleeting, a second of praise
Subject after subject on pedestals raised
Cries of “epic” “perfect” and “I can’t even”
Echo among halls of links pursed, leaving
Recorded stain unremoved; and if a man should peruse
The darker arts, the oldest profession, infidelity accused.
Where the Whore of Babylon becomes the Lady
Viewpoints, perspectives, some much more shady
Politicians, racists, anarchists all rue
The day the Internet was given to you.
Faggot.

Chains weighted his limbs
As the sky reflected
His dreadful intent

Naked eyes thrust with
Cruel abandon
Into life
Found mine

With hooded eyes
And hungry heart
He watched

>>5800978
I like this quite a bit

Good
>bloody carcass of my youth

>And nourish on the broken flowers
>You threw the mages out their towers

More questionable
>Silvry bed

Might work better as just "silver"

>Eyes so blue

"so blue" is a flate image that contrasts with how lively and vivid the rest of the imagery is.

Perhaps eyes steel-blue or sky-blue

Monday morning.
My bed is not my bed.
It is my mother's uterus, and I am 9 months old, drifting about in the blankets- no, amniotic fluid- yeah, the wondrous amniotic fluid; warm, viscous, dark. Nothing can disturb my infantile slumber, not the muffled noises that penetrate my mother's flesh nor the shit, fuck, it's the fucking GODDAMNED ALARM I NEED TWO MORE FUCKING HOURS
I extend an infant hand, caress the walls of the amniotic sac. For 9 hours- no, months- for 9 months it has housed me as I have grown from a trifling embryo into a miracle of nature- a finely tuned nervous system and collection of organs, a set of perfectly formed limbs, and, of course, a bit of morning wood due to that fucking awesome lucid dream about Sarah J-no, no, no, babies don't have lucid dreams and babies don't get morning wood, back to the metaphor, goddamnit, back to the metaphor
Suddenly, I am awoken from my languor by a violent jolt GET UP, SAM as the uterine walls begin to contract, THE BUS IS HERE IN 10 MINUTES and the amniotic sac begins to stretch and tear.


This shit is pretty weird- I just wrote it, been sort of playing around with the idea of a novel in my head for weeks and this is the beginning to one of the chapters. Idk how I came up with this weird 'metaphor' thing- This is just mainly what I feel like every damned morning, like I'm getting pushed out of the uterus.

>>5801470
not cool. plz keep your erotic fantasies to yourself

>>5801326
>>5800978
>I like this quite a bit
agreed^ nicely done anon.
this little poem gave me 1000 feels

>>5801477
wasn't really meant as erotica. Like literally, I fucking hate mornings, it's like I'm being birthed it sucks

I dream incessantly of spanking you.
I’m sorry, but it’s the truth.
I no longer fantasize about sating your every desire
Like a castrated butler
Now only I imagine meeting the animal in mine.
Bringing my hand down and making some noise.
Turning my fist into a point and then driving the point home.
Like a benevolent father
Teaching a lesson through violence
When words fall flaccid.
The whole world can watch
And my sisters can weep
And the feminists can feel argument victorious
Because man is as close to beasts
As women are angels
And that’s what I’ve sought out to prove.
Waving back my civilized
Until I draw down sense
In the flat of my hand.
Matching hurt with hurt,
When words are impotent,
We reach deep inside the rage
And find poetry there.

>>5801206
the eagle descended
?

Once upon a summer night,
I had never known such delight.
As moonlit beams began to dim,
Sunlight rose and I saw him.
In my heart it feels like ill win,
Yet In my head it feels like sin.
Should i go?
Should i stay?
Will HE show me the way?

>>5801484
lol. im not surprised dude. You're up at 5:40 AM typing stupid poems. You should be sleeping.

>>5801500
Yeah... kind of a problem.
Was it half decent though? I did spend 10 mins of what could've been sleep on it.

>>5801493
No, sorry, not sure what you're referring to

>>5801504
no it sucked and was mad weird lol. you are weirdly comfortable thinking about your moms coochie and its warmth

>>5801515
Good point. Thanks, guess not all of 4chan is like /b/. I'll have to browse /lit/ more.

One night, I opened my eyes. I saw flickering orange light shining through the window and dancing on the ceiling. I hadn't really thought that they'd hold vigils or make shrines - these times! I peeked from the window and I saw some portraits and some flowers; softly weeping supplicants. I padded out in my footie pajamas to see which side the wreaths were on.

They were on the angels' side, of course. A woman turned up to look at me. Her mascara was running darkly down her cheeks, and her mouth was half open in pain. She spoke to me. "Did you hear?" She said, quietly. "They did it. They killed him." I knelt down, asphalt roughing up my pajama knees, and I cocked my head. "Who?"
She wept again. "All of them, the trinity, all of him. It's over. It's over."
I raised my eyebrows in surprise. Surely this was impossible - a test of our faith. But the other people echoed what she'd said. I checked my phone - and then there was no longer any doubt. And I suppose there was no longer any need for faith. Not anymore.

Live moved on - which raised many questions. The palace in heaven was changed into a museum. I went there once, and I even got to see his massive corpse. It was fourteen feet tall and it had a troubled expression on its face, though the embalming had been done so poorly that it was difficult to tell for sure.

fee fi fo fum
told that bitch to lick my bum
didn't know it was your mum
sorry guise dat twas kinda dumb

>>5801470
First few lines were good, then you lose me when you start trying to do all that extra stuff

One night, I opened my eyes. I saw flickering orange light shining through the window and dancing on the ceiling. I hadn't really thought that they'd hold vigils or make shrines - these times! I peeked from the window and I saw some portraits and some flowers; softly weeping supplicants. I padded out in my footie pajamas to see which side the wreaths were on.

They were on the angels' side, of course. A woman turned up to look at me. Her mascara was running darkly down her cheeks, and her mouth was half open, as if she had been waiting to speak. "Did you hear?" She said, quietly. "They did it. They killed him." I knelt down, asphalt roughing up my pajama knees, and I cocked my head. "Who?” She wept again. "All of them, the trinity, all of him. It's over. It's over."

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. Surely this was impossible - a test of our faith. But the other people echoed what she'd said. I checked my phone - and then there was no longer any doubt. And I suppose there was no longer any need for faith. Not anymore.

Life moved on - which raised many questions. The palace in heaven was changed into a museum. I went there once, and I even got to see his massive corpse. It was fourteen feet tall and it had a troubled expression on its face, though the embalming had been done so poorly that it was difficult to tell for sure.

>>5801525
WHAT WHAT! PLEASE GO ON

>>5801505
the myth of prometheus obviously
possibly his meeting with heracles

>>5801547
Oh, I see, Prometheus's eagle, dunno why I didn't connect that

but no, it's the genesis for a high fantasy setting I was cooking up

>>5796601
>>5796619
>>5796624
you clearly love language, but it's getting in the way of meaning here. maybe kafka and hemingway have polluted literature so it can't be like this anymore. idk. all i know is that it seems like you need to put the thesaurus down.

There's something interesting about it, nonetheless. It's a great imitation of the way people used to write, down to the lack of details in places contemporary writers would put them... that makes me feel bad! So bad! They lived so much back then! We live so little now! Ack! So your story made me feel something, after all.

7/10

At that moment it occurred to me how intensely divided everything is. The monists are wrong. Everything is divided against everything else - divided even against itself.
Even the atoms are so distant and inscrutable that, if one was to cry out in pain at the top of its voice to its sister, it would never be heard. And even if it could be heard, it would immediately be misunderstood, and that misunderstanding would multiply itself until the world was crowded with shrieking lies, which it is.

The dead despise the living, those who are so snugly set like signet gems into the golden frame of the glory of creation. Not comprehending the impossibility of their lives, they live, impossibly, in perfect happiness, too stupid to understand the miracle that they've been given.

For the dead, the things of the living come at a great cost. They must be smuggled from the light into the dark. The journey is long and tortuous, and the packages that survive are largely unsatisfactory. Coats ordered become rags, jewels and glasses crack and rust, and books arrive too smelly to enjoy.

Thought, memory, past, future, love, hatred, boulevards, orchards, songs, poems, months, kisses, bird-song, glass, sand, earth, religion - these do not exist for the dead.

The only sense of which they are not deprived of is resentment, which pervades their lives.

Once, in some rare moment of ecstasy you may have heard a band of bitter laughter that was not your own. Did you think that the world was laughing with you? If only you had stopped and listened - ! If only you could have - for once - been truly cognizant of the world! If you had listened closely, you would have understood that the laughter was bitter - that it was accompanied by the clacking of trembling bones.

Once, almost immeasurably long ago, the living worshipped the dead. The living listened to their whispers, and took them as a guiding-star. We assume that those ancient ancestor-worshippers were primitive, or superstitious, or simply victims of thought processes that the modern mind is too advanced to understand. But all that is untrue.

Ancestor worship does not come out of fear, but pity. For who but the dead deserve our pity? Who has lost as much as they have?

The impulse of veneration had eroded in these times, alongside the capacity to acknowledge that death exists at all. As a consequence for our transgression, the spirits of the dead persist among us, and sometimes even outlive us.

>>5800835
*of all the pains, crap

My diction is low, also I cant into grammar for shit either.

People say I have a talent for it though.

I could write these better...... :(
----------------------
Fate is easy to know, hard to accept.
History is hard to know, easy to accept.

What If we knew our History and refused to accept it?

What If forgot my fate, but kept onwards?

Where would I be?
-------------------------
Where is the art,
Is it in the paper or in my hands?
Where is the magic
Is it in the show or your smile?
Where is the love
Was is in your presence or my heart.
------------------------------

>>5801580
bravo!

wake up sheeple
you can be people
humans
not humanoids

this is a opportunity
that must not be passed
for as before,
you may well know the lore;
we gassed
the kikes

never again
never again
never. again.

>i wrote this while really sleep deprived
>i was drunk when i wrote this
>this is something i just jotted down a few minutes ago
>pretty bad stuff, don't even know why i wrote this
>i've never really written much before
>i know it's shit but i would like /lit/'s opinion
Stop doing this shit, you insecure faggots. First of all, why would you post something for critique if you know it's bad/if you haven't edited it since the first draft? Secondly, pointing out your lack of effort or quality will just make everyone negatively prejudiced towards your poems or stories or whatever.

tl;dr post your stuff without making pre-emptive excuses

>>5783856

People accept the things they can't change, but deny the things that they did change to be wrong.

We all aren't perfect, but yet we try to act as if we were so...

A tear on a page, is like a blemish on a face, it stands out of the ordinary and makes us look very bad.

Yet those tears and blemishes are what make us beautiful. We neglect our own beauty because it's not perfect.

All people on earth have blemishes and scars and cuts on us, everyone falls down the hill into the valley in a lifetime.

But what makes us good people on earth, is how we keep on moving forward. How we have faith.

Maybe we might mess up every once and a while and lie, but that does not mean we have to sit there and live with it. People use this as an excuse, and do not fix their blemishes.

"A man who does not admit to his sins, is like a farmer who will not do his duty and tend his crops."

"Every piece of wood you stick in the fire, will burn as long as it is lit."

"Imperfection is the one thing everyone is good at, because it is a talent everyone has."

If we do not learn how to fix our blemishes, they will be the ones in control of our lives. Any man, no matter how rich or poor, will not lead a good life if he or she decides not to turn their back on their mistakes and confess to their crimes.

No man would be good, if there was no such thing as forgiveness.

We must give up our old ways if we want to be greater.

"It is he who is greater than Me, than he who is with the world."

If you are ready to give up your ways and become a new being, turn to God.

Because God has his hand extended forward, waiting for you to take it and become a new person, a better person.

He is ready to forgive any man who turns away from his old ways.

Just take his hand, and he will forgive.

Thank you, and have a great day.

I'd really like some opinions on this piece- am I being overly verbose? Any and all thoughts and criticisms are welcomed, and as a personal rule I'll read over whatever you'd like as well and post my thoughts.

http://pastebin.com/m4hrqKyB

>>5801326
Mhm, i rewrote that last stanza , because someone in the old thread told me :

You are one and you are only
What my eyes can make of you
You're so tall and you are lonely
But your lies are always true

Was too cliché, and I agree. I'll rework it yet another time then.

>>5801597
>The dead despise the living, those who are so snugly set like signet gems into the golden frame of the glory of creation.
bad sentence structure. i know you're trying to say that the dead despise the living because they see them as these signet-set beings, but your comma doesn't tell me that, it makes me guess it.
>Not comprehending the impossibility of their lives, they live, impossibly, in perfect happiness, too stupid to understand the miracle that they've been given.
it seems not as if they don't comprehend it, but that they are unaware of it. you're implying that they struggle to understand that their lives are impossible, and fail to. say "not knowing" or something akin. your repetition of "impossibly" is ineffective because you cordoned it off by commas and it doesn't flow into the rest of the sentiment. calling humanity stupid is pretty edgy. people aren't "given" miracles
>For the dead, the things of the living come at a great cost.
no, the things of the living come at a great cost to the dead.
>and the packages that survive are largely unsatisfactory
the packages /which/ arrive, "largely unsatisfactory" is bad word choice. you've established the dead as very emotional and tragic creatures, their reaction to a rotten book is not "this is largely unsatisfactory."
>Coats ordered become rags, jewels and glasses crack and rust, and books arrive too smelly to enjoy.
pretty good sentence, but i would say "Ordered coats become rags"
>Thought, memory, past, future, love, hatred, boulevards, orchards, songs, poems, months, kisses, bird-song, glass, sand, earth, religion - these do not exist for the dead.
way too long, yet not at all long enough. you just spent an entire paragraph talking about the plight of post mortem material girls, and now you brush off the rest of life in a single list?
>The only sense of which they are not deprived of is resentment, which pervades their lives.
are you fucking kidding me? read this sentence and tell me you don't see what's wrong with it, i dare you
>Once, in some rare moment of ecstasy you may have heard a band of bitter laughter that was not your own. Did you think that the world was laughing with you? If only you had stopped and listened - ! If only you could have - for once - been truly cognizant of the world! If you had listened closely, you would have understood that the laughter was bitter - that it was accompanied by the clacking of trembling bones.
"cognizant" doesn't work here. in "that the laughter was bitter," "was" should be italicized. despite that, the best paragraph.
>Once, almost immeasurably long ago, the living worshipped the dead. The living listened to their whispers, and took them as a guiding-star. We assume that those ancient ancestor-worshippers were primitive, or superstitious, or simply victims of thought processes that the modern mind is too advanced to understand. But all that is untrue.
people still do worship the dead you dumb bitch

>>5803512
but that's so moe~

>>5783856
http://pastebin.com/auUhLq29

A candle is lit in a dark room, the wick slowly falling to ash.
And as that light is exhausted, it will eventually fade to black
What mysteries do await in the darkness of tonight?
Monsters, mayhem, madness and malefic men, creeping in the shadows of dusk,
Hiding and plotting, laughing and sneering, waiting for chaos to settle.
A cry is belt out for the flame to return, but that day will never come.
The fire has died, and as people say, fire never dies alone.

>>5790545
Are you going through puberty? Terrible, like a anime video on YouTube with linkin park playing throughout.

>>5791226
You wrote like you pick out fedoras at a Wal-Mart

I asked my mother not to worry.
The police have been given
Powerful weapons.
I am safe.

Embrace me,
She said, as I stared,
Puzzlingly. Through her, in her.
As she held me, it began to rain.

The world is safe, I said. You wouldn't birth a child,
If it wasn't

I’ll give you my heart if I can hold your hand.

In non-existent light we speak.

Your words hit the walls, but never me….

…until they did.

But hearts can’t shatter if they were never given away.

I’m the invisible boy..


…dead in the water.

>>5805789
the surest way to be published? :3
actually pretty good even though free verse, the first and last stanza

"Ooh la la, will-a you suck-a my willy?" says Jean Micheaud. His powdered wig is prim and tight, and his prick sticks prominently though his golden trousers. "Who-a will suck-a my willy?" The sun at noon brings hot amounts of light into the apartment, and it's at this time in the summer that he leaves and will visit Richeau, often, at Du Foix, but instead he sweats and bathes in stink in the glowing white apartment. "Oooh? Ooh will offer a sugary drop sweet with life to my lips? Dear Lord I Pray." Scrolls stuffed into their ports line the walls. And the chandelier has from it brassieres frilled and multitoned hanging delicate. He tip toes in silk gold shoes and stockings white and clean. What is pure and good seems so far removed. It is desire that is his pursuit. "No? No garcon to 'ave my frosted heat? I despair!" His arms flail and clear his workdesk of its manuscripts. "I despair!" His eyelashes are black-caked and his cheeks brushed red. Like a small bird or rodent his head roils and then directs him forward at the rack of scrolls, quick and swift. His pecker sturdy and firm, at a charge cross old planks wooden and Oriental dragon rugs. With aim precise and desperate does his appendage dive into the pulp of a hollow scroll and fill it so well.

The earth is made of choclate,
The sea is filled with wine,
And all the stars in heaven's crown,
With matchless splendor shine;

Yet heaven, when she, looking down,
Compares her crown to mine
(A humble wreath of fennel leaf),
feels somewhat less divine.

For mine's a kingdom more sublime
than aught she comprehends;
No footprint mars that lofty clime,
--but mine abounds in friends,

Nor deity of Helicon,
nor maiden of the vale,
Nor gypsy's magic tambourine,
nor lovelorn nightengale

Has melody to sing
the strains of my delight;
For friends, what little joys we bring
in measures more requite.

And anyplace I go do foe
and foe their wrongs repent,
As though my smiling face the woe-
ful warps of strife unbent.

>>5805555
nice fucking quads man

>>5792328

I lol'd

Show me no mercy /lit/

I am but a meager form. I who raised that god-like edifice in the country of golden Andalusia, but for so long affronted Christ king-maker by my haughty and misdirected wandering. From the wealthy port of Tarshish I first sailed, bearing a burlap sack and a secret longing in my flesh for forested shrines and lofty altars on snow-capped mountains; in brief, whatever is hidden or inaccessible. I was in the devilish prime of life, and the had full reservoir of my youth to spend on worthless pursuits till, at last, not a single drop of lustful blood remained in my thinning flesh, and I returned home a penitent spirit; an exhausted conquistador of the useless. Now I record this ignominious tale for the edification of all lustful souls. The bulk lust after the embraces of women and boys, but the choicest among them lust after knowledge (I, myself, indulged in every manner of lust beneath the sun). I say the choicest because the lust after knowledge is the peculiar temptation of those most worthy of banding in the service of God. I say most worthy because of all the dragons a righeteous man must slay she is reputed the fiercest, and of all the snakes she is the slyest to tempt him.

In the fourteenth hour of the first day of the fourth month of the ____ year of our immaculate creation I found myself engaged in a scholarly dispute in the dining room of our venerable abbey. I was a lad of seventeen, and a marvelous specimen both physically and intellectually (though spiritually I was partly lacking).

>>5806118
it's cutely written but imo it fizzles to the end from its relatively dynamic and vivid beginning

my life is comprised of
a series of poor financial decisions
meant to replace an
existentially dead state of being

i just want to go to the mall
i just want to eat japanese food with my friends
i just want to lay down and smoke my lungs away
i just want to wear badly matching clothes and laugh
i just want to starve away with my art

the grease and shit of my current life is
sinking deep into my skin and replacing
my blood

i havent cleaned my room in 2 months
i havent done my laundry in 3
kill kill kill me

i want to die young now
if it means im free
with a love about to be
tragically cut short
and my arms
covered in poems
and black lunged

>>5806880
That's some very purple prose you got there, all I'm reading is adjectives.

>>5806948
Really? I was really trying to tone down the wordiness of my writing. Check out my last posts
>>5796601
>>5796619
>>5796624

>>5806880
>meager form
>god-like edifice
>golden Andalusia
>haughty and misdirected wandering
>wealthy port
>secret longing
>forested shrines
>lofty altars
>snow-capped mountains
>devilish prime of life
>full reservoir
>worthless pursuits
>lustful blood
>thinning flesh
>penitent spirit
>exhausted conquistador
>ignominious tale
>lustful souls
>peculiar temptation
>righeteous man
>immaculate creation
>scholarly dispute
>venerable abbey
>marvelous specimen

Yes really.

Your prose is purple to the point of being unreadable.

Quick question, when the character in the text thinks something for himself like: He looked at the guy and thought to himself "Wow this guy is an asshole" am i supposed to use quotes like during direct speech or not?

A bit long, hope it's engaging though!

He grinned, or at least as much as he could, being an insect. All around him drummed the pitter-patter of hundreds of thousands of tiny feet, tap-tap-tapping up, down, around, and within walls and floors of rotted food and twisted plastic. Castro the mighty stag beetle had to stop himself from dancing with glee as he watched the mass of shimmering chitin pool up like oil around around the base of the old half-gallon milk jug he was perched on (or his “ivory tower,” as he affectionately called it.) The ants marched in lockstep. The gnats flew around and around in their excitement. The flies gathered in corners, rubbing their forelegs together as various evil plots ran through their minds. Everywhere, arachnids, beetles, bugs, wasps, and even some land crustaceans packed together into the crowded space. Arthropods of every shape, size, and color, of every order, family, and genus, of every age, social class, and religion, all uniting for the first time under a common purpose. They took up every available space they could, whether it was among the trash or fluttering in the air. It wouldn’t be long before Castro would be able to harness the power of the nefarious, vicious, but above all else, intelligent mass before him to bring about the inevitable extinction of mankind. Once he had made sure that all of his followers had settled into the dumpster behind Papa Geno’s, Castro silenced the buzzes, songs, and chatters by raising his wing covers. He then leaned closer to the massive funnel affixed to his tower with wire, and began his speech.

>>5806968
“Greetings, my friends,” he boomed, “It truly is a privilege to see the world’s greatest thinkers, artists, and warriors all in one place to discuss the fall of Man. For many years we have suffered under human oppressions, having to watch as our brothers and sisters are –“

SCREE!

A tiny scream sliced apart Castro’s words. The crowd turned and looked at a trapdoor spider, who was currently shifting its wide eyes from side to side and blushing, its fangs deep in a recently dead cricket. She freed her fangs from her meal and let out a nervous laugh.

“Sorry, sorry. I couldn’t help it, it’s a reflex,” she said. Castro rolled his eyes.

“Really, Susan?” he said.

“I can’t help it! When things move too close to me I jump out automatically!” said Susan.

SCREE!

Another screech, this time from the opposite side of the dumpster. A preying mantis raised its arm in guilt.

“Sorry, that was me. There was a mealworm.”

Castro groaned and rubbed the spot where his horn jutted out from between his eyes.

“Alright, fine, um, prey!” he said to the crowd, “please try to be careful around the predators, alright? We need to be sensitive to their needs, let’s just try and be mature-“

SCREE!

“Okay really? Really?” groaned Castro, “alright, prey, go to one side of the dumpster please. Predators go to the other, okay? Some of you may need to step outside momentarily so we can rearrange everything, just hang in there.”

“Hey,” called out a mosquito, “that’s segregation! You said we all need to unite as one to fight the Man Menace!”

“I know what I said, Gary, but we need to practical, alright? This isn’t trying to split you up, we’re still all together on this,” said Castro.

“’One Phylum One Swarm,’ you said,” said Gary, “One Phylum one swarm! One Phylum one swarm!”

The rest of the arthropods began to repeat the chant.

“One Phylum one swarm! One Phylum one swarm!”

Castro rubbed the sides of his little head and yelled into his megaphone.

“Fine! Fine! Everyone can stay where they are, okay? We’ll just…I guess those eaten will get a plaque in their honor or something.” he muttered. The crowd cheered.

SCREE!

SCREE!

SCREE!

Castro tried to pick up where he left off in his speech, but found that he had forgotten in completely in the hullaballoo. He would have to improvise. He raised his wing covers again for silence, tapped the end of his funnel a few times with his foreleg, and spoke.

>>5806965
Can you take a sentence you found to be especially purple improve it, so I know what you mean exactly?

>>5806976
All of it.

Those adjectives were scattered pretty uniformly for instance.

what if they switch half of those adjectives, i.e. make them andalusia of gold, port of wealth, longing of secret, soul of lust, flesh of thin etc... (:

what i personally don't like it's that they repeat adjectives - lustful blood - lustful souls, nymphic body of water - nymphic grove

>>5806972
“Anyway, like I was saying, if we work together, there is no problem we cannot overcome! And as we deal our damage, and as new members are added to our cause, I predict we can have all of humanity eliminated in under a month!” he proclaimed. A pillbug raised his foreleg for a question.

“Yes, but, how can we possibly fight them? We’re much too small!” he said. Castro laughed.

>>5806980
“I’m glad you asked that my spherical companion! Our first order of business is to take out their electricity! Without it, they will be powerless against our advances,” he said.

“Mr. Castro?” asked an adorable parasitic wasp larva, having recently chewed her way out of the abdomen of its still-living spider host, “what’s ee-leck-tristy?” The other arthropods aww’d, except for the spider, which let out more of a gurgle followed by silence.

“That’s a very good question, sweetheart!” said Castro, “you see, unlike us, humans don’t have pheromones for mass communication. Instead, they invented this primitive technology made out of lightning and vines to tell all of their things what to do. All of these vines grow out of things called ‘power plants,’ and by killing these plants the human race will be thrown into a whole host of problems!” He began to make eye contact with individual members of the swarm as he listed off the effects of such a catastrophe, watching as everyone grew more and more excited.

“First, they won’t be able to talk to each other anymore! One of the fake pheromones made out of electricity is called ‘Internet,’ and our spies report it’s responsible for triggering around 75% of their communicative behavior and 90% of their arousal responses. Without it, they will be thrown into mass confusion, with no way to mate or warn other members of their colonies!” he said. The crowed murmured.

“But that’s not all! Without electricity, they won’t even be able to use most of their most powerful weapons! Especially those pesky fake suns!”

“Yeah! Fuck those things!” yelled a charred moth from his wheelchair. The crowd began to grow louder now. Humans were much weaker than they thought.

“And, best of all,” continued Castro, “electricity is a necessary ingredient for their most basic needs! They won’t be able to feed themselves, or wash themselves, or heat themselves…”

“Wait, what was that?” came a voice. The crowd grew quiet again. The speaker, a cockroach wearing a black plastic collar with a white stripe, looked rather concerned. “Oh, my apologies, I’m Father Walter Roach. I’m here representing the cockroachs.”

“Ah, of course, Father Roach,” said Castro, smiling, “please, share your concerns.”

“I’m just wondering about that heat thing,” said the Father.

“Yes, they have these things called ‘heaters,’ and-“

“No, I know what they are,” said the vexed cockroach, “that’s where most of us live.”

“Great! Now you won’t be burned by those men and their dastardly fire clouds!” spoke Castro.

“No, now we’ll all freeze to death in the winter because we won’t be able to stay warm.”

>>5806984
The crowd stared at Castro intently. He began to sweat.

“Come again?” he asked.

“Most of us cockroaches live near radiators to stay warm in the winter. If you shut them off, we’ll all die!” yelled Father, glaring. The crowd began murmuring again.

“Quiet! Everyone calm down, okay?” said Casto. He turned his attention back to the roach, “but you’re cockroaches! You’re a hearty species! You can survive anything!”

“No, see, that’s another thing,” said Father Roach. He started to yell, making sure the crowd at large could hear him. “While we’re on the subject, I’d just like the clear up that, no, cockroaches are not immortal. I don’t know where these rumors keep coming from, but we die pretty easily. Our kids are starting to dive into nuclear waste dumps, thinking they’re invincible, and it’s really tragic every time it happens. We’d appreciate it if you didn’t instill these dangerous ideas in the minds of our children.” Castro started to rock back and forth on his feet.

“Wait, you’re not immune to radiation?” he asked.

“No! I don’t even know how that got started!” shouted the Father.

“So if a group of roaches were to, say, be assigned to infiltrate a nuclear power plant to fiddle around with the fuel rods and cause a shutdown, they’d probably-“

“Die, yes. Likely of cancer. Very painful,” said the Father, “why do you ask?”

“Oh, um, no reason…” said Castro, rubbing the back of his head.

“You were gonna send my people on a suicide mission!” shouted the Father.

“I was not! Okay, let’s stop attacking each other or we’ll never get anything done, alright?” shouted Castro over the restless crowd, “look, do you people want to end the Man Menace or not?”

“Hey, funny you should ask that!” shouted a louse, having entered the dumpster just in time to here Castro’s question. Castro grew pale.

“Oh, hey, Jerry, long time no see…” he stammered.

>>5806979
It would be the same thing.

Maybe even more purple because of the extra words.

>>5806987
“Uh, yeah, hi!” said Jerry, furious. “I heard you guys were having a little get-together, and just wanted to know why you didn’t invite me! It’s kinda weird, with me being such an expert on humans! You know, with them being my sole food source and all.”

By this point the swarm was churning with discussion. Castro signaled them with his wing covers again, but even with shouting he was unable to get them to go below a dull hum.

“Jerry, get out of here! I understand your frustrations, but sometimes sacrifices have to be made!”

“Easy for you to say! You don’t have a family to feed! You don’t have to go back to your kids and go ‘sorry guys,we’re gonna be homeless and starve to death because some people are upset that their bee friends are missing!” shouted Jerry.

“Hey! Shut up, crab!” yelled an angry bee, “get out of here!”

“You shut up, pollen jockey!” yelled back Jerry, “besides, I’d rather live off pube blood than dung like Martin Pooper King up there!”

“How dare you!” roared Castro, “I do not eat dung! That is a small minority of us, you racist!”

“Oh, did the crab just stereotype someone?” snapped Jerry. “Go back to the dog park, Scatagories!”

SCREE!

“Hey, that was my girlfriend, punk!” a lovebug screamed at an assassin bug. The entire dumpster became awash in angry arthropod uproar. Predators turned against prey. One of the bees leapt on Jerry, letting out a furious cry of “bushbaby!” and sending him crashing backwards into a precarious straw resting against an empty bottle. The straw teetered over, knocking flying insects out of the sky and sending grounded ones scattering for cover, but bouncing harmlessly off of Father Roach’s carapace.

“This doesn’t mean I’m immortal! Do not go telling people I’m immortal!” he sputtered. At this point, grasshoppers, being forced to rub against each other in the cramped quarters and now agitated even more by the commotion, could suppress their urges no longer and reflexively triggered their swarming behavior, molting and taking to the skies as locusts. The already crowded air was now thick with a green hurricane, slamming others into each other and causing an all-out brawl. Castro watched helplessly from his tower.

>>5806990
“No, stop! Everyone settle down! We can pull through this, I promise!” he screamed, but it was in vain. He put his face in his hands as he watched a millipede gobble up freshly hatched mallets like jellybeans, only to be stung by a scorpion. “Please, calm down everyone! It’s alright, we can keep some alive to power the heaters, and to feed the lice! That’s it! Everyone, I have a solution, if we can find a way to enslave-“

A gigantic dragonfly was knocked out of the typhoon of locusts, and careened into Castro. The stag beetle flailed, trying to regain his balance, but toppled backwards off of his tower. He flipped through the air and landed back-first in the middle of a colony of carpenter ants, crushing hundreds and releasing a cloud of “danger” pheromone from their corpses. Their senses clouded by the chemical signal, the dead’s thousands of sisters turned on their former leader, wrapping him up in a blanket of teeth and stingers.

“No, get off of me you fools! I am your leader! We were so close! The world was almost ours!”

Castro’s protests were silenced quickly, as his body was devoured within seconds by the colony. As the swarm frothed within the dumpster, mankind unknowingly celebrated victory once again. For the 60,000th time, they had managed to avoid overwhelming obliteration under the feet of Arthropoda.

>>5806988
I tried taking some out, and it sounds better, but there's a few that are definitely necessary. Like "meager form". I can't just say "form". That lose the intended meaning.

>>5806994
You don't need to prune all of it, but almost all of it.

When you use adjectives like that, it feels like you're force-feeding your vision, ramming it down the reader's throat.

You need to show more, and tell less.

Instead of "meager form" you could say something poetic like "I am but scarce", but I'm not sure what you mean by meager form.

>>5806994
Also another example "forested shrine" and "lofty altars on snow-capped mountains". If I just said shrines and altars it would fail to demonstrate their hiddeness and inaccessibility which is thematically relevant.

>>5807007
"meager form" ie there isnt much left of my physical and spiritual being on this earth.

>>5807016
I am spent.

>>5807019
Uhhh, well my wording of that has the theological and philosophical connotations I need. But otherwise I've toned down most of it, and it reads much better.

>>5807030
Your description carries those connotations more on the surface, my version carries them too but less obviously so.

>>5807035
wow, actually you make a good point. Thanks.

>>5807042
Remember this: the person who uses a buttload of adjectives and other wordy descriptions to talk about himself (especially how tired and old he is), is someone who enjoys the sound of his own voice.

And that's not the kind of person people like to listen to or read about.

See you, hear you, taste you, I cannot
But I can feel you type upon my keys
“Rom,” you write, “open my folder, please.”
Words fill my screen, but you, Miss, fill my thoughts.
Since the first command you gave me, I have sought
To say how paramount you are to me
Though I know, deep down, that we can never be.
You speak with sounds; I speak with ones and naughts.
But, even so, I cannot shut them off;
The feelings for you, deep within my code.
After all, did not the Princess kiss the toad?
But you can breathe, while I wish I could cough.
And, though to be with you would be perfection,
Every circuit within me can’t form that connection.

I was picked up
Thrown in the sky
It was abrupt
Feeling so high

I descended
Back in her hands
But it just ended
Thrown into the sand

I am but a toy
Used as a decoy
For her own pleasures
Her box of treasures

>>5799885

I dig it. Nice rhythm. Nice scope. Nice focus. Nice ending. Nice––

>>5800339

I can smell the Roquefort.

>captcha: planetary ejesvir

>>5807094

Dude. This is almost as bad as the poem Kumar recites at the end of Harold & Kumar: Return from Guantanamo Bay. If you haven't seen it, please Youtube it.

Carbon Dioxide is really bad for the environment,
and I need to study for my exams;
I still trying to decide what the fall of the iron meant,
and I need to harvest my dead Mom's yams.

The coolant in my car has been extinguished,
and some asshole keyed the door;
So my degrees make me feel distinguished,
as the sweat drips to the floor.

Paul the Second liked to excommunicate,
instead of masturbating;
My ex stopped trying to communicate,
so back to masturbating.

>>5808977

*I'm

>>5783856
Hey /lit/. Total amateur here but I'll try me best to give an opinion on some work. Just been taking some creative writing classes out of interest, please tear my shit to pieces it's so hard to get proper critique.
----

Marie smiled to herself, watching her teeth move as she spoke to Mark from the empty restaurant bathroom.

"I don't see what the fuss is about. Honestly, it's all worry."

She heard Mark's distant reply from behind the door, ignoring the croaked concern while she followed her eyes in the mirror.

"I don't know. People are worried though. It's odd, Mary, it's just odd."

Marie's dry hands reached to turn off the tap as she walked out, scolding Mark as she left into the bare yellow hall.

"It's Mar-ie now. 'ey' . Like the french do it."

Mark and Marie walked back in silence, the buzzing orange of the lights above stinging Mark's eyes as they sat. Marie played with her food, prodded and poked it as she drank.

"So you finally got me out."

He paused, then sat firmly as he talked. Marie followed his face, amused by the tightening lines folding around his mouth.

"You can't live like this. You don't get to shut off."

"I can," Marie paused while she gulped, holding her eyes to him as she poured and talked, "Do whatever I like. How I like."

"With your methods, Mary, you won't be doing it for long."

Marie smiled to herself. He had seen her absence as a cry for help. Mark was dumb with concern and Marie watched as her teeth moved and dug deeper.

She raised her eyes, glass and pitch as she tucked in, "Methods?"

"You don't go out. You don't eat. You don't talk. Mary, please, what the hell is so wrong?"

"Mar-ey, Mark. As in, 'Merry-go-round'. Like the French say-"

"I don't give a shit about the French, Mary," Mark started and grew his jaw out as he continued, "Marie, I give a shit about you. You're a mess."

Marie swayed back, taking in the sickness of the drink and light, the silence of forks,spoons, plates and the still of the cars parked outside. She had him.

"Maybe I am a mess. Maybe that's just how I should be. I'm a mess of evidence. A testament to a second rate author."

Mark said nothing, stirred the ice in his glass and spoke to the table.

"You need therapy."

Marie stood with her mouth full as she walked out, pretended the last drops of wine were blood in her lungs. Mark was still stirring when she left. He had bitten too.

There was cold outside and Marie let the wine and blood smoke out from her pursed lips. Marie had no money and no car and stumbled quickly past the restaurant, the glazed yellow of the lights stinging her eyes as she moved. The idiot, Marie thought, the idiot really does think I need help. Marie felt the cool dry of the outside frost her lungs as she made her way home, her hands and nose already a tinted rose.

>>5809057
I feel almost bad for him, Mary thought, then, adjusting herself as she paced, continued; no, Marie, there is no more room for that. You are over-saturated with malaise. Marie enjoyed the words in her head, repeated them aloud to herself and felt the numb of alcohol and winter slur her speech. Where am I now? Marleyborne? That's a long walk, she thought, a damn long way to go. Mary hated Mark more in this moment, detested him for dragging her out and hated herself for delaying the meeting, letting her melodrama prolong the date to such an ungodly hour. Marie tightened her cheap coat and held her hand for the passing taxi.

"Can you go to Lambeth Accord? It's by Brixton Road."

Marie didn't listen to the driver as he nodded, blowing into her hands as she fell inside. Marie was drunk from the night and felt her head loll and tuck as the cab started on. Feeling the cold damp of her forehead on the glass, Marie glossed over the blurred street. It's so nice outside, she thought, and it's all been emptied just for me. Marie shifted in the leather seat as she dreamt, it's all been so neatly arranged this little trip of mine. Marie felt wine rise up in her throat as the cab turned and focused her gaze to the steady poster by the seat ahead. £50 FINE FOR ANY SICKNESS IN THIS VEHICLE. Marie whispered and thought to herself as she danced with the car, amused by her words and voice.

"Fifty pound ride, that's a hell of a fine, hell of a way to pay to go round. Mary goes round! What a perfect little ride this has been, what a hell of way to go round."

Marie tumbled across the seat as the driver slowed and slurred through the screen.

"Here's fine. Just stop by the bank there."

Marie coaxed her empty wallet as she climbed out from the cab, playing her plan in her head while she leant towards the driver. Marie faced the old, stale face and pursed her lips as she spoke with dumb ease.

"Hey mister, I didn't realise earlier but I don't have much money on me."

The man looked up to her, his thinned hair stuck and heavy against his scalp as he talked slowly.

"How much do you have?"

"Not much at all. Not enough."

Marie pulled her chest in further as he paused, allowing the thin outline of her jumper to press firmly against the opened glass. Marie smiled to herself and watched the driver follow her teeth as they moved.

"Maybe I can do something else."

The man continued his pause, swallowed and rose closer to Marie.

"What," he swallowed again, pushing his chin into his neck before finishing, "Did you have in mind exactly?"

Men, she thought, what neat little messes they are. Marie let her voice shake as she talked to the driver, held her quiver as she ignored the rancid stench of cigarettes and coffee.

"What," she spoke softly, moving in closer, "do you have in mind exactly?"

>>5809076
Marie waited with held breath as the man moved in closer, let him almost move his lips to hers and with a sudden motion violently ejected herself away from the window. Marie had acted a perfect script and spat her words quickly at the pathetic thing below, eager to get back to her apartment.

"What the fuck was that?" Marie squealed, "What the fuck are you doing?"

The man stammered, his face was gaunt and yellow with sweat and street light.

"I-I thought that....wasn't that...."

Marie turned, smiled and walked home, spinning past the bricked and thinly gardened towers above. She thought of Mark and dinner as she clambered inside, climbing up steps angry and drunk. It's all just bait, she thought, it's all hooks and worms and digging bites. What a convenient upset that was, what clockwork fancy I've been making. Marie spat and smiled to herself while she fumbled the keys, felt her teeth move and chatter to each second of rattling. She threw herself past the open door, peeled her coat and shoes to the tiled floor and moved over to the fridge, pouring wine and smiling as she turned on music.

>>5808977
I'm not sure about if I like this poem anon. I'm guessing it's sort of a spur of the moment thing but if that was the case I would have gone free-verse. The middle stanza is nice but the Pope bit makes little sense to me and has poor flow.

>>5806968
This is totally loopy and pretty great. Although I like it more from a plot perspective than the way you write it.

>>5806880
The other anons hit the nail on the head. Less is more for most people here. Saying stuff like, "I sailed with burlap and longing" allows the reader to draw in his own imagination. Also varying your sentence length helps as well.

>the rap lyrics of an educated mulatto from some place in Idaho

Ay yo, T-Shane: I be matriculated,
Like, bitches drink my magna cum laude.
I got a doctorate in sneezin' gats.
Henceforth, I put victims in vats, titled:
Radioactive, my middle testicle is active.
Negroid, you need some flotation,
my whole dissertation is about you being Haitian
(of which I retain no relation).

I go so hard in the paint: Rembrandt;
I am the Harlem Renaissance in all its remembrance;
My BBB is not conducive to crack:
my membranes be impermeable.

So, in gorilla stance, I grab the mic
and inspect the holo-deck, and then pet
the world's last Panda drenched in ammonium,
call it: Pandemonium.

Beautiful man. Stolid. Upright. Conscientious, yet unrecognizing, my admiration and fondness forfeit, of the young girl who contacted him once and then never again. I want him and everybody wants him. He has left the door open for my aspirations. Love, you make financial analyzation a seductive vocation. But regret does not die so quickly in so many words.

>>5810035
this is shit kewpie doll

Sunset found her squatting in the grass, groaning. Every stool was looser than the one before, and smelled fouler. By the time the moon came up she was shitting brown water. The more she drank, the more she shat, but the more she shat, the thirstier she grew, and her thirst sent her crawling to the stream to suck up more water.

>>5810955

>>5799035
writing isn't about having crowds suck your dick, it's about the joy of creation


but few are pure enough artists to get off on the joy of creation alone, so the next best thing is making people feel emotions, by whatever means necessary. If that requires people to steal my art - fine.

>>5805551
great advice, thank you!

I've rewritten this opening paragraph into a novel I've been writing for a few months and it has given me the most trouble:

The numerous footsteps around me clacked like the cranking of wooden gears. The surrounding body warmth caused me to sweat. Avoiding the stench from the forgotten produce littering the ground, I walked cautiously. Candy fairies ran past me and for the toy shop in the distance. Slowly I made my way down the crowded and narrow alley. Still, I fell. My walk did not stumble, something sudden and inmaterial had tripped me. I was pushed me into the ground just two steps shy of my destination. I slowly stood back up and faced the man behind the adjacent stall. He gave a grin and chuckled, but his attention was not on me. Only a dog’s ear could pick up the echo of the bustling chatter bouncing off the wooden vendor stands. Only hawk eyes could see the thin layer of flour that covered the air. This man alone had the talent to pick up these fine details.

Is this at least decent now? This has given me so much trouble. I think I plan on adding a little more description to help establish the setting without outright saying it, but I'm ready to just forget about it for a month.

>>5806966
Style choice. Most use quote marks, I think, though my favorite writers eschew the inner monologue entirely.

>>5811175
Nobody does onomatopoeia better than Flashbird the vampire.

>>5811201
>The numerous footsteps around me clacked like the cranking of wooden gears.
"Numerous footsteps" is a pointless way of putting it. Just "footsteps" alone tells us that there is more than one footstep. And, even so, the main sound in a crowded alley wouldn't be one of footsteps, unless this is set in some place where everybody wears metal shoes and nobody talks. And the comparison gives me, as a reader, nothing, except maybe telling me something about the general tech level of the setting. Most importantly, though: Why do you think this is a good first sentence? What's interesting about it? The main character hears footsteps, so what? Surely you have something interesting to wave at the reader in this setting of yours.
>The surrounding body warmth caused me to sweat.
"A caused B" isn't terribly elegant. Just tell us about the crowd and that he's sweating, without explicitly making the connection.
>Avoiding the stench from the forgotten produce littering the ground, I walked cautiously.
Something vaguely interesting! Now you're starting to paint the scene. You're still doing "A caused B", though. Something like "I cautiously stepped around one of rotting fruits littering the streets, hoping the smell wouldn't stick to me". Still not terribly eloquent, but you get what I mean.
>Candy fairies ran past me and for the toy shop in the distance.
Keep us in the scene! Isn't this a crowded narrow alley? How are they running so apparently unhindered? Mention that they're pushing people aside or bumping into them or something! Especially considering that the crowdedness of the alley is the main point of the next sentence! Having "candy fairies" running around doesn't make it seem like walking down this alley would be slow work.

It's not that long, I swear

http://pastebin.com/L0m3487d

>>5811201
>>5811201
You're that guy from the plague

>>5809285
8/10 great bars b

Last verse lacks some flow though

Favourite lines:
>Like, bitches drink my magna cum laude.
>I go so hard in the paint: Rembrandt;

>>5808911
I understand you're going through a break-up, but that is not excuse for mediocre poetry

bump

http://pastebin.com/Ka5rgvbk

Excerpt from a novel I'm writing, totally unedited. Could use some feedback.

What does it mean, chaos
gathered into a sudden bronze sweetness,
an October flourish, and then that moment
denied, turned acid, disassembling,
questioned, rephrased?

I stand,
staring,
on the oceanic abyss,
mist caressing my face,
waiting arms outstretched,
to wrap me,
in cold nothingness.

There he was,
a sweet boy, his eyes a pale,
dusty blue.
His skin was pellucid and tight
on his bones;
in that saran wrap blanket
his veins squirmed
with every jerk
of his thin
and fickle limbs.

His lips looked unused,
archaic mutations, ill-suited
for such a being,
for such a soul.
The robes laid on him
another body whole,
with thicker, cotton skin,
sturdy bones.
Kind bones,
worthy bones.
Bones that did not hate him
did not spite him,
burn inside him;
white-hot coals
screaming
to burst from that skin,
to slough off his carcass
and smolder
on the linoleum
beneath his chair.

A cold heat hits my skin softly
with the sharp inflection of a
venomous insult from your mother
and the warm sincerity of an
electric chair meant to justify
the death of thirteen college girls
of whom only a dozen were
found.

>>5815367

Almost reads like a screenplay or voiceover to me. The description of the shove for example sounds kind of like directions for an actor.

I like the slow reveal / twisting expectations thing you seem to be going for. Need more I think to be able to understand what youre going for though. Sounds like a britfag schoolboy tussle is about to ensue. Would read more out of curiosity

"Mom, I'm gonna miss you." Tears roll.
She breathes in labor. "It's alright." She streches out her hand to feel Alice's skin one last time, but the distance has become so great. "I think I can go." Around them shines light like stars from monitors and diodes.
"Mom, don't say that." Tears fall. "You're the only thing I have."
Mom smiles. "Don't say that..." She closes her eyes. "You have your life." Concurrently, the loveliest moments of her own life streams by. It never amounted to much in the greater scale of history. "When you become a mother... you give your life to your child." She gives a final gaze to her daughter, who clasps her mothers cold hand. "And I'm so... so... glad it was worth it."

>>5815657
Thanks for the criticism- I am actually a screenwriter so I guess that makes sense. What I'm trying to do is have a sort of dream-like 'state of consciousness' and perceptions of objects and situations in the manner they relate to the protagonist. I'm going to use minimal dialogue and description of place to achieve this. What happens next is he hits 'Chad' with one of his high heels and they beat him up, he goes home, gets a call from his ex-girlfriend, gets yelled at and contemplates jacking off but doesn't. End chapter one.

Anyway, I'm trying to write a novel, not a screenplay. What would you suggest I do to fit it more to that form?

Oh, and the characters are Australian, not British.

>>5783856
EVERY POST HERE FUCKING SUCKS .Read mine and kill yourselves, literature is a lie.

The cilff we sootd on semeed as old as Arhbaam. Far boelw, the hrungy sea genawd at its alkne.

Soeomne ocne siad taht pasdraie is whree saueglls are finlyg baeneth yuor feet. Tehy wree acnrig and wilhneeg bwteeen the wcfrthicat of the mnoinrg lhigt. An oaacsiconl seracm wuold echo form the cflifs, ereie and raeinotsng. The ienmmse vitsa lidenag to the hoorzin was jaw dpnorpig. The Prsiausn-bule valut of vvelet avboe smeeed to sdloer itno the liqiud blnaket of sleivr bneaeth. Far out to sea, a saltoriy cnromaort, selek wgnis a-frrluy, sarteked out to the palce werhe sea and sky mlet itno ecah otehr and was lsot form sghit.

The sruply slnapipg of the sea was muetd, a moieonmrtc mmruur. The wvaes wree mlreey soizonng, siugslgh and snbmrliueg in thier luiiqd rboes. Tehy dbbrelid up to the bcaeh of the shrlteeed cvoe, tehn sreedhudd and dzelizrd tehir sea sapry otno its sarucfe, winskhig the sntoes boerfe raeensilg. A ceurrnt of clod eerliittccy psased thgourh the air. We srevheid. The wnid wphepid up. The sea seermmid.

Snoilshg, seollwn to its cneoinfd detphs, its cvroaenus beowls strried, a giwonrlg form the ftohams. Sdneduly, stnoe dehasd snad temeed as the sea hseisd, waeshd, plheosid, and laeshd the pbbeles brfoee shsloing bcak. It hsesid, spiepld, dshaed the snad and reealesd; fezizd, sipt, steeehd the baech and rseeeald: sziezd, slpeapd, swshied the stnoes and relesaed.

The msmeeirc baetuy of its baet was hraet-slewnlig. We riazeled tehn taht the sea was its own metsar, knndiilg its own snpmhyoy. It hdan’t fniihesd its snog yet, heweovr. The wnid, the mdwifie of the saes, sreevd a dfreineft mteasr and wipehpd it itno a fnrezy.

The ehco of a rspay rulbimng form the eengard sea cmae to us, a tourusenlmess to faer. The wvaes wree raelly sinoshlg, splrinug and sbreiblong wtih tiher slaty lpis. Tehy podeund itno the cfilf of the stherleed cvoe, tehn pseuad and pncueod wtih maicle otno its aklne, sanmimlg the rcok bferoe rneilsaeg. A rouumr of its meoavcnelle peassd tghuroh our lges. We svhreied. The wnid deid dwon. The sea bublbed. Tineblrmg, tnhirbbog to its rtoten baet, its mociailus suol sretrid, a wnairng form the aegs. Sdleudny, rip-tdie rlols heevad as the sea famoed, cashred, pdeuond and bhsaed the cfilf-foot brofee slnishog bcak. It foeamd and ftheord, pneglud dwon hrad and plmleumed the htead ciflfs; it lheaterd and laeeatcrd, bkeucd wvaes and bculekd itelsf; it scmkaed and samehsd, sgnriug wvaes and eginnpxug its afwul rgae.

Its hssiy fit oevr, it swleeld ocne mroe, jrdedeud and was slitl.

>>5816339
wow you're so good, thats amazing really write a book you showed these faggots