/Crit/ General Critique Thread

[Anonymous No.10252601]

Post your prose or poetry, but be sure critique others if you do.

[Anonymous No.10252605]

I'll start us off:
I think it's hard to read on pastebin, but since its experimental dialogue, I couldn't post it any other way. Tell me what you think, it's a bit confusing at first, but please read it all the way through!
https://pastebin.com/4Fie5gKR

[Anonymous No.10252606]

>>10252601

“The secret of draconic consciousness is their mathematical intuition is radically different from ours. Not at the level of higher maths, mind you, but at the level of basic arithmetic. Our arithmetic is based on addition and subtraction, whereas theirs is based around the modulus operator. It all comes down to Godelian incompleteness, I'm afraid.”
“What? How?”
“Oh, it's simple. Have you heard of the Dark Forest hypothesis? As an answer to the drake equation and the fermi paradox, I mean.”
“The idea that advanced alien civilizations have to kill any planets that harbor life in order to prevent technological singularities that could potentially lead to them being destroyed, right?”
“Right. Well, more benevolent alien civilizations make a point of subsequently simulating life as it would have developed, more or less, with some alterations made for ethical and aesthetic reasons of course.”
“Of course” he rolled his eyes.
“Well, as it turns out, planet earth had two different epochs of life. One was the dinosaurs, which would have given birth to dragons in time had it run its evolutionary course, and the other the epoch of man. Well, as it turns out, dinosaur biology and particularly cognition is structured in a radically different way, mathematically speaking, than human cognition. But the aliens, for whatever reason, simply simulated both forms of consciousness using the same software, using modular arithmetic operations and a complex vector calculus to sort of approximate draconic consciousness as closely as possible. But it ended up fucking things up and so dragons effectively became ghosts in the alien machine.”
“Right. Hey listen, this is all very fascinating but I think maybe I'd like to leave soon.”
“Oh don't worry, I'm about halfway through now.
“Uh huh”
“Dragons speak entirely in vowels you know”
“Well duh. I mean, they don't have lips right, so...”
“No, not at all. Dragon anatomy, when they actually possess it, is perfectly capable of speaking consonants. It's not a matter of ability it all. It's just that consonants are viewed as unseemly. It's an artifact of their modular and vectorial way of thinking.”
“I… uh. Wait what?”
“The interesting thing is that the languages they speak are just human languages with the consonants removed.”
“But then how the fuck are they supposed to tell which words are what?”
“Oh, but don't you see? They do so through an immensely complicated and elegant system of heuristics that's closely related to their mathematical intuition.”

[Anonymous No.10252627]

>>10252606
This was pretty funny tbqh

[Anonymous No.10252631]

>>10252606
Some typos I thought I might point out in case you wanna fix:
>ability it all
>...now.
>...know"
>...Wait what?"

Pretty funny, I like how we were sort of doing the same thing with dialogue. Odd. Anyway, I really liked how this was an elaborate INTJ Rick and Mortyesque explanation of dragon consciousness. Pretty funny. I thought I wouldn't like it when you went straight into maths and "Dark Forest" but it actually comes off as well-thought, albeit silly. I can only think of Pynchon doing anything similar with his weird Demon Box thing. Favourite part:
>"Dragons speak entirely in vowels you know,"

[Anonymous No.10252693]

>>10252605

I enjoyed this

[Anonymous No.10252700]

[Anonymous No.10252706]

-The truth-

I am all that is inside both space and time.
My will is all that is both inside space and outside time.

[Anonymous No.10252792]

>>10252700
I liked it. You write succinctly, but I think this makes your cliches show off a bit more.
>Skyscrapers that rise up towards twinkling stars set the sky...
Just reminds me of every other boring description of the night sky where the stars are visible. I think it's okay since you're using it to say there's a burning building in contrast, but it still irks me as a reader.

I'd like to see where this is going, it's not very much. No book really starts off amazingly anyway, so I think you're fine.

[Anonymous No.10252816]

>>10252700
I like it anon, pretty good. Id read it

[Anonymous No.10252834]

>>10252706
Truth is universal, and yet can be accessed to us mere mortals - is this a riddle or something? If so it's a pretty slimy one.


Here's a poem I wrote in a state of paralytic ennui:

If eyes would crack
I’d have them so,
and bore the gel
into a frame
to call my child who
gleams upon the world.

These artless walls
shine their dour
into my pending breath,
I grope for loud moments;
and yet these moments drip.
This limbless clock bawls into me:
“The world is running thin”
whilst noise speckles my mind -
skittering monochrome.

It divorces me
In bulges, growths
Come quick my child!
I hear neighbours
It swells, castrates me
to icy surrender.

I daren't submit
for public souls
shall sort me well,
yet Bile
rivers across my cheeks;
in viscous pigments.

Head Bells
ring,
and mull,
and gong
to diffuse monologues -
for this soliloquy is lies
He tells me lies!
The boldest lies!

But no forestall
you deft tricksters
I hear so well;
I murder you.
My child is born
so see him
brave the world!

Now hear me well
and hear me deep
you bastards of
inner mire:
I am my child
now see me
make my motions!

[Anonymous No.10252839]

>>10252700
stopped reading at gauss rifle

[Anonymous No.10252887]

>>10252839
Thanks for the constructive feedback, I'm learning so much
faggot

[Anonymous No.10252908]

>>10252887
it is constructive, gauss rifle makes me think of steampunk, which is gay

[Anonymous No.10252917]

>>10252908
there, that's better. gauss is sci-fi (xcom), anyways

[Anonymous No.10252919]

>>10252606
Interesting read as I enjoy everything dragons. Seems you have some mathematical background but you half-assed the explanation a la Rick style.
It's rather pretentious but has some sort of fun charm, I dunno how to say it. Also, only one "rolled his eyes", we don't know who this characters are, where they are, nothing. Seems like you have an Idea of a two character dialogue and started there. I liked it nonetheless.

Posting mine in Spanish:

Entraron ambos al cuarto del sótano donde Daniel quedó de nuevo en sus pantaloncillos. Rachel le siguió y cerró la puerta. Colocó el pasador, y luego el cerrojo superior, después la llave de la chapa y terminó por el cerrojo inferior. Nadie podía entrar o salir de la habitación. Una habitación oscura, sin ventanas, iluminada por una pequeña lumbre a un costado de la cama. Era una habitación sombría y espeluznante, tal y como le gustaba tener al padre de Rachel. Cada vez que Daniel ponía un pie dentro los vellos de su cuerpo se enchinaban.

El joven inseguro encontró la cama dónde recostó su cuerpo, sobre un colchón viejo y maltratado. Apestaba a su verdadero olor. Logró atarse dos fuertes grilletes de la orilla de la cama a sus pies. Eran de metal, de uno muy duro, y frío. Rachel se acercó a Daniel y lo miró como siempre lo hacía antes del caer la noche; brazos cruzados, mirada caída y en sus ojos el noventa por ciento de odio irreconciliable. El otro diez de lástima y compasión. Se sujetó a un fuerte grillete del otro extremo de la cama a su brazo torpe, el izquierdo. Finalmente faltaba el derecho, mismo que la primera madre asistió por sujetar.

Se miraron a los ojos por última vez. El miedo de su hijo adoptivo se transmitía claramente a través de su iris azul. Rachel deseaba sentir empatía por el joven, pero su corazón sólo tenía cabida para el desprecio sin lógica ni razón. Y eso era lo que más le molestaba; Danny era víctima de un sufrimiento insoportable noche tras noche. Estaba maldecido a una vida feral encarcelamiento que nunca pidió. Y, aun así, jamás se quejaba como Rachel lo hacía. Su deseo de ayudar a las personas que lo rodeaban, actitud positiva y nobles intenciones le recordaba constantemente la terrible persona que se sentía.

Ella se acercó a Daniel y con breve vacilación, le besó los labios. Ejerciendo su derecho como primera madre por voluntad propia.

“Más vale que no mueras.”

Sin darle tiempo de una respuesta adecuada, colocó un bozal sobre su cara y bajó el cubre ojos. Danny aceleró su respiración.

El reloj marcó las seis de la tarde.

Y Rachel apagó el último rastro de luz.

[Anonymous No.10253005]

All this shit sucks

School is dumb
School is stupid
I wish that I'd
Been shot by Cupid
In the upper register
Of my time
Among you all
In fact,
I have
Been led by leading to believe
That what they get
Together slightly
Pushed on me
Like letters fighting
But they possessing only ABC
Against the rest, surpassing Z

Luckily, from D-Z they work infrequently
Passing each in halls lit up
Pollinating me

So what
You've given me the notion that you give a fuck
Only so once you've held the rug I've forgotten how to jump
Impressive such is one who digs a rut and proceeds to fill it back up?
Back up.
Your blood is being sucked
And only once you give me some
Will you in illness donning mask of proper health get fucked.

[Anonymous No.10253165]

"Hah!" Rudolf sputtered, more bloody ooze dripping from the corners of his mouth. "You think you've got some bullshit against me, you cauldron of horse-cum? Nah, nah, not a fraction of a fraction you little cup of assgrease." a limp-wristed hand slid laggardly off his chest and thudded against the ground, revealing the dark-crimson torn frabric punctuated with a long, narrow, bleeding wound where flesh was exposed. His speech was degrading to a slurred and delirious form.
"No one's shit is fucked here, buddy. Not by a bit. You know what they call me in Solemia, right? They call me Averian---Averian Unum...Unum, you know?"
Timore's frowned stretched his lip and showed his teeth grinding against each other in fury.
"Oh. Oh, don't tell me you don't know what Unum means..."
He stayed silent and balled his hands into trembling and white-knuckled fists.
"You scrawny old fuck! It's Latin---Latin for 'one'! I'm just the first one, buddy! Just the FIRST one! Look at what I did to you! Yeah, you can regenerate it, but I chopped your fucking arm off!"
One of Timore's hands gripped the bubbling black stump where his arm formerly reposed, the frothy sable substance not besmirching his dark attire in the least though it dripped betwixt the valleys of his fingers.
"Just---just IMAGINE what Averian Duo will do to you, you seven buckets of mammoth piss. He will fucking annihilate you. OBLITERATE you. Don't think he'll be a hoity-toity pacifist Christ-kiddo like me. You're shit will get FUCKED. EVERYONE'S shit will be LEGENDARILY FUCKED. No one's shit will be saved from a good-ol' Averian dicking. Get ready to be sent...to the stars...buddy."

[Anonymous No.10253182]

>>10253165

K

[Anonymous No.10253260]

>>10252606
Reminded me of Stanislaw Lem's The Cyberiad, which you would definitely be into assuming you haven't read it already.

[Anonymous No.10253277]

>>10252919
My Spanish is a little lacking to truly appreciate this but it's pretty interesting. Some critiques I would have is that you should show more and tell less (”Su deseo de ayudar a las personas que lo rodeaban, actitud positiva y nobles intenciones” is a good example), and that that 90%-10% phrasing is clunky as fuck.

[Anonymous No.10253281]

Then a furrow of dustlight
Enters then barely crawls across the chambers
Just enough for us to make out
The Spanish dogs in formation
The pluming organ swells coiling around their tongues aloll
Held in the slow pulse of anticipation

And in the light their teeth and yours
Are the same shade of white
And I ache for the bite.

[Anonymous No.10253322]

A sprout. A small plant child. That’s what he wanted, or what he thought he wanted. The light's intensity shifted gently and was finely perforated by the sway of the blinds. He looked through those uneven crevices to inspect this source. An encapsulated view of the outside led him to believe the light was rather ominous. Its invasion into uneven portions of visible landscape persistently irked him. Pulling back his noggin, he noticed the invasive iridescence housed with the dew of his soon-to-be flower. A flare of sound and color which momentarily crept along the ceiling brought him back to the neutral desk. It was far enough from the source to contain its own lights. The mauve chair clashed with the glow, but with his back always on it, it didn't matter. Its glow was instead plastered upon his face.

[Anonymous No.10253340]

>>10253005
good poem but why are you dressed up like a sperm anon?

[Anonymous No.10253355]

>>10252601
“Fuck,” he says, in between debilitating, body wracking coughs. He finally manages to croak out, “That’s some good weed (1) .”
Whilst dragging his fingers through his dispersed ashy hair, he mindlessly sniffs at some nasal drip coming out. The mucous clotting in his right nostril, resisting the antagonization of gravity. He settles backwards into the large pseudo-suede armchair, letting it adjust to his asymmetrical architecture. The Smartmatter™ (2) creating a low atmospheric buzz as the seat morphs around his form.
Drugs are his own personal diabolatry, the amoral rite he comprehensively fulfills upon waking. Glassware, empty prescription bottles, lighters, and baggies with red cartoon mushrooms on them form a diminutive jungle atop his coffee table.
A mysterious high pitched moaning suddenly begins to gestate. “Fuck me Jerry, fuck me like you’ve never fucked before.” Jerry, our very own stoner, begins to write around in the chair, shoving his arms underneath himself digging into the chair which creates holes for him as it adjusts to his touch. Like some fucked up fever dream, soon he is plunging into his recliner elbow deep while the sexual wails continue to assault his ear drums.
“Where the FUCK is my god damn remote!”
Finally, after more plunging and thrusting, he finds the hard-black phallus of the device enveloped within the folds beneath him.
He pulls out and activates the singular large button, “MUTE IT FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.”
The sexual requests continue and a feminine voice chimes in, “I’m sorry, can you repeat that?”
“MUTE!”

1: Weed, also known as “The Devil’s Lettuce,” is the pastime of the Unemployed, Unemployable, and Artists (What’s the difference between the three anyway?) everywhere.

2: Smartmatter™ was created by renowned entrepreneur Don Zizek in the year 2032, originally designed for use in Military Body Armor. However, Ikea quickly found a use for it in the form of self-assembling furniture. Gone are the days of unfathomable instructions designed by obsessive Swedes.

>the footnotes are correctly formatted in the original document

[Anonymous No.10253381]

>>10253340

I lost my mind on the October 31st of my conception

[Anonymous No.10253707]

>>10253277
Thank you for the sincere critique. On my defense, this was part of a literary excercise of 2k words writing. It shows MC being ovely friendly plus some more context on the mother, but in truth, I didn't bother to convince the reader on why the MC was good and she is suppose to feel bad. I'll work on that.
And the 90% thing is weak as fuck, holy shit. What was I thinking?

[Anonymous No.10254174]

>>10253355
>look ma I just read hitchikers guide to the galaxy
I do kind of like the "dude, weed" note though, since it seems like the kind of thing Adams wouldn't write about in spite of having his style.

>The Smartmatter™ (2) creating a low atmospheric buzz as the seat morphs around his form.
Read all of your sentences in isolation. Either make the period before this a comma, or use a helping verb like "was". Also, "Morphs" should be "morphed".

>A mysterious high pitched moaning suddenly begins to gestate. “Fuck me Jerry, fuck me like you’ve never fucked before.”
I liked what came after but I read that quote in a flat, male voice.

Try writing without caps for practice (barring things like onomatopoeia). They read well enough for me because I shitpost constantly, but other people usually don't like them and you can usually find a way to make the text still sound right without them.

[Anonymous No.10254215]

Hey, I got smut

---

She stood on all fours. He relentlessly fucked her from behind, and she quietly reciprocated the action by bouncing against him. A few revolutions went by and she let out a tiny fart.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” she said, and he slapped her bouncing ass; “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry sorry sorry” -sorry for each apology that came before, as he wordlessly slapped the same spot the same way on every third thrust. Her eyes squeezed shut and her mouth snapped closed; she held her breath in, and from her hairy pink cunt she coughed and gulped and sputtered onto the dick inside of her, hanging a swinging net of slobber from her oozing orifice. She gasped for air and felt his hands move down her back and grab her shoulders. Aggressively his hips galloped her forward, face first into the mattress. He pounded her pinned frame as it’s mass jiggled around it; she bit the sheets between her lips and screamed and sobbed, screaming again as she felt the thud of his knuckles bruising the spot on her ass, scratching the itch. Instead of hitting it a second time, he caressed it, while using his other five fingers to claw at her doughy stomach. He slowed down once he felt her convulse, causing her to weep into the sheets for not having been finished off properly. Her vagina released one complete discharge as he slowly brought his dick’s last push to a halt, then her body went limp, ass hanging sadly around his penis, body too tingly to move, but not enough to be satisfied.

---
The rest is here; copy and paste into word for indentation: https://pastebin.com/ZHGM3v75

No shitpost ending this time. However, planning to end on a shitpost is a really good way to try and motivate yourself to work on immersion. Originally I planned to have her say "I need to pee" and have him respond with "You slut," which could sound cool if built up to properly but ultimately just be ironic and a dumb nonsequitor, then have the exchange paralleled when the man closes his laptop and leaves the fantasy, then hears "Here's your coffee" and responds with "You too" by mistake. The actual dialogue didn't flow out of me that way though, so I just left it. I probably won't turn it into one of those "ALL A DREAM" shitposts in the end, but I'm not sure how the last bit of dialogue I wrote fares though.

[Anonymous No.10254256]

>>10254174
Actually I've never read Hitchhikers guide lol.

I've only seen the adaption but that was of little influence to my style.
I appreciate the input though, you're likely right about the caps, and also correct about the grammar issue.

So far I've done little editing, just tried to keep getting through the thick of it before I worry about that.

[Anonymous No.10254419]

>>10252700
Back again with another story idea.

[Anonymous No.10255324]

>>10254419
A jar cremation in space? I find this a bit odd. It's like how there's a bagpipe player in Star Trek at the funeral, even though they're advanced enough for warp travel. Reads well anyway.

[Anonymous No.10255636]

>>10252606
Pretty funny to be honest. Have you more to share?

>>10254215
Fix a few typos. still needs polishing. You planning on self-publishing?
https://pastebin.com/jCs52K1A

>>10253355
Fix a few typos for you too.

“Fuck,” he says, in between debilitating, body-wracking coughs. He finally manages to croak out, “That’s some good weed (1) .”
Whilst dragging his fingers through his dispersed ashy hair, he mindlessly sniffs at some nasal drip coming out. The mucous clotting in his right nostril, resisting the antagonization of gravity. He settles back into the large pseudo-suede armchair, letting it adjust to his asymmetrical architecture. The Smartmatter™ (2) creating a low atmospheric buzz as the seat morphs around his form.
Drugs are his own personal diabolatry, the amoral rite he comprehensively fulfills upon waking. Glassware, empty prescription bottles, lighters, and baggies with red cartoon mushrooms on them form a diminutive jungle atop his coffee table.
A mysterious high pitched moaning suddenly begins to gestate. “Fuck me, Jerry, fuck me like you’ve never fucked before.” Jerry, our very own stoner, begins to write around in the chair, shoving his arms underneath himself digging into the chair which creates holes for him as it adjusts to his touch. Like some fucked up fever dream, soon he is plunging into his recliner elbow deep while the sexual wails continue to assault his eardrums.
“Where the FUCK is my god damn remote!”
Finally, after more plunging and thrusting, he finds the hard-black phallus of the device enveloped within the folds beneath him.
He pulls out and activates the singular large button, “MUTE IT FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.”
The sexual requests continue and feminine voice chimes in, “I’m sorry, can you repeat that?”
“MUTE!”

1: Weed, also known as “The Devil’s Lettuce,” is the pastime of the Unemployed, Unemployable, and Artists (What’s the difference between the three anyway?) everywhere.

2: Smartmatter™ was created by renowned entrepreneur Don Zizek in the year 2032, originally designed for use in Military Body Armor. However, Ikea quickly found a use for it in the form of self-assembling furniture. Gone are the days of unfathomable instructions designed by obsessive Swedes.
Here's mine: https://pastebin.com/pYwnv7wC

Thinking of just writing a two p.o.v story instead of three.

[Anonymous No.10255654]

>>10255636

> Pretty funny to be honest. Have you more to share?

“Do you know about the S5 modal axiom? Let me tell you about the S5 modal axiom. It's the source of an immense amount of debate between theists and atheists, because among modal realists, the truth of the S5 modal axiom would necessitate the existence of God. However, the interesting thing about modal logic with and without this axiom is that a system with this axiom can tolerate a system without it, but not vice versa.”
“So you can like, what, daisy chain different systems of logic together?”
“Yes! Exactly so. You need to organize them in the correct way and make correct use of metalanguage, but it can be done. Now tell me, are you familiar with Newcomb's paradox?”
“That thing where an omniscient being puts a million dollars in one box and a thousand in the other, but only on the condition that a person takes only the million and not the extra thousand?”
“Yes! Exactly. Well, Newcomb's paradox is an excellent metaphor for the existence or non-existence of God. Psions are effectively a logic gate that allows you to select for the God you get. So it's an isomorphic relationship. At the same time God is deciding whether or not to put $1,000,000 in the box...” “You're deciding which God exists” “Bingo” “So wait, what's to stop me from selecting for the God who just lets me take both prizes?” “Nothing! Only that's not the significance of the experiment. That's the problem with literal metaphors, you see. It's very easy to get confused by them. You keep forgetting the implicit “WLOG” addendum, my dear boy”
“So when Nietzsche said 'God is dead'...”
“He was right!”
“And when someone else says 'God is love'?”
“They're right”
“But that's a contradiction?”
“Of course it's a contradiction. And everything follows from a contradiction. Since God is the prime mover and there is only one God, then on the basis of mathematical realism, God can only be contradiction!”
“But that's stupid. Why do mathematicians spend all their time trying to get rid of contradiction if contradiction is God?”
“Another fine contradiction, isn't it?”
“I guess?”

[Anonymous No.10255677]

Hey, can I get some advice on this? So I just watched this video about a porn comic (that I've read multiple times before hearing about this) and it made some good points: https://youtu.be/3IcOx1u94mg

Specifically, the guy talks about this feeling of the humanization of characters, which can roughly be described as small interactions within the environment that raise the mood of an individual done in the midst of a mundane environment or situation. The guy talks about it in more concrete terms in the video and about how this feeling differs from other stuff, but an example that was brought to my mind was pic related. It's quaint and would be something I'd do if it got cold out.

My main question about this is its applicability in stories, since these examples happen primarily in visual media. In a scene multiple elements can be shown simultaneously and you don't feel obliged calling attention to it given that other aspects of the scene can be the main focus. But if you want to convey this with writing you have to give it its own sentence or actively draw attention towards it. It's less subtle than in comics or shows and, I think, loses some of its impact when transfered over to the written word. Can any of you recall any examples that say otherwise in what you've read? Moments that play out like this in other stories?

[Anonymous No.10255782]

>>10255636
>Fix a few typos. still needs polishing.
Yeah, everything below the first part in my comment has only been read back over once. Was there a noticeable difference?

>You planning on self-publishing?
>planning
I have a larger genre fiction work I'm writing with the help of a professor that I may or may not include this in. Though they probably wouldn't want to look at this part themselves. Originally I planned to just jump over it between chapters or something, but then I painted myself into a corner where I actually needed one somewhere else, which would make jumping over this one and not the other look weird.

>https://pastebin.com/jCs52K1A
?
Why repaste? At first I thought there were typos fixed (which isn't something you need to do for me), but I pasted both copies into a diff checker and got zero differences.

---

>Here's mine: https://pastebin.com/pYwnv7wC
>too much of a strong word
Just say "too strong of a word". Even if you're trying to characterize the reader as inefficient, this is just overkill here.

>all the opposing group accomplished
"all the opposing group" sounds like one block term, like "all of the opposing group," but what you mean is to say that "all [the opposing group] accomplished," so you should probably put a "that" before "the opposing group" to divide it from "all." As it stands, partway through the sentence it sounds like you're saying "[all the opposing group] accomplished," as though they "all accomplished," when you're trying to say something more like "all that they accomplished was a meager blah blah and so and so".

>Saying AA would be [excessive] when CC was getting DD once the EE had commenced.
I would change "when" to "considering," and "had commenced" is confusing; can't you just say "at the start of EE" or something like "right out of the gates"?

[Anonymous No.10255807]

>>10255654
>However, the interesting thing about modal logic with and without this axiom is that a system with this axiom can tolerate a system without it, but not vice versa.
What's interesting about this? I mean, it's the end-of-the-line at the moment but each of those popular axioms can tolerate all of the preceding ones; they're in a chain (though as I recall early on there's a fork which opens then closes back shut).

>So you can like, what, daisy chain different systems of logic together?
Oh, so you (the author) did get that. It's really weird that this character was able to deduce that in spite of only having just been told what S5 was; it didn't seem like anything the previous speaker had said would have conveyed how that worked (hence why I wasn't aware you were aware).

>“So when Nietzsche said 'God is dead'...”
>“He was right!”
>“And when someone else says 'God is love'?”
>“They're right”
This isn't exactly right. The necessitation stuff can be used to show that everything necessarily exists in the quantified existential sense, not that all claims are necessarily true. It's sometimes considered sleight of hand to a degree because it's kinda like saying "well, there could not exist any such thing such that it did not exist, therefore all things [which exist] exist". Cutting out the bracketed section sorta sounds like an overreach. Do bear in mind that I didn't actually throw in necessitation symbols in that string I made though, refer to pic related if you want fun things.

>there are other /anal/ytic fags in this thread and all I do is post smut and genre fiction
welp

[Anonymous No.10255939]

>>10255677
I didn't watch the video yet (though I do recognize the comic).

More stuff can be done manually in visual media, but more stuff HAS to be done manually. For example, imagine if all those little gestures hadn't been in the comic. If you translated that version of the comic into words, a lot of them would pop up automatically, making it look better than the gutted version of the comic.

With drawing you're often going to use a line of action somewhere to imply the position of the rest of the body anyway. When you go to put the little things in you're, in a sense, drawing things which are already implied to be there. Even if you can draw these implications manually, you still need to do the same setup before PRIOR to making anything explicitly shown, which is the same as saying you need to do the setup before WITHOUT to making anything explicitly shown, like in writing.

Being able to have throwaway details shown explicitly without them having a whole sentance is useful, but there are a few advantages writing has. For example, say you've got some serial killer approaching, and as they reveal their face, the reader sees their own mother. Try doing that in a movie or something. Unless everyone has special goggles that plug into their brain and change the face of the actor accordingly, it's not gonna happen. Meanwhile, books can utilize each audience member as a distinct index and show them "their mother". And I'm not just saying "oh, subjective reader interpretation is great for filling in vague holes" or anything fruity like that; you can show people "their mother" 100% of the time, and it'll always be "their mother" whoever "they" is. That's a consistency you can't get with film.

[Anonymous No.10256499]

>>10255939
I never really thought about the advantages of text like that before since it was such a given in the book.
>For example, imagine if all those little gestures hadn't been in the comic. If you translated that version of the comic into words, a lot of them would pop up automatically, making it look better than the gutted version of the comic.
I didn't get this, however. How would they pop up automatically if it's not in the text?

[Anonymous No.10256531]

>>10256499
I mean, suppose a character runs a cold finger down someone's back. With the right context, you're probably going to be inclined to see their back arc (since that's what people do when you do that to them) and their elbows close (in with the line of action). Its pretty much the same as the first half of figure drawing, except you don't have to do the dirty work afterward (but also need to be more confident in what you had beforehand).

[Anonymous No.10256658]

>crits 4 crits
They crouched into the command trench, soldiers sat motionless, eyes open, listening to the mil sec stream and comms, Impetere was yelling into them, “we have them right where we want them, just waiting on programing.”
Across Blone a network of computers and freelancers scraped together a real-time sensor scan of the entire perimeter of the palace, they constructed a fire solution targeting everyone inside and around it with the entire collection of deployed and networked weapons platforms in the area of operation. The bespoke barrage was set to begin in two minutes. Gluos racked the slide of his gun, closed his eyes and watched Eight as she sprinted forward.
Guns all around began to fire. Drones launched thousands of missiles while fighters launched pods of munitions from far above. They burst and sped toward the palace walls. Storms of spinning, heat seeking, anti-personnel mines struck the immediate interior of all openings of the palace detonating in cones of expanding flechettes.The sky and ground were now lit by muzzle flashes. Contrast with the first wave of shells, black specks speeding down like a curtain. A barrage of the most artillery ever used on Blone, hit and exploded all at once. Rather than slacking off the fire intensified. Small arms chattering to life.
They all rose, climbing into the open, spilling out of dugouts and buildings into a thick mass. Moving toward the flaming wall. It built to a heart racing crescendo. Blood streaming through chest and guts. Eyes blurring the space around. Craters, lines of horizontal light. Shells arced over shoulders. Light from explosions reached long before their crashing boom. Laughing wildly walking headlong into spectacular horizon. The firepower protecting them. As they all charged Imperetre yelled over and over, much to the mil sec stream’s amusement, ”and now Commodore Imperetre takes off his coat.”
Simultaneous screams and smiles as a crowd of entirely wild, rapturous faces lept forward. Hot air gusting past and back. Breaths sucked away as sound became a solid. Sustained pressuring piercing into unprotected eardrums. Now only legs, sprinting, flesh drunken off the chaos. Gluos was running with them in body armor covered in grenades and unholstered pistol. Grinning as he tucked his chin to his chest. Stealing glances at each other as they ran over uneven ground.

[Anonymous No.10256779]

'Boxes'


Three sharp knocks brought Diane Honeydew out of her daydream and into a skip towards the door. The latch loosened, the handle twisted, the hinges squeaked. Peter’s lips met hers as arms protected her waist, before nestling next to her ear. “You ready?”. Sunshine decorated the apartment, a warm glow befriending the lonely room, which housed boxes made of cardboard and nothing more.

The couple sat on one each, laughing at the tedious and absurd procedure of moving home. A chestnut-brown hand slowly caressed the cardboard, home to a collection of teddy-bears that were once inseparable from the woman’s grasp. Sitting at the bottom of the box was a baby-blue bear, that had maintained most of its features throughout its two decades of ownership, save for an arm that had been chewed off entirely one angry afternoon. Black, pea-sized eyes, which were once spoken into with adoration and excitement, now stared lifelessly in the box, covered by a pink bear’s pair of buttocks.

Peter, who intended to merely lift the boxes from point a to point b, was now scavenging through them, hands eyes and nose busy at work to find the rectangular steel box Diane had hidden away. “Incense sticks” they both exclaimed as his hand emerged, the red container raised to the air. As a stick was burned, and Diane’s retention for object-placement questioned, smoke gently floated and circled the cardboard homes. A candle lived in one of them, wrapped in plastic, and would never burn and give birth to the senses like its neighbour outside. It was a gift, given by a mother whose heart triumphed where her mind had failed her and those who loved her. The mandala design which covered its surface would never lose its form, but instead would bring a quiet smile when admired from time to time.

A box shook and swayed from side to side in Diane’s trembling hands, as she stubbornly walked away from Peter’s teasing of her overestimation of its weight. Its contents neither clinked nor clattered as they were carried to the car’s open boot; filled to the brim, the box was keeper to the monuments of a teenage girl’s life. CD’s lined the bottom half of the box, all of them soul and RnB, and every tenth album performed by a man. Dog-eared, spine-worn poetry books rested on top, each one written by a sad soul whom wished only to be sadder, as to give them adequate writing material. Finally, a scrapbook lay beneath the flaps, littered with moments from an adolescent’s chaotic blossoming, frozen in time.
The car grumbled as it took the woman, and the objects she chose to define her, away from where they had all felt safe. Safe against the rage and the disgust, safe from the despair and the numb-nakedness, safe with the contentment, and safe with the indifference. His hand laid on top of hers as she was lost outside the window, lulled by the noiseless rhythm of passing streetlamps.

[Anonymous No.10256809]

>>10252605
Boxes here

I really enjoyed this! I personally find the second half a lot stronger than the first, but the dialogue is good nonetheless. I'd like to read more.

[Anonymous No.10256826]

>>10254419
Boxes here

This is fantastic. Really great balance between personal observation, and sci-fi elements. Great job!

[Anonymous No.10256844]

>>10256779
Too lazy for an in depth crit.
Acceptable, but not good. you're using "as" and subordinate clauses way too often. Learn to use periods. They won't kill off the flow of the reading as much as you seem to think they will.

[Anonymous No.10256986]

>>10256779
>Three sharp knocks brought Diane Honeydew out of her daydream and into a skip towards the door. The latch loosened, the handle twisted, the hinges squeaked. Peter’s lips met hers as arms protected her waist, before nestling next to her ear. “You ready?”. Sunshine decorated the apartment, a warm glow befriending the lonely room, which housed boxes made of cardboard and nothing more.

Three sharp knocks brought Diane Honeydew out of her daydream and into a skip towards the door. The latch loosened, handle twisted, hinges squeaked. Peter’s lips met hers as arms protected her waist, before nestling next to her ear. “You ready?” Sunshine decorated the apartment, a warm glow in the lonely room, which housed boxes made of cardboard and nothing more.


I cleaned up the first para, a big mistake was the period after the question mark. Its not needed. Also many unnecessary >thes

[Anonymous No.10257032]

>>10256844
Thanks for the feedback, I appreciate the honesty. I'll do better the next time around. Could you give me an example of a subordinate clause I was using? I think I know what you mean, but I'm not sure.

[Anonymous No.10257043]

>>10256986
Thanks for giving it a read, I appreciate it. Grammar is not my strong suit, so I'll definitely keep an eye out for periods.

[Anonymous No.10257065]

>>10256779
>Three sharp knocks
I feel like I've read an essay which started off this way before, in coursework or something. Asking only because I'm curious.

[Anonymous No.10257092]

>>10257032
>Peter, who intended to merely lift the boxes from point a to point b, was now scavenging through them, hands eyes and nose busy at work to find the rectangular steel box Diane had hidden away.
Could just as easily be turned into
Peter's original intention was to merely lift the boxes from point A to point B, but now he found himself scavenging through them busily. His hands, eyes, and nose all worked to find the rectangular steel box Diane had hidden away.

Or something like that, idk. Basically you're unintentionally making the action read way more passively than it should.

[Anonymous No.10257105]

>>10257092
Ah yes I get what you mean now. Run-on sentences have been my crutch for quite some time, I really need to pull back on using it so much. Thanks!

[Anonymous No.10257123]

>>10257043

>>10256658
This one's mine if you want to take a gander.

[Anonymous No.10257188]

>>10257123
I just gave it a read there. I like how the intensity is maintained by detailing objects and actions in each sentence with immediacy. What I mean by this is that there isn't an elongated, existential reflection every third sentence; you're getting straight to the point of what's going on. I can imagine this being placed within a novel as an extended peak of expository info. Also the grammar (at least from my knowledge) seemed to be on point, so good job!

[Anonymous No.10257191]

>>10252834
nigga you dropped this poem in its own thread and it was shit then, and it's still shit now, pls stop peddling your dream journal and lrn2write

[Anonymous No.10257440]

>>10256779
At 1st glance, a nice saturnalian romp, but goaless, ultimately limp (dick & wristed), but maybe—maybe—there's a concept in their somewhere worth saving.

Could use some more blending of the 'senses'. And maybe some fresher syntax. But hey, u do u.

[Anonymous No.10257456]

>>10256779
At 1st glance, a nice saturnalian romp, but goalless, ultimately limp (dick & wristed), but maybe—maybe—there's a concept in their somewhere worth saving.

Could use some more blending of the 'senses'. And maybe some fresher syntax. But hey, u do u.

[Anonymous No.10257495]

>>10256779
At 1st glance, a nice saturnalian romp, but goalless, ultimately limp (dick & wristed), but maybe—maybe—there's a concept in there somewhere worth saving.

Could use some more blending of the 'senses'. And maybe some fresher syntax. But hey, u do u.

[Anonymous No.10257524]

Of all the holy candlelit Burroughs -
Obscene fountains careening in tandem -
Pearl beaches of shocking obscurity -
Motherless dumpsters and grease traps dripping smegma -
She picks right now
to place and mock this
iteration with past horror
and future fancies.

[Anonymous No.10257557]

>>10257524
This is bad. Do you have some ideas why?

Asking for a friend. And I'll follow up if you answer.

[Anonymous No.10257581]

>>10257557
the images are schizophrenic, not in a good way.
Sibilance in the wrong places

[Anonymous No.10257605]

>>10256658
Pure meme-level writing. Lots of stenciled nonsense. I bet you could make something fresh if you blended all the army shit into the last dream you remember & actually make something original.

[Anonymous No.10257607]

>>10257495
Could you elaborate more on the limp wristed critique? Coz, I was really trying to get emotion across.

[Anonymous No.10257615]

>>10257581
If you read it aloud, you'd catch most of the cringe. Also I think you want em-dashes, not hyphens.

[Anonymous No.10257644]

>>10253355
'body wracking' → 'body-wracking' (or if you're a McCarthyite: bodywracking)

Is your writing daring? Is it square? Is it a sun for our eye? A rock? Obviously your writing style needs full on holystoning—I mean, thank god this is anonymous.

I'm saying that you're falling short of the kaleidoscopic polyrythms you were aiming for & we were hoping for. Far afield, friend.

[Anonymous No.10257645]

rate my new sxe hit

pizza and video games are all i want pizza and video games are all i need i dont need no books read cause books they're really lame when i eat pizza and play video games i feel like a runaway train when i eat pizza and play video games i feel like a fizzing brain if you dont give me pizza and video games ill turn you into a bloody stain if you dont give me pizza and video games ill piss in your lane when i eat pizza and play video games i feel like a semen stain when i eat pizza and play video games i feel like a somebody

[Anonymous No.10257647]

>>10257605
>>10257615
>>10257644
haha im gonna le psychoanalyze u!!!!!!!

[Anonymous No.10257652]

>>10257647
They're pretty cool.

[Anonymous No.10257667]

>>10257645
10/10
This would bring a tear to Joyce's eye

[Anonymous No.10257677]

>>10252606
Groundless & boring. Mene, mene, tekel, maybe this isn't your "thing". Honestly, you're probably just in the wrong place ;^)

[Anonymous No.10257679]

>>10257645
holy shit I love this

[Anonymous No.10257697]

>>10257645
Gotta love the pathetic virgin millennial subtext. The echoes of cowardly, yet necessary & dutiful suicide are quite instructive. Don't do it—get to the doctor and get some of those mass murder SSRIs.

[Anonymous No.10257702]

>>10257697
Jeez we get it, you were bullied in school...

[Anonymous No.10257711]

>>10257702
You sound like you've spent a lot of time watching The Disney Channel. Also, this website is 18+.

[Anonymous No.10257746]

I'm back (>>10254215)

Fixed an "it's" that was supposed to be an "its," improved some things, but didn't actually move forward.

I crit that analytic story sorta. I mean, I guess I talked more about the subject than the text, but whatever. Also crit some thing about Mia, and I responded to a thing about a porn comic.

https://pastebin.com/rS4WqjPp

Bouncing between including this in something and making it an independant thing, or perhaps going on with it like I said in my previous post with the "You too" thing. I could maybe have the protagonist write more escalated smut each chapter or something, but that's probably been done.

[Anonymous No.10257781]

>>10252601
In my latest dream, I’m
trying to write a poem,
and can’t. Too tired, a sickly-
sweet, heavy thing in my
blood drags me
down, into a spinning
centrifuge. Whatever it is,
paints the walls of my brain
white. [When he died, it is said
that he painted the walls with his
brains and like anything with
style, that painting was sold].
I know that this thing in my
blood is undoing me, and I want it
out. But so much can be
concealed in a drop of blood, and I
don’t know where to look.

It is easier to undo me than to
put me
back together--a
seed grows into a plant, an
embryo is born and forever
barred from its mother’s
womb, and a bullet never
travels backward, into the
casing, the wound channel
refilling, sealing
miraculously. Once the
paint is on the
wall, it takes more
energy to get it off. The new
realtor assigned to that
apartment has it painted
over, but there is still a
trace of something in the
air, dense and
Saturnian.
Suicide, they tell you, is a
permanent solution to a
temporary problem. Entropy is not
temporary, however, but is a
terminal illness. My body’s
debt accumulates rapidly, and what was
left of me becomes sucked into that centri-
fuge, separating from itself.

I have a thermodynamic debt,
I am becoming a purely negative
entity. Blood cells fold inside-out,
all to repay my original sin. Sleeping is
swimming in something heavier than
water, something that is vulnerable to
contamination with something stickier
than itself.
My cells suicide, they
phase themselves out, a T-4 program
built for the weak. I don’t go easily.
I am too weak to live, but too
strong or full of myself to leave
without pulling something with me, sucking
the energy out of the
room.

[Anonymous No.10257785]

>>10257697
are those real rorschach blots bro? I heard they try to keep em under wraps

[Anonymous No.10257790]

>>10253005
best poem on this thread

[Anonymous No.10257817]

>>10257697
It's sxe you psychobabbler

[Anonymous No.10257931]

>>10257697
jackass

[Anonymous No.10257964]

>>10257605
The dream is at the end

[Anonymous No.10258039]

>>10252601
>excerpt from a sequel to my first publication i am currently working on

The spot light cast out the darkness veiling Sheanne’s face. Her pale make-up begins to melt around her blue eyes. She looks down at her small feet clothed in red bedazzled slippers. They reflect the light in a thousand little spots throughout the house. She looks back up towards the audience and starts:
“Well, I think that it wasn't enough to just want to see Uncle Henry and Auntie Em - and it's that - if I ever go looking for my heart's desire again, I won't look any further than my own back yard.”
The house lights turn on. Sheanne’s posture becomes slack. Her smile turns with her as she walks back-stage into the dressing room.
“Okay kiddos! It’s Nine-thirty! Go change and come take a seat for notes. It’ll be quick I promise!”
The rest of the cast follows into their respective dressing rooms.
Sheanne sits on the counter and peels Dorothy off her body. The rest of the young ladies, envious of Sheanne’s little feet, stammer in one-by-one. They talk amongst themselves of their plans and of their grievances. Meanwhile Dorothy is cast into a dresser and Sheanne walks back into the house without uttering a word to the munchkins. Their gaze follows her until they are sure she can no longer hear them.

[Anonymous No.10258052]

>>10258039
*self-published :' ^)

[Anonymous No.10258056]

his wife left him

[Anonymous No.10258099]

>>10258056
this sucks

[Anonymous No.10258198]

>>10257679
behold: my inspiration
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SPzFDo2Q9sM

[Anonymous No.10258214]

I wanted to share my opinion about something but seems like im too exhausted to focus.
I hope what I'm posting right now is not too terrible.

“The Drowning”

The last breath. Water closing in over me,
the overwhelming fear of what is to be.

Lungs overflowing, bloodshot eyes open in panic,
desperate and pointless struggle of muscles.
Suddenly nothing, I hear how the sea rustles.
What was it on the surface that made me so manic?

I don’t remember. Memories washed away by the tide.
They mean nothing in heart of this domain,
sheer nothingness took over the reign.
Yet, is it regret that I feel and cannot put aside?

A slender, black shadow arrives in my sight,
the details appear, I think I once knew this face.
It comes closer and locks me in a firm embrace,
pulls and drags me towards the bright light.

“Leave me!” my soul shrieks with no sound.
I try to kick and scratch with my nails,
not even a twitch of my effort prevails,
no way to stop the living by the drowned.

Finally, we emerge, a cruel hit of the sand.
Unspeakable anguish drips off my mind,
for I have lost the peace of the blind,
forcibly made to look once more at the land.

The colours and sounds strike like a thunder,
I stare at the beach and the sky with wonder.
I taste the air and feel the stones with my palm,
the salty smell of the breeze makes me calm.

So sweet and marvelous, the world above the waves.
How could I have ever been one of the marine slaves?

[Anonymous No.10258598]

>>10252605
I really like this

[Anonymous No.10258881]

>>10258214


You have a ABBA rhyming structure, but for some reason your last 4 line stanza uses an AABB one.

I don't like some of your choices for making words rhyme, it gives the impression that you thought of the word first and made the text leading up to it. (Panic and Manic being the worst offender in my opinion)

Some minor changes I would make are


A slender, black shadow arrives in my sight,
the details appear, I think I once knew this face.
It comes closer and locks me in a firm embrace,
pulls and drags me towards the bright light.

A slender, black creature polluting my sight.
It's form envelops, familiarity faced;
Those features and feelings my being embraced,
pulled with it howling towards it's light.
The poem could use some work, but the concept is OK, there's no glaring problems with it, but it doesn't stand out.

[DoMaya !YpNb7Wi76c No.10258884]

>>10258881

Same guy, forgot to post my own work.

Broken souls,
Are drawn to me.
Broken's all,
we'll ever be.
Spend our lives,
Among the whole.
Why must they,
Hate broken souls?

Maybe soon,
My soul will grow.
When broken,
It never shows.
Far too gone
I'm just a hole.
All that's left;
A broken soul.

Not alone,
But still denied.
A kinship,
To feel inside.
Life must take,
It's solemn toll.
Life delights,
In broken souls.

[Anonymous No.10259193]

>>10258881
>>10258884
Same guy here as >>10258214
It's pretty constructive, thank you. The change of ABBA to AABB was made to disciminate between the state of being drowned and alive again. I myself am not completely happy with some rhymes and made some text for a word once or twice in the text. The stanza you changed is actually one of those I'm happy with, your version changed the meaning a bit too so I wouldn't apply that.

Enough about me though, let's talk about yours.

I really like the first stanza, in particular the 1-4 lines. I somehow feel like you lost the flow somewhere around "It never shows.Far too gone" and couldn't get it back for the rest of the piece. I'm not saying that the latter part is worse, but definitely different and I preferred the beggining. In general it's pretty minimalistic and I dig that.

[DoMaya !YpNb7Wi76c No.10259272]

>>10259193

Have a stanza before the ABBA pattern appears and that distinction would be more apparent

And in regards to mine I actually had the first stanza written out for the longest time, unable to make a second or third, not sure what you mean by flow however, maybe the tone just changed.

[Anonymous No.10259287]

>>10252601
Title: Superfluous
https://pastebin.com/YaCgS9ti
Should I give up?

>>10258884
I don't like it honestly, the talk of broken souls is rather vague. It's an appeal to ontology but it doesn't appear to make a comment on anything regarding the nature of a soul, just that it remains broken. Just appears as a set of emo platitudes. Structurally sound, content-wise not my style. Sorry.

[DoMaya !YpNb7Wi76c No.10259334]

>>10259287

I use souls in referring to people, not their spiritual soul. I wrote the poem during a point in my life where everyone seemed to be opening up their frailties to me, confiding in me.
I realized how much these people are hurt.
It's supposed to question the nature of loneliness, and why for some people no matter what they do they can never succeed.

I do appreciate the input however.


On your work however, I'm probably not the best to judge that type of writing.
My main complaint however (if I had to give one) Is that it's too set in current trends, meaning it will be dated way too quickly.
You could re-write it to make it a bit more vague on what the person is reading, there's a fine line on having a work being "of it's time" and dated.

[Anonymous No.10259603]

>>10257817
>>10257931
>>10257790
>>10258214

[Anonymous No.10259862]

>>10258039
Yr clearly missing the tools to create worthwhile prose—but worse!—completely blind to the fauna that need to be hunted in order to lay and weave a world worth wasting time with >%(

[Anonymous No.10259871]

>>10259287
>Should I give up?
R u running a race?

Behind the surface structure of yr whirring, glittering net of prose is—what I sense—a mind of clear & subtle & crushing intellect.

[Anonymous No.10260108]

The universe rages against our routine
To be is to seize evanescent subversion
The clockwork of chaos will spite the serene

The birds and the bees think to rest is obscene
They know idle hands are the devil’s diversion
The universe rages against their routine

The mountains believe that their future’s foreseen
That rock and that stone won't give into conversion
The clockwork of chaos will spite the serene

Off rivers, exhausted, does daylight now wean
The bank has bleed dry and now fears its dispersion
The universe rages against its routine

In order to live we must now contravene
Fight back against nature’s unending perversion
The universe rages against our routine
The clockwork of chaos will spite the serene

[Anonymous No.10260363]

>>10260108

[Anonymous No.10261227]

>>10252601
My veins are heavy,
filled with lead and
ice, burning with the
sharp tongue of dense
metals.
The flame that
cannot be quenched
is a demonic flame--
that which is eternal
is unnatural. The smell
of formaldehyde
accompanies. Dust
lays on all the surfaces
in the house. You could
say I’m scared, but it’s simply a
sensation, cold water where my
heart should be, slower
pumps as I walk toward
it. The metal is dull, the
wood worn. The wood is
like all the wood in the
house. My heart slows
as I walk toward it.
There’s a whine in the
air, cutting electric. But
so’s everything. I don’t
know what means any-
thing, when to react,
where I am. Looking at
the gun, I have a weary
feeling. I know that this
is a trap. I taste gunpowder
in my mouth, and images
flash through my mind
like choppy video. I tried
suicide once, or more,
and it didn’t work.
Like a videogame that
sets you back levels,
wipes your memory.

Each dream gets colder and
colder, night by
night. It takes a pronounced
effort to remember them.
There’s a will to
will. Mine is gone, or
dormant. This dream
flashes quickly in the
theater at the back of
my skull. Something
about the lithium
created at the end of the
beginning of the universe.
I was an alchemist. I was
trying to figure out a way
to survive off that,
grinning like an
athlete.

[Anonymous No.10261308]

another one. take a guess at who I am if you value problem solving.

Are you realistic?
Or caught up in some idea
cyclically thinking your way
to finally boarding the train
But alas!
After years of incubation
in your old age
The realization comes:

In the end you take stock in a beginning
when at the start
you focused too heavily
much too heavily
on the end

[Anonymous No.10261377]

>>10260108
the whole thing is garbage.

[Anonymous No.10261443]

>>10260108
Less is more, bud.

[Anonymous No.10261451]

>>10254419
Very nice execution, but unoriginal idea. Passage of time & death vs space mission has been an old ass trope, it's been done to death by sci-fi writers throughout the 20th C. and so common that Dan Simmons found it worthy to add to his catch-all parade of tropes in 1989. (A good rule of thumb is that if your idea resembles anything in Hyperion, it's likely been done a hundred million times and you should consider changing things).

Gunbuster, Interstellar, even Passengers tossed in this idea. It's not that it's not worth exploring, but you'd need to add more than "relationship separated by gulf of space-time; don't know what you had till you lost it"

[Anonymous No.10261462]

Trying to make triolets pretty in English.

[Anonymous No.10261598]

2017 AD.HD. Here is a world where phantasmal monsters drift through floors and walls, across streets, rivers, and oceans. These "time ghosts" are mysteriously drawn towards screens and Wifi signals. Get close enough and they will chomp you with wide, ethereal jaws. The bite does not inflict physical HP damage but hits your lifespan ticker (the free time-gauge) and mental rating for negative points. Not all of the timeghosts have been classified yet but the main ones are known to go by insidious names, including 'Bookface,' 'Twitcher', 'Instant Grim', and 'Dreadit."

If you encounter one of the "time ghosts", it is advised that you try to continue whatever it is that you are doing. Remain focused. Turn off or walk away from any screens with a bright display.

[Anonymous No.10261616]

>>10252601
This is a long one so Ill probably post it in more than one post. also this is still a draft

1
At eighteen years of age I set out on my own
with only my vision and ambition guiding me
I knew that all great men leave a mark on the world
and it is time that I start mine

It came to me in a dream
I was alone, waling across an endless sea
against the bitterness of wind and ocean spray
until after an aeon of wantering I came to an island
little more than a bank of sand in the waters
And I knew it was my task to build from the emptiness.
That morning I departed

I traveled to a secluded place beside a lake, miles away from another human soul
and with glass bricks, I lay my works foundation

That first night, I slept in the grass
Jubilant, stars for my companions
the fist of many nights and many days
countless as grains of sand on the shore
sand to be melted in the furnace,
burning, always burning, voracious fire

2
glass towers pierce the landscape
like fingers of a crystalline giant
clawing its way out of the ground

somewhere far below lies the furnace
raging ever on, burning tempest
I am here besides it

Melting, shaping, sculpting, building
every angle must conform
every color be deliberate.
each facet of Eden was inscruable
each pillar of Babel beyond rational ambition

but my toung is singular
it cannot turn on itself
my will is indivisable

heaving a glass slab through the ceilingless halls
of statue guests and half walls
I feel its edges digging into my hands

laying it down besides a petrified woman
blood draining from my joints
pooling on the ground beneath me
cursing it, I lay to the floor exhausted

I've been gone along time now
I must visit my home sometime soon

[Anonymous No.10261659]

>>10252700
>to the color of a lifeless orange

[Anonymous No.10261677]

>>10257605
two people sitting in front of eachother high-fiving

>>10257615
a bat in flight, viewed top-down

>>10257644
two ducks flying

>>10257652
spooky death angel

>>10257697
some colourful spirit monster thing with sort of antlers on his head i guess

>>10257697
weird gremlin looking devil

>>10257697
two stags standing on their hind legs in different directions

[Anonymous No.10261685]

>>10261616
2nd part

3
I see the others from my balcony
over the lake, past the treeline
a town lies in a baison

The naturalness of their lives confounds me
as if assembled from falling stones
interlocking perfectly

I am not one of them
I live by turning the wheels
screaming in protest
until the axles are ground to dust
and my hands are raw
such is my lot

only he who has tasted melancholy has laughed
only the sightless can be clairovient
only the eroded can create
and the years have worn me down
relentlessly

And yet I cannot keep my mind from going astray
tracing phantasmal patches and imagined chronologies
seeing myself in a cottage by the sea
living lazily
sleepy afternoons in the shade of a tree

I must not be seduced by blasphemous thoughts
for I've come too far to turn back

4
I work the molten piece
over the remains of the fire
shaping with great prudence
this final ornement

I behold my efforts
a dove, the color of the full moon
suspended forever midflight

I bring it to the greatest heights of my castle
and place it gently on top the grant spire
pinnacle of my artifice
Its head affixed upward towards the sun
glittering in its rays

I look down at the glass castle
The fires are fading
I will let them die
they are of no more use to me

I am weary from work, I must sleep
walking down the transparent stairs
through the great hall
past the stature humans, the gorgons court

Stopping, I gaze into a woman's colorless eyes
what is its substance?
what is the essence of a glass man
are there any souls in those skulls
anything to be undone by a hammer
anything to be lost?

My thoughts go homeward
perhaps now I will have time to visit
how many years has it been?
twenty? thirty?

I lay on the ground and realize
I cannot return now
glass is easily broken
a single rogue element would undo my life
and what good is such an opus without a witness?

Entering a dreamless sleep
I resolve to stay as a sentinel

[Anonymous No.10261692]

>>10261677
balls i fucked up the last three replies...
what i really meant was:

>>10257677 for spirit monster

then

>>10257697 for gremlin devil

and then, fuck, maybe im actually insane, its actually >>10257697 again for the last one but i didnt remember seeing it and saw a completely new image huh

[Anonymous No.10261711]

This is the second story I've ever written and I'm still in the initial phase.

I would like some feedback on the prose; I'm looking to create something pre-cyberpunk.

I was thinking I might need more detail here and there, fleshing the scenery and other things out a bit. Let me know what you think, lay the truth on me, I'm just starting out so getting any hate is actually well accepted as it'll only help me improve.

[Anonymous No.10261737]

>>10261685
last part

5
I awaken on the hard glass floor
the building is now long finished

When I raise to my deet, I am meet by a face
my own, the only one I've seen in years
refracted endlessly on the walls

my hair brittle and dry as november grass
and my eyes have grown weary with age
the wind echoes in a distanc anterchamber
and I feel a coldness in my marrow

Slowly, legs trembling
I creped over the mess of broken limbs
and shattered tosos, reaching the stairs

At the top of the spire is the balcony
where I gaze over my monstrous creation
immaculate and sterile
bulwarks and towers, crooked and hideous as broken teeth
sunlight trapped in the walls, dancing manically

somewhere above me is the dove
stuck in my grasp, kpt from the sky

looking to the stars, I think once more of home
I cannot remember my father's voice
I've forgotten my mothers face
and it strikes me that they are certainly dead

somewhere in this castle the furnace is cold
and the flames are long dead
I do not think I have much time either

weeping I find myself in prayer
and ask that a falling star shatter this place
but I know that I have come too far
I cannot be redeemed

6
That day I go to the lake to clean myself
when I am bathing, the earth is taken by fury
ripples spread over the face of the waters
trees are torn from their roots
and stone split asunder

And from the distance I hear a catastrophic crashing
and know it has fallen

When I return I find only dust
It is raining softly
and the wind sturs
scattering the dust across the earth

The whole of my work has disappeared
a mirrace
above me a dove flies across the grey sky

laughing silently, I think got
and set out on my way

I reach a lone hill on the muddy fields
on it is the husk of a dead tree
I lay in the grass beneath it
and coax my eyes shut

I will return home at last
I do not know who I will find there
But I will find someone
and that is enough

[Anonymous No.10261772]

>>10261616
>>10261685
>>10261737

>posts super long work
>Doesn't review anyone else.

[Anonymous No.10261855]

>>10261711
I'm a little drunk, but just some quick things I noticed. That opening sentence probably sounded interesting enough to you when you wrote it, but when you're entering a scene like this you want to grip the reader by the balls. Starting with a description of the weather is pretty lukewarm, even if its supposed to be harsh weather. Instead start with a reaction the character might have to the weather. Maybe some shit like "Agustus kneaded his frostbitten fingers. Cold wind sliced through his (is it thick, or is it thin, was he properly prepared for this weather?) overcoat."

Next would be you're using language that is a little dull in the context of the scene. "entered his nostrils" could just as easily be "invaded his nostrils" entered can be ambiguously positive or negative, but invaded is definitely negative. Watch out for any opportunities you get to set the scene.

"A man walked up" B O R I N G.
Can't you at least give him one adjective? Like, sickly, spindly, hollow-cheeked? In that same vein of thought "The man said" There has to be a better way to phrase it. You're missing out on several great opportunities to make the scene more vivid. If this guy's supposed to be a druggie or some shit, surely he has some kind of verbal tick? Like hoarse, shaky, desperate?

"Agustus replied, incomprehensibly through the textile." This reads a bit stupid, you make it sound as if his intention was to reply incomprehensibly and not simply a side effect from the "textile" Make it "Agustus' reply was (nearly? I assume nearly because he seemed to understand despite it being incomprehensible) incomprehensible through the textile."

"he wore - revealing a number of peculiar items" This is a completely unnesscecary subordinate cluase. It throws off the flow of the reading. Just say "he wore (to reveal/and reavaled) a number of peculiar items"

The second "August (did you forget the us?) replied" You don't need this. Apart from already being used like a paragraph earlier which makes it sound like you don't know how other ways to handle dialogue, the character just asked a question to the only other person in the scene. Of course the following speech is a reply. There's not even an adjective in there. Completely superfluous.

Overall you're handling the scene poorly and ignoring plenty of opportunities to make it more vivid. #1 thing I would say is work on your dialogue right now. Break free of the crutch of overtly explaining everything. In almost all cases, use action rather than explanation. The reader will usually understand. You don't need to explicitly say "The man replied cautiously." You can say "The man's shifty eyes peered him up and down." Or something. #2 would be work on your sentence flow. It reads a little odd in parts because you're seemingly alternating between tenses and using subordinate clauses to break the action into little chunks that makes it harder to understand.

Hope that helps.

[Anonymous No.10261897]

>>10261855
That helps, yeah.
I'm new to the entire writing thing, so stuff like this really changes my outlook on the way I write. Make it less boring, more passionate.

And think more of cause and effect, got it.

I'll work on it, thanks man.

[Anonymous No.10261933]

>>10261711
This is the dissolved spirit of all the energy and sense information that's blown past you yr whole life? The pungent labyrinth of a life lived somehow distills to this? This is the collage you present us?

You can't possibly be this boring. But as 23 & Me has shown us, you can tell a whole lot from a DNA sample—you must set people yawning when their attention passes over ye—do they roll their eyes too?

[Anonymous No.10261960]

>>10261933
I'm still working on presenting my sentences in a certain way, instead of the boringness I apparently portray. I'm writing something pre-cyberpunk so I went the gloomy route, but the liveliness is still missing.

I just turned 18 and barely started writing, if you have any constructive comments on what makes it specifically boring to you, please do tell, so I can learn.

[Anonymous No.10262005]

>>10261960
Consider working twice as hard: The amount of time you spent learning the topic (in your case it probably involves movies, since it's a weird genre) & imagining your scenes & the amount of time spent writing. 5 hours? Okay, make that 10 hours—and realize it's still trash, you're still not good—it has to be—if yr serious, if you want to make something that TRANSCENDS and EXCELS and WORTHWHILE—that's, yr going to need to work 10x harder.

Learn to reverse engineer what makes the stuff you like, what makes it great.

And since you're doing genre work, consider TVTropes & the subversion of the genre tropes.

[Anonymous No.10262052]

>>10262005
Fair enough. I'll do my best.

Thank you for the advice.

[Anonymous No.10262059]

>>10261960
For a first time writer, I think it's really good. You write like Robert Jordan

you have a very detail-oriented prose, but you give us more than we need on things that don't interest us and less than we need on things that would. You could stand to be a bit more visual: describe the "peculiar items", try harder to show the man's addiction to the reader, through his appearance and actions, even before Augustus thinks about it.

The opening pp is nice, good description of the advertisement. Dialogue is natural, the characters act naturally. Maybe roll the stuff about fuddling with fasteners and reaching into bags together, or shorten it.

Overall, your story will probably be determined more by its content than by the way it reads. If you have a very good story, people will be willing to read through this prose with a few modifications. On the topic of the story, I don't see what you're going for in the last question. It's hard to hit the reader over the head with a question on morality right on page fucking one, so be careful there. Otherwise explain it better. And watch your use of words like "subsidize" because it doesn't seem to fit in context

[Anonymous No.10262085]

>>10262059
That's really nice of you!

I'll focus more on what might interest the reader, which is a fresh perspective I hadn't even thought of yet. I'll watch what out as to what I give detail to.

Thanks!

[Anonymous No.10262256]

>>10261711
I made some adjustments, for better or worse. You guys are helping me out a lot, I hope I'm adapting as well as I'd hope.

[Anonymous No.10262269]

>>10252601
Lost, and alone, at the crossroads of my soul
Fore my demons drum to my shame, pain, and dole
Hands bound to the thole, they howl across the Pale
Careworn heart yearning for a home by the dale

[Anonymous No.10262340]

>>10262256
You have a lot of unnecessary description. One in particular stands out

>He lowered the backpack, from the shoulder he had put it on, to the ground.

It's a janky sentence. We know it on his shoulder, he should just put it down.

Either
>He lowered the pack back to the ground
Or of you're dead set on using shoulder
>He swung the bag back off his shoulder and put it down.

You never actually say that he put it on his shoulder either, only that he implied that he was about to. That's another janky sentence.
>He hooked his arm through one of the pack's straps and started to shoulder it again, "Final chance...
Like that. Describe the actual physical actions. You don't need to tell us the implication, show us.

Watch your comma usage too.

[Anonymous No.10262372]

>>10262340
Yeah, I'm not native English, so my comma usage is quite bad atm. I'm still learning a lot.

Implications < Actions, noted.

Thanks man, I like the attention to detail though, even if unnecessary. But perhaps I'm overdoing it, or using it too much for useless things instead of things that matter.

Anyway, I appreciate it.

[Anonymous No.10262382]

>>10261711
>>10261855
>>10262256
I actually don't mind him starting with the current before Agustus, what really bothered me was that the coat was revealed first.

With the wind first, you see it blowing into him as he comes to form. The problem for me was that you see it hit the overcoat, but when I actually get hit "through" my coat with wind, what's particularly chilling about it is how it runs up my chest through the openings in whatever I'm wearing. Keeping it as the first line and changing "the thin fabric of the overcoat Augustus was wearing" to "Augustus's thin overcoat" would work wonders. You transition from a moving piece of the environment, up through Augustus, then tell us what he's wearing, and in the next sentence can just say something like "It was dark" to plant us in his perspective (followed by a flickering sign for contrast in the image).

>The cent of the acidic air above, manifested...
you don't need this comma. You would need it if you wrote it like...
>The cent of the acidic air above, [which was] manifested [in something], [did something]
but your "manifested" is your [did something]

>–covering his nose–
you mean the shirt was, or that he just now pulled it up there? You could lose the em dashes and just put a comma after "wore"

>moist silhouette
sounds like "moist towelette"; I see what you're trying to do but I'm not a huge fan.

>as a hooded figure
should probably say "while," but it seems odd to glue these details like this, unless perhaps you mean to say that he watched the ad play on a loop while the figure walked up to him, to make it clear that he didn't see said figure. If that's the case, you should have a "he watched" in there or something.

>The strap of his tatted parka bound around his waist, eyes shifting both ways before leaning in to speak.

you mean "A strap" - "was bound"? Is bound supposed to be the verb? And it almost sounds like you're talking the tattered parka's eyes. I'm not entirely sure where you were going with this line, but read it out loud and rebuild it.

It sounds like you're wiggling details around from sentence to sentence like they were parts of a rubiks cube. Try writing things out in a list and then speaking through each bullet point to make a clean string of words.

[Anonymous No.10262410]

>>10262256
A pretty big improvement I'd say.
Congratulations, you actually have the ability to learn.

You're still making a lot of newbie mistakes. Like passive sentences that could've been active and WAY too many commas and subordinate clauses. If you read enough books you'll eventually be able to avoid those intrinsically once you know what sounds good.

Quick example would be
>"The stained teeth, unveiled by his lips, smiled at Agustus from inches way - revealing the man's vile nature.
First off, "The" is superfluous. Next, what's "acting" on Agustus is "The teeth" not "The man" which makes it inherently passive. You can play around with passive and active, it's not a hard set rule, but the sentence after it is passive too, because it starts with "Bent forward, --" If you introduced that sentence as VERY active instead with something like "His hand darted to --" Or whatever, so you could make up for the previous, but it all just blends together in grey pablum if you don't treat it properly. Not enough action makes it read like a boring lecture on your book, and not like you book is dragging me along for a ride.
Maybe something like "The man's cracked lips peeled back to reveal his stained teeth twisted into a vile smile from inches away" You can play with it, but that's way more active

>>10262372
I must say though, it's rather impressive for non-native

[Anonymous No.10262420]

>>10262382
>>10262410

This is all quite detailed advice, thank you for taking the time to read it. I hadn't thought about the passive and active reactions.

I'm going to start reading "Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep" and "Neuromancer" after the paperback versions are shipped to my home.

Talking out loud to form proper sentences is very nice advice, as not everything goes as fluid. I'll keep it all in mind.

Thanks!

[Anonymous No.10262433]

>>10262420
>This is all quite detailed advice, thank you for taking the time to read it.
I only read the first paragraph to be honest. I'm usually skeptical when I see people getting praise around here. I would say what you do properly is detail selection, hence why your work looks fun to improve; it's always at least clear what you mean to say, even if your prose is janky.

[Anonymous No.10262439]

>>10262372
Detail is fine for describing things, but actions speak for themselves.

I'm very impressed you're a non native speaker though, it reads like you are.

[Anonymous No.10262458]

>>10262433
If you're still here would you say this is an improvement, I tried focusing more on cause and effect.

>>10262439
I guess I need to differentiate my actions and detail more then. I prefer English over my own native language, so it's fun exploring.

[Anonymous No.10262464]

>>10252700
not bad but your phrasing is awkward.
I feel like there is more you can do here as well.

[Anonymous No.10262471]

>>10262420
PKD is a wonderful writer, and Androids is one of his best works. Neuromancer is good too, not as cohesive but considering the changes in scope it makes sense. Also Bradberry's prose is unmatched, so you might want to throw Fahrenheit 451 on your list too. I'd also like to recommend Asimov if you are focusing on science fiction, just because he is a must read for sci-fi heads.

[Anonymous No.10262475]

>>10262458
>I tried focusing more on cause and effect.
Think more about reveal order than just cause and effect, like what I was kinda getting at in >>10262382. It's more like looking at a painting than like bare cause and effect. So, consider the following paintings of a nighttime scene:

>He saw a old store that had a boarded up window which leaked out a few thin beams of light.
>He came across a few thin beams of light slipping through the cracks of a boarded-up window of an old store.

The latter is a lot better. It's about how your eyes travel; go google some paintings and take note of the order you look at things. Though with something like a flickering street sign, you can bring in the dark first and have the sign deliberately come out of nowhere for effect.

I would also take a moment to look at how similar some of your "causal" sentences seem now: "The thing in the enviroment did something to him, making him react." gets boring eventually.

[Anonymous No.10262481]

>>10262475 (Me)
-and to be clear, my second example sentence isn't perfect either, but it's a good example of how to fix what the first example does wrong.

[Anonymous No.10262502]

>>10262475
>>10262481
I get what you mean, I've got a lot to improve, but it's a fun process.

Do you think this is better than the last example? I tried switching the sentencing and formulation around a bit.

[Anonymous No.10262761]

>>10262502
Not really my genre but you paint a rather cliche (but nice) picture of a noire setting (not that I really have a lot to stand on in criticizing cliches by my own work). I thought it kinda dragged on with the "noticing the ad" bit, but I suppose he's just waiting?

Anyway, here's mine:
https://pastebin.com/pqYRtXiB

[Anonymous No.10263086]

I have a comfortable life. I wake up every morning and refresh every page. I experience the same thing each morning as if it were new. I brush my teeth and hear the serene bubble of the percolator in my coffee maker. I can sense the roar of crowds from my apartment window when the Accused is paraded around town on walks of shame.
The Accused goes by a different name each week. Despite this, The Accused never ceases to be the same symbol.
The first week the kangaroo courts issued an edict denouncing the top 1% of wealthy New Yorkers. Public action was demanded immediately, and public action was answered immediately. Many fled to the Hamptons. Few were not so lucky.
Before you ask, no executions occurred, but an execution of a different type was used. The Accused have to forfeit all private property and land holdings in order to gain the privilege of standing trial. There was no burden of proof. All that was required was an accuser, which the Social Justice Tribunal could produce at a moment’s notice with little or no hassle. Once The Accused has gone through the process of self-purification, their character is thoroughly assassinated, and then they are promptly sent to reeducation therapy at an undisclosed location in the great expanse of the American West.
Week 1 after the great upheaval, the top 1% were rounded up and put on trial. During Week 2, due to petitions by the mayor, the edict was altered for the persecution of the top half of the top 1%, or the top 0.5%. The next bump in the road occurred on Week 3, when a distant relative of our Great Leader, was put on trial. A day after his character assassination, the charges were dropped, and the Social Justice Tribunal erased all records of his trial. Almost immediately after the erasure of his records, the Social Justice Tribunal issued an edict declaring immediate action against the top one-third of one-half of 1%. This didn’t work particularly well. People who persecuted the top one-third of one-half of 1% were already seen as absurd and unfashionable. The general consensus was that those “in the know” knew that prosecuting the top one-half of one-third of one-half of 1% was the authentic battle to wage.

[Anonymous No.10263098]

>>10262502
Something nobody pointed out from the start but should have is that the advert is referred to as being visual but it's on an "audible" loop. I figure you mean it's playing noise but I think you should make it clearer because it's odd as it is.

[Anonymous No.10263134]

>>10263086
This is fucking spectacular

[Anonymous No.10263297]

Late at night I lay awake due to fever,
I close my eyes, because I can’t see her.
Yet,
Foam becomes flesh,
Coils become cartilage,
Cloth persists.

Sheets become split ends,
Sheets become loose ends,
Cloth persists.

I find myself alone,
Late at night as I lay awake due to fever,
I close my eyes, though I still can't see her.

[Anonymous No.10263469]

>>10263086
I like this but "social justice" sounds like a forced dig at "SJW"s (i.e. whoever the author calls "SJW"s, potentially anyone they don't like). You're talking about economic persecution, so I'd label it as such if you don't want to look like you're forcing a vendetta.

[Anonymous No.10263513]

>>10262269
Crit for this short poem?

[Anonymous No.10263566]

>>10263513
Nothing struck me as sonically jarring but I'm no poet. Still, there are other things I've read that did sound downright wrong, so it's at least better off than some of the posts in this thread.

[Anonymous No.10263577]

>>10263566
Examples?

[Anonymous No.10263625]

>>10262269
Trash. Your rhymes were there just to rhyme. I know you shat this in 10 minutes.

Try harder

[Anonymous No.10263642]

>>10263625
Shat, a majesty
what if you were in the stink of shat
Each desire, each craving that you owned
Was but a bacteria floating in the space of this aroma
this putrid stench
All the years
Your years
Sad songs, love songs, dance, Miles Davis playing the saxophone at 4 in the morning straight into your ear drum while you fight the urge to masturbate songs...
Playing in the stench of shat

[Anonymous No.10263645]

>>10252606
This reads like the brain child of douglas adams and steven hawking

[Anonymous No.10263654]

>>10252908
That's retarded. Gauss rifles are too advanced for traditional steampunk settings.

[Anonymous No.10263697]

>>10252700
Enjoyable, but too many similes to enthrall me at the start of a book. But I like ''Rythmic crunching - echoes a sorrowful requiem''
It might be purely style, because I like the words you've used, I like the rhyme and I like the ideas, but the collective lacks lyricism to me. I'd change some sentences around, but then we are different people. Definitely not bad though

[Anonymous No.10263703]

>>10263086
>I have a comfortable life. I wake up every morning and refresh every page. I experience the same thing each morning as if it were new. I brush my teeth and hear the serene bubble of the percolator in my coffee maker. I can sense the roar of crowds from my apartment window when the Accused is paraded around town on walks of shame.
Nice.

[Anonymous No.10263792]

>>10263625
Specifics

[Anonymous No.10263829]

>>10263086
Pretty good man, I enjoyed reading it. Got my interest.

>>10263297
Made me feel, so I guess it's quite nice. I can't judge poetry as that's a subject I haven't explored yet. But I liked it, personally.
I posted yesterday and made this version, let me know what you guys think if you feel like reading the first two pages. Do you reckon it's worth writing full-length? I probably will due to the practice, but I want to gather some interest with the first sentences I have written.

I made subtle references to things mentioned later in the story, explaining them, story-wise. Just want to know your opinion, I took some of the advice I was given and tried my best. It's still rough and perhaps quite amateurish.

[Anonymous No.10264148]

The back:

I can't
imagine
my face
on the back
of a book,
another:
the next one,
N-plus-one,
forever,
along a
continuum
my fingers
run
along
the line,
I sprint
through time:
a black and white photo
on the back of a book.

wrote this in a creative writing class while talking about enjambment and looking at a black and white photo of Jack Gilbert on the back of my proffesor's book

[Anonymous No.10264261]

>>10264148
on second thought, I should have broken the last line in half

[Anonymous No.10264276]

>>10263829
I've never written dialogue before, does this look natural?

>>10264148
I'm not skilled in reading these sort of things, but it looks pretty neat to me. If you take the time it'll give you some small glimpses of what the interpretation might be. But again, I'm a total newbie so I don't know how it should be analyzed.

[Anonymous No.10264297]

>>10264276
The indentation is what I'm not sure about. Originally the last line was two, and it started as "I can't - imagine - my face - on - the back - of - a book"; what I posted had no indentation after "on" and "of".

[Anonymous No.10264418]

I am weary of the world.
The world is weary of me.
I see my face in the mirror,
Like a plant that's been left in the dark.
The mixture of youth and age disturbs me.
Can my soul still remain in my body?
Today, existence disgusts me too much.
I will go out and demand that it justify itself.
I am too lifeless to move myself,
Yet a mysterious power seems to drag me on.
I climb a high secluded hill,
Expecting to meet God.
Yet I reach the top, and there is no sign.
I see a more distant hill on the horizon:
"What if God will meet me there?
Maybe a greater act of faith will receive a sign."
I set off walking and throw away the money in my pocket.
But then I reach the road,
And the cars driving past seem to mock me:
"Go home for dinner.
You don't know where that hill is,
Or how long it'll take to get there."
Am I a fool?
My spirit can find no answer.
I turn back to the road home.
This is the road of desolation.
Nothing left to say.
Nothing left to think.
The cars drive past my defeated face.
My heart is as sunken as the world's.
I enter the house silently.
I sit on a step and bend my head towards my heart,
And finally I say to it:
"There is no God."

[Anonymous No.10264450]

>>10263829
Been lurking and I've been enjoying the progress. The bullet entering flesh portion was a bit of a stretch. He never saw the bullet penetrate. More likely, he saw the man simply fall and then approached with blood underneath him.

Unrelated, how do you guys take critiques? I found that if i stay on a section or chapter too long, I lose focus and have a much harder time continuing.

[Anonymous No.10264460]

tell me, if you hit me and win the fight. will you win your next one? and what will you tell yourself to feel ok about it. you’ll surely then ask me the same question, how did it feel when you won against me. you didn’t win. you were you in a world of billions of you’s, hitting another you and that you went on to hit some you - and got hit back.

there are a lot of feelings. all of those yous feeling millions of feelings. unquantifiable tapestry that linearly flows from the beginning to its middle to its end.
nobody will write about the other yous feelings. and if they wrote about their own, people will write about the writing. it is simply too hard to place yourself in another you. them. them is what makes it feel like a loss, a win, a fuck, a love.

I will pee and meditate now. bye bye

[Anonymous No.10264463]

>>10264460
(you)

[Anonymous No.10264472]

>>10264460
Kira Yoshikage?

[Anonymous No.10264475]

This mutilated tree gives
Me support, left in this pot-hole
It has the bitterness of a circus
Before or after the show.
I watch
The quiet passage of
Clouds over the moon.

This morning I stretched
Myself in an urn of water,
Like a relic, and rested.

The Isonzo scoured
Me like
One of its stones.

I pulled my four
limbs together,
And went, like an acrobat,
Over the water.

Crouched by my clothes
Fouled with war, I inclined
My head, like a Bedouin,
To receive the sun.

This is the Isonzo.
And it is there I
Most see myself
In the universe
A compliant
Thread.

My pain is
When I do not believe
Myself in harmony.

But those hidden
Hands give as they knead me
A rare joy.

I have relived
The stages of my life.

The Serchio: from
Which have drawn, perhaps
For two thousand years
My country people, my father,
My mother.

This is the Nile
That has seen me be born,
And grow
And burn in ignorance on
Extending plains.

This is the Seine; and I mingled
In that muddiness learning each
Part of all myself.

These are my rivers confluent
In the Isonzo.

This is my nostalgia
That in each
One shines through me, now
It is night, and my life seems
A budding
Off of shades.

[Anonymous No.10264483]

>>10264450
Yeah, I'm still young so I got that edgy factor I need to weed out. It's stupid looking back at it. Thanks for reminding me.

I mostly write what comes naturally paragraph to paragraph and take specific critique to perfect a paragraph. Afterwards, I mostly take a small smoking break and return to writing. Just find a way to relax in between the perfecting and writing.

[Anonymous No.10264491]

>>10264460
Horrible grammar, punctuation but there seems to be some fine art to the stream of consciousness aspect.

[Anonymous No.10264493]

>>10264483
you'll one day miss the excitement that edge brings to the process but your readers won't. my tip is your self awareness is good, but never catch yourself thinking that you are next level for being self-aware - most pop culture teaches kids to act precocious nowadays

[Anonymous No.10264494]

>>10264450
>Unrelated, how do you guys take critiques? I found that if i stay on a section or chapter too long, I lose focus and have a much harder time continuing.
I crunch shit out in bulk then blast a bunch of smut out of my system (this is a double entendre). Write, proofread by eye, proofread out loud, get crit, return to step two. Though that's ignoring "pre-writing" I guess, but that process changes a lot. Smut is good practice though: it gets me to pay attention to my lungs when I read it aloud, and so long as a I write about something that's palatable but also just a bit outside my comfort zone, I'll be forcing myself to rely on the words to carry the piece and not just the narrative content itself. If I tell myself I can bend it into a joke or a shitpost at the end, I get really motivated to complete the whole thing.

Usually when I'm going over the crits people give me, I pay more attention to what sections got flagged for problems than what solutions were actually presented, but if the solutions illustrate some important concepts, I'll try and take those to heart in the general sense at least.

[Anonymous No.10264497]

>>10264475
what is it stop someone from plagiarising this and saying they originally posted it online? I'm asking not because I even read it but for other people's work, say my own if I was good

[Anonymous No.10264503]

>>10264418
>I am weary of the world.
>The world is weary of me.
>I see my face in the mirror,
>Like a plant that's been left in the dark.
>The mixture of youth and age disturbs me.
>Can my soul still remain in my body?
the build up to "my body?" is really good

I liked the "point" (not simply that "there is no god, wubba lub dub dub!"; but that it isn't a climactic realization), but it seemed like you worried too much about what the poem meant and not what the words worked in the readers ears. The following stuck out as very forced:

>"What if God will meet me there?
>Maybe a greater act of faith will receive a sign."

etc

[Anonymous No.10264507]

>>10264497
If you have a record of it on your computer or something beforehand you're probably fine.

[Anonymous No.10264514]

>>10264507
ok thanks

[Anonymous No.10264528]

>>10264493
My characters are still quite young as well. Does this look intimate to you? It's still quite rough, and I think I might've overdone it. I might make it a little less tedious to read as well.

It's very bare-bones, this is what I write naturally before I adjust it.

[Anonymous No.10264529]

>>10264475
I hate where you broke the lines on this. Like, I want to read the start as

This mutilated tree
gives me support;
left in this pot-hole,
with the bitterness of a circus,
before or after the show.

and you could have the other stuff on there too, but beats me what to do with it.

[Anonymous No.10264567]

>>10264528
the lack of intimacy you portray feels adult, him popping his head up and saying thanks reminds me of me and my girlfriends when I'm reluctant to say thanks for stuff.

the cube and neon ciggy stuck out to me and removed me from it but maybe because I didn't know it was cyberpunk. and somehow I feel it's more impressive to have a kid depict an adult relationship in decline than some fan ficcy cybertrash.

that's just me though, I'd only ever real seminal cyberpunk works from the past or a book that depicts the present in a futuristic way because everything is already so cyberpunk as it is.

also I notice a pattern in your sentences, it goes a little bit like this sentence. You tend to do two clauses with a comma breaking them up, then another with a - hyphen. 2 sentences , then 3.

the dialogue breaking everything up and being brief was a welcome release.

[Anonymous No.10264572]

>>10264567
also her middle finger being put up gets visualised by everyone in a number of ways, it could look like some edgy reaction image.. or maybe for a reader that likes you and wants your work to be good imagines it as a girl leaning on the table and lazily raising her middle finger, curled practically, with no energy.

Basically it's a visual use of 'fuck you' but it needs to still be done even more artfully to give it a sense of place - a thing you did well with the guy turning his head.. I knew he was turning it his head to look behind him and my spacial awareness of the scene was a bit better.

but I don't know much really

[Anonymous No.10264574]

Since I never had a proper critique the first time, might as well try again :


Let us write a birthday song for the unborn son
Nameless and faceless, yet just another person
Unworthy of a future, chance without a chance
No more than a flickering light in the distance
Alas, what could have been, we are left to ponder
As the tapestry of life is torn asunder
And nothing is revealed inside the long fracture
But a sea devoid of life and full of failure

The ocean soon became an unfertile land
When the waters dried up, leaving nothing but sand
Deserted landscapes as far as the eye can see
Perhaps a fitting scene for your last odyssey
But there is no hand to guide yours through this journey
Alone you stand, and all of it seem so phoney
Waiting for a sign that is bound never to come
You look at eternity and know the outcome

Give or take nothing, for nothing here has value
Men have long forsaken this land and so shall you
Let the howling winds push you back inside your home
As this earth was never destined for you to roam
Gently, ever so gently, close your sleepy eyes
Slowly, ever so slowly, calm those teary cries
Go to sleep now and think nothing of this treason
Let it be a birthday song for the unborn son

[Anonymous No.10264583]

>>10264567
>>10264572

It's pre-cyberpunk, basically leading up to a totalitarian state where everyone is being monitored. I won't go the extra mile for creating technological advances, but I like the minor details it brings with it.

I gotta work on the detail I depict on certain events. Thanks for reading it, dude.

[Anonymous No.10264591]

>>10264574
>yet just another person
why "yet"? How is this in spite of being "nameless and faceless"?

>chance without a chance
>... distance
you could say "without a chance of success"
and I'd read "distance" as "dist-ence"

>But there is no hand to guide yours through this journey
way too long, could just cut "this journey" and make the next line say "Alone you stand; nothing seems true".

>here has value
not "has value here?" would have sounded nice, but I guess it needed to fit the next line. I don't think rhyming the last words of every two lines is working out well though, especially in the last part.

[Anonymous No.10264736]

>>10264591
>why "yet"? How is this in spite of being "nameless and faceless"?
It's rather in spite of being unborn, thus nameless and faceless, but still existing somehow.

>way too long
Funny you should say that, considering every line is the exact same number of syllables. But I get that it may be a mouthful anyway.

>chance without a chance
>here has value
>could just cut "this journey" and make the next line say "Alone you stand; nothing seems true"
I personnally prefer the sound of these, taking into account the need for a rhyme and the rythm. I think you understand that I prefer rhyming verses, even if in english, it isn't as precise as I can usually write (see chance/distance). With that said, the changes you suggest, while in no way wrong, would actually change the whole structure and rythm of the poem and then I'd have to rewrite it all to homogenize it.

[Anonymous No.10265620]

>>10264736
I'm really not sure why, but something about it compels me to occasionally start reading it in a different rhythm, hence why the uniformity struck me as odd.

[Anonymous No.10265789]

Farewells say, kith and kindred,
I am bound for lands far aside,
Unknowing where I may outride,
Of what myself might leave there out,
But of my path, I ne'er shall doubt.

Lay up near, kith and kindred,
How hard it is to leave behind,
Brother to brother dearly affined,
Yet careful are we of comfort's bite,
Companions sole in harrow and spite.

Fearful yet, kith and kindred,
For the times of trial that lie ahead,
For my worldly form to be beat and bled,
Though my bones will ache, my eyes aflame,
Of the wondrous path, I shall proclaim.

Shed no tears, kith and kindred,
Better sweet memories left by and by,
Yester summer's tones dreamt nigh,
Lest time reap his ravenous due,
And our bountiful now will come to rue.

How I'll long, kith and kindred
For Canaan's burnished mountains steep,
For Jordan's fragrant waters deep,
For Jerusalem's tall walls of gold,
For Firmament fires to behold!

Draw asunder, kith and kindred
And let our distance grow ever more,
For our journeys great, our voices roar,
Yet none to hear our songs of joy,
A lonely road, our feet employ.

Thank you, kith and kindred,
All this wretched form can give,
Neverending love, I hope you forgive;
A pilgrim’s heart is meager pay,
But it's this meager love that guides his way.

[Anonymous No.10266256]

>>10265789
Reads really well, I enjoyed it. Only thing that put me off a bit might've been the change from
>For our journeys great, our voices roar,
to
>Yet none to hear our songs of joy,

For me, I read it slowly throughout. And the flow just suddenly lost build-up and it felt unnatural to me. Might just be autism so take it with a grain of salt, I'm not that skilled in poetry myself so I don't really know.


Besides that, does this look like a fanfic or am I portraying an intimate relationship well enough?
I think I might need to expand a certain line, but it's a place holder for now.
>They shared a moment together and it led to a kiss.
I don't like that one in particular, but words for kissing are rare. And explaining it for me leads to a specific movement fest.

[Anonymous No.10266567]

>>10266256

You have to trust your audience to fill in the gaps a little more. You're saying things like "he was slightly taller than him". Just trust that if you just say something like "Once the smoke faded she reached her arms up behind his neck..."

It's like taking the lumps out of your mashed potatoes. The first paragraph can be condensed in the same way. Maybe as an exercise tomorrow (or whatever day) you try to say one of these paragraphs with as few words as possible.

Also, Blade Runner was a good movie.

[Anonymous No.10266574]

>>10266567

“Are you listening to me?”

“I am,”

“Okay, you write this down. Listen up- they say every...every person- man, woman, child, on this Earth has at least one good story in their soul. Are you listening?”

“Yes, I am,”

“So you come with one whether or not you wanted to. It’s like you’re a car and you come with a four speed, you follow? It’s standard equipment. Every single soul comes with a story to tell with all of it. All of the soul. Maybe it’s the whole reason why we come with souls to begin with. Who am I to tell you? Do you know God?”

“I don’t think so,”

“I don’t either. Nobody does. Don’t believe anybody who does. You hear somebody who starts telling you they know God you either ask them some questions or you hit them right here and run. You got that?”

“Yep,”

“You see? Right here? That’s where you hit them,”

“Yessir,”

“Where was I?”

“You were talking about how all souls have a story,”

“Yes they do. Every single one. That’s a good thing. My story’s beautiful. It’s about a beautiful woman. Have you ever seen a beautiful woman?”

“Just about everyday,”

“Good for you. Well I have a story to tell. I love women. They’re beautiful. All of them. I think though, well I’m a sad case. You see me? What a fucking mess I am. I see a beautiful woman on a bicycle or something. And I think about how beautiful she must have been once, or how beautiful she is now, you follow?”

“I’m trying, my man,”

“Well next thing I think is- fuck me, she’s going to get old and fat and start to stink just like me. You understand? I think that time is a fucker,”

“Alright,”

“I want to write me a story about a man who only sees women when they’re old and wrinkly. You ever thought of that?”

“I ne--”

“You think about any woman you see on the street? You see these beautiful girls, their cheeks are red and they have their hair all blowing around in the wind, you see it? Jesus Christ, you see these girls now with the pants they wear and I hear these idiots on the radio talking about how we lost God, well I say these pants now-- you know how they say God loves us and wants to be happy-”

“I gotta give it to you, oldtimer,”

“I ain’t that old-- or... Well, I’m old, but I know the truth too. And you go get me another drink, young man. And I’m going to tell you my story. The one that’s in my soul. Cause you talk better than I do so here, you take mine,”

“Hey! Easy--”

“Well, here it is. My soul is singing out loud this morning so here it comes. Ready or not here I come!”

“Little too loud, man,”

“You shut up! You shut the fuck up! This is my soul telling you something, you little bastard! I was a rich man before you were a drop of fuckin’ spunk--”

“Easy, alright? I didn’t say anything. You want Red or--”

“I want Black. I only drink Black. Unless you got Blue. Then I drink Blue,”

[Anonymous No.10266647]

>>10266574
You made the dialogue sound very energetic, every sentence shapes a vision and it changes the sentence after. It's interesting and well written. I like it.

>>10266567
I'm trying to go the cyberpunk route, light hearted moments, while the world is gloomy. I'm slowly building up towards the actual story, but would you say my prose is too pretentious and detailed? I like describing my vision, while I try to make others replicate the image I have in my mind. It's hard to differentiate what I should leave out.

I'm trying to improve, going to start reading tomorrow. I've never really read anything, so I've still got the well-written books to explore. Ordered Neuromancer, Do Androids Dream of Eelectric Sheep and Fahrenheit 451 (Per suggestion).

Do you reckon this is an interesting read? It's in the first few pages so I'm still gathering audience and building up the dynamic of their relation.

[Anonymous No.10266658]

>>10266574
>>10266647
I'd go more in depth on your dialogue, but to I'm quite new to the entire writing gig. I've started two weeks ago and I don't know how to analyze other people their work properly, I apologize. Don't really know what to say.

[Anonymous No.10266709]

>>10264475
This reads like Plath, but very good and masculine

heres my stuff:

CPA
Drove down the bay bridge
Looked down the pier
To the sea

CPA
Could by the ticket
But who else would
Feed the dog

CPA
Stands in the breezeway
Flits with the keys
To the door

CPA
Drunk in the nighttime
Spits in the wind
Feed the breeze

Now he’s late
Now he’s late
Certified man
Just doing the best that he can

Seen alot of faces
Seats, walls, and places
One day I won’t be here
How’s it feel

To be late
To be late
Home again, friend
Tuesday is a Friday to me

[Anonymous No.10266870]

I have seen the faces, monsieur
I have, I have, I have
Have seen them melting in the sun like a chocolate homunculous
Oui, I have, monsieur

[Anonymous No.10267489]

"Anniversary"

Your hair has mantled your head anew; supplely
cups, like that mulish cowlick that still falls over my
forehead, a scuttling fringe under lovely nails
painted purple, pink and blue—
your cheeks and chin in a November blush are cupped in
a cast of hair, of apples and roses dipped in
the sea, a silken halo flashing moonlight into
the past. Our coifs, the colour of charcoal dust,
are draped-on, mine spiralling, yours straight,
caught in your lips, mine hooding my eyes.
Our forms have been altered so in our mutual care;
our faces are the same, and have so much more to wear.

[Anonymous No.10267505]

>>10258056
:(
naive sad

[Anonymous No.10267523]

"My love, please, I beg of you.
Let me sleep, Let me not think of you.
I will dream, I promise, of only you.

We will sing and dance on distant shores.
No thoughts, No sorrow, just like the love of Yore. You in my arms, whispering sweet songs of lust and more.

I will show you the happiness that you seek, and together we will make promises we cannot hope to keep.
I will love you again like never before, and return to kiss you as you adore.

I promise, My love, please I do!
I swear to you,
This time it's true!

I will take back my words,
Of hate, dust and muttered curse.
And replace them with Spring, Summer and a Lovers verse.

I love you still you know,
But you are to me as melting snow.
My fleeting Beauty that i forgo,
So please, for now, Let me go."

How shit is it?

[Anonymous No.10268121]

>>10257605
Two-bears-high-fiving

[Anonymous No.10268184]

>>10252606
>>10255636

It's done: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Za3w8TvFsW6Zo_xJ53laAPu1cwjSij22aVJqnFBO218/edit?usp=sharing

[Anonymous No.10268615]

>>10258214
You need to employ enjambment. This terminal caesura stuff means all your lines are completely predictable in their cadences. Da duh da duh da duh da! stop, da duh da duh da duh da! stop. Makes for very tedious reading.

[Anonymous No.10268820]

Beneath the restaurant's amber lights
I sit amidst a whirling crowd,
Picking idly on o'dourves, nodding
Answering in single words, wearing a smile.

An empty laugh, and I excuse myself,
And struggle against the bodies.
I walk out to the winter night,
All is quiet, but the wispy sounds of snow.

Above, the snow flutters over the sky.
Ebbing, flowing in the air.
Every flake its own, yet all in unison,
White leaves shaking on phantom boughs.

At the overpass I stand above trafic,
Lighting a cigarette.
That is when I hear the other,
Boots crunching over the ground.

I know her,
That face stark against the night.
Was it high school? My old town?
Or perhaps a past life, now forgotten.

I greet her with nerves and a smile
And for half an hour we talk,
Catching up on lost years
Airing anxieties joys and woe.

But now it is late, she must go.
I say farewell and watch her depart.
In one final impulse I try to speak,
But catch my toung.

I toss my cigarette to the road.
A river of lights white and red.
Each one linked to its twin
Guides the other through the dark.

[Anonymous No.10268923]

>>10268820
it's hors d'oeuvres you pseudposter

[Anonymous No.10268952]

Holy shit I’m so tired the bags under my eyes have bags on them, why are deadlines so harsh? Why is class so early? Why does it take TWO FUCKING HOURS to get to school by train? So many questions, so few answers. The familiar, usually empty streets covered in houses with elaborate garden lawns are now overrun by a bunch of runway models in their early twenties. Really, why do kids in upper scale colleges always look so fucking good? Why are there so many couples everywhere? Are they mocking me? There was a couple that slipped past onto the edge of the sidewalk in front of a fence gate and started sucking face. I AM SO JELOU- I mean, THAT’S AGAINST PUBLIC MORALS! I sighed a silent sigh and discreetly gave them a defiant glare that had a mix of disgust and envy as I passed them. The relentless heat at the start of August, the large brick facilities, tennis courts, student hangouts and the beautiful people walking towards them. This is my last year in this college and i just realized, I’m a 24 year old man with no friends and I’ve never kissed a girl before.
Well that’s a depressing realization, I’ve already bummed myself out and the year hasn't even started yet. That’s gotta be like a new record. As I walked into one of the nice red brick buildings and through the pristine white interiors, I noticed that no one was there even though there were so many people on the way here, and I quickly deduced why. Most of the students are probably around the various leisure areas, this place is so ridiculously big; filled with various clubrooms, gyms, several types of sport facilities- fuck, it’s so big that this place has streets and street names to go with them. With all that I guess most people would rather hang out there with friends and wait until the last minute to get to class.
“[Protagonistman].”
I heard someone call out to me, so looked in the direction of the voice. There was a tall, portly but very well dressed man that came out of the office just a door ahead of me. It was professor [proffessorman]. When he looked at me he pushed his glasses back and started rebuking me.
“Set your back straight! What’s with that hunched gait of yours? Also when are you getting a haircut? I can barely see your face.”
What an excellent way to start the day! Leave me alone you decrepit cretin. Of course compared to him with his well-kept suit and impeccable manners, yeah, I might have come off a bit shabby. But then again, I don't give a shit.
“I’m gonna wait another month or two, haircuts around my area are expensive.”
Twenty fucking dollars for someone to go at my head with a razor, really makes me wonder if I made the wrong life decisions. Looking rather disappointed, but not wanting to push any further, he took out a piece of paper from his bag and gave it to me.
“Your schedule for this year.”
I took it from him. After all the work I did for him during the summer, I should be able to cut loose a lot more this year… or so I thought.

[Anonymous No.10268966]

>>10268184
is it supposed to be mostly numbers? Is it a cypher? Are there clues on how to unlock it within the story?

[Anonymous No.10269056]

(1/2)
He stood with his arms outstretched, his palms at rest on the kitchen counter. He looked out the window and into the backyard. Silver clouds crowded together in the distance.
"Is it raining, Jack? Lorna's been harassing me about going to the park," his wife's voice called from the living room, overcoming the voices of talk-show hosts and wooing audiences, "I was thinking I'd take her today, if its any nicer out."
"Looks like its clear for now, but it'll be coming later for sure," the man replied.
"Oh alright. If it ain't that bad out now, what's the worst that could happen? Lorna doesn't mind the rain anyways," her voice apparently changed audiences, and grew quieter, "Right sweety?"
"Right!" The little girl cried, and lead her mother to the kitchen by the wrist, so the two of them could collect the pairs of rain-boots left by the back-door.
Turning to her husband after collecting the muddied boots, Jamie said "Now, well I'm out do you think you could do the shopping, sweety? We've been putting it off awhile, and Lorna's out of those animal crackers she likes so much," Lorna gazed up at her as she said this, mouth agape, "We'll be back in a couple hours. I'm thinking we'll stop by mum's house after the park."
"Grandma! Grandma!" Lorna chanted. Jamie laughed, and lead her out of the room, toward the front door of the house.
Lorna turned back, "Bye Daddy!"
Jack waved toward her, and turned around, listening closely to the sound of the shutting front door. After they'd left, he went to the door and looked out the peephole, seeing the car was gone, he went to his desk, tore a page from a notebook, and wrote on it in blue pen: "Out to get groceries. Home soon." He returned to the kitchen, and placed the note on the stove.
***
He walked down the suburb streets toward town, over crisp pavement squares, and wet orange leaves. He didn't turn when he reached the grocery store, but instead kept walking. After some time he found himself in the lobby of a tall grey apartment. The lobby reeked of stale cigarette smoke, and a butt-filled coffee can was perched on the arm of a cracked green leather sofa next to the intercom. He couldn't help staring into the can, full of tar and decomposing paper, whilst he dialed the familiar number on the wall.
"I've been waiting," a breathy voice rattled metallicly out of the receiver, and an institutional buzz followed.

[Anonymous No.10269077]

>>10269056
(2/2)
"Ya can't tell me it doesn't make ya feel guilty," Maria said, propped up on the bed by her elbow, next to Jack, her curly hair springing in every direction. "I mean, it makes me feel terrible, and I've never even met her."
"That's probably why you don't understand it," Jack replied, as he pulled the covers up over his shoulders, his bare flesh erupting in goosebumps from the unheated apartment, "It might sound horrible, but I've known her too long to feel bad. Her feelings have lost their value to me. Their more annoying than anything. I don't know if you can understand..."
"It doesn't just sound awful, it is," she scowled out at him, "How can you not feel for her? How can I be sure you'd feel for me?"
"You can't be, but at least I'd tell you if I didn't. Any other man'd just lie in your face, Maria."
"Ya haven't told her."
"That's different, I can't pay lawyers fees, and Lorna needs me too. Listen, I don't have time to argue. I need to get back. You ever heard of such a long grocery trip?"
"Well, you've been on a few," she smiled, drawing a cigarette out of the container on the cluttered nightstand.
Jack pointed to it, "That's why I'm getting out of here now. I thought you were dropping those things?"
"Would if you'd drop her," she stuck her tongue out at him after saying this.
He shook his head, and made for the door.
***
He'd forgotten the list at home, but remembered vaguely what was needed. The store was awash in florescence reflected from the freshly waxed laminant floor, and the scent of produce filled his nostrils, even though it was on the other side of the building. Men followed women in wet jackets, beads of water collected on the plastic handles of their shopping carts, and falling from their long hair. After procuring some gallon bags of milk, a box of animal crackers, and a bottle of Jamie and his preferred red wine, he came to the checkout, where he was assisted by a pimpled teen girl, who proceeded awkwardly through the interaction, smiling through her silver braces.
Outside again, in the early Fall dusk, he made his way back home.
***
Arriving home, there was no car in the sleek black driveway. Climbing the cement steps, he glanced at his watch, and looked surprised. He went inside, and called for Jamie and Lorna, his voice echoing through empty rooms. He supposed the visit with his mother-in-law was running late, and perhaps into the evening, and was thinking he should probably join them, as he made his way into the kitchen to deposit the groceries. After putting the milk in the fridge, he looked up to where his note had been, but it'd been replaced. Lying on the stove was a red envelope. He took it to his desk, and sliced it open with a letter opener from the oak drawer. He read the contents, all in the pretty curves of his wife's pen.
He went outside, sat in a wet plastic deck-chair, and looked up at the stars, peering out from the orange sky.

[Anonymous No.10269200]

>>10269056
>He stood with his arms outstretched, his palms at rest on the kitchen counter.
This builds really strangely. I saw a guy standing in a T-pose, then a guy with... "resting palms," I guess, and then the palms were on the counter, but they were resting there and not being leaned on. Why not "He stood with his palms apart on the kitchen counter."? Is the issue that it looks like he's putting his weight on them?

>"Is it raining Jack?..."
would have been nice to have had a "he heard his wife call out to him" before that or something, I didn't read it in a female voice.

>her voice apparently changed auciences
this is really clunky and the "apparently" just makes it look like you aren't confident in the phrasing

>" The little girl cried, and lead her mother to the kitchen by the wrist, so the two of them could collect the pairs of rain-boots left by the back-door.
lowercase "t" if that's supposed to describe the previous quote. I's also chance "and... so the two of them could" into "as she... to"

>Jamie
you kinda just smuggled the name in there, I'd have named her when you introduced her as his wife (his wife, Jamie)

>the suburb streets
would be better to just use the adjective "suburban" than to designate the streets as the suburb streets.

>He walked down the suburb streets toward town, over crisp pavement squares, and wet orange leaves.
you mean... "in the process"? Not a fan of the structure here even though the detail order is nice.

>an institutional buzz followed
Do you mean industrial?

>>10269077
>Her feelings have lost their value to me. Their more annoying than anything.
I think you mean "they're," unless he's genuinely changing the subject to both his wife and child in and of themselves rather than just the feelings of one of them.

>"That's different, I can't pay lawyers fees, and Lorna needs me too.
semicolon after "different"

>The store was awash in florescence reflected from the freshly waxed laminant floor, and the scent of produce filled his nostrils, even though it was on the other side of the building.
take off that last third and just say "despite being all the way on the other side of the building" or something. This has that same weird structure to it as the streets/pavement/leaves sentence.

>Men followed women in wet jackets, beads of water collected on the plastic handles of their shopping carts, and falling from their long hair.
same issue, plus it isn't clear who the handles carts and hair belong to

>a bottle of Jamie
careful with phrasing

[Anonymous No.10269354]

How many of you are actually chasing carreers as novelists?

It's pretty much the only ambition I have and I already live a solitary life anyway, enough time to dedicate.

I want to write stories that are pleasing, visualisation wise, and simple to read as entry-level books in to niche genres. Do you reckon that publishing at a young age through literary agents is a goal too far fetched?

[Anonymous No.10269378]

>>10269354
It's my backup career if phil grad school doesn't turn out well. I'm not too hopeful, but I don't have any loans to pay off, so I'm not too worried either.

>Do you reckon that publishing at a young age through literary agents is a goal too far fetched?
Consider the fail state; what happens? You become a better writer? Not so bad.

[Anonymous No.10269578]

Watching my roommate fix the tv
gargoyle sitting on the edge of a building
so many people
do you see them
stone eyes don't blink
wonder if they cry tears, or pebbles
if it's the latter
they'd make a clink clink
maybe hit someone on the head and roll
down into the sewer
so that a rat might carry it so long
so far, and then back
hopefully it doesn't get toyed with by a cat
but if it does
I doubt the stone golem would care much
doubt he'd want his pebble back.
He named it Jacob before squeezing it out
A long ladder with very little slack
until a pin prick in the back urges our protagonist forward
To soar with flowers
among flowers
pollen sneezes
humans pollinate

[Anonymous No.10269582]

>>10269354

Follow your dreams and hone your craft. It's very possible. The world needs good writers right now more than ever.

Don't give up.

[Anonymous No.10269592]

I say you are the one that is mocking the fine adjusted and decennial delegation of the law. It has taken a mighty long time for us to arrive at this communal system of values and enforcement. And you act like some second rate reverend with the fire in his procedure, but in procedure only. Showmanship! You are an actor playing the part of the lawyer! (the prosexecutioner slams the table) The truth is facts, no emotional reasoning, then we could be here forevermore, shooting down overwrought call to emotion with an even more sentimental response, endlessly. And the fact of this matter is that this man was found with a screwdriver in his hand. He was found roaming in the slums for god’s sake, rambling. A man from the guard, a man i deeply trust. Told me in confidence that this morose criminal was speaking in a fevered rhyme, about the devil and and his angels being hidden in a timeworn slumber in the arctic. Now, a lesser man than me would call this craziness, but i get it. Your client is a actor like you, he is playing the part of a lunatic looming his act enslaved by a devilish hand, his free will stolen from him, by either a red smoking trident or a mental deficiency, the Mephistopheles in the gray matter. But this inquisition is for the law of man and the common bound of society, not for matters of the heavens, or, if that is actually a matter at all. So mind or malevolence, it’s the same in these circumstances. And this here, is simply a man of evil incarnate.

(the lawyer, like a great dragon, breathes out objection upon objection until his client, the man, steps forward and speaks)

“I apologize for my crime, if i did commit one, i can’t recognize any of this. It’s strange, when i look down at my asperous hands i see no fingerprints, can you polish skin?.”

A storm of viscous words by duelling tongues continues over the man, neither side putting much value on the meaning, the meat of the sentence, by themselves or by him. In the end the agreement was reached that the man would be prosecuted, and executed, by the prosexecutioner. Some put on a face of joy, some put on a face of hate, in the end they all went home.

[Anonymous No.10270118]

I've been quitting porn and as such have more time. I've been writing to keep my brain turned on so here's some pulp adventure stuff i wrote last night.
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Y3hCQLSpaeO9tEwkEHOzjIs1-gnqpoXy0Op48W4UeBA/edit?usp=sharing

[Anonymous No.10270137]

https://pastebin.com/Gj0YwmjB
https://pastebin.com/X0ksY8kC

[Anonymous No.10270140]

>>10268966

It's kabbalistically and numerologically significant. Patterns hidden in noise. For an average individual it would take years of study to decipher.

[Anonymous No.10270142]

who here /postsdepressedthoughtsherewhen drunk/

[Anonymous No.10270148]

>>10270142
I mostly just burst out frustration at other people so I can't blame myself, I'm quite lonely because of it

Happens too often

[Anonymous No.10270208]

I found myself in a corner for nobodies within a corner for nobodies. I was put in this place, although the actions that led me here were unquestionably my own. Nothing good ever happens here. The air is thick with smog and the ground is dank and muddy. Us nobodies expel gas and saliva on one another as a form of naughty entertainment; we have such liberties being that no one ever watches. Within this primordial swamp, a miracle occurred. The miracle took the shape of a glowing light. It spoke, not in the low grunts of a nobody, but in a delicately luring tone; I heard the siren song and wished to sink down, down to the very bottom. It filled me to the top with infatuation and shame that would later make me try, weakly like all of my endeavors, to destroy myself.
I've never tried writing before. All I do is busy school assignments where you check off pieces to a rubric and wanted to try something creative

[Anonymous No.10270357]

I've never written a good poem and I don't plan to so I wrote a poem about finger fucking some girl and feeling anxious about it.


The dirt cakes inward;
My body embraced this sin.
Writhing on my hand
like a dog's nose, playfully
pressing into sand.
A foreign joy forces me now
into feeling too proud.
At the same time it sickens me.
Hungry dogs are too loud.
Slimy worms make me wash my hands.
They don't really think,
they only feel and beg for more.
Clench my sullied hands,
bend and present me with my dead,
my bloated ego.
Worms would be dead by now,
but your body is still hot.

I don't know what the difference is between poetry and words put into a sort of pattern with clever references and connections between them so if someone could help a retard out on what poetry actually is that'd be cool.

[Anonymous No.10270423]

There had been 6 of us at the outset, I thought glumly as I lit a cigarette. The dull orange light gave me little comfort as I continued down the musty passageway. Anything it illuminated, I certainly didn't want to think about. These secret passages had clearly been the host of any number of atrocities over time. Quite like the entire castle, come to think of it.
Somewhere in the distance, a terrible scream echoed. However many of us there had been, it would seem there was now one less. I tried to think on who was left. Counting on my fingers, I ran through our adventure.
The Texan had gone first, as he’d had the displeasure of revealing our host's true nature. He’d lost an awful lot of blood after that incident, and while he had escaped into the castle halls, he had no doubt bled out somewhere. Then the wild-eyed young man from Boston went. He'd been fidgeting all trip and had taken off screaming when we were assaulted by the ghouls. I’d have thought he might still be alright if we hadn't found his torn clothing hanging off one of the castle spires covered in blood. Then there was the library girl. German, I believe. She was carried off by a pack of ghouls somewhere around an hour or two ago. She’d been cursing up a storm, but I believe shed fired every single bullet she’d been carrying and been left defenseless.
Really, who did that leave?
Well, me of course. But I was quite ready to write myself off, I tell you. What chance would a frail student of archeology have against a cabal of bloodthirsty shambling undead monstrosities? Aside from me, there was the Egyptian girl and that fellow who smelled of gasoline. Thinking about that gave me pause, as the most recent scream hadn't sounded like either of them, and it certainly wasn't me. Maybe one of the others was still kicking. Running my hand along the stone wall, I pondered whether or not to leave the passage. It would be treacherous to abandon my traveling companions to the horrors of the castle, but on the other hand, revealing myself once again left me with a very high chance of meeting a grisly fate much like the others
I had never been one for courage. It was mostly something that happened to other people while I ran the other direction as fast as possible. Any rock fall, surging flood, or schoolyard bully had brought forward bravery in others, and every time I’d been there to handily observe the second landslide, waterlogged exhaustion, or pair of fat-cheeked goons that put an end to the would-be hero
No, I was quite comfortable with the ways in which I’d remained alive through my time. The tunnels would probably lead to an exit eventually. Once a way for unpopular denizens to escape angry serfs no doubt. I was sure if I carried on, I’d eventually feel a breeze and find release. From there it would be a short journey to the coach house, and a quick thundering escape down the mountain path.

[Anonymous No.10270500]

>>10270357
>into feeling too proud.
I hate the double to/too here

>I don't know what the difference is between poetry and words put into a sort of pattern with clever references and connections between them so if someone could help a retard out on what poetry actually is that'd be cool.
Don't think about references so much.

Write smut about things you don't like (but can still tolerate writing about) and then you'll get how to use words for the sound's sake rather than for the narrative; the number one poetry mistake is thinking that your poems need to be seep and meaningful. Joyce brapposting is legit good practice. If you need motivation to finish your shitty smut, just plan to make it end on a joke or prank of some kind so as not to bore yourself. Subbed anime is also unironically useful; you'll read english text on the screen but hear all these other foreign inflections and sounds and eventually learn to just babble in your head. I'd imagine musical stuff is helpful too, but you need some written word in there somewhere if you don't want it to just be music. What I'm really trying to say here though is that you should be prioritizing sonics if you want to write poetry. I'm not the best poet, but that advice is definitely what has helped me improve.

[Anonymous No.10270514]

>>10270357
>>10270500
Oh, and the other thing: Xavier Renegade Angel. Good show for learning how to fuck around with words.

"I'm committing vehicular man-burger helper"
I'm
co-mitting
ve-hicul-ur
man
burg-ur
help
ur

See how the "ur" gradually gets closer to the right hand side of the page? It's just hilarious when you hear it. The context is that he enters some dimension where everything is happening in reverse and sees someone get un-run-over then erroneously comes to the conclusion that backing into people heals them, and in turn goes on a killing spree:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gfja7ofOhxg

Seeing people fuck around is more helpful than watching them do it properly in my opinion.

[Anonymous No.10270547]

>>10259287
Same guy, a redux of Superfluous

https://pastebin.com/KfjUdGir

Just made some slight tweaks and extended it a bit. Please let me know what you think /lit/ and if I should continue. Thank you.

[Anonymous No.10270623]

Hapless wanderer
Streetlight climber
Fencepost hopper
Midnight train rider
I am the one
Who kisses the lips
Of the darkness
Who drinks from the sky
The wine of the abyss
Window smears wearing midnight
Showing life continues on
In the church candles are burning
And even after one is gone
They burn on
Melting the eyes
Of the stoic mass-goers
While God comes low
And we become lower
He lends you His ear
Obeying the beckon of the holy God-show-ers
But He does not hear
He does not hear
His hearing aid fails
Though He is so near
He misses the candles
With His cobwebbed eyes
The one who dies is forgotten
The gold on his eyes
Will not be enough
To buy him a boat
And the other souls gloat at their crossing
Crossing themselves as they stow away
Watching Death rowing
Just rowing away
A snide snicker slides
From out the sinister side
Of the mouth of the old spinster
The other side smiles
Beguiles and charms
Holding wide both arms
And at a million miles up
It seems worth your while
So take that step!
Traveler depart!
Cast of the wormy cloak
Of a mud hut heart
For cats and cradles
Do you no good
Water is poison
Thanks to wily Wormwood
The end is nigh
Fly away to the moon
High in the sky
Like the Dish and the Spoon
You are a candle
Your flame is your heart
But there are so many candles
No one will notice
When one candle departs

[Anonymous No.10270626]

>>10270423
I like it, sounds like an excerpt from an adventurous tale. Maybe a bit pretentious (if that's the right word), but it fits the character's background that you subtly explained. Just my take though.

>>10270547
I only took a quick look at the two first paragraphs, it's interesting, I might come back later to finish the entire thing. It's a bit "wannabe intellectual" though. It's hard to subtly do without getting that fedora tipping "debate me" atmosphere, but you're doing a pretty good job at it. Perhaps I'm just autistic and spend too much time on 4chan.


I posted the last few days and I tried making it more indulging and lively. Let me know what you think, it's just the first three paragraphs, but I'm trying to detail a city. I'll probably keep it there so I don't have to make an entire world, which I have absolutely no knowledge at how to do. It's pre-cyberpunk so I'm incorporating the visuals, but not the entire electrical boogaloo.

Is it too much so far, or would you actually take interest? I can't depend on close friends and family opinions any more.

[Anonymous No.10270632]

>>10270626
>sounds like an excerpt from an adventurous tale
it is.
you can read the other 4 pages here
>>10270118

[Anonymous No.10270638]

>>10270632
I just skimmed through it real quick as I'm trying to get back in to neuromancer while posting some stuff, but it seems like a decent story. Perhaps the capital dialogue and extended MEEEE makes the reading a bit weird.

I haven't read a lot of books, so I don't know how to properly analyze and compare storytelling, but some design flaws might be your biggest concern. It's good to read though, not too hard to get in to and easy on the eyes. (From the little I have seen)

I don't mean to be a dick or anything, my writing is quite amateurish still. Just trying to give you some feedback that might help out. Depends on what you're going for really, age group mainly.

[Anonymous No.10270660]

>>10270638
thanks man.
and dont worry, there's nothing dickish in your post. i came here for any advice or analysis i can get and yours is definitely helpful.
i just really like stories set in that indiana jones/disneyland jungle cruise/hammer horror circle of style, and the other night i realized i could just write my own pulp to fulfill my hunger for it.
im glad you read at least a bit of it and i wis hyou the best of luck in your own endeavors.

[Anonymous No.10270742]

>>10270514
Mm thanks. I've actually seen XRA but now I have another way I can rewatch it. I'll take notice of that.

[Anonymous No.10270787]

>>10270626
Cyberpunk is always good. I like the usage of nouns and the description of the set, it seems wide scale enough to fulfill my taste as an establishing shot.
A good opening that shows off the important things, and gets the reader excited for cyberpunk.

I need some feedback on descriptions, and action flow sequences.
https://pastebin.com/TbK41vjK

[Anonymous No.10270793]

I read a vanity plate the other day,
which is to say any day but today,
that said in all caps "could be"
w/o the space.
Sportsman Paradise, it claimed,
like a real estate broker named Heather—
a bird hidden in middle aged murmuration.

The second read—beneath the barred teeth
of a devil-red pickup—"PUR EVIL":
aposematic signage for the morally robust:
an eyelash vipers passing wink.

(Intermission as traffic simulacrum.)

By Beal Bank came the trinity's tip:
an austere meditation on the recognition of self:
a black G Wagon sporting a vain plate,
eschewing subtlety and vowels,
informing you, "G Wgn."
The message evoked ineffable transluminescence
tying together all the stratified imbrications
in the silk of time's quilt torn tatters
patched irrevocably by grandmother Matter
who matters not at all, not at all.

I also avoided a wreck
thanks to my bubonically sick reflexes
and constantly ghost-ridden whip.

[Anonymous No.10270802]

>>10270787
>https://pastebin.com/TbK41vjK

It reads interesting enough, again, I'm not native English and I'm still learning to read more detailed books in a fluid flow.

>Both planes locked on were hit
This sentence seems a bit wonky to me.
>Both planes, that I had locked on, were hit
Might be a bit better for the flow, atleast for me.

>“308th leader, Fox Four!” I fired as I cried
This also caught me off-guard, reading dialogue always makes me autistic, but I always expect the description of loudness or voice to come before the description of action.
>“308th leader, Fox Four!” I cried as I fired
is already a bit of an improvement for me to read

Again, it's all personal. But I get pretty autistic to reading this like this. Hope it helped, keep doing you though, you've got a prose of your own.

[Anonymous No.10270818]

genius has not a name
except divine gifting
and diamond hard work
that you mistake for talcum
but falls in a vacuum
into the kitty-category of locutions
that are denotatively connotative
which is to say objectively subjective
such as 'love,' 'god,' and 'photobooth'
so we pack it up in confectionary sugar
factory air sealed in oceanic acidifying agents
and misspelled labels called expiration dates
which like a good commercial remind us
how we all live in culs-de-sac
and vehicular viscera of inescapable morality
called day time talk shows
punctuated by the blending of fried root vegetables
that actually aren't very healthy when you think about it
but overall the foods been okay
and Judy Blanchard's being a total bitch
having a great time at camp mom and dad
cant wait to see you soon
love
your son
"Brenda's Got a Baby"

[Anonymous No.10270963]

>>10264148
good

[Anonymous No.10271017]

>>10270623
this "poem" says nothing at all. abstraction upon abstraction upon meaningless abstraction

[Anonymous No.10271584]

>>10271017
>implying poems need to do anything beyond sound nice

[Anonymous No.10271586]

Something understood:
Climb the stairs over there then
Peer over the edge and
Look down at the streets
There’s nothing to see
And there’s no one to meet
But you’re not lonely
You’re just bored
You’re not lonely
You’re just bored

[Anonymous No.10271914]

Give me something:
Crystalline canister
Floating through space
You pack your punch
Then you throw it away
The vortex walks and it’s coming for you
It soon will consume you out of the blue
It drinks up the water and marches on land
It tears up the trees and drinks up the sand
You can’t run from running
You can’t hide from hiding
You don’t owe me anything
But please give me something

[Anonymous No.10271924]

>>10269578
This is interesting, but what is it that you are trying to say? Is it a comment on the passivity of modern human beings? If so, the final image (a man turning into an inactive, agencyless participant in the natural cycle) is apt, although you might want to work on how you get to that image. It seems a little...abrupt within the sequence of images.

>>10267489
This is mine. Can someone please critique it?

[Anonymous No.10272346]

>>10270793
made me cum

[Anonymous No.10272546]

>>10267523

It's the literary equivalent of the white rice you get for free with an order of anything else at a Chinese takeout place. It's nothing. It's got no substance. You spend 90% of the poem saying "Come back, I'll love you" then end up saying "let me go". This isn't some cool inversion of a theme, it's just the writer not having a clue about what they're talking about. If you want somebody but also want them to let you go, then write about that. Don't write some watery crap about nothing.

[Anonymous No.10272562]

>>10272546

I was serving a drink to a toothless mother. Her son, in his long sleeved shirt with his thumbs stuck through holes cut in the cuffs, called out hoarsely for a double. I poured it and he asked his mother if she wouldn’t mind paying. The new POS was all touch screen. It was disdainful to some of them, a kind of violation of their pocket of space exempt from the progression of time.

“I never learned how to type. You know what would have happened to me if I learned to type? I was on the football team, I fought enough. I would have had to fight a hundred times more if they knew I learned how to type,”

For some time I provided diets of cable news and eye-openers and spring rolls at all hours of the night and the morning. I watched groups of men and women line up six-shooters first thing in the morning and go to work. They’d leave me their forgotten quarters. I lived off of these somehow.

I got angry at them sometimes just for being there. I would be half a second away from telling them how backwards their ideas of the stock market were before it occurred to me that I needed their approval to survive and held my tongue. Sometimes I hated them. Other times I thought we all just need each other. Mostly, a little part of me wanted to scream that my life would amount to more than theirs. But every time I tried to hate them, I found myself not being able to bring me around to doing it for very long.

Time forgets us all at the same rate. This was not easy to learn. They came from a different world. They would come and say

"I came from Shangri-La, where the people loved their country indeed and their country loved them back. And no mention was to be heard that people did not get along or that some people could not get ahead, not for lack of trying. It used to be so, but the country’s gone to shit and people now just lay around all day and expect their lives to be taken care of,"

Should I have said

"there was once a river called Lethe and anybody who drank from it would forget all the pain of life and stand naked and content in a meadow for all time in a state of disaffection and numbness, shoulder to shoulder, like skinless chicken breasts packed under plastic wrap."

My awful little fantasy was how little I thought they would have felt being disarmed of their existence, being relieved of it. Once dreaming of rivers, having known little of one, now content to be told what a river was, what it looked and smelled like. And I would have stood over them like a grade school teacher:


"A river is made of time itself. It changes too slowly to seen and it empties itself into the ocean and all oceans are just stand-ins for oblivion. You know oblivion, but your problem is that you’d like to think it’s something you can make a map of and track your way across. There are no lighthouses, just days and nights and no matter what you do, you’ll still be lonely doing it."

[Anonymous No.10272882]

>>10271584
oh shut up. nothing says newfag more than the idea that poetry is all sound. clearly you haven't read whitman, stevens, crane, or any american in the past 200 years

[Anonymous No.10272979]

>>10271586

https://soundgasm.net/u/s1rpanda/something_understood

[Anonymous No.10273048]

>>10258214
A bit dull and empty but I like the music of it. As someone said enjambing your lines would help with the flow of the poem.

It seems like your imagination is really limited by the strict format, perhaps because you are not familiar enough with the mechanics of a structured poem. That explains the general dull effect of the poem, also the fall is a bit lazy.

Overall still a good effort IMO.

[Anonymous No.10273079]

>>10273048
same guy, Here is part of a long poem that I will not post in its entirety for the sake of not stretching your attention... Its about a failed summer love for context.

Now you are gone-
I flung open the shutters and
Four things emerged
Four shudders, the fourth a hearse.

There laid a body, of palest complex
That glowed of near transparence
For an instant,
You are the sun, rising and trembling
Stuck in finest gossamer
That cloths the skies, and wades this hour.

This unnerved feeling that the sky is a small and dark room
Some dim cathodes assert,
Nothing but the ominous blare of a monitor,
My existance these four walls will soon escape,

[Anonymous No.10273152]

>>10270793
This is a great piece, poetically humorous in the proper contemporary ways. This is what most dejanted magazines want to read and publish, but I think you are being a bit too self important to be honest... You really try to cram original words to find originality and a somewhat empty metaphysical thought to close out the G Wagon part. The motion is well defined and very very entrancing but seems to fizzle out when you try to be cute with "in the silk of time's quilt torn tatters / patched irrevocably..." part. Its like you find a truth in the vanity plate yet do not talk about it, rather circle around by talking of the thought of it.

I suggest you read Feelings into words by Seamus Heaney because you have immense talent and personnality but it feels like you cannot quite put the ideas and feeling into the motion of an intent aesthetic poem.

[Anonymous No.10273200]

>>10272882
>is
Not what I said. Reread and try again fag.

[Anonymous No.10273205]

>>10270818
You cant just put a bunch of alliterations and call it verse, try prose poetry.

As for the content, its quirky but also not very poetic. You need to reach deeper, which you seem to be able to since there's an abundance of wit in your writing. Also you go about speaking of modernity in a common way that I do not appreciate. You use modern objects as artifice to a poem otherwise not new at all, instead of drawing the poetic power from the modern. You could swap all of the modern references in your poem with other things from other periods of time without altering the spirit of the poem.

[Anonymous No.10273228]

>>10272882
All the poet you named are incredibly musical (well maybe Stevens not as much). Whitman in particular is a very sound-focused poet, and many many Americans are too. I too strongly disagree a poem is but music, but the sound of a poem is nevertheless a major part of it even nowadays.

[Anonymous No.10273316]

>>10273048
>>10273079
Yeah, non native here and it's only my second ever poem in english so I was a slave of the structure in a way, dull is probably the right word to use here. The previous one felt much better but I couldn't get myself to try and fix this one once I finished it. Thanks for the comment!

I like the expression of your piece, you can feel the emotions. The imagery seems to be a bit overburdened, it's a tad hard for me to imagine the scenery. Again, this is understandable in the context of strong emotions, but makes it a bit harder to read nontheless.

[Anonymous No.10273364]

The anger felt good. It wasn't the same frustration that pulsed and strained against the sides of his head. This anger flowed like a river. It was a torrent of fire that spewed forth like spray from a fire hose. Where he directed it, change took place. Everything bowed before his anger. Most everything simply cowed from its fury, but anything that resisted it was brought to heel with crushing force. It was exhilarating. The vindication of emotion was intoxicating. The anger took the form of lightning, somehow both bright and dark. It took the form of fearsome beasts, a ghoulish glow in their ever-twisting fangs and claws. It took the form of a terrible darkness, at once unfathomable and yet completely understood by the dangers it hid. The anger was a swirling mass of death, pain, twisted life, unspeakable pleasures, hatred, malice, dispassionate judgement, and passionate execution. The anger felt good.

"Why are you doing this?" One of them asked, the labored cry made hoarse and quiet against the storm. The anger did not answer with words. Such questions only encouraged the maelstrom. It devoured, yet hungered still. It longed to make the ignorant understand, and yet destroy them for them for their ignorance. Nothing could stop it. Nothing could change it. Nothing.

The angry one was formless now, an instrument of passion. Nothing could stand against the anger, not in front or behind, and its creator shared that fate. The anger grew and grew, a destruction so terrible. At once a howling gale and a quiet breath, it consumed. The angry one grew faint and weak, but the anger still hungered. Deep underneath the shouting in pain and the gnashing of teeth, deeper still beneath the muffled squirming of the crushed and the broken being further clenched, there lay the angy one, exhausted and pale. The anger still flowed, now distant and echoed, and it wrapped the angry one in the darkness of its palm. The world disappeared, leaving only the anger. And it felt good.

[Anonymous No.10273375]

>>10272979
Huh, I read it in a more accusatory tone. Thanks though.

[Anonymous No.10273400]

>>10273079
Cloths should be clothes, right? I couldn't tell if you were using "cloths" intentionally to invoke the image of draping cloth over something as opposed to clothing it in a garment. I liked the poem as you posted it; it's thick and feels difficult to fully understand what the meaning is. I'd be interested in seeing if the longer version maintains that cloudiness or gets more obvious in metaphor to evoke that "failed summer love" story.

[Anonymous No.10273492]

>>10271914
The way you rhyme "land" and "sand" is jarring. The lines have a very obvious and strongly matched meter, but the rest of the poem doesn't. I felt that this was compounded by the rhyme in the two previous lines of "you" and "blue", where the second line uses "you" again before finally rhyming with "blue". The lack of consistency in the poem makes it feel jumbled. If you don't want to have a developed rhyme scheme, you need to make sure not to accidentally establish a rhyme scheme like this. People automatically search for patterns, so it's an easy mistake to create meter where you might not have wanted it. If you actually did want the effect to be jarring, then I suggest you change the content of the poem. There's no obvious subject change where the rhyme takes place, as the poem is still referring to "it" as in the crystalline canister or perhaps the punch. The lack of a subject change makes the jarring rhyme change confusing. Think of the rhyme change as a big neon sign pointing to a phrase, and ask yourself if that's where reader should be focusing.

[Anonymous No.10273539]

>>10270623
This is really good in some places. I particularly like the lines from "In the church they are burning" to "To buy him a boat". Very evocative imagery there of God and a mass, and the last few lines make the transition to talking about death really well by conjuring up the image of a funeral. Since you have have some exclamation marks, might I suggest some other punctuation? I think you could separate concepts by throwing in a period or two, particularly in the top half. One example I thought might benefit was the line, "With his cobwebbed eyes". It seems like this line uses "His" to refer to God, and the next line changes the subject to "The one who dies". It's grammatically a little confusing, although the capitalization of "His" does mitigate that, so I feel a period would make it syntactically clearer while not really changing the meter of the poem.

[Anonymous No.10273553]

>>10273400
It is meant as a cloth indeed, as if the hour was draped in a cloth and encumbered; going by slowly with grace... Perhaps the poem is difficult given that its the 5th of 6 parts and doesnt really have context; by this point, the speaker is contemplating what went wrong with the burgeoning love. What happens here is that he is still haunted by visions of her. Then what is described is a vague feeling that the visions hold him prisonner and under duress.

[Anonymous No.10273555]

[Anonymous No.10273569]

>>10273364
I really like this. It's very well done, has a great flow.

[Anonymous No.10273618]

>>10273555
Absolute trash. You're not nearly as clever or funny as you think you are.

The dialogue reads exactly like what it is; some white suburbanite kid in his late teens who's never had any actual contact with a black person.

Another tip? Niggers don't usually use Glocks, because Glocks aren't cheap. But the think any polymer pistol is a Glock, and usually a 40, regardless of the actual size of the cartridge. What would have been better

>He retrieved his "Glock," (actually a Hi-Point he bought for $160 from a dealer) from the cup holder. "Forty solves all the problems," he said to himself smugly, racking the slide. Had he ever actually fired his weapon, he would have known that the pistol was chambered in 9mm.

It's not great but it'll show more of the ignorance you're trying and failing to display.

2/10. Apply yourself.

[Anonymous No.10273857]

How is this for the beginning of a new story? I can't seem to read it myself without thinking it's amateurish as fuck.

Which it might be, but I can't seem to figure out why.

[Anonymous No.10273887]

>>10271924
It is abrupt. Excruciatingly abrupt. Like Jacob being stabbed in the back. It does have to do with passivity, but not how you might be thinking. The gargoyle sits and watches and sends his little pebbles (intentions, manipulations, etc) into the world to be found by rats (the common person). The rat takes the pebble with him on his journeys through the sewers and out into the world if the rat is so lucky to get that far. The gargoyle doesn't expect his pebble back, and the speaker isn't sure if he'd even want it. But I'd say since the gargoyle named the pebble Jacob -- our laddered friend -- he does at some point expect to see how his pebble has been tossed around by the world below. He wonders about the pin pricks its received, how many, from who, and in which ways. But it is Jacob who really lives, soaring among the flowers.

>>10269578
the first line makes me think that the person with hair had cancer. "mantled head anew" was the person ugly before or is this just a pretentious way of saying 'nice haircut'. and I highly doubt anyone with fresh hair is going to want it compared to your Alfalfa doo. Are you trying to bring them down to your level?

The last two lines are beautiful, but they don't fit the rest of the poem. Especially how you describe and present yourself.

Realistically your use of poetic terms is disgustingly overused in a really amateur way. You use description with no sense that there's anything behind it other than "wow look at you baby you're gorgeous". This is the kind of work that many prominent poets would glance at once and chuckle because it reminds them of how they thought about things when they were 13. This is the poem of a boy who will never build up the courage to speak with the girl he's been admiring 5 lockers down. There is a sense of beauty here though. Don't toss it. Build upon it. This is the fairytale beauty of a flower petal about to fall away from its brothers and sisters onto cold ground where it will find out what actual beauty is.

[Anonymous No.10273907]

Hello i dont know what im doing but i hope u like it

[Anonymous No.10273912]

>>10273887

didn't mean to link to my own post. the second section is in response to >>10267489

[Anonymous No.10274183]

The ground of my heart and soul.
It shakes and rumbles. Tearing and splitting.
Torn springs of tears well up in me as a flood of cascading waters.
Quaking under my own realizations.
Realizing that the yearnings are not mine.
What I desire is not to be achieved by me.
I am a man yet not one at all.
He was stolen by someone I do not know.
A frightened boy In a woman’s world.
An effete and effeminate effigy of gifted fearlessness scared shitless of futures unforged.

[Anonymous No.10274237]

>>10273857
Probably because the intro sentence is weird as fuck.
I don't know what the setting is supposed to be. It's obvious it's cyberpunk, but where the fuck are they? What's in the department? Why is it currently roaring with liveliness, why is it mostly lively during the night? What the fuck is going on?
WHY DID YOU SAY PROTECTIVE BULLETPROOF. IF ITS BULLETPROOF IT'S OBVIOUSLY PROTECTIVE.
It's okay to drop your reader into an unknown setting, but you need to give us SOMETHING to hold onto.

[Anonymous No.10274238]

>>10252908
I dont agree with you anon, on the contrary I think it is you who is the faggot for thinking Gauss rifles are exclusive to steampunk

[Anonymous No.10274275]

>>10273492
It came out a little cleaner when I added an "it" before "drinks up the sand," but I see what you mean.

>There's no obvious subject change where the rhyme takes place, as the poem is still referring to "it" as in the crystalline canister or perhaps the punch.
I tried to move to space then to vortex. I evemtually came to see a big walking tornado man.

[Anonymous No.10274291]

I've got my glasses on
they're not perscription
because I want to lessen my ability to see
just kidding, do you see, what I see
do you breathe, what I breathe
probably not, but I can show you
after long conversations and fleeting but intricate eye contact
I will give you things that I don't want back
and you can look at them
toss them around
feel them with hands unacustomed
to my customs
everytime someone sneezes I bless them
and in giving I receive what they now rest in
temporarily
until the time when I have to carry to be carried
Like Jim Carry
I think he's wresteling with the idea of staying human or not
unbelievable that he has the choice
and unbelievable that he has a voice in his wanderings
which is exactly what he's doing
wandering despondant through territory unknown by most except for those selfless ghosts who boasted of their ability
to lack ability
out of all the billions of people and the trillions of evil things
there is something like a release
handcuffed by the thought police
ransacked by beliefs proposed on us daily by the not so stable people of neurotic fantasy
so if they're the many, in these united great states great of america
isn't that a fallacy
if the minority is the majority in thought and the majority is thoughtless in all
wouldn't that mean that people are snowballing and small flakes occasionally fall off
and look around in the seconds before they melt
into the ground
surrounded by king tut, einstein, and the teacher from charlie brown
god damn what a sound of silence
like pilots sucking eachother off during turbulance

[Anonymous No.10274309]

>>10274237
Ah yes, thanks.
Needed that perspective.
I'm a bit retarded I see now.

I gotta work on world building. Thanks d00d

[Anonymous No.10274324]

>>10252601
something I started yesterday and tried to continue today. ended up fluffing it and left to do my english homework.

[Anonymous No.10274504]

>>10273200
>backpedaling
you're trash

[Anonymous No.10274508]

>>10274291

https://soundcloud.com/dirk-slice/felatio

[Anonymous No.10274543]

>>10274504
>backpedaling
Go find the word "is" in my post; I used the word need. Learn to read before telling others how to write.

[Anonymous No.10274561]

>>10274504

projecting your stinky quality is a surefire way to find yourself in the company of raccoons

[Anonymous No.10274617]

>>10270623
Last five lines sound cool. I like that it was a throwback to the second image with the church candles.

Curtained beneath the black sleeves of never-light
Buttoned eyes fixated on white heavens above
Praying to fly as would a dove in the night
A field mouse sat in silent wonderment.

Perched on a tree branch, but miles away
Watching till day, when the moon sank
The mouse shrank and scurried
Off to his hovel in the woods.

He tasted a dream of stardust kisses that morning.

[Anonymous No.10274655]

>>10274617

it's nice. but nothing more.

do you plan on staying the mouse forever? try generating descriptions of the dove. You might get a sense of what it's like.

[Anonymous No.10274691]

>>10252601

I hit the slope before hitting the slope. The sensation of mostly pure cocaine lodged in my right nostril (my favorite nostril) was enough to brace me for the task ahead. I threw open the door of the resort, and was immediately bombarded by a breath of wind blowing from the north. My nerves kicked in, and I began to quiver in the snowboard boots I got for Christmas some years back. Am I ready to do this? No, I was never ready for anything I did; I just did it and hoped God would keep me in His hand.

""Mighty fine to think about God after doing a bump of coke.""

But is there any other way to think of the Divine? I am always the furthest away from God when I am sober. Without stimulants, I cannot experience joy or hope or anything good. I had run out of my sativa strain the night before, and I wouldn’t be able to make it to the dispensary in town until after my parents leave to go back to Tucson. My parents are the most understanding people I know, but at the end of the day, they are Reagan-Era, D.A.R.E. types. Just snorting the coke (no matter how paltry the line) filled me with overwhelming guilt. I can still see the concern and outrage in my mother’s jade eyes every single time she’d ask me, “But that’s all behind you now, right?”

""Yes and no.""

My mother’s eyes haunt me everywhere I go.

My parents would never understand why I need to be on amphetamines or weed or—in some dire straits when the first two weren’t available—cocaine. They weren’t born with that deficit that keeps a gal like me in the never-ending valley of depression. My nights do not naturally give rise to day. I must bring the sunlight to my life by any means possible, even if the source of my joy is illegal. Every day, I lay prostrate before the Altar of Vyvanse and cry, “Mea culpa! Mea culpa!”

If I had Vyvanse, why did I do cocaine that morning before snowboarding? Because I was stupid. Because I had decided that I would do my last line forever that day. I would never touch coke again, and I haven’t touched it to this day. I wanted to do it one last time, and I wanted that last time to count. It’s crazy, I know. I’m an absolute madwoman, and I’ve never tried to say otherwise. Lock me away. I’m the ultimate degenerate, but I will always tell you the truth, and I like to think that counts for something.

[Anonymous No.10274699]

>>10274655
Glad to hear it sounds nice. I didn't really intend for any gross revelation or hidden layer of meaning, just wanted something simple.

I never consciously thought of myself as the mouse when I wrote it, but I can see it now that you mention it. I think I'll try making an extended version with the dove, like a dream sequence or something. Thank you :- )

[Anonymous No.10274714]

>>10274699

I'd like to see a response from the dove. Something like it being aware of the mouses admiration, but etc and so on. Just a thought.
It was very enjoyable. :)

[Anonymous No.10274789]

>>10274691
You write well but your story itself is stupid. go be hunter S tompson somewhere else.

[Anonymous No.10274797]

>>10274691

my favorite nostril hahahahaha
into
But is there any other way to think of the Divine.

my boy u confused

[Anonymous No.10274918]

A gust of air, that is the queue:
a dance of sand, a change of hue.
Seeds sown in sand, exposed by wind.
The seed supply has ever thinned.

A seed will grow: remain below.
Just wait until the wind will go.
Seeds sown in sand, hide from the wind.
The seed supply will still be thinned.

Perhaps you think there's meaning here.
Maybe you think it's quite unclear.
Sowed seeds in sand, that is the clue!
It only means: Arab IQ.

Yeah I didn't really know where I was going with this

[Anonymous No.10275190]

>>10268952
relatable, may read on if you can keep on mocking him and I at once at such a high level

[Anonymous No.10275240]

>>10269592
too awkward
>>10270118
meh
>>10272546
crit crit: the poem is bad but not for the reasons you offer; the free rice is good and the meal would be nothing without it.

>>10272979
blow ya nose ya.....posh..
no jk jk

>>10273152
>dejanted
tf did he mean by this.closest I can find is french crazy.
anyway crit crit: this is good

>>10273364
gay

>>10274291
brap-posting costeth more than this

>>10274324
0

[Anonymous No.10275290]

>>10275240
Excellent critiques, such well thought out points and articulated criticism.

McFucking kill yourself.

[Anonymous No.10276511]

I hate my own writing and I can't build worlds and characters the way I want to.

What do? Reading good books just makes me sad, because I feel like I lack the same creativity.

Is it just practice?

[Anonymous No.10276516]

>>10276511
I find that reading non-fiction helps my creativity without influencing my style, or plot, or anything. What interests you? Obviously, if you like history, then you need to read about an event if you want to write historical fiction. I'm finding I want to make more mimetic literature since studying philosophy. I know people like Atwood already do stuff with metafiction, but I don't read her because (1) she's shit and (2) I don't want to be influenced by someone else.

[Anonymous No.10276561]

I'm not so sure about this sentence, help me out crit:

>As he hiked [up a hill], he saw kids riding down the empty road on their bicycles, the spokes on their back wheels continually clipping playing cards that had been fixed to the frames of the bikes, making a loud motorcycle-like sound as they buzzed past

I feel like it's clear whats happening, but the description sounds awkward and forced. Should I mention the sound first and have the character identify the mechanism afterward?

[Anonymous No.10276574]

>>10276511
Forget about "creativity"; the only thing you can really invent are solutions. Identify a problem (namely "how do I communicate XYZ?") and solve it instead of thinking of creativity as some kind of asspull. In some regards it's actually easier to make "deep and meaningful" narratives than completely arbitrary ones.

[Anonymous No.10276575]

>>10276574
>thing
things*

[Anonymous No.10276884]

Pre-cyberpunk story writer here, you guys helped me out a lot and I'm trying to write something a bit more noir, a classic detective tale. I'm still working out the story.

Just want to know if the beginning is engaging enough. Writing pretty intoxicatedly atm so I can't judge.

[Anonymous No.10276889]

>>10276516
You can't not be influenced by someone else. One's literary voice is invariably and inevitably painted on by whatever one's eyes wade through. Keeping yourself insulated from a certain type of literature, including fiction, is a great way to instill a kind of Comtean stagnancy into your creativity. Think of a single writer, great or mediocre, who produced fiction without reading fiction.
Atwood is far from shit, but you wouldn't know that without reading her and risking being influenced by her.

[Anonymous No.10276895]

>>10276561 (Me)
Attempt 2:

The hill was steep. As Travis hiked, he saw kids on bicycles starting to come around the corner. The shimmering spokes of their rear wheels each flicked a playing card they’d fixed to their frame around as they spun, producing a loud motorcycle-like noise as Travis watched the children fly past him, down the hill. He thought it was smart, but also disappointing in a way; it was an imitation. He turned back and saw one final boy on a bike struggling around the bend. The boy carried a large flag and repeatedly declared himself the group’s “gang leader," but the banner proved too heavy for the child, causing him to wobble and flip right over his handlebars, splatting straight onto the road ahead of him. However, the boy was not discouraged. Without hesitation, he climbed right back on his bike, hastily chasing after the children he’d claimed to be leading.

Does this read smoothly? Good imagery?

[Anonymous No.10276900]

Am I allowed to post snippets from a screenplay here?

[Anonymous No.10276914]

>>10276900
I'm pretty aure you're allowed to post anything that isn't child porn here.

[Anonymous No.10277054]

>>10270423
Loved it. I like how you subtly explained character's background.

>>10254419
NIce execution. SO what kind of story are you planning?

>>10252606
Interesting read if rather funny to be honest. Although there are a few typos.

Here's mine
https://pastebin.com/QP6Pgzbw

[Anonymous No.10277064]

>>10276895
In hindsight I should get rod of the "as they spun," since I previously used that pronoun to describe the children and not the spinning spokes.

[Anonymous No.10277115]

>>10252601

holidays

There was a time
when stars lit up our living room
and wreaths hung center on the doors and walls
and you could feel a magic of sorts in the air
and all was well in the world

But the stars don't shine there anymore
and the wreaths sit in boxes
covered in dust
and the magic has all went away

they told us as children
that youth would be missed
but I yearn not for that young age
but for the hue of those stars in our living room
the wreaths on the doors and walls
the magic, spread equally amongst us
as we sit there together
like that.

[Anonymous No.10277137]

The harrowing sound of hastened footsteps stomping down on cement permeated the barren neighborhood. A young man barely in his twenties was being pursued by an unforeseen, discernable entity that twisted and warped the space it wisped through. His sunken green eyes darted frantically at the foreboding blackness facing him: searching hopelessly for a path to lead him out into the late-night streets and away from the malignant force.

With a hasty breath, the young man made a sharp turn to his right only to trip over a raised crack of concrete. Horror swelled in his heavy heart as he felt himself fall head-first into the cold pavement. A sickening crash reverberated from the impact of the pitiful man’s forehead to the solid ground.

Is the flow good or is that paragraph jump unneeded?

[Anonymous No.10277206]

>>10277137
Seems like it'd flow better as one paragraph considering it's a brief chase scene.

[Anonymous No.10277246]

Sorry for the double post, I need some feedback on my level of detail. Is it intriguing enough? To me it reads like another fanfiction someone, with a noir boner, wrote in his spare time.

Amateurish. Looking for some feedback, I was thinking of ending a single case in the first chapter, before the main story starts.

[Anonymous No.10277360]

>>10277115

https://soundgasm.net/u/s1rpanda/holidays

[Anonymous No.10277503]

>>10277360
Neat

[Anonymous No.10277511]

>>10275240
but i deliberately try to write awkwardly

[Anonymous No.10277628]

>>10277511

doesn't mean it's not too awkward

[Anonymous No.10278047]

Dear Thomas,
afraid I
am going to have to re-schedule. My old ’66 Deville is
This is quite embarrassing, but I was supposed to
escort you to the afterlife today at three, but I’m
finally beginning to show its age and will be in the shop
until tomorrow evening. So let’s just try again tomorrow
at eight, yes?
Looking forward to your Business,
Death


The email came in at 6 AM. Goddammit. Of course a Grim Reaper drives a Deville. And an old one at that. What i don’t get is how he has the power to take life, and transport souls between this life and the next, but cant get a car that’s at least semi reliable. I’m just ready for this to be done and over with. The migraines have gotten so bad, the medicine won’t even put a dent in them anymore. After the doctor told me about the tumor, i was upset, as any normal person would be. I did all of the normal things someone does after finding out they have a certain amount of time to live. I tried the whole bucket list thing, and i did some of it. It’s not like the movies though. you can max out a credit card pretty just accomplishing the smaller items on the list, before you even get to the big stuff, like seeing the Eiffel Tower, walking the Great Wall. I took flying lessons, did some skydiving, surfed Venice beach, but that was it. That was before the headaches got bad. I visited with family. That really sucked. everybody wants to be around you all the time and treat you like a retarded baby when you’re going to die soon. And it eventually occurred to me that there was a pattern. They come over, cry, and if they don’t hang all over you for the whole visit, then they sit right next to you and look as deep into your eyes as possible hanging onto every word you say like you’re going to reveal some deep revelation to them. then they either bring something to eat and leave it, or they clean your house. After that, they leave, and that’s it. After a while i realized this wasn’t for me. it was for them. They did it to save their own conscience. so they can walk away and feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside, and they can forget all the other shitty things they’ve done, even if its just for a little bit. again, this was before my headaches got bad. Once they became a pretty much daily occurrence, the bucket list was dead. I was okay with it though. The only reason i did it was because everyone else kept telling me to do it anyway. Cool. I can fly a plane. Boy that sure makes the fact that i will cease to exist in two months seem just dandy. The visits stopped soon after that too. people want to seem like they’re caring and kind, but not if it makes them too uncomfortable. I didn’t care. I just wanted to wallow in my own self pity. That was until i got the call from them.

[Anonymous No.10278058]

>>10278047
Reaping is actually a large industry it turns out. When the Reaper’s office called, they told me what was going to happen, and that everything would be handled for me, and i just needed to get my affairs in order. they seemed very warm, comforting even. They explained that on the date he had set, my Reaper would cause the tumor to grow just large enough that it would push on a vein and stop the blood flow to part of my brain, basically suffocating it. The man on the phone explained that it’s actually a completely painless procedure that i would simply go unconscious, and then that would be it. within a couple minutes of being unconscious, i would be dead and i would be taken to the afterlife to await judgement. He told me that according to my records i should do just fine in that department. After that, the migraines didn’t bother me as much. i didn’t pity myself anymore. the end was near, and i was ready. What i wasn’t ready for was an omnipotent being having fucking car troubles. well it figures life is going to give me one last huge middle finger on my way out. i couldn’t help but chuckle. The thing that sucks is trying to figure out what to do instead of you know, being dead. When i saw there was a James Bond marathon on, i figured, screw it. Nothing else to do anyway. i ended up falling asleep in my chair, and waking up to knocking on my door. when i answered i was surprised to see a pretty middle aged woman in a light blue suit. “Can I help you?” I asked. “I’m looking for a…” she glanced down at the clipboard she was holding. “Thomas Cardon?” I confirmed it was me, and she confirmed my birthday and my parents names to make sure she had found the right Thomas Cardon.

[Anonymous No.10278063]

>>10278058
I had realized at this point that this was the Grim Reaper, but i was very confused at the appearance. She must have recognized this, because she said most people were surprised when a Reaper shows up. she said the cloaks and scythes were so medieval, the company changed its image in the 60’s to be more comforting to their clients. “Too bad they refuse to modernize some other aspects of the business”, she said looking back at her Old Cadillac with disdain. She sighed and got back to business. “Okay, are you ready to start the procedure?” “Yes, Let’s do it before i start getting a headache please.” She laughed. “Alright then, Just have a seat anywhere you like and get comfortable.” I had a seat in my recliner, leaned back, and closed my eyes. “How long does it take before i’m unconscious?” She smiled and said, “Mr. Cardon, It’s already done.” I sat up to argue, but when i opened my eyes I was in the Cadillac. The Reaper was at he wheel smoking a cigarette. She held the pack out, offering one to me. “Thanks”, i mumbled, still in shock. We rode in silence for a while until the Reaper pulled the old car up next to a very old elegant looking hotel and smiled. “This is where you’ll be staying until your judgement has been decided. Enjoy your eternity, thank you for your business with us and congratulations.” The Deville’s door swung open, and i stepped out to face eternity with a smile.

>>10278058

[Anonymous No.10278134]

At some point you need to give up. That's a fact that very few people in life have come to accept. Most, in all honesty, won't. It's a difficult thought, a painful one even, and it digs into you. A wise author once said 'So it goes...'; and well, so it goes. Things end and things begin and while some things seem eternal, they never are. All things fade, and this too must end.
In the year 2011 I had taken this mindset overwhelmling to heart. The entirety of my life was given up, I had isolated myself and become a shadow of my younger self. I came up with these falsehoods, such as the growth of self and the acceptance of solitude, as some sort of compensation for my suicide of soul; That is to say, I felt nothing. Everything inside me was cold and non-existant. I felt no joy, no lust, no anger. The only emotion that would call to me was emptiness, and in some moments lonliness.
It started when I was young, as most personality quirks and decimations do. The simple act of moving had brought it on. Honestly, it's difficult to put all of the blame on such simplicty; the rabbit hole, as always, was much deeper as it seemed, and the sheltered life I once lived in did nothing but break down any sort of stoicism I had the chance to build when I was young; I shook that initial naivety, but what I havent shaken is my hopless romantacism.
I suppose I'm like my father in than fashion. He was always a romantic too, always looking for more and seeing love as some mystical thing that would save him from himself. I, on the otherhand, am the more tragic sort of romantic. I love melancholy as much as I love love. I love depression, I love the rain, and I love every woman who's ever smiled at me. The only thing I think I'll ever be able to do is hurt and be hurt.
But hey; 'so it goes', and other such nonsense.

[Anonymous No.10278186]

>>10276895 (Me)
Attempt 3, no promiscuous pronouns edition:

...Travis turned back around and walked up into the city.

The hill was steep. As Travis hiked, he saw kids on bicycles starting to come around the corner. The shimmering spokes of their spinning rear wheels flicked the playing cards that had been fixed to their frame, producing a loud motorcycle-like noise as they flew past Travis and down the hill. He thought it was smart, but also disappointing in a way; it was an imitation. He turned back and saw one final boy on a bike struggling to get around the bend. The boy carried a large flag while repeatedly declaring himself the group’s “gang leader," but the banner proved too heavy for the child, causing him to wobble and flip right over his handlebars, splatting straight onto the road ahead of him. However, the boy was not discouraged; without hesitation, he climbed right back on his bike, hastily chasing after the children he’d claimed to be leading.

The walk sign dinged on. ...

So, does this read smoothly? Good imagery?

[Anonymous No.10278239]

>>10278134
>Wise author
I hope you don't actually believe this. Though if you're setting out to pander, it's fine
>First person
Do third person and project your oblique worries and insecurities on some poor sod and if worse comes to worst you can pass it off as a character study. Unless you're a famous writer already people won't want to read your personal problems unless they're exaggerated to the extreme a la Celine.
>Love love love
Reeks of contemporary sentimental realism which may be good in parts but is very unpleasant to read an entire book of

And I suppose you want something constructive too; don't spend too much time soliloquizing at the beginning as it's a drag to read. Have an interesting anecdote or two, or start with something mildly interesting and/or outrageous and backtrack. Though if this is a diary entry, make it sound less formal so you don't beat yourself when you read it over again

[Anonymous No.10278340]

>>10278239
I thought he was rather wise. Timequake was pretty introspective in my mind, and while alone didn't do much for me, combined with other books I read at the time really opened me up. Say what you will, but that's my take I suppose.
As far as the writing, it was a one off. I just wrote it because I felt like it at the time and wanted to release some frustration(Hell, the entire thing ends in nonsensical contradiction). It wasn't meant to be anything serious and it wasn't edited. I did use it as a means to try and practice my writing though.
I appreciate the time. Any opinion as far as the style is concerned?

[Anonymous No.10278352]

>>10278340
Or rather writing style. I've been trying to work on the flow and wording. I think repetition can add a lot to a piece of writing, but I also feel I tend to go a bit overboard in places.

[Anonymous No.10278374]

>>10261462
Any poets here that can give me anything?

Really need some insight. Did a fair share of critiques

[Anonymous No.10278807]

An excerpt from a short story I have yet to finish.

The grass is still damp and malleable beneath my old rubber boots. Last night, a minuscule rainstorm passed through the region, wetting everything in sight for a good eight hours or so. Mushrooms grow best where the soil is damp, so I have decided to go mushroom hunting today because the timing is absolutely perfect. I’m only interested in picking edible mushrooms today, not the psychedelic psilocybins. My therapist in Kingston told me that I am too emotionally unstable to use hallucinogens, so I don’t ingest them anymore.

The sun has been up for approximately two hours now, and the only sounds I hear are the twittering of birds and the faint roar of cars on the interstate off in the distance. No one is here to distract me or make me feel uncomfortable. I am free to go about my business as I please this morning, which is an uncommon occurrence for me. So often, I feel incapable of doing what I wish to do because the outside world overwhelms me, and it makes me want to retract into the fetal position and cry until my tear ducts become unbearably sore and tender.

I close my eyes and picture what kind of mushroom I want to collect today, because I only like to collect the same mushroom when I go out on little hunts. I think that the Lion’s Mane, or the Hericium erinaceous, will do since it is one of my all-time favorite fungi, and it is easy to identify. Instead of having a stalk and a cap like the typical mushroom, the Lion’s mane looks like a clump of white strands that hang from the surface of beech trees. They are very useful fungi; they have nootropic properties that aid mental health and cognition.

I don’t get very far into the woods when I hear the penetrating sound of a siren. The sound is so abrasive and abrupt that I have to cover my ears for a few moments, hoping that it goes away. Strangely enough, it doesn’t go away as usual. Every day, the siren goes off at about noon to test the emergency systems on the mountain in case of an accident. But as I hinted at earlier, this is early morning, not noon. My first thought is that someone had a fatal accident on the road. This happens occasionally, and always upsets the atmosphere of our little secluded town for a few weeks.

[Anonymous No.10278942]

>>10278374
Seeing all those by's got a little repetitive (for me at least). If you do decide to change that you could say "In life we live, in death we part". I like the punctuation alteration. Also I don't know what fyce means in the 6th line, googled it and it gave me "a small dog".

[Anonymous No.10279135]

>>10275290
Can you blame me if I was fallin asleep readin this crap? I read to be energized, not enervated. Don't blame me if I'm lulled into a comatotic langour by an unending procession of perfectly round grey pebbles...

[Anonymous No.10279139]

On a star bathed shadowed street I walked
While nightly interlopers talked
Two drinks deep and the third ordered
With the margins darkly bordered
Between cafes I strolled and gawked

And caught a cut of language foreign
From within one lighted orange
Kicked up dust while they conversed
Their moves familiar; rehearsed
I gave a copper to the doorman

On a wrought iron bench I sat
With eyes bright and hands in lap
And watched the streetcars whisking faces
Rushing to important places
While others drank up their nightcap

I watched the drinks poured over ice
The Thursday singer, bland but nice
I feel the buzzing of the street
I thought I saw someone to meet
Yet she was gone before I looked twice.

[Anonymous No.10279144]

>>10276561
Imagine you had to verbally explain it to a friend. That'll streamline everything for you.

[Anonymous No.10279146]

>>10276884
haha, I like how it's almost campy. Not roasting it, it's done in a very fine form but Pierce? C'mon.. and wedge? sounds like a wedgie. but yeah I am kind of interested about what's in that envelope, MAYBE (also you have an extra comma in there)

[Anonymous No.10279151]

>>10277115
>has all went away

you mean "gone". I don't really "get" poetry so I can't say anything more than that

[Anonymous No.10279163]

COUNSEL:

How dejection will cover you.

in the end, you'll see that you've been chasing sand.
there is no riverbed that you can stand on that won't slip away and lose you.
Love, don't love, real woman, or another.
All roads forget and lead to nothing.
Under heaven, no man has come to understanding.

I have tasted a star --
turning in the endless night --
It was sweet and bitter.
Pain fed itself on pleasure's sour candy;
& candy on the bitter vinegar of pain.

I have come back to that taste,
--dog to his sick--
time, and time again.

Bitter cannot tell.
What can I say of bitter?
For bitter cannot tell.

Love cannot tell.
What can I say of love?
Love cannot tell.

Not a s(h)ingle of this world will share its secrets.
Overturn them all; they will all be mute together.

They are not diffident or cold:
They’d answer if they could.
They can’t--
Love cannot tell.

[Anonymous No.10279207]

>>10252601
>>10252601


New thread
>>10279204
>>10279204

[Anonymous No.10279214]

>>10252606
fun, but expositional. Having complex and seemingly calculated dialogue doesnt mesh well with such a casual tone

>>10252700
gross, sorry. The descriptions feel like they are for show, and lack actual substance. How can a crunching sound be a songlike, sorrowful requiem? I could imagine a drum beat, but its a stretch

>>10252834
meter is everywhere, sorry. I cant take this enjambed shit seriously. Short punchy lines are used for emphasis when breaking out of rhythm- you can't use them in almost every line or it loses its effect.

>>10253005
pretty good, it could be a song

>>10253165
dialogue feels forced, sorry. no one says assgrease and horse-cum man. The stuff in between the dialogue is no better. "bubbling black stump where his arm formerly reposed, the frothy sable substance not besmirching his dark attire in the least though it dripped betwixt the valleys of his fingers." is almost meaningless in its gross denseness. Did you have the thesaurus site open when you wrote this?

>>10253322
first couple of sentences are alright. "encapsulated" destroys that flow terribly, then it gets worse with "persistently irked" and "invasive iridescence". Long words can be much worse than short words

>>10253355
like many of the others, words are big in the wrong places. Funny though

>>10254215
actually better than most of the stuff here. Nice job. I like the way you move through all the different events, descriptiveness enough to be expressive, and concise enough to stay sharp and convey franticness. seems like it would be very good to fap to