/lit/ - Literature

[Anonymous No.11069125]

Another critique thread.

[Anonymous No.11069133]

Safety belts and sickness bags, jet lag, downer pills
Duty free booze and fags make me feel ill
A vapor trail from A to B, away from normal sanity
It all seems so absurd to me

[Anonymous No.11069166]

I am a man chained in the blindness of passion, in darkness of my insides, pushed into time to live in nausea. They gave me, for my path, happiness and pain (more pain, less happiness) and two eyes to see the suffering and two ears to hear the weeping of the most pain-enduring creature which made up both crying and laughter. And mouth, they gave me to chew the bitter meal. And a tongue to say: oh God! They gave me hands to build and tear down, to hug and kill! And legs to run when I'm the hunted, and to be the hunter myself. I have a heart to endure harder than all animals. I have reason to be able to hope for the tomorrow-day which might bring some joy. And when there will be no joy, I will still hope and with lies fill my thoughts so dream could fall onto my eyes. And I will dream that I am ALIVE FOREVER. But then Polyphemus-cyclops one-eyed will wake, and thrust a huge stone on the cave of my sleep and there will be no escape. I will be taken by something terrible, monstrous, and I will wake up in the hands of the man-eater.

[Anonymous No.11069615]

Grandpa was getting old
He would forget how to dance
Or how to tie his shoes
It was nothing serious, we thought
Just another Grandpa thing to do

Then one day, we found him
Gazing at an old photograph
That we’d put up in the hall
“Who are they?” he wondered aloud
Staring at a picture of us on the wall

[Anonymous No.11069917]

>>11069125
Ville engloutie, océan de nuit ; ils nagent dans ces couleurs nébuleuses, à la fin de leur occupation quotidienne, au clair de l'inhabituelle lune.
Ils sont presque invisibles, liquéfiés, le jour évapore ces gens ; qu'ils coulent chez-eux ou dans les activités nocturnes, ils se verseront forcément dans les nuages du sommeil ; et vice-versa, la pluie du temps sur la ville.

[Anonymous No.11070024]

I was a man in his prime,
But less and less over time,
Happy laughs and friendly quips,
Have faded as I've wet my lips,
The booze, my God it has become,
And I have just become undone,
What happened to my long time friends?,
Driven away over blurred weekends,
My family have up and left,
Sure I've no time to feel bereft,
Because last call's coming, it got here fast,
My joy now resides in empty glass,
I've grown old and ill with skin so pale,
I cure myself with beer and ale,
Memories now I cannot get,
And life has become only regret,
But drink away, hurray hurray!
And stagger through another day,
Cant afford to go on the dry,
Without my drink I'll surely die,
Im all alone, out on the street,
But satisfied with nectar sweet,
All my sons have moved afar,
Away from old Dads favourite bar,
I cannot quite recall their names,
But fine young men they became,
I think of them from time to time,
In between my brown bagged wine,
And oh my love, or so i heard,
She fell quite ill, she was interred,
I never made it to say goodbye,
But i spoke her name, held my glass up high,
Sure sorrow lurks for every man,
But listen now and raise a can,
I was a man in my prime,
But the doctor says I'm out of time,
I didn't heed her words at all,
So cheers to you boys, its my last call.

[Anonymous No.11070109]

>>11069917
Love it
My grasp of the French language is tenuous at best after not using it regularly for at least four years now

[Anonymous No.11070127]

It had been that way for a long time, a while at least… Ever since that last batch of lads had been sent off… In any case, it was time to work again, wasn’t it. Pull up the old sleeves and really put our backs into it. The whole thing, from top to bottom, done properly this time. Times change, then. We can make them change. We’ll have to believe that to keep going. Only way is forward, isn’t it. We’ve been here so long, Nathanial… longer than the rest by a wide margin. People look at our family when this sort of thing happens. Shoulders back now. Pick up that shovel. Your brother wouldn’t want to see you moping around like this. This arid tundra still has some good to give us, you’ll see. Railroads almost all the way to Medicine Hat. Damn you, stop that nonsense now.

[Anonymous No.11070240]

>>11069133
The rest of the album is comprised of originals, including a pair of instrumentals -- the Northern soul-esque "Sock It to 'Em JB" and the Mexican-flavored "Holiday Fortnight" -- as well as a duo of minimally vocalized pieces, the intriguing "International Jet Set," and the overtly apocalyptic "Man at C&A." But fans had already been primed for the band's changing musical directions by the release the month before of "Stereotypes," its spaghetti western aura filled with the group's more mournful mood. It's an emotional despair taken to even greater heights on "Do Nothing," as the group futilely searches for a future, but musically stumbles upon a cheery, easygoing rhythm more appropriate to the pop styles of the English Beat than the angrier sounds the Specials had made their own. But to prove it's no fluke, there's the equally bright and breezy "Hey, Little Rich Girl," boasting fabulous sax solos from Madness' Lee Thompson. However, it's an immortal line from "Pearl's Cafe" that Terry Hall and the guesting Bodysnatchers' Rhoda Dakar deliver up in duet that best sums up their own, and the country's pure frustration: "It's all a load of bollocks, and bollocks to it all." It was an intensely satisfying set in its day, even if it wasn't as centered as their debut. The group seems to be moving simultaneously in too many directions, while the lyrics, too, are not quite as hard-hitting as earlier efforts.

[Anonymous No.11070248]

>>11070109
Thanks senpai!
I'd like to describe the picture in English (I love the language) but it's too bad to express what's on my mind.

[Anonymous No.11070263]

>>11070248
Senpai*
>inb4 normie phoneposting auto-correct

[Anonymous No.11070272]

Tfw assole in last thread who said everything here is shit has me afraid to share

[Anonymous No.11070361]

>>11070272
the last thread that still has 100 posts to go before dropping out?

[Anonymous No.11070382]

The man who strode among the reluctant subjects of these photographs, pausing to gulp from the glass still in his hand or to consult the sheaf of scribbled notes poking from his jacket, had confided to me that he cared nothing for the so-called art of photography. He was prepared to argue, against those who made pretentious claims for the output from cameras, that the apparent similarities in structure between their ingenious toys and the human eye had led them to an absurd error. They supposed that their tinted papers showed something of what a man saw apart from himself--something they called the visible world. But they had never considered where that world must lie. They fondled their scraps of paper and admired the stains and blotches seemingly fixed there. But did they know that all the while the great tide of daylight was ebbing away from all they looked at and pouring through the holes in their faces into a profound darkness? If the visible world was anywhere, it was somewhere in that darkness--an island lapped by the boundless ocean of the invisible.

[Anonymous No.11070402]

>>11070382
Is that how you got your promotion? Stalking me? Where you one of a dozen given special access to my personal phone and now you get paid almost exclusively to stalk me you creep?

[Anonymous No.11070414]

Did you paint that OP? It's very good. You should try and sell it I bet it'd make money

[Anonymous No.11070432]

>>11070382
The great imaginative leap is to reverse the comfortable order of the idea of culture being "over there" and to see instead the interior as a richly storied other world.

The people who dwell out on the plains are not cringing hicks. They're experimentalists. They're cutting edge. They're everything we coast dwellers are not.

[Anonymous No.11070440]

So found heth, he hasth holieth desire in thee, fire.
So holieth, sounds of hith, in thy slumbering choir.
So foundeth, of thy treasen, of fallen have transpire.

Boi, so fire, made God built zoth, hubris
So fullest,thy high desire, he is thy foolyish

[Anonymous No.11070640]

https://pastebin.com/UWyR7Gzs

I don't quite know what this is, an article maybe? I just wrote it on a whim.

[Anonymous No.11070799]

Three dumpster fire crit threads in a row. Bravo.

[Anonymous No.11070808]

>>11070799
what do you mean?

[Anonymous No.11070821]

>>11070808
Probably referring to the fact that there isn't any criticism going on.

It is very difficult to offer criticism on only a couple of sentences or a tiny esoteric poem frankly, I'd like to see more pastebins.

[Anonymous No.11070957]

>>11070808
>>11069133
Is pop music lyrics.
>>11070382
Is an Australian novel trolling for straya jollies and>>11070127
Is americana. You are looking at a lake Michigan troll circle.

[Anonymous No.11071324]

and >>11070821 is the troll desperately trying to string it out.

[Anonymous No.11071342]

Some anons said they wanted more pastebins.

https://pastebin.com/A5v2AXb0

I kind of want to expand on this setting a little more, but I'm still ironing out the details. This is just one viewpoint I did.

Please be gentle. I've only ever lurked these threads.

>Pic related if you won't fuck with Pastebin

[Anonymous No.11071357]

>>11070957
Thanks for the (you) but the story is set in Canada, not the United States.

[Anonymous No.11071401]

Girls in their winter clothes
A tree’s falling leaves
Shade from the sunshine
A cold windy breeze
The moon’s somber face
A shadow’s dim light
The things that I love in life
Just don’t shine bright

A song whispered sullenly
The sun’s gentle flare
Soft snowy fields of white
And long flowing hair
A night’s somber, nipping breeze
A distant church bell
My mind slowly crumbling
My life locked in cell

For all the thoughts that I’ve fought
And all I might as well
For all the care that disapates
And passion that’s been quelled
No more time to stand around
No more time to grieve
For girls in their winter clothes
And trees’ falling leaves

[Anonymous No.11071414]

>>11071401
>poem, not auden or larkin or someone wh’s actually good
>stopped reading

[Anonymous No.11071426]

>>11071342
That's a cool concept, my only real input I can think of is that I'm not really captivated by the gravekeeper's angst at all, I am a lot more interested in on the possible content of the conversations of the dead than the gravekeeper's despair.

[Anonymous No.11071722]

>>11069917
why does one leave spaces between some punctuation in French?

[Anonymous No.11071796]

https://pastebin.com/YBgQYdCQ
>>11071401
Take out the their
>Girls in winter clothes
>My mind slowly crumbles
>For girls in winter clothes
It's reasonable, maybe too contrived

>>11071342
There must be something so tempting about this form of writing cause I see it a lot in these threads. This exposition of long winded tantalizing drippings. Pure characterization peppered with slight world building, like some fan fic shit. It's all just so unnatural, not to my taste. You also share a problem I have: repeating sentence structure.
Also fuck you for "please be gentle." Like do you not want critique? I get that you don't want people to just say "It's shit" but still.

>>11070640
What the fuck do you want me to do with this? Stop trying to distill the political world into your overwritten absolutist shit.

[Anonymous No.11071851]

>>11071796
>https://pastebin.com/YBgQYdCQ

What the fuck is this about? I've read it twice and I can't tell if it's supposed to be making fun of verbose writers or what. Stop using so much fucking alliteration. If I had a dollar for every comma in this mess, I would be able to retire and still have money left over to buy you an education.

[Anonymous No.11071883]

https://pastebin.com/Z9Eu9C5H

Something I've been working on recently. Title is shit and it's not very subtle, but I'd like to get some thoughts on it

[Anonymous No.11071891]

Indifferent shelves, gatherings of turned
pages, and letters sowed full of queer thoughts
stood dumb behind him, lingering unfelt.
They perceived his departure from the cold
seafoam sofa, out towards the mused girl
whose fingers set the yellow coffee cup
beside the sesame seed bagel slice,
and flickered through an old Junji Ito.

[Anonymous No.11071911]

Approaching A Girl At A Library

Indifferent shelves, gatherings of turned
pages, and letters sowed full of queer thoughts
stood dumb behind him, lingering unfelt.
They perceived his departure from the cold
seafoam sofa, out towards the mused girl
whose fingers set the yellow coffee cup
beside the sesame seed bagel slice,
and flickered through an old Junji Ito.

[Anonymous No.11071940]

>>11071883
the bird and the bee's covers of hall & oates are actually great

[Anonymous No.11072065]

We're the blemish in the mirror,
burning the retinal screens,
daytime matinee: har-dee-har-har,
the murder cackles spewing phlegm
at the rom-com turned slasher,
the greatest in dying memory.
They said, in the writer's room,
that the plot proved logically sound, internally,
like Dolby remixing Motown hits on the fly,
but that a real-world background'd be unfeasible,
all fealty sworn to suspended disbelief.
Ok, I said, lost in the thrush of smudges,
but does the closed-system open up
to itself, or to a froward funhouse reflection
that the carnie's quietly acknowledge as Oz,
the sheriff 'round these parts, partly,
the property manager of the national park
known as Corpus Mundi, the sizzling self,
a contemptible smile of a disguise.

Harrumph—! As we go.

[Anonymous No.11072244]

>>11071851
What are you even saying to me. Commas and alliteration? Worthless

[Anonymous No.11072310]

>>11070272
No reason to be anxious; if everyone bad mouth your work just use mental gymnastics and your developing avoidant personality desorder to psych yourself into believing its just another anon getting shit on and laugh along with us.

[Anonymous No.11072385]

>>11069125
Why is the most sorrowful song,
the one written in strife?
Alas, keep on fighting more
though your spirit seeks to shrive
and keep on fighting for
the passions that you strive
your heart will push you onwards
until your destined time.
and fight on ever more
just for the taste of breath
Anticipation.

The branching path unwinding,
While the canvas, bland and binding,
A cruel white beckons refining,
The tracing of an angelic line.
Anticipation.
Perplexing, and infuriating,
Anticipation.
And before I can draw
breath again,
Anticipation.

Now, with strings of a dozen guitars,
I'll braid together a steel-bound rope,
to strangle this cruel, undying hope,
out of my heart,
just for the taste of breath;
Anticipation.

this is your destined fate
the time that you ascend
a taste of joy and woe
the time of your own end

You must heed, eternal tale
of city of your birth
For it will last beyond your home
all buried under earth,
Till the sky, already in motion
Will try to drag the mist away
With firm, mindless, devotion
Like hand through lover's hair

And past early morning fog you'll see
Visions of the things to be
The pains that are withheld for thee
To realize; all that's yours was ment for me.

[Anonymous No.11072389]

>>11072065
>>11069166
>>11070024
>>11071401

How the fuck can you actually believe any line of these is worth writing, let alone posting or reading? Only boring fucks write this shit.

[Anonymous No.11072394]

>>11070272
Probably me I only come here for the critique threads because every so often a really promising writer reveals themselves. Most of you are beyond salvage, and you can tell by how people talk.

[Anonymous No.11072423]

>>11072389
Be aware this board is shared with people who unironically recommend stephen king and ready player one.

[Anonymous No.11072490]

>>11070024
>I was a man [...]
>>11069166
>I am a man [...]
>>11070382
>The man who strode [...]

[Anonymous No.11072530]

>>11070382
Best itt BUT this is a lot of words to say not a lot, which makes either sound preachy or insincere.

[Anonymous No.11072583]

>>11072385
You are a weird fellow, or your style comes from faking a mental illness.
Either way at least it's interesting.

[Anonymous No.11072915]

My favorite pastime is coming to these threads and posting lines from classic works to see you autists not only fail to recognize them but to shit all over them.

[Anonymous No.11073169]

>>11071357
North America, then, fren? Thanks for the false parsing autism. Stay tuned for next post: "I was only pretending to be retarded for fun."

[Anonymous No.11073178]

Woops, that one is already here:

>>11072915

[Anonymous No.11073212]

First, there was the conceit.

"More short prose. Thoughts?

Antithesis concluded unto the smoking end of my gun. White shirt against dark skin to blood dripping crimson flowers, flowing petals carried away o’er and onward the chilled Chicago breeze. Ice tendrils then to creep sickle cell snowflake, black as soot dilapidated asphalt redrag; back-alley brick and bits strewn about crunch to stained wallside, liver struck oozing ginger scented vice and sin. Bend knee and grasp the frigid embrace, falling with life to flourish old soil; compost which decomposes among the discarded things and dumpster sog. "

Then, the inevitable response:

>>11051546
Purple to the gills.

Then, the anal ache commences:

The accusation of purple prose on this board is too often used as an excuse and deflection to providing actual critique, and, more than that, is a scapegoat incorrectly assigned to a number of writing techniques. For example:

To what end might one find meaning in this snippet of prose? Is it simply the inclusion of overblown and dramatic language for the sake of it? No. Rather, it is a mood setter-- to invoke a certain sense of disorganized dread in the reader, that they feel a taddest bit of bile rise to the back of their throat. To extradite the language something more streamlined is not only an unnecessary numbing, but a disservice to the soul of meaning: that it would loose punch and bruise within your psyche. I have a severe disdain for those that would advocate the plain and boring, and this is no exception.

In other words: fuck that one guy on the last critique thread. You're a hack psued faggot and need to be dropped off a bridge feet-first.

>and then we have a duplicate critique thread packed full of troll passages

I wonder who could be behind this thread. You are not pretending to be retarded for fun, you are seeking redemption for your fragile, weak, damaged little boy ego.

BTW, you still suck.

[Anonymous No.11073684]

>>11071796
>What the fuck do you want me to do with this?
Offer criticism obviously.
>Stop trying to distill the political world into your overwritten absolutist shit.
I'm not trying to distill anything into anything, I even said the subject of politics and its improvement was too broad for one person alone to write about, I am not attempting to distill politics myself aside from the observation that contemporary western politics is like an ugly cock fight (which it undeniably is). I even said I am offering only a tiny fragment of a really pretty obvious suggestion that might see politics more civilized, that we offer some dignity to the consumers of the ideas we produce by allowing them to form their own opinions rather than attempting to form them for them, which acts to essentially split the people into entrenched ideological groups along party lines. I am literally arguing against absolutism in this way, which is why I am confused as to your accusations of absolutism against me.

As for "overwriting" would you care to clarify? Obviously you aren't referring to the length, and I really don't see anything that could be considered "overwritten" myself aside from maybe the short description of the scene of the cock fight, of which it was wholly my intention to "overwrite", and it is only a single sentence after all.

Furthermore, as to whether my suggestion to allow the audience to form their own opinions is a good one or not (it is to me at least a cornerstone of contemporary western civilization - freedom of thought) is really irrelevant to me, I am asking mostly for criticism with regards to the writing style in general, which was my fault for not clarifying earlier, but so far you have offered me only criticism that I really can't seem to understand, at least not without you offering examples.

[Anonymous No.11074135]

Hunganons again?
I want to write three more lines to it rhyming with e-e (so it'll be 5A6A7A.AAA.BBB.CCC.AAA.AAA), but I haven't thought of anything yet.

Múlnak a percek
s arcomról keservnek
sós könnyei peregnek,
s kedvem elkente
a tény: bukott ember -
bevallom -, olyan lettem:
mint rothadó avar
ami szép volt, tarka,
de már csak tetvek alma.
Kegyetlen idő
zúz szét engem, midőn
minden örömöt kiöl.
Nem is ő, persze,
hanem én. Feledem,
én vesztek, az élet nem.

[Anonymous No.11074232]

>>11073684
>aside from the observation that contemporary western politics is like an ugly cock fight (which it undeniably is)
>I'm not trying to distill anything into anything
Whatever you say

You are not making an argument, you are saying what is and what is. You are speaking rhetorical, overdramatic bullshit. Your writing "style" is samey political science senior smoke sesh shit making "observations" on giant chunks of the political sphere. Your disclaimer doesn't exempt you from doing what you're doing.

[Anonymous No.11074249]

>>11069125
Essai - it's how the french called their trials

And us, - we fear to try
just shooting into the void
in vain
, for we read with no sense
Letter. Letter.
Word.

Thought. Thought.
I cannot stop the flow.
Goodbye, STRU-
CTU-
RE!?!

[Anonymous No.11074285]

First things first: I am lonely.
Then comes the second thing: I am not myself.
And then finally comes the third thing: I don't know who I am.

Let me expound on the three tenets of being: My being evolves around this belief that "I am lonely." I think I am lonely, but am I? Who put this idea on me, in the first place? Me, of course. So it is me who is the problem, not the "I am lonely." This "Me" and "I" are the same things, yet quite different for "me". There is the contradiction; there is the linguistic gymnastics -- I am not explaining anything after all.

It's is dissociation, schizophrenia, word-salad, incoherence; this is my mind on Mental Illness.

[Anonymous No.11074288]

>>11069125
Bongo

[Anonymous No.11074335]

>>11074285
Sophism at best

[Anonymous No.11075221]

Something is wrong with me.

Sitting in a van with my close friends; I have forgotten their names. We're heading to a what could be our last late night beach party. The party marks the ending of our young-adult lives and a step forward to promising careers and busy family; fulfilling our long-awaited childhood dream, to live a lifestyle with all the certainties of safely, enjoyment, happiness. These are just old dreams to me now. Thanks to the help of few Individuals I bear the gifts of the success from starting my own business; far exceeding the net-worth of companies my friends will be working for next year. Besides saying goodbye to the past, these friends of mine were hoping partying will do me some good. In their words this party is a “step to forgetting what happened and a chance to deal with the pain” but it's too late. Something is wrong with me.

We approached our destination I look around to get a feel for the area. We drive into the new-money Hollywood-hills styled gated community, full of esoterically designed mansions all packed together upon a giant hill overlooking a well-maintained private beach and miles of forest further ahead. The view wasn't entirely picture perfect: dirty red rooftops of abandoned properties within the forest stick out like a sore thumb.

Finally, we arrive. The van pulls up to the beach house, It's mix of a newfangled camper's lounge and condo built for an old long-divorced bachelor.

The beach house was surrounded by vans, some parked even in the middle of the street. More outlandish was a mass of intoxicated bodies, dancing to the music blasting inside the house so loud it can be heard loudly from outside. I and the others head towards the beach house and enter the drunken crowd. I put on my best smile and proceed to cheerfully greet my old cohorts, peers I remember vaguely from high school, old flings, more and more strangers.

I distanced myself from my friends within the crowd and headed towards the entrance of the beach house. I felt annoyed, this was no step "to forgetting what happened", in addition, the beach house haunted me; I've been to this beach house before but, when? In front of them, I approached the entrance.

[Anonymous No.11075235]

So I shall confess this,
The path I chose
Was not based solely of envious kiss

It was of strong calculation
Not one from lust nor want
But of exuberant exaltation

For to love someone just by the pen,
Defeats its purpose, and
Condemns you to thought's own den

To what am I trying to say?
The love I payed little mind
Is now in my everyday

Her passion is one full of care
Beauty which flows, first from the inside
Outward, naturally like her curly hair

Eyes brows, but dark like the night sky
Voice soft, and divine
But rings true, every time I pass by

She is young, but has experienced sadness and grief
Happiness, and anxietity all these emotions
Combine to form her belief

You rarely choose who you love
Not like picking apples in the orchard
Or schmoozing with the turtle dove

So I intend to follow this for how long it may go
It is something pure, I haven't
Felt for many yrs, so let this show

I haven't written in a bit and this came over me last night. She's over 18. As a disclaimer. I suck, but I'm sure poems with pure emotions are neat.

[Anonymous No.11075248]

>>11070263
embarrassing

[Anonymous No.11075260]

>>11074249
THOT

[Anonymous No.11075282]

>>11074249
Legitimately beyond saving, start on a new project

[Anonymous No.11075316]

>>11074135
I don't speak it. But that style is going to be difficult. AAA,AAA can sound repetitious if not done correctly.

[Anonymous No.11075319]

“Alan stop this right now. Let us finish this argument now” - the mother still trying so hard to make him go away, she didn’t have the physical power to withstand this and wavered scared of what he might do to her when he was in that state as they were alone in the house.
“Now you want to stop, fucking whore? Now it’s too late, should’ve tought of that sooner” - Alan said between clenched teeth - “You’re despiteful, I fucking hate you. You’re a whore” - when he finished talking he punched the mother in the stomach in a flash and came back to his previous state, holding his stiff body and anxiously pacing around.
The mother fell back to the sink and put her hand on her stomach and held down the tears when she saw the daughter coming from outside.
“Mandy go away, kid”
“What the fuck? Have you finally gone insane?” - Mandy screamed. As she came closer to the two of them, Allan hurridly stood in front of her
“What do you want? I’ll kill you too, slut” - Allan laughed nervously - “Get away from here before I kill you”
Allan was 26 years old and suffered with bipolar disorder all his life. He was constantly battleling himself, it was like he had a war inside his mind and could not escape it. It’s not like he tried to escape it either.
“You better try, then.” - Mandy was going to her mother but Allan held her shoulders and suddenly moved his hands to her neck and started strangling hard with both hands.
Mandy debated for a bit as she was trying to get away from his grip, she even tried putting her hands on his neck also but she didn’t find the strengh to do it. He was stronger than her. Strange, his figure was so thin and weak, but at that moment, he gathered a strengh that wasn’t his own and was able to dominate her. In a moment she felt herself disappearing into his hands, it was like she would shrink into his fingertips and under his nails and never come back again. She would just stop existing, maybe. It’s not that complicated. To die, that is. It’s not hard. It’s easy, takes just a few minutes and then you’re gone. The despair in her had finally met its course and was leaving. All movement stopped, but she was still shaking, surprisingly.
Allan saw she was going to faint and quickly removed his hands from her neck and moved them to his head. He had really big red eyes and his mouth was open like a portal of fear.
“What have I done? See what you made me do?” - he cried to the mother and ran through the door and out of the house.
Mandy didn’t fall to the ground like she thought she would. She was standing on both feet holding onto the balcony behind her and shaking. Right then she stopped feeling altogether, she couldn’t emote, she couldn’t drop a tear, not for him, anyway, she wouldn’t. He wouldn’t be the cause of a tear from her.

[Anonymous No.11075565]

>I'm so humiliated by this board multiple overlapping times I am going to troll the fuck out of it until I get my petty zinger even if I have to scrape the bottom of the published fiction barrel no one has read

[Anonymous No.11075620]

https://pastebin.com/p4vtsb4H
i posted part of this in the last thread and it was received a bit better than i thought it would
any critique would be appreciated i think it gets better after the first two paragraphs

[Anonymous No.11076073]

My tortoise friend told me
about a splinter in his foot.
"It's been there for four years
and I notice it everyday,"
he said gratefully, bowing.
He then told me to break the record.
"But Cecil, I'm just a bunny,
autonomy isn't built into my genes."
Of course, the genetic argument fell flat
like buttered toast, or fetus on a brown dwarf.
That was five years ago in the future,
and my finger bleeds everyday
causing me very much joy—
very much joy indeed.
how can I make any difference?"

[Anonymous No.11076201]

and passing by I heard said - be not afraid

go seek the ring - find the cup, rise up young son
you live today - your heart beats still - and still sings on

for none can harm but what you sing, the heart you give
for bliss or ill this is your life

and you choose how your story ends - not the knife
for hell or heaven, judgement day or angel's song

no prison gate nor plague nor pain shall bar
the mercy of the court - stands uncontested

Two find the cup and ring, the treasure that I sing
and keep on - and on and on, for me, for you

all men die, all churches crumble - all this shall fall
the weight and measure of so much dross - this all

just heart and soul - song and word and breath redeem
the weighty load you carry, wealth or burning coal

I will give a few critiques next post.

[Anonymous No.11076232]

>>11070024
Short lines like this give the poem a jollier feel when reading it, so it is in conflict with the themes.

[Anonymous No.11076239]

>>11070440
It's interesting

[Anonymous No.11076295]

>>11069615
almost haikuish

Grandpa laughs with us
Laughing at our photograph
"Who are they" he asks?

>>11070024
Its in couplets so just bother to add newlines or it is difficult to read.

>I WAS a MAN in HIS prime,
also some of the stresses are off

also really it can be boiled down into "I'm an alcoholic"

>>11070272
tbf the exact opposite of people not giving any constructive criticism is also bad

>>11070440
Archaic language is generally less understandable which is precisely the opposite intent of communication.

>>11071401
GIRLS in THEIR WINter CLOTHES
A TREE'S FALling LEAVES
the stresses are borked

Also be clearer in your meaning

>>11071911
exces-
sive en-
jambment gives me a head-
ache

also
InDIFfeRENT shelves, GATHheRINGS of TURNED
PAGES, and LETters SOWED full OF queer THOUGHTS
the stresses are borked

>>11075235
The metres off sometimes but its mostly good.

>>11076073
Like Wotan the poet cripples himself to drink from the well of memory.

Crits for this post >>11076201

[Anonymous No.11076301]

>>11076201
Crap didn't put ending:

all sorrow then - just dust of men, thunder
the beating of the heart and - the singing soul

[Anonymous No.11076368]

>>11076295
can you elucidate the wotan comment please

[Anonymous No.11076429]

I, lonely, met a girl too sweet,
Whose calling eyes did me entreat,
And Love fast struck with vip’rous bite,
Now venom hot confounds my sight;
Her skin, so soft, with brightest shine,
The way she slips and glides so fine,
Her endless curves, enchantress eyes,
These I can’t ‘scape by any wise.
If even able would I not
Remove this prey, hers rightly caught.
For Love’s sweet poison courses yet,
And though doom only have me bought,
That appetite I wish to whet!

[Anonymous No.11076458]

In the Roman Forum I saw an intellectual
Son of an equestrian and skilled by the scroll
Just the other day he got an invitation
To join the Caesar-Crassus-Pompey administration

To save his life, he sat on the edge of a fence
Ready to spring from Julius to Pompey's defense
He's giving me a lecture on the weakness of man
Now he's stuck on the outskirts on Italian ban

Philosophizing monarchal kings from ages ago
I'm told that he's a wise-guy, Marcus Cicero
Time he used to transform his thoughts into reality
Called it his Republic, including democracy

Back he came from exile with judgement to give
welcomed by Tullia whom without he can't live
But he cursed the name of Antony, so he got up and fled
Meeting the face of death through the loss of his head

After his death came the prophesized fall
The Republic cried and Octavian had answered its call
In the leaves of Cicero "Libertas" had been written
Shame that Rome chose not to listen

[Anonymous No.11076616]

Inspiration read from someplace else
Real nice, real good, right from the wind
And I jolt, from rest I go, I must
Spite out of spite words succumb-ind
To me, To mine white see through letter
So then, great steel rock, who sends you
You ghoul, it was not me who wants
But a rock, you, came in spiteful rage
The Company, so envied, he came too
Blue light followed in its shape shifting wake
You brought yellow man, as well as
He ever is, the handsome bastard, you bitch
All here, in my inspiration I jolted from to
My foolish self, often forgotten in this
Dissociation--sorry, didn’t realize you were such a bitch

>>11076429
Not my taste but
Your stresses fucked up here
>Whose calling eyes did me entreat
Remove 'me'
>These I can't 'scape by any wise
Remove 'by' or rethink it
Last three lines are rough as well, but whatever

>>11076458
You achieve what you want, but I'm pretty sure this isn't yours.
Weakest lines are
>To save his life, he sat on the edge of a fence
>Time he used to transform his thoughts into reality

[Anonymous No.11076628]

Despot, Semiramis of soul
Ruled by divine right
A monarchy of one member, one face, one touch, one breath
That scores skin and
Curdles blood and
Tightens chest and
Thickens eyes and
Rings ears and
Cuts the mind in two
One empire of one subject
Libations and
Taxes paid,
(All in empty
Words and emptier
Dreams)
The half
The hand
The hold
Thrones never taken by
Unwilling pretender,
Uncrowned claimant
Never wanting
I, abandoned kingdom
Always wanting

While my heart is anarchy
It is alone, and so is free

Yon tyrant cannot now have that right
As I run in grass untamed
I drink from waters without blight
And clamber trees unnamed
The world is wide and great in size
But my lonely fear, it pales
When I recall her burning eyes
And the edges of her nails

While my heart is anarchy
It is alone, and so is free

[Anonymous No.11076633]

A shape can drift, and it is easy

Walk the city, and you’ll see
Here and now is an
Accretion, a growth built
As if of sediment, a
Cumulation
Of material space
And history
The opposite of use
Like rusting on a river-pipe
A midden gone-a-sluice

We never quite know just what to do
You have to walk the city, before it walks you

Go to Ludgate to see the god-king’s
Grave, but fill a bridge and bring a drill
Something to barter with
When the authorities arrive
Above it all,
Fell winds blow

Timbers in the river, old old wood
Spears and heads and axes
Water as threshold, as boundary
Sailing down the whale-roads and swan-paths
Til the children of barbarians
Become the new tax collectors and priests
Yet who, yet who, yet who
Left skinless, headless bear
In the Hackney Marshes
And that is barbarism there
The conflagration roared
And all our muddy boot-steps found
Was a place too wide to ford

We never quite know just what to do
You have to cross the city, before it crosses you

It still seems it
A universe
The dead had their own train once
And their own station
Necropolis at Waterloo
Carrying bones and ash out
Kharon tacks the Styx
The sifting bridge
World-edge,
Beneath orbital passing cars
Where our hide becomes the darkness
And our tusks become the stars

We never quite know just what to do
You have to eat the city, before it eats you

1/2

[Anonymous No.11076635]

>>11076633

2/2

Rivers run Fleet,
Eden away, foundation-bound
Judgement-scared, dirt-burrowing
Thick with blind catfish
Mewling, keening elvers
Hoary with lichen, choked by biota
The wort-rike
Realm o’ babewyn
Rat-kings overthrown
Fifteen tiny guillotines
And one big broken throne

And all you are now
Is shadows on the mure
Waves on the flote
Dust in dreams

But there is -
A secret place
A lost compound
A handful of streets which
Retreat between distant blocks
Just between Camden and the City
North and west of the Hill
Clusters of mosques and launderettes
Circus, Hall, Sutherland
Lauderdale
Hinterland, urheimat
Broke-faced clock
An interstitial shifting, drifting
All but inter, all but why
Make passage there
Make need to cry

Be the modulate, attune, transmit
The city has to catch you, before you are catching it

Move amid
It’s difficult
No discrete horizons
The lines are not there
They are never there
Only visible to you
And forgotten!
Stretching across municipal buildings
Through the hearts of empty villas
But they are your ley lines
The ley lines of your soul
As a member of the public
Out of sync
Tangible strata, ghost-lapping yourself
Like something quantum
The perspective recedes
Original conception
Glimpses, grasped
Fragments
Visions
The hunt

Below it all,
Black flowers grow

[Anonymous No.11076645]

>>11076633
>>11076635
You fuck, use pastebin or some shit

Also congrats, good job, well done

[Anonymous No.11076656]

>>11076301
The best this whole thread had to offer, well done, was a pleasure to read.

[Anonymous No.11076693]

The ballad of the Street-Shitter

Technology has spread across the land,
Pajeet continues to wipe by hand,
Under the pleasant streetlight glow
Pajeet squats to poop below
For when the poop is brightly lit
You'll never step in shit,
"Pajeet my son, please use the loo"
"No need to fear, I'll check on you"
"The witch ain't near, of this I'm sure"
But of his trace, he find no clue
For he had dismissed, the porcelain lure,
In search of streets to fill with poo,
His flesh rear trumpet, he hastily blew, And his concert echoed through and through.

[Anonymous No.11076840]

>>11076616
>>Whose calling eyes did me entreat
>Remove 'me'
>>These I can't 'scape by any wise
>Remove 'by' or rethink it
I don't know what you're talking about with the first line, it's 4 iambic feet, but I can see the awkwardness in the second. How's this?

I, lonely, met a girl too sweet,
Whose calling eyes did me entreat,
And Love fast struck with vip’rous bite,
Now venom hot confounds my sight;
Her skin, so soft, with brightest shine,
The way she slips and glides so fine,
Her endless curves, enchantress eyes,
I can’t escape this wondrous guise.
If even able would I not
Remove the prey she rightly caught,
For Love’s sweet poison courses yet,
And though my doom is all I set,
Devourment’s with pleasure fraught!

[Anonymous No.11076843]

It was a lubricious dusk, infused with sex, flesh colors and wet and humid. The gaping anus of the sun set behind the mountains and gave way to a pink-orange slit, like a sideways cunt asquat in the heavens.

[Anonymous No.11076898]

A Fisherman Meets A Mermaid

As soft pink dewy sunrise gleams
Through dampened grassy plains
It mottles wooly clumps of brume
And glints the falling rain.

Beneath the murk: a muted lake.
A fisherman's still wand
Is held above the mossy pool
Absorbed by lupine dawn.

Atop the water, dusky curls
Mistaken for some pest
Arise and pose a sable femme;
He blushed at her mauve breasts.

[Anonymous No.11076938]

>>11076201

The diction is nice and the structure is pleasant. My only issue is the subject matter. I'm not sure if you write with expectation of an audience's reading or if it's for yourself but I encourage you to shoot for less fantastical seeming imagery and themes. Even if they can be related to timelessly it still feels a bit anachronistic. Do you have anything that's more erm, contemporary?

[Anonymous No.11077124]

>>11069166
Can you tell me what the intended purpose was? Is it a poem? Sorry I can't really get my head around it at all without knowing.

>>11069615
I find it trite, but it isn't unpleasant to read. I say keep trying. As in, write more like this with the aim of stumbling on some innovation.

>>11070382
Eh, full of incompetence and promise. I suffer from same bad habits you do. You have (an) idea(s), but you need to work on crafting them sensibly. It's not the worst place to be, I don't think.

>>11071342
You're not a bad writer. For the most part the language is consistent with itself, so it has internal cohesion, which is the cornerstone of style. I'm not particularly enamored with your story, but I wouldn't consider you a fool for keeping at it.

>>11071796
Some of the language is interesting. A charitable reading would describe your style as bold, but in parts it amounts to bluster. A few authenticating details here and there as you pull us through the meat-grinder of your character's relationship with all these mixed voices might be effective. Perhaps that's exactly what you're intentionally avoiding, though.

>With a bat Ernesto sent himself out of his head to that faraway place where realities extinguish from their burning passions and make way for trains and boats and drifting boxes filled with things, good things, bad things, things to replace things of ash. But underground coal fires burn long and impossibly intense. They sometimes burn red anger coals in their mouths when confronted with extinguishing genuine telling, and thus Ernesto spat up molten iron curses while slowly shrinking into a short man there yelling nonsense intertwined with things like how hard it is for nice people to be nice in this world and how people’re going to die alone because of people like him.

I like the thrust of this, I'm just not taken with the language. Overall I find it difficult to make a, you know, "detached" judgement call on your work. Maybe that's a good sign. If I was forced to decide I would say I didn't like it.

>>11075620
I think you're right it when you say it improves at paragraph three. My suggestion is to remove the first two paragraphs altogether. Start at three. Perhaps keep one and two aside and try to work those crowded metaphors in as you further the piece. They're a bit lifeless where they are, but carefully worked into the story and spread out they could be more effective. You are giving us this dense portrait of Cindy, but I think you should let her live a little more. A character can suffocate in acute descriptions. Trust that she exists and let her lead you around for a bit. Trying too hard to elaborate every exquisite detail about her gives a panicked quality to the text.

[Anonymous No.11078118]

dont let this thread die lads

[Anonymous No.11078175]

>>11069125
Will you idiots please use more verbs. Your writing sucks, uniformly. Have you ever read a novel? God damnit.

[Anonymous No.11078187]

>>11076898
Nice ballad stanza. I like it, but maybe it can be improved by adding some more substitution, near the end might work, you'll just have to experiment with that. I'd also suggest making the rhymes more exact, as they're all near rhymes right now. It's also important to keep in mind that the words that will be rhymed will be compared to each other in the readers head, so picking words that have a similar feeling or contrasting two different words together can be effective if done with words that are unexpected.

[Anonymous No.11078233]

>>11076938
I think its probably because I only posted a short segment and it is a bit allegorical so the stuff is is out of context. But really the whole story is a cyborg shooting and chainsawing his way out of hell. At one point he even fights fire zombies.

and Moloch, cup in hand, raised hordes of zombies
a horde of men and children burnt to death in fire

all screaming of the moment of their end

Two's magic sword began to roar and howl with rage
the sword screamed Riprirr - and rend a corpse in two

and Boomchuck, Two's wand, spat out deafening blasts
sheer righteous power in the palm of one man's hand

soon, buried fifty corpses deep, Two rethought his plan

Earlier in the story Two was sent down the river Lethe into the lowest depths of hell (for which I used the Kabbalistic Qlippoth of Thaumiel [duality pf gpd]) as a kid and had lost his material body and was turned into some kind of brain in a robot cyborg by an evil "witch." Possessing the masculine principles of the sword (which symbolizes reason), RIprirr, (a chainsaw) and the wand (which symbolizes willpower), Boomchuck, (a shotgun or a laser gun or something) he must fight his way out of hell to the earthly world by finding the cup and the ring which as the minor arcana of the tarot symbolize emotion, the material body and femininity.

[Anonymous No.11078601]

The tale of Fanya Kaplan, that darkhaired, pale-faced, slender idealist, tells
itself with grim brevity in keeping with her times. For just as tyrannicides spurn
slow justice, so likewise with tyrants. Between exploit and recompense lay only
four days, which in most histories would comprise but an ellipsis between words, a
quartet of periods, thus: . . . . — but which, if through close reading we magnify them
into spheres, prove to contain in each case a huddle of twenty-four grey subterranean
hours like orphaned mice; and in the flesh of every hour a swarm of useless moments
like ants whose queen has perished; and within each moment an uncountable
multitude of instants resembling starpointed syllables shaken out of words — and at
the close of this interval, Fanya Kaplan was carried beyond Tau, final letter of the
magic alphabet.

[Anonymous No.11078726]

https://vocaroo.com/i/s1Pmpb4AKWu7

[Anonymous No.11079697]

>>11078187

Thanks for that I'll definitely consider it all. Though I'm not sure what "substitution" means in this context.

[Anonymous No.11079734]

Some of you have real potential but god damn why do writers here either affect archaic styles to say a lot about absolutely nothing or lean on their cringey """"experience"""" just write honest and simple its not hard to force yourself to do. Some of you have real potential but god damn why do writers here either affect archaic styles to say a lot about absolutely nothing or lean on their cringey pythos? just write honest and simple, it's not hard to force yourself to do. More is ONLY more if you have something meaningful to say.

[Anonymous No.11079741]

Some of you have real potential but god damn why do writers here either affect archaic styles to say a lot about absolutely nothing or lean on their cringey pythos? just write honest and simple, it's not hard to force yourself to do. More is ONLY more if you have something meaningful to say. Push deep.

[Anonymous No.11079774]

>>11076693
Much like what happened with the fart-sniffers manifesto, other masterwork of modern poetry goes unnoticed, lit has the shitiest taste imaginable.

[Anonymous No.11079868]

>>11076295
>>11076239
Its actually unironically going to be a rap song. This is what I got so far

So found heth, he hasth holieth desire in thee, fire.
So holieth, sounds of hith, in thy slumbering choir.
So foundeth, of thy treasen, of fallen have transpire.
Boi, so fire, God gaven a holy pyre
Boi, down in gyre, sounds of golden lyre

Foyer commeth from fire, on hearth
So sendeth inner, he climbs from earth
Tender nurished, branded and mullished
He ith pert
Damned from squires lost from land
Fammed his desire, post to lambs

[Anonymous No.11079871]

>>11079697
It's when you substitute an iambic foot (an unstressed syllable followed by a stressed syllable) with another kind of foot (trochee - a stressed then unstressed, spondee - two stressed, or a pyrrhic - two unstressed). Substituting an iambic foot with another foot can give more emphasis to certain parts of the poem, for example, using a spondee gives weight to that part of the line, since two stressed syllables side by side slows down the pacing. The spondee can also be used to describe things that are slow, lifeless, cold, etc. The opposite is true for the pyrrhic foot, which is faster to read and gives that part of the line a feeling of lightness and quickness. You can use substitution to greater degrees and for greater effect than what I've listed. If you used strict iambic meter, there will be deviation, and therefore little emphasis for important parts.

[Anonymous No.11079876]

>>11079868
Sounds more like a medieval song, but keep going with it.

[Anonymous No.11079884]

>>11079871
there will be no* deviation, and therefore little emphasis for important parts.

[Anonymous No.11079887]

>>11079876
Thanks, the meter is def rap tho

[Anonymous No.11080267]

>>11069125
my fragile artistic ego is telling me noooo but my lust for recognition is telling me...

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1lYFoOZZ08ubYzr6tUCQ6M2hgeVVrBnOGSKd-AG34hwI/edit?usp=sharing

[Anonymous No.11080278]

Yikes fellas!

[Anonymous No.11080308]

>>11080267
Reads as 'competent' if not exciting, to me. I'm curious what you feel like the science fiction setting is doing here, for me it's a lot like a Black Mirror style science-fiction as exaggerated present, rather than science fiction as alternate possibilities or science fiction as defamiliarising the present.

[Anonymous No.11080463]

>>11079741

Facts

[Anonymous No.11080551]

>>11079741
What are archaic styles?

[Anonymous No.11081017]

>>11078233

You're derranged. You're a good writer but that plot is hilarious.

[Anonymous No.11081024]

>>11079871

Wow that's really interesting, I hadn't considered meter in this way at all. Thank you

[Anonymous No.11081039]

Anomalous Aleph, a child, was born on Corniuss 17-17, 18-something to the joy of his parents. (This has nothing to do with the story, just wanted you to know that the child exists and persists and he might think about how he exists and our actual narrator exists also and maybe they connect.)

The persistence of that one dream Sally was telling me about was so far reaching into my own mind sometimes I looked in and I saw it. Her father was quite the loody toody y’know, but I never figured him to be the type to do that, and to such a beautiful daughter like Sally Salimonious.
I was walking with her and she told me about that ole’ hicky house on the left after every pass, and she told me about that whitey house with the boy that drinks his own piss er’ something equivalent to that and you know I told her that that was rightfully wrong and disgusting and Gods forbid he ever get caught by his daddy with his ole’ yanker right below him and a stream of yeller piss all over him like he was rightfully pissed off at himself and then at the next stop she told me there was a boy who liked the cartoonie ladys so much that he would rightfully tape a picture of one of them on his wall and he would start kissin’ her and I told her - Sally why do you know this y’mischiving wench, are you right in these boys eyes? - I truly didn’t mean any of that to be rude snude crude but I did feel blue today because I found out that auntie died - My favorite aunt too sally! - - Well I am sorry, m’boy, but I can’t bring her back’t’life y’know? Or are you too rightfully DEADdumb to even understand that, siree? And yeah I am in these boys eyes, nah I am a voyeur you know this right? - - I didn’t know that one bit, Sally, you know you rightfully yeteearn me on too where I just can’t control myself no more… She knew that, I am sure, but she continued describing the inhabitants of all the houses we passed, each story gaining more and more ridiculousness until I told her she would surely stop rather not wanting her to go to prison for LIBEL and PERJURY OF SOUL ONTO THE PAPER OF LIFE.

We were walking upstairs into the New York City something apartment with drab walls that were pale yellow but rather akin to piss soda and the couch was a decayed red - she set the coffee grounds by the door she said she made her coffee on the road - and I thought that was odd but I never enquired to deep about the women I was to use to gain a spiritual insight into what my genitalia truly alleviated me of. - Thanks. -

[Anonymous No.11081048]

Im a man
Shes my female
my bad, didnt mean to assume your sex
but you have a vajayjay, or pussy to be more euphemistic
Youre a girl are you not?
Judge a (wo)man by their arm hair.
This does not apply to arab women
Does fate tempt my inability to cater to there ideations of themselves
Are you still my girlfriend
Sorry, xzirlfriend

[Anonymous No.11081053]

>>11069125
Jimmy Washinga, lover of Asian culture, 164 IQ, polymath, philosopher, entrepreneur, visionary, university student, lies in his smelly bed when the rising sun reminds him of class in two hours. His overweight body manages to stumble out of bed and into the bathroom where he ejaculates into the toilet. Jimmy lights a doobie and puts on yesterday’s clothing, after the last puff he leaves for class.
The mosquito is trapped ( metaphor ).
He leaves house and runs to the bus, dejavú, again the bus driver gags as Jimmy enters the vehicle. The driver’s reaction seems to be contagious as the passengers enact similar expressions.
The bus arrives at Cambridge, MIT, Oxford, where Jimmy figured he belonged but did not manage to get in because standardized testing is bullshit. Something had been building up inside of him, a feeling that seemed to be converging into something terrible. In class he sat and thought and ignored the foolish postmodern professor. A dark nihilistic realization overcame him, Europa is being conquered by muslims and by the time they succeed only the degenerated litter of a once healthy civilization will be left. He got up and began walking towards the exit ( metaphor ) .
- “Excuse me, Sir?” – Said the postmodern professor
- “Huh? Waddaya want anyway, ol’ chap?”
- “We only allow students in here.”
- “Oh. I was leaving anyway, mate.”
As soon as he got to the door he barfed unto the floor.
- “My god, are you okay?” – said the professor and behind him gathered a crowd of young students
- “Yes, it’s nothing, really. It happens sometimes”
- “Call security” – Said the professor
Jimmy collapses, falling on his own vomit and begins shaking violently. Everyone begins puking. Jimmy drowns in his own vomit.

[Anonymous No.11081079]

>>11081053
how do you nonchalantly masturbate into the toilet.

The process is not as easy as that.

You must be a woman. Only a female can perceive masturbation as anti-climatic.

[Anonymous No.11081086]

>>11081079
Not anti-climatic, this is just a sketch. He masturbates for 5 minutes

[Anonymous No.11081091]

>>11081024
Your welcome. Read "Poetic Meter and Poetic Form" by Paul Fussell for more on meter, rhyme and stanzaic forms, which are all more important than people realize. I learned quite a bit from it.

[Anonymous No.11081105]

>>11069125
I'm working on what can only be described as a Japanese capeshit fantasy.
Which form of prose do you prefer?

[Anonymous No.11081689]

https://pastebin.com/r1bZwHmh

will provide criticism in return

[Anonymous No.11081725]

>>11081105
I prefer the bottom but that's just me

[Anonymous No.11081779]

How the physics allow for thee-
a drop’s unscathen bounds.
How may I dare in what be done, a process
such as sound?
How the physics allow for thee-
a king no land nor crown.
the lover whom yet to find
a land of love's unscathen bounds.

Any thoughts? Ill do you if you do me

[Anonymous No.11081789]

>>11081779
snore

[Anonymous No.11081797]

>>11076898
This is great. Vivid comfy imagery, and a great ending.
>Mistaken for some pest
maybe this line could use some work however
>>11078187
I like this advice, and Ill even keep it in mind for my writing, thank you

[Anonymous No.11081817]

>>11081789
Actually the best critique I could have gotten. I just wrote that and couldnt figure out what was wrong with it, it is boring and brings no picture, no story to the mind.

[Anonymous No.11081823]

>>11081817
you change direction mid stanza

[Anonymous No.11081833]

>>11081797
Do you write poetry? Or are you keeping it in mind for your writing in general? I will say that the contrast and comparison between rhymed words is most effective at the end of the line, so I'm not so sure how that would translate into normal writing, if that was what you were trying to do.

[Anonymous No.11081851]

>>11081823
I phrased that poorly, for writing poetry I mean

[Anonymous No.11081946]

>>11081779
>>11081817
Yeah, I have no idea what is going on here, just a vague feeling.

[Anonymous No.11081962]

https://pastebin.com/3tCjsWWC
>>11077124
>Perhaps that's exactly
what you're intentionally avoiding, though.
I don't really interrogate my intentions too much, but I've never really cared for authenticity in writing.
Here's some more if you're a masochist.

>>11081105
Top but not by much
>early birds
Don't be cute with me boy

>>11081048
No

>>11081039
Strong will. Godspeed or God willing

[Anonymous No.11081981]

Is it true that if I post any of my writing on online forums then publishers won't take it.

[Anonymous No.11081991]

>>11081981
no
it is true that way more writing is published online than officially, so the chances are miniscule to begin with, but i dont think theres an actual correlation

[Anonymous No.11082889]

>>11081962
>Godspeed or godwilling.

Not sure what he meant here but I have been doing ‘mind’ writing. Just writing what comes to mind. Pulling influences from a recent LSD experience