/lit/ - Literature

[Anonymous No.13880422]

Post the most recent thing you've written. No matter how cringy you think it is. Do it.

[Anonymous No.13880445]

night comes so early late in the
yearly book of platitudes put out
the fires of youthful endeavors,
said someone old and harboring
a fleet of impotent destroyers named
Envy One, Envy Two, Envy Me is
not in the fleet, all that yet poor me

I don't want. I don't desire.
I want want. I want desire.

Amidst that terrible armada of resentment stands tall a figure though, lacking description, this figure tells us nothing other than their position, which is unbelievably frightful so long as the line followed

submerged, I am a she-beast amongst crustaceans, the arthropods worship me for those moments, beak me I want
to protrude from my flesh
and what does that mean?

[Anonymous No.13880446]

{ small town buried in the depths of rural alaska (perhaps washington) }
the cold sends a shiver through your muscles
aching them and making you touch your prickling skin subconsciously
even in the sweltering length of August

and the animals circle you all through the year,
falcons overhead piercing eyes and the bears lumbering
down through the depths of the forests in your back yard

antlers move like ghosts through the trees but you don’t watch

the snow spreads an endless blanket
long, unceasing, unappeasable
just as the night blankets you for such a time as that you might forget yourself

sometimes the silence is heavy
it’s thick and empty and you might think that you’re the only person alive
at least within a thousand miles
surrounded only by mountains, and the cold

but you’re wrong

and the people are kind to you

[Anonymous No.13880455]

>>13880422
“What are laws?” Wantha asked. Bofur looked to find the boy’s head cocked, his eyebrows bent in confusion. Bofur pondered at the question, stroking his wiry mess of beard and overlooking the edge of the building, the ends of his legs dangling off the edge. “Laws are…” he started, still staring at the silver towers in the distance, “like… rules. Yes, rules that a government makes in order to keep its citizens-“ he cut off. Safe. It didn’t feel right, not to him. ‘Is this safety?’, he silently asked no one as he looked unto the city. Safety to him was noticing the cheap ink of a newspaper bleed to the other side, lit by the flickering light of a fireplace, in a windmill that seemed so far away. The thought made the air seem colder, and the blanket about him thinner than it already was, and home but a vapor in his memory. ‘Is this safety?’ He asked, again to no one. Safety, where the windows of every building glinted like eyes, always watching, never blinking. Safety, where the warm painted walls of the home would be abruptly smeared with blood as brother would turn on sister. Safety, where one was watched by everyone, but always felt alone.

[Anonymous No.13880472]

>>13880422
It started with a thumping. Then a low growl. Then thrashing. It lashed against his insides and its’ pitiful shrieks reverberated throughout his very soul. It reached out far into that deep black abyss and on the other side it felt light. It felt the warmth of the atmosphere. Our twisted soul had willed itself into being in a moment of supreme bliss. It had demonstrated its’ supremacy over that poor unfortunate individual and rent his flesh in two. Then came the sploosh.

[Anonymous No.13880477]

>>13880472
>sploosh
I love it

[Anonymous No.13880504]

oooooo uh ah ooooo owie awawaawaahh poooie me make pooooopi aaoouch fut pffffff ffppffppf wff
eeeer

[Anonymous No.13880521]

>>13880504

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gJ9V9uJ9jTY

[« Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ » !mxvabIoSIE No.13880535]

[Anonymous No.13880539]

>>13880422
It's really just notes. I'm too lazy to copy paste it directly, but the idea was to try thibking of a jojo-like superpower that varied depending on what ethics the user was currently believing in, to make the physical effects of ethics more explicit. As I wrote them:

A character with the ability to revert any harm done to him onto whoever intended to harm him: the catch is that something like being burned at the stake before a crowd, would eviscerate the entire crowd if the ability were to activate. Activates based on his would-be choice, rather than a conscious decision, meaning that it can defend against surprises and that decision-making time is not required. However, it cannot protect against accidents, and makes no difference against self harm. Activation is either instant or never; material labeled as harmful passes through the body. Cannot move damage to deceased targets.

Possible arc and death scenario 1: character is essentially immune to assasination within private quarters, but could be taken for a witch etc if the ability is made use of in public, inverting their sense of security. Character fears being burnt at the stake and reflecting the suffering onto the crowd/populace unconsciously, but when eventually burned, feels the flame and realizes they had true virtue all along.

Death scenario 2: character is killed by someone who has already died, and cannot use the ability.

Notes: ability to allow objects to pass through the body, which could have other uses. Wearing poor armor could also be useful, but tricks like hiding spikes or razors underneath plate armor to secretly increase incoming damage wouldn’t work given that the ability operates off intent.

Questions: what about hired assassins? They take the harm? The employer does? Depends on the character’s ethics and desire? Also, what about harm via negligence? Can hunger be transmitted? Perhaps the person starving them also has an empty stomach, meaning there’s no matter to "steal." Needs work.

[Anonymous No.13880546]

Ah fuck. Wrote this for /r9k/ yesterday when I felt really depressed. Plz no hate

[Anonymous No.13880606]

>>13880422
This is unedited, me just trying to get shit onto a page. I know it's trash.

What does it mean to ‘be?’ To exist as a consciousness in what one can only assume is the world. Or the universe, or something, or nothing. Though perhaps not nothing as if one is something than how can something exist in nothing? Ha. Must there not be a medium for that something, in this case a consciousness, to exist? I digress.

I have another question.

If you were no longer observed would you still ‘be?’ There’s an interesting concept in quantum physics that states subatomic particles only truly remain in a fixed state when consciously observed. This concept has spread into other fields, such as psychology, and put scientific inquiry into a somewhat uncomfortable place. It seems ironically most would like to avoid the obvious questions and issues this revelation brings to light, namely, how can we be certain of any scientific conclusions if the mere act of observation is an outside variable that cannot be controlled? Suddenly every single ‘objective’ experimental model can no longer be called an ‘objective experimental model,’ indeed an ‘objective experimental model’ would seem impossible.

So then I have to ask you, what would happen to you if every single human being in your life no longer chose to acknowledge your existence? You probably wouldn’t cease to exist. Probably.

After all, you yourself are a consciousness and hopefully you’ve achieved the bare minimum intellectual requirements for self-reflection. But would you really be living?

...Please read closely. Do not avert your eyes.

[Anonymous No.13880620]

God, I wish I had a girlfriend

[Anonymous No.13880625]

ghost of my longing traces my hands like a belligerent shadow
and I’m too consumed - too drunk on the glory of entranced infatuation to care
my rage is long gone,
replaced with a slick oily mess of want.
to want what could never be is a fool’s errand;
Sisyphean task of sustaining hope.
my chest aches and is cold,
my hands have long since lost their grip on what was mine,
and life seems content not to take, only to withhold,
and I’m rooted here

[Anonymous No.13880630]

No other type of person can compare with a well tempered and well educated conservative. There are few of them these days, and they are precious treasures to me

[Anonymous No.13880641]

Admiring deep, her tawny eyes
I've come alive and realized
my sanguine heart they've set ablaze,
in Milky Ways and lighter days

Like shrouded plains of powder snow
where cold Ohio winds have blown
Humid air that drips replete,
with saccharine sweet New Orleans heat

A breath of dense Missouri air,
debonair, and free of care
Our view beyond the windowpane,
of pouring rain and weathervanes

A Mediterranean seaboard sight
of wondrous wight Venician nights
In my mind, Sicilian foam
a home we share, our cherished Rome

On midnight walks through Budapest,
our hearts at rest on mountain crests
We'll bid adieu to au revoirs,
make love beneath Parisian stars

For who's to say our life can't be
like Georgia breeze and chicories?

[Anonymous No.13880651]

>>13880641
i really like this

[Anonymous No.13880691]

>>13880422
If you weren't a frogposter, I would.

[Anonymous No.13880700]

Under the moonlight
Beneath the starry sky
I found you and us
Wrote this when I was thinking of my ex when we first met. ;_;

[Anonymous No.13880705]

>>13880651
Thank you anon

[Anonymous No.13880707]

>>13880691
coward

[Anonymous No.13880713]

>>13880422
9/24/19 Dream
Me and some /his/chads went to a movie. Cenk Uygur was there.

[Anonymous No.13880714]

>>13880641
This is great

[Anonymous No.13880715]

>>13880422
"Drop your pants, Herbert," Tommy Woo said.
"Sure thing, Doc Tom," Herbert said, already unbuttoning his blue jeans. He watched as they fell to the floor, then stepped out of them, first the right leg, then the left.
"Alright, and I'll get you situated right here," the doctor said, gently but firmly grabbing Herbert's waist and hip. "The rate of growth of your cock and balls has increased almost exponentially." He cocked his head, but didn't say any more.
"Well, doc," Herbert said, casually placing his hindquarters into the AntiPolmifier, "you know what they say. Long fingernails, and all that."
"Mmm, they do say that, don't they?" Tommy Woo took one leather strap and wrapped it tight around Herbert's thigh. Though gloved, his hands were careful not to touch the viscous indigo mixture that now submerged much of Herbert's bottom. His patient winced but stayed smiling as Tommy Woo fastened the other leg, eliciting a metallic slap. "I anticipate forty minutes today, Herbert. Recidivism will be in about three months. Godspeed, and Heil Hitler," he said, making an uncharacteristically hearty salute before walking out of the room. The great iron door slammed behind him, as it always did. The churning solution that engulfed Herbert's sex was already boiling, and as the room was finally empty, he opened his mouth and began to scream.

[Anonymous No.13880742]

>>13880715
What the fuck

Post more

[Anonymous No.13880755]

>>13880422
>tfw you haven't written anything because you're completely fixated on this girl that sees our relationship as nothing more then friendly atm
At least i've been reading

[Anonymous No.13880760]

>>13880715
>referring to genitals as sex
cringe

[Anonymous No.13880790]

I would but it’s in polish :(

[Anonymous No.13880795]

>>13880715
Family guy's getting really weird these days.

[Anonymous No.13880800]

For me, it's the McChicken. The best fast food sandwich. I even ask for extra McChicken sauce packets and the staff is so friendly and more than willing to oblige.

One time I asked for McChicken sauce packets and they gave me three. I said, "Wow, three for free!" and the nice friendly McDonald's worker laughed and said, "I'm going to call you 3-for-free!".

Now the staff greets me with "hey it's 3-for-free!" and ALWAYS give me three packets. It's such a fun and cool atmosphere at my local McDonald's restaurant, I go there at least 3 times a week for lunch and a large iced coffee with milk instead of cream, 1-2 times for breakfast on the weekend, and maybe once for dinner when I'm in a rush but want a great meal that is affordable, fast, and can match my daily nutritional needs.

I even dip my fries in McChicken sauce, it's delicious! What a great restaurant.

[Anonymous No.13880885]

>>13880714
Thanks anon I appreciate it

[Anonymous No.13880912]

The world of the early morning and of poetry
when Wallace Stevens does his exercise
and Beecher-Stowe takes her first wine

No one can steal these biographies
because both lived on the inside and outside
and Whitman and Lincoln could speak

I love you most at these hours
when even your mother is asleep
and you ride the 7-train with Dunkin's coffee

and you ride the escalator in my dream
to the 5th floor of the school for zero-period
and nothing in American politics could be less shrill than the quiet still softness of your moral beauty

[Anonymous No.13880917]

joyce, nabokov, and you

[Anonymous No.13880925]

Power disseminates to the point where every passing person becomes an acceptable target.

[Anonymous No.13880926]

>>13880800
were you a prisoner of war or something? you seem like you have super-low expectations.

did you just get out of guantanamo bay? north korea? a refugee camp?

[Anonymous No.13880938]

>>13880546
depressing, accurate to a number of people's lives, good job

[Anonymous No.13880947]

For the first time in years, he hugged his father.

[Anonymous No.13880955]

>>13880546
at least you have freedom

[Anonymous No.13880956]

>>13880947
this could continue to be something ultra cringy or something ultra based.

[Anonymous No.13880964]

>>13880917
meant for
>>13880641

[Anonymous No.13880966]

>>13880912
I dig this. A few things gramatically and structure-wise that don't quite gel for me, such as starting the last block with 'and,' or the general flow of lines 3-6, but I do appreciate the partial rhymes throughout. They're so subtle that I can't even tell whether you meant them or not lol, but regardless, I think they add enough of a playful step to the work that compliments the piece nicely.

Take all of this with a grain of salt, I don't fashion myself much of a critic and I might be taking the flow a bit abrasively, it's a bit late where I'm at. all things considered I liked it a lot, the imagery is really good and I can immediately visualize a scenario in my head. Do you have any more recent work?

[Anonymous No.13880968]

No one even critiqued this in the crit thread. The guy who usually lays into my posts with a list of negative adjectives probably wasn't there.

[Anonymous No.13880975]

>>13880964
Not quite sure what you meant by this, but either way, thank you for the response. Lol

[Anonymous No.13880983]

>>13880800
Innocent appreciation of the little things. Beautiful.

[Anonymous No.13880987]

>>13880966

Thinking of the Late Pop-Star Izumi Sakai

If it were for you I think I might
never read and never write
another word of fiction.

This story of a brief love-life,
delivered into modesty by love
and a world which caressed your sidelocks comfortingly
when you winced and were tense with stage-fright.

It's not only killers and magicians whom the human race remembers
but the universal Christmas of a love-song.

Oh, daughter of limited options,
you surely didn't waste your time;
you surely built a home.

[Anonymous No.13881031]

>>13880987
>
Same guy as before. I really like your work, as it leaves me scratching my head a bit, in very subtle ways. As simple a compliment as it is, I really enjoy your word choice in both of these. Are you ESL by chance?

[Anonymous No.13881055]

>>13880968
based as f--k. makes me want to steal your idea, add a bunch of sentimental cliches and some foreshadowing and escalation, and some aftermath and moral lessons.

like, in its present form it is a kind of sophisticated, vaguely virtuosic joke. i want to turn it into a bestseller with jacket copy like "a tightly-knit community, reeling from the tragic consequences of incendiary love. now it's up to assistant headmaster blahblahblah to put the shattered pieces back together, before more lives are destroyed. taut with suspense, surprisingly insightful, anon's novel is a quiet masterpiece about the healing power of one woman's dedication to uncovering the whole truth."

otherwise it's sort of just black humor that the internet loves. you're really smart but in a way this story is simply an elaborate joke about death.

[Anonymous No.13881063]

>>13881055
You're the first person to do anything other than vaguely nitpick negative aspects about my short story. Thanks, I guess.

You can steal it. I don't write any of my really good ideas down here.

[Anonymous No.13881067]

"Reel historie og myter er problematiske, om ikke umulige at adskille når det omhandler Roms prærepublikanske æra; da den galliske hær brændte Roms historier fra denne periode i det fjerde århundrede f.Kr. fratog de menneskeheden et betydningsfuldt indblik i vores fortid.
Af denne årsag er vores forståelse af Roms tidligste historie et produkt af senere historikere, som sandsynligvis selv blot havde oral tradition og myter at konsultere, og må derfor læses med omhu og forsigtighed.
Med dette fastslået har jeg til hensigt at fortælle disse historier som romerne videregav dem med minimal moderne fortolkning."

[Anonymous No.13881068]

>>13881031
i really appreciate the kind words anon. it's 12:30 AM but i feel like i have all the energy in the world. i'm not ESL by the way but approximately 50% of my reading is in foreign language and/or translation. and i sometimes prefer language that make less of a visceral impact and lingers in the intellect instead.

thanks again anon. you make me want to write more.

[Anonymous No.13881074]

>>13880715
I enjoyed this. Your story does "random" humor in a way that works and isn't utterly vapid and annoying.

>>13881055
https://s1.vocaroo.com/media/download_temp/Vocaroo_s1Mjyybip6z4.mp3
thought you might like this

[Anonymous No.13881107]

“New recruit. That is possibly a new dish washer. It is, if it washes his. His is not its. Both are but single parties. Which are singular entities, accordingly. In the larger dimensions. Where there is some room. It is hogged by this volume. Is the same room as me. Just as good at being a room as me. Being upon a level that I, too, am being upon. It is proving to be me. For all except me. For all such bad men. A correct amount of this. Improperly inserted into a wrong amount of that. Inserted into that, though. It would – then – become an inserted. Only if then. Will such be. Only will it be.
Be if it does. Do as it will. All of that (which is to be done by that). Be done… as some of that’s. Is to be that’s own.”

[Anonymous No.13881129]

>>13881068
Nice. I only ask because there are tendencies in primarily English writers to follow certain rules of composition and language.There are outliers in all forms for sure, but some things tend to strike an English ear in ways that subvert expectation. Everybody's different, and your work isn't so foreign or purposely 'outside' sounding as to make it difficult to an unlearned reader, but it is just enough that I thought I should ask.

I'd say you do a really good job of accomplishing that 'lingering' you speak of, at least for myself. Definitely continue to write. Again, I enjoyed both of your pieces and I'm sure many others would as well. Hope to see your work floating around here more often

[Anonymous No.13881144]

An unnatural silence hung over the classroom as the students huddled together in fear beneath their desks. The blinds were closed, the door was locked, and the missing teacher’s desk had been hastily shoved in front of the door as a rough barricade. A thin ray of bleak, grey light that slipped between the cracks of the window blinds was the only source of illumination in the room. It was, so far, the best and most promising day of young Ken Harrington’s life.

He had been doodling hours earlier. Dozing off in the rich afternoon sun, he had been sketching superheroes and monsters, daydreaming about Kat’s breasts and his fame that was going to sweep him above and away from all these losers once he got noticed for his artistic talent. Wondering when his real life was going to begin. And like magic, like something from a movie, they had all been startled awake by the staccato report of those shots. Three great cannon bursts, heralding something special, something finally different, meant for his ears alone and no one else’s.

[Anonymous No.13881269]

>>13880535
Women should be purged from /lit/.

[Anonymous No.13881282]

>>13880539
Make him the bad guy. The good guy protagonist has to figure out how to stop him.

[Anonymous No.13881331]

“It’s completely painless. I don’t see the problem.”
“You’re taking a life, though! The life of an innocent.”
“Is it alive, though? Is it fully conscious? The brain has yet to fully develop. It has thoughts and feelings, sure, but nothing like that of you or me. It doesn’t yet understand the concept of life and death; the only thing stopping it from wandering off a cliff is instinct.”
“So, where do we draw the line? A child with a high IQ might realise his nakedness at 5, while others never will.”
“A line must be drawn. We have chosen the age of 7 to be that line. It is at that age the majority of children have developed their brains more than they ever will. It is at that age we consider the child to be a living, thinking human.”

[Anonymous No.13881841]

Hvis I så bare alle sammen var faldet ned i samme hul, så I kunne sidde og tude til hullet blev fyldt op med jeres kollektive tårer, så I en dag kollektivt kunne klatre op fra hullet og stoppe med at tude. Eller bare drukne hinanden. Det ville da være bare den mindste smule interessant, eller i det mindste bare en lille smule poetisk.

[Anonymous No.13881946]

>>13880422
Somasomatic. Insecurity shoddens, shades, mars,
misdirects your somewhat clear force of will.
Purpled, plastered pulpitry. Sway up there, high enough. Thence, mustn't this be known:
anything worthwhile takes time.
Imagine marineminded patience when away from misgivings and seemingly misideated mones.


Thereof. I am not what you think.
Neither you, I, since I think nothing of you: nothing badly, mere nothing nothingly.
I admit, I do: I could not think well. Time be needed, and time thus taken. Nothing else felt, nothing hence needed.
Expand your chest, just a bit.
Still, something lay there, no? What was it you had felt? Perhaps pale lapis inly grown and now receded.


Second, surely. All will come in task.
We are what we are, and what we are is awareness and potential, azure and blue.
Higher pertinency does exist: I can change for the better and so can you.
None of any of any of this be the end-all.
Expand further, be of good pace. Better fortune soon, and you may veer upon something untimingly true.

Not the whole thing.
Thoughts? How can I make it flow better?

[Anonymous No.13882121]

First results of trying out the cut-up method

"Insatiable the bulk of this nightmare,
To a city that lies beneath the furrow,
Waking each candle with stale bitter air,
Set virtuously along the narrow,
An iridescent sun rise again,
Overflowing flinders from every vestige,
Out of helpless concentric waves,
The wallpaper nestles with the destined,
The prefigurement of our dreams,
Someday by the effervescent salts,
The computer memorises the consummation of lives,

Had he lit these among the secret,
What could he have glimpsed?,
Lost smoking soils in sequence,
What rich flaming gods lie betwixt?,

Contagious is the paper flowing,
In and out of stars alike,
Watch as they begin forgoing,
The faithful as they roll from sight,
The children laugh and beckon the void,
Carrying withering light from spite,
Atavistic memories shun what would be,
Recalling time bends with motion,
One day the glass beads will awake,
To digest the earth fixed wit gold and words of thee,"

Slowly getting there with making the flow/rhythm smoother.

Also
>>13881946
I'm a fan, love seeing some optimism about.

[Anonymous No.13882284]

An idyllic and pastoral meditation on the innocence of youth.

In this film, life is perfect. Seen through the eyes of a child, existence is nothing more than the heat of a summer day, a calming ride in the back of your parents' car, and sleeping under the stars. It's all framed and shot with a relaxed, steady hand that takes the time to let the picture's activity develop at its own, naturalistic pace.

For the vast majority of Thursday Till Sunday's runtime, the theme is one of calmness and contentment, albeit with a barely-there undercurrent of unease, brought about by the concealed drama of the parent characters. It's scored by an ambience of rumbling tyres and the chatter of birdsong, and its message is purely of peace and hope.

[Anonymous No.13882299]

>>13880422
>10 It was a warm even-ing in Win-ter-ton.
>25 Jam-ie Bar-nett and Hea-ther Agu-irre sat in a parked car in front of their a-part-ment build-ing on 4th Street.
>10 There was an un-com-fort-ab-le si-lence.
The dashes and preceding numbers are because I was counting syllables.

[Anonymous No.13882905]

>>13881841
i always feel like i should be able to read the other germanic languages - the words look like words that have long been forgotten, but sadly too much has changed to still be intelligible.

[Anonymous No.13882941]

“Siamo nel 2019!” sbottò mia cugina, mentre il cielo veniva illuminato da mille colori, ad indicare che effettivamente, no, non eravamo più nel 2019.
Poco interessato alla semantica, ascoltai con orecchio annoiato quell’invettiva proveniente dalla stanza affianco.
“Siamo nel 2019 e ancora non potete accettare che io sia lesbica?”
Mentre il mondo capitanato dal GMT+1 era in piena orgia per salutare il nuovo anno -primo giorno dell’anno certamente propizio a cambiamenti; e se proprio ora sono al quinto bicchiere - 250ml ca - di sangiovese perché dovrei mai smetter di bere? non son ubriaco, dottore, sono felice - io avrei volentieri aperto la mia bocca, per, con gentilezza mignottesca, fare un bel pompino ad un canne mozze. O Capitano, mio Capitano, la legittima difesa contro l’appassimento dell’anima, fa parte del suo disegno di legge?

[Anonymous No.13882981]

oh no... no god...
please not again... n-no more...
I can't hold it in, i'm...
i'm.............
i'M COOOOOOOOOOMINGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH
I CAN'T STOP SOMEBODY PLEASE HELP WITH THIS COOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

[Anonymous No.13882985]

>>13882981
based coomer

[Anonymous No.13882991]

>>13882981
fuck... based

[Anonymous No.13883042]

>>13881841
Hvem er "I"?

[Anonymous No.13883311]

I strolled around the university campus alone, taking in the sound of the crickets and the cool night air. It brought me back to happier times, nights at P____ Park waving sparklers around with other children without a care in the world while the adults fanned charcoal at the barbeque pit, sounds of bright laughter dancing through the air. Even when the sparklers had fizzled out, we never felt reluctant to leave, thinking with our childish innocence that those salad days would last forever. We would line up our bicycles, count “Three, two, one!” and pedal down the path, imagining that we were Lewis Hamilton or Schumacher or Räikkönen zipping around a Formula One circuit, flanked by those ubiquitous street lamps. The lamp posts here, however, shone the warm colour of the sunset, and I did not have anyone to share it with. I thought that lamp posts must be the loneliest objects in the world: Each one was flanked by another two of its brethren, yet none of them would ever know another’s touch.

*

I usually rewrite stuff at least five times before I show it to anyone so yeah this is a new paragraph I shoved into one of my stories I swear I'm usually better

[Anonymous No.13883489]

snow slips
from the roofs of passing cars
and follows them like
the tails of distant comets
as we walk the long gray streets of morning,
backs bent beneath
the impossible weight of clouds

[Anonymous No.13883879]

>>13883311
didn't read the actual story but holy shit man stop worrying about what you write. know that even the greats felt insecure about their writing. accept that nothing you write will be good, and enjoy the process.

[Anonymous No.13883929]

>>13883489
nice some of those breaks feel weird though especially between "like" and "the tails"

[Anonymous No.13883940]

>>13882981
Exquisite. A tour de force.

[Chromite No.13884009]

>>13880422
How do you guys feel about fanfiction? Did you know the book Gone with the Wind has 400K words in it? This year, I've written and published 376K words worth of stories, and that number is growing.

It's all fanfiction for the show Steven Universe. This is the latest story I've completed a chapter for, will be posting chapter 17 of it today, after I write on another chapter for another story.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/ (remove this and close the spaces, blue boards are picky about links to AO3) 20274151/chapters/48058696

[Anonymous No.13884020]

>>13880422
"Women can't understand blood brother type relationships outside of a romantic context. Women are superficial." - post I made on /tv/

[Anonymous No.13884033]

It was an entire tirade on Monster Girl Quest. Too long to post the whole thing so I'll just leave this absolutely awful paragraph.

"Which vile creature of the deep gave birth to you failures? Ah, and here are more specimens. Look at them! This beast woman with the feline ears and tail, what is her purpose? What demonic possession bid the process of evolution decide that this was acceptable? Aha, why, of course, silly me, evolution, no, this was entirely the doing of man. And look at this! A woman, and yet, a dog! What purpose does she serve, save for being the punchline of a terribly contrived joke about canines and mating seasons? Does her superior sense of smell let her more easily catch the scent of other women on her potential mates? I refuse to even dignify the feathered ones with an audience. And there too, out in the garden, is some older gent raising Mandragoras. Right on the other side of the street is an oversized bee creature. All the way in the forest, as I take my daily strolls, I can still hear the incantations and spells of hooded cultists, their perspiration as clear as an autumn shower, trying desperately to summon succubi, cerberi and all manner of demons and devils for sexual favors. Every waking moment of my life is an eternal battle against the voice inside of my terribly hollow skull, urging me, pleading, as though I were its husband of untold years, to bring an end to the suffering which I am constantly, consistently burdened with as I lay eyes upon the sheer lack of continence in the males of my own species."

[Anonymous No.13884069]

>>13880472

[Anonymous No.13884088]

Filleting feet and mincing meat,
Cooking kin and Sautéing skin,
At least I smell good to eat!

Guiltless grins and flogged foreskins
Horrendous heat and decreed defeat,
Call the trumpets and stop the violin!

All this you can bear,
And if you can enjoy hell
You can enjoy anywhere!

[Anonymous No.13884102]

naokolo stále bzučí elektrické vedenie
suché teplo, šedý dym a nevravíš už vôbec nič
zápach drôtov, tvrdej zeme, a ostýchavé vedomie
(že) to čo bolo bolo iba na chvíľu a už je preč

[卐 No.13884211]

>>13880535
I really like this one

[Anonymous No.13884279]

>>13883311
i'd pay money to read your book

>>13884009
i can understand some authors' appehension about other writers stealing or appropriating their worlds, characters, and other contents

but personally, i like fanfiction a lot. it's good practice writing, and allows you to write something worth reading even though you don't know how to invent whole complex characters or worlds out of nothing

it can be a good social experience too, at least for young people. 2 of my nearest and dearest friends i met through fanfic.

>>13884088
reminds me of https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tom_o%27_Bedlam

>>13880535
i really like this too

[Anonymous No.13884315]

>>13880422
Descending into the rot, the flames and the turf
Of earth abound around my corpse
Slow death
In the ground, buried
To stilt the flames that burn within.
But the ringing chimes of turmoil
And the singing rhymes of decay
Keep me alive to this day--
I've never stopped questioning.
And never started answering.

A shrill whine pierces the sky
Here they come, coupled with
All the minds of death.
Here are/the ways
In which
Nothing
Gets done.

(1) PROGRAM FOR DOOM
It has come to the attention of these vested authorities, [REDACTED],
That the man in question, [REDACTED], has committed crimes beyond any mortal comprehension that will satisfy the state.
On [REDACTED] in [REDACTED] we see that [REDACTED] has committed [REDACTED] on [REDACTED] and thus sown the seeds for our destruction.
I. To be administered—250 mg of Mesoridazine, injected by means of needle, on the first of every month.
II. To be inflicted—public flogging within the domain of our jurisdiction.
III. To be seen—by every able-bodied man with satisfactory diction.

(2) PROGRAM FOR DISSEMINATION
Of course, what awares would be about us without the composition and comprehension
Of those people who have such a beautiful education?
Where would we be,
Had I not told
The remnants of our fabulous civilization?
I. Cue up the TV, the radio, the film screens and talking-heads of this generation.
II. Summon the press, the boots and their lickers
III. Stifle those who oppose the New World Order.

And here I lay,
Within the cacophonous array,
Tossing and turning
Holding out for dear breath
But it's dead,
And so it may be.

[Anonymous No.13884414]

>>13884279
Tom o'Bedlam copied me anon

Thanks anon. I'm in this poetry class and I don't really understand poetry so I thought I'd try writing some. We read Frost's "Design" and I didn't like how depressing it seemed yet how beautiful the imagery was. I was trying to do the opposite of what Frost did but when I read it back it sounds like Dr.Seuss.

[Anonymous No.13884423]

A man of nervous production
Of starts and stops
He works the presses, collates divine literatures
Tracts, Christ in a pamphlet

Eyes weepy with fluorescence
He tinkers and fiddles
Plays violin of a Sunday
Shoulders bowed, eyes uplifted Beard like an aging fire

[Anonymous No.13884435]

>>13884315
Love the program for doom stanza. Very cool concept.

[Anonymous No.13884440]

>>13884435
samefag

[Anonymous No.13884443]

>>13884440
that anon made me read >>13884315 so if he did samefag, it worked because i liked it

[Anonymous No.13884525]

I wear this watch, I am tied to time.

[Anonymous No.13884544]

>>13884102
dobrý dobrý

[Anonymous No.13884650]

Working Man, Working man
Work your life away

Wake up at early dawn
Join the stone-faced men walking in a line
The industrial buzz of it all carries you along

Working Man, Working man
Work your life away

Become a commodity, your value robbed
Sold to the highest bidder
in the market place of life
Your children follow suit

Working Man, Working man
Work your life away

Tied to the clock
The heavenly ecstasies of the 48 hour work week are your reward
No-Sleep
Sleep
Now mow the lawn
An early death waits for you

Working Man, Working man
Work your life away

[Anonymous No.13884658]

>>13880422
But anon, regardless of what I post Wouldn't it still technically be the most recent thing I've written? I'd have top write it to post it ;3

[Anonymous No.13884670]

>>13884658
not me :3

[Anonymous No.13884919]

Perianth / Whorl (homochlamydeous)

[...] when you wake up on the second eve,
and the peregrines begin their dive,
when your grimoire’s all the worse for wear,
and the calm looks like a breaker too,
when you’re wise for your age, ‘cause you tried it,
when the air breathes in and sends it off,
then her twig snaps back and she breaks,
“We could have things to do we could have fun”

[Anonymous No.13884967]

A stone garden with walls made of rose, the whole way lit by brazen torches held by blue dresses.

[Anonymous No.13885008]

You aren't true,
But you are wonderful.
Wonderful enough to
Fill my unruly self.
Make me comprehensible,
Make me obedient.

Make me do something,
something incomplete.
If you have lost anything
I will kiss every feet,
of every emperor,
to later kiss yours.

My brush and my lust
pleads for colours;
make me a rain,
and a bow, and
myself, out of bound.

My Muse, my life;
I don't deserve nor want
any of you.
Please let me be
Alone.

[Anonymous No.13885024]

>>13880422
This

[Anonymous No.13885197]

>>13885024
deep
when's your book coming out?

[Anonymous No.13885216]

>>13885008
>>13884650
>>13884423
>>13883489
>>13882121
>>13881946
>>13880987

mira gonzalez tier angsty teenage cringe

fucking american pseud zoomer fags you are one of the reasons this board sucks

[Anonymous No.13885238]

>>13885216
based
thanks for skipping me

[Anonymous No.13885274]

>>13880472
Beautiful

[Anonymous No.13885281]

Here's my latest poem;

Pedlar at Work

Me a sapp’d pedlar,
I go not far.
Me pestles trot
Perfunctory,
And all for nought;
‘Tercessory
As it would seem.

Cart cark roufled:
A wheel is shot!
At that me said
“Ye worth no dot!”
I fight the urge
To kick ye fraught
With angry surge
For me to purge

Ye art a rump
And start me jump
With so much ire,
do move thee sire!
Would be best to
Blaze you afire.
For ye, fellow
Doth not follow

Apollo sleeps
No dream for me,
And more he keeps
A dreadful fee
Upon my day;
Terr’ble levy,
This I must pay,
My cart to-fray

Dame Putrid is nigh,
She uses big talk;
When summer lends bye
Will the sun yet balk
With ascendancy?
If not for the sky
Of clouds in the fall
Should we forget high
Sunshine’s gloat and all

But nonetheless
Dame Putrid mobs,
Her ugly tress
Right ready robs
Each freke of sight;
And so she sobs
With all her might
In such a fright.
Goddamn these jobs!

Her shout is broad
“Turn from me, chough!
Get off the road!”
Her skin a’slough
From head below
Down to the toe
And also blo.
Her eyen slow
For me to show.

And on her way
Quick as can be
I dare not stay
My cart lost me
After a stound
As now you see
My work is bound
With cart unfound
For me to dree

Perhaps I would
Like to become
A pioneer
Without my cart

[Anonymous No.13885287]

https://pastebin.com/FEKvGeAj

[Anonymous No.13885568]

>>13885281
TL;DR but i liked what i read

[Anonymous No.13885594]

>>13883879
I rewrite a lot. My first drafts are disgusting. I'm a very harsh critic on my own work.

>>13884279
Thanks I'm trying to compile all my short stories and get them published next year.

[Anonymous No.13885654]

>>13885216
i just wrote a poem in honor of you

the ballad of 13885216

i have no friends at work
i have no friends at home
and even the nice girls
call me forever alone

so i head over to /lit/
and say everything is shit
(or "or angsty teenage cringe")
'cause i know i'll never publish

[Anonymous No.13885678]

>>13885281
fantastic. high-spirited and fun. a bit anglophilic for my tastes though. i prefer french lit

[Anonymous No.13885691]

The master and margarita

[Anonymous No.13885694]

>>> As I finished the last cigarette in the pack I looked down at the dead body laying beside me. He'd stiffed me on rent for the last god damn time. I put the cigarette out in the bottle of whisky he'd left sitting out on his counter while flies continued to buzz around the dirty dishes laying in the sink. The sun continued to set, casting the long shadows of the palms outside onto the wall. Looking out onto the California beach I felt a sense of peace settle over me. Being a slumlord was hard but there was no doubt in my mind, if I became a property developer, I'd be in jail.

[Anonymous No.13885780]

He stared down into his matte brown reflection wondering if his coffeeself inherited its own dimension of reality beyond its appearance, wondering if his coffeeself worked in a lattefactory and drove a mochacar. Maybe his coffeeself was likewise staring down into his cup of reality thinking much the same. Coffeeaxons firing javatricity through furtive brown highways powering realitythoughts of the slim pink face within the mug beneath him. As if he, coffeeMike, could possibly not be the only Mike within this creation. Maybe realMike could be reached somehow through lines of magic connecting their worlds as yet undiscovered by sages of the bean. If only coffeeMike could make himself heard by realMike, if only he could shout into some void within the void where his words reach realEars instead of falling upon deaf coffeeEars, reach realWall. But coffeeMike knows that realMike cannot be connected with, he knows that despite all his yearning he can never become one with realMike. He knows this mirage of meaning will be erased and made again thousands of times within ripples of time and ceramic mug. He drinks of realMike and sighs, but he cannot understand that within that act of consumption realMike is reached, and for just one instant — temporally immeasurable, theoretically precedent —, he is acknowledged and presently acknowledging that vast in-ness of both Mikes with much more reality than mere words.

Pls no bully

[Anonymous No.13886160]

>>13884088
can i get a bully on this

im new and want to know why this is shitty, open to any critiques. have a hard time understanding what makes poetry good

[Anonymous No.13886182]

I searched Amazon for ‘men’s no show toe socks’

[Anonymous No.13886195]

i wrote this for my gf pls r8

She slept beneath the old oak tree
with I beside her still,
and what a sight it had to be
on such a cherished hill.

Her lips impart such simple joy,
unneeding of a sound,
upon the mind of I, her boy,
beginning love profound.

Her hand remains enclosed in mine
My heart fills so with bliss,
And even then begins to pine
for my sweet lover’s kiss.

I wish to touch her swirling hair
although I lack a power
to press upon this vision fair
until the rightful hour.

[Anonymous No.13886199]

>>13880422
Love them, my favorite album is "Vulgar Display of Artifacts of Toxic Egoism and Masculinity, Please Forget We Were a Hair-metal Band"

[Anonymous No.13886218]

>text to friend: "SHORT STORY IDEA: Gladiator arena in the future, blacks are fighting to the death, gold plated gucci batons and clubs, white people come to watch and cheer on the violence. A spectator becomes disgusted with the fight and is told to get with the times, that he is being insensitive, that they aren’t forced to do this."

>Friend: "Bro that's racist."

[Anonymous No.13886234]

“I’ve never had dreams in which I could fly. Those always seem to me to be used as examples of the most sublime that dreams can get, visions of pure serenity translated from the essence of hope. While I must, unfortunately, lack the composition of neurons or connectromes that permit one to experience the ecstasy of soaring above the ground, that is not to say that I can’t feel these emotions in a separate, protracted type of dream.

In my dream, I wake up as my bed is gently carried out of the house where I sleep upon a surge of floodwater, forceful enough to force the mattress between the door it obviously shouldn’t fit through, but gentle enough to keep me in the arms of sleep until I find myself adrift on the crest of a new landscape. Around me the world lies buried under tonnes of murky, grey mottled water. The tips of trees poke through the surf as the fingertips of the new environment, all their years of hard work now buried in the deluge. I trail my fingers through the water as I float by the mountains made hills, noting the way the refracted turn signals of cars sunk fathoms below blink in a solemn parody of those deep luminescent fish that lure their prey with light. These cars are empty, their owners and their prey gone with the tide.

Eventually, the waters begin to subside and the mattress on which I float begins to sink down to the level of asphalt and concrete again. In the dream, I never know where I will end up, and yet it is always the same place. Sliding perfectly through waist-deep shoals, the mattress fits like a puzzle piece into a ring of its brethren that surround, like boats anchored in a marina, their ancient home: The Mattress Warehouse. My raft of cotton lies sober now in the dock. Inside the Warehouse, the employees are partying, partying, partying. Champagne fizz stains the new year’s stock and memory foam confetti lies scattered about like snow, or hail. Their faces are turned from me, and yet I know that if I were to walk in and look them in the eyes, all they would be able to say, despite the evidence of their revelry, is: ‘Hello. Are you here to buy, or just laying around?’”

- Joe Biden

[Anonymous No.13886251]

>>13886195
9.5/10

[Anonymous No.13886253]

When I arrived at my apartment, I took off my coat and crashed onto the couch. My apartment was chilly so I wrapped into a blanket and looked out the window. The city sure was thriving tonight, I thought to myself. I saw groups of people walking to the bars, yelling at the clouds and goofing around to impress their friends. Couples were entangled in each other as they made their way through the breezy streets. No one seemed to mind the cold, though. Every face I saw shone through the dark night with an ecstatic brightness. I wished I could go down and join them. I focused on one couple: a tall, coated man, and a smaller woman, heading into a restaurant. In the lobby of the entrance, I watched as they both pulled their hoods down and locked eyes. They nuzzled their heads together and laughed. Then, they kissed and hugged each other without a moment of thought. They pulled away, and I watched as the woman flashed her beady eyes up at the man and smiled. The two took off their coats and walked through the doors. I lost them.
I got up from my chair and went to the bathroom, where I briskly washed my face and brushed my teeth. I quickly tidied up my room and fell into bed. It was a lonely apartment I had, but I was glad I went out that night. I put on my headphones, shut my eyes, and dozed off shortly after.

[Anonymous No.13886280]

but it was too late

[Anonymous No.13886289]

Alma 17:15- It does not appear that Lehi’s family brought idolatry with them across the ocean. Reverence for the sun, moon, and other heavenly bodies probably arose independently among the Lamanites as it has in cultures across the globe. Both Lamoni, his father, and his subjects recognize the existence of one “Great Spirit” in particular as the creator of the earth, but this recognition does not preclude belief in other spirits or deities.

[Anonymous No.13886302]

>>13880956
It's only cringe from here on out. That's why I quit while I was ahead.

[Anonymous No.13886391]

>>13886195
it's good!
not perennial Literature, but it's from the heart, unpretentious, and she'll think it's cute

[Anonymous No.13886460]

>>13885568
>>13885678
Thank you squire!

[Anonymous No.13886467]

>>13880422
this
fucking
post

[Anonymous No.13886516]

would love feedback. Give it to me straight.

Years of torment
Feelings pent up
Nothing worth of accomplishment

A warm pleasant night
The wind blows
A room lit through a dim light

A broken voice
dont you worry
Just know its my choice

A small blade in plain sight
Caressing the skin
Winning the fight

A sudden rush
A predetermined willingness
A face flushed

Time to reminisce
Before the deed is done
moment of pure bliss

Now, only silence
An existence
That is now an essence

So rejoice!
One and all!

Ive won the fight
The greatest gift
The end of life

So rejoice!
One and all!

Ive won the fight
The greatest gift
The end of life

[Anonymous No.13886602]

Please...do not...laugh at me. Rudy is my dog.

Basically, it’s just me and Rudy at home. Mom is gone. Things are normal, I’m walking Rudy. But I see something strange, not sure what it is yet. It’s from someone else’s nightmare, it’s bleeding into reality. And so I go on this short adventure to get to the root of this and stop dreams from leaking into reality, for better or for worse. I think the player has to fight them in order to return them to the Dream World. Idk maybe there’s some other way, whatever. Point is that the player becomes familiar with the process of how to “defeat” an entity from the Dream World that’s appearing from reality and sends it back to the dreamer’s dream. But after spending so much time in the Dream World, I become a dream myself. I try to come back to reality, only to have someone come and “defeat” me too before I can explain myself.

Ambivalence is just a word I like. Also you can connect it to Dream to make “Dreambivalence” which doesn’t making any fucking sense but I’ve had that word in my mind for weeks now.

Sorry if I sound like a retard. I’m not proofreadig and I’m tired. Long day

[Anonymous No.13886609]

>>13886602
Escaped Chasm. That’s the name of her game. Short game, made in RPG Maker, just as an experiment, but I loved it.

[Anonymous No.13886631]

It's a sonnet. I haven't formatted it with any stanzaic breaks yet.

I'll reply to others as I read through and have time.

[Anonymous No.13886651]

>>13880422
This is the second paragraph for a Compare/contrast essay on articles.

It is possible for an opinion to not require logic, it could be formed through empathy or emotion. With this manner of thought, the tactic used by Brook is to cite the quotes of the politician from Twitter [an online web of forums hosted by a website to discuss anything with no legitimate proof of identification required to input] which can be proven legitimate if the website recognizes the politician as their genuine self. However, they attempt to show anger from 3 emotionally charged quotes from three anonymous Twitter users that responded to the politician’s tweet [slang for beginning a forum on Twitter]. By not mentioning how many responses the tweet garnered the reader can only reasonably react to these three tweets since that is what the writer intended. Neither the reader can know if the anonymous tweets were the only one, nor the writer can know if the reader has a preformed opinion. A sort of "Schrödinger's cat" in twitter form, or a "Schrödinger's tweet" if you will it.

[Anonymous No.13886860]

>>13886651
this is really awful and i hope you don't turn it in

[Anonymous No.13888177]

>>13884544
Ďakujem

[Anonymous No.13888215]

The mind, too afflicted by thought for sleep
is held fast to the waking world.
In the dark of August, the only voices
are the voices of crickets and their company.

Soon, they too will leave us.
The night will be complete in its stillness
save for the sound of stray leaves
and faint rapping of snowflakes.

One comes to miss the crickets
and would bargain back the dreadful humidity
to hear their singing once more before winter.
We try to quell the silence with writings in books

but letters vex the mind with dull abstraction.
Letters on pages string together as words
words bemuse us with images and ideas
which themselves are shadows at the end of a cave.

This symposium of insects signifies nothing
It feels no need to justify its music.
Insects, sing on, deliver us from The Wasteland
and carry us off to the remotest heaven of Whitman.

[Anonymous No.13888274]

>>13888215
trying too hard

[Anonymous No.13888303]

>>13880546
being a tryhard faggot always produces cringe but the synergy you have achieved is sublime

[Anonymous No.13888362]

>>13880422
Turn left and go underneath the bridge. As I reach a curve I unconciously look at all the cars driving the opposite direction. I feel their faces awkwardly evading my brown and lifeless eyes. Their voices bounce inside my head for less than 2 seconds, then they are gone. As I approach a apostolic church the same sign steals my attention. Always a different and nonsensical message; political most of the times. The sign. It's on top of a carpet place or at least that's what I have always believed. Why is it there? And why in a carpet place? I get to the red light and since no cars are going that way I turn right. The sun dazzles me. The sky, the clouds, the trees, the sun; a picture gets stamped inside my eyelids. Drawn with sun light. Red borders and missing the original colors it fades away.

[Anonymous No.13888528]

>>13880422
The bells rang on the fabled day. The toiling workers of the Indus River throughout down their Capital Gear and cried out to the mountainside from where the volcano rested. The Englishman, shameless and torn from the mystical as he was, let out a feminine shriek demanding they continue their humiliating labour. The voice was smothered by fat. And the rumbling. For from the long abandoned Lower Himalayas were the irradiated hellscape allowed for no life; steam bellowed. The crawling was heard from strange creatures. Millions of them. A deafening chatter of metal pipes engulfed the little town as the sun drowned under the never ending fumes. The creatures emerged as the cliffsides turned a hellish crimson. Insects, tall as two men, wide as five, clad in metal on every leg from eight to a thousand,on their wings and their fangs as they scurried and glided towards the prey. They let out a guttural roar in unison freezing the hearts of every resident. Then the chanting began. A reverberating harsh tone that barely seemed human with words in a language the English or the Indians knew not. A claw gripped the lowest peak and rose a thing that seemed like a man. As the insects it to was wrapped by metal with pikes bulging from his shoulders to his feet and his visor not revealing an inch of skin except a neon glow underneath. His men spilled over the heights mounted on horses bound in armour they should not be able to lift. The chanting grew to a crescendo as the flag bearer stepped forth. A harpy eagle with Arabic caligraphy suspensed above its wings. The first man perched atop the peak cried out back.

"We have come to deliver you and this world."

[Anonymous No.13888981]

>>13886860
I didn't, I removed the last sentence.

THEN, I turned it in. Give me constructive criticism Anon.

[Anonymous No.13889057]

“Measuring just under ten feet in length and weighing over 2,000 pounds, the Megalonyx is an extinct genus of ground sloth that existed during the Pleistocene, (approximately 2.5 million to 12,000 years ago) endemic to North America. The bones of this particular specimen (pictured) were uncovered by a surprised groundskeeping crew during a planting project at North College on March 2nd and later were determined by paleontologists to be small leg fragments of the M.jeffersonii species of giant sloths that once roamed the southern and western regions of what is now the United States.”

So reads the article in the local tribune dated 16 years and four months ago today which first stamped that ill-fated animal’s existence into the documented, the recorded and the real, though I suspect it planted a far stronger impression on my own mind that upon that of the public’s, whose memory for the unearthing of matter from epochs past is understandably short. The reasons for my involvement with the genre of forgotten genera should, I hope, become apparent to the investigative reader, as should my reticence for revealing them now. While any statutes of limitation have long since expired (lest some idea of dubious legality or cliché of similar ilk enter your mind), and the potential for this tale to effect negatively any living persons financially or otherwise is nil, the necessity for narrative variety, drive and pulse by means of withholding pertinent information, if need be, still remains for the successful and long-lived tragedy or comedy, even the true ones. I hope you’ll understand.

The campus of North College in a northern American state takes the lion’s share of this particular tale’s most crucial events, and you may recall that name as the location of the aforementioned ‘excavation’ that brought forth those mammalian bones now posed, assembled, in a museum just a few miles south of where I pen this account.

>>13880455
I think this works pretty well as a little stand alone miniature piece. Solid prose, I hope it doesn;t turn into an ancap manifesto
>>13886253
Pretty good, I would change this sentence though
>It was a lonely apartment I had, but I was glad I went out that night
I can't think of something specific to change it to, but just reread that sentence and I think you'll see what I mean

[Anonymous No.13889709]

stump

[Anonymous No.13889746]

>>13880422
556: The purpose of a bill of rights is to restrict government power especially the legislative as the most powerful branch of gov. by giving the judiciary reasons to apply judicial review on the legislative. Positive rights require the legislative to pass laws (taxes to pay for social programs.) to enforce them. The check the legislative has over the judiciary that of judicial review is the power to nullify laws that are unconstitutional. This check can keep laws from being passed but not force the legislative to pass laws. the only way for the judiciary to enforce positive rights is to pass laws itself thus assuming legislative power and breaking the separation between legislative and judiciary. the breakdown of the separation of powers is undesirable. Thus positive rights in a bill of rights are unenforcable by a judiciary and thus superfluous and nothing more than a mission statement that doesn't protect positive rights at all (in a society with a separation of powers.)

[Anonymous No.13889787]

Once summer came and relieved Thomas of his scholarly duties, he decided to go on a walk, far, far away. He thought the fresh air, the unknown landscapes and the different cultures would give him a fresh outlook on things and change him noticeably. Along the road and days later, with his head up in the clouds, he starts to wonder why he even undertook the journey in the first place. His mind wanders, perhaps, in an attempt at harmony.
„And it isn’t at all clear to me why I should be alive. After all, it’s because, a very long time ago, a cosmic violence breathed life into this human body of mine. And now I’m here, disillusioned and having not learned a shred of wisdom. Oh, what a blessing this boredom is. I should probably call mom sometime soon.“

[Anonymous No.13890005]

>>13886160
The mention of flogged foreskins just makes me think of Jews

[Anonymous No.13890034]

>>13880422

why are you invisible

[Anonymous No.13890199]

>>13880422
>"Post the most recent thing you've written. No matter how cringy you think it is. Do it"
by OP

[Anonymous No.13890279]

>>13885654
i actually feel quite humbled and your poem being even more angsty teenage cringe is true pottery <3
saved

[Anonymous No.13890291]

A little anti-fascist poem I wrote.

We're told that after the war
The Nazis vanished without a trace
But battalions of fascists
Still dream of a master race

The history books they tell
But they all came out of the woodwork
On the day the Nazi died

They say the prisoner at Spandau
Was a symbol of defeat
Whilst Hess remained imprisoned
And the fascists; they were beat

So the promise of an Aryan world
Would never materialize
So why did they all come out of the woodwork
On the day the Nazi died

The world is riddled with maggots
The maggots are getting fat
They're making a tasty meal of all
The bosses and bureaucrats

They're taking over the boardrooms
And they're fat and full of pride
And they all came out of the woodwork
On the day the Nazi died

So if you meet with these historians
I'll tell you what to say
Tell them that the Nazis
Never really went away

They're out there burning houses down
And peddling racist lies
And we'll never rest again
Until every Nazi dies

[Anonymous No.13890312]

Wrote this for a Tinder "art hoe" while drunk and in bed.

"Hundreds of matches and I still feel alone. My art hoe is missing, but my love for her has grown. Paint canvas’s lay empty and museums lay unexplored, yet my heart continues to pump blood but my soul is battered and torn."

>>13880641
Put a smile on my face. Send this to a girl and she'll fawn over you.

[Anonymous No.13890319]

Wrote this for a Tinder "art hoe" while drunk and in bed.

"Hundreds of matches and I still feel alone. My art hoe is missing, but my love for her has grown. Paint canvas’s lay empty and museums lay unexplored, yet my heart continues to pump blood but my soul is battered and torn."

>>13880641
Put a smile on my face. Send this to a girl and she'll be all over you.

[Anonymous No.13890330]

he stopped going there;
he stopped knowing there
was more to life,
where more to wive
than wicked demons.
then wicked demons
sidetracked him
- sight tricked him
into belief in
their treacherous lies,
into believing
that treasure there lies

[Anonymous No.13890344]

>>13881144
Love this. I've been contemplating writing a right mass shooter fiction novel but don't wanna get v& when researching.

[Anonymous No.13890349]

thanks for the carry <3

[Anonymous No.13890389]

*unfinished*

I am brimming over with ideas, yes;
And not a tear have I shed
For those that have slipped away.

What I mean to say is that clarity
Can only come
when you formulate a phrase and
Let it echo in the abyss.

Have you lost a change of perspective?
Oh, do not fret. I have passed through them all,
But my eyes were wet.

[Anonymous No.13890391]

>>13880641
gay

[Anonymous No.13890411]

>>13890349
not me

[Anonymous No.13890414]

>>13880641
I like it

[Anonymous No.13890437]

The smell of laden skies
sweeps in pregnant masses
which has made still things think
of the downturning branches

And what passes from a gutter
made from salt and oil
is the smell of oscillations
in that hundred foot pond

Of that which blooms in old breezes
of mile-long grasses, of pine
that blows on creased faces
wrapped in linen robes

Blown around the complacent stars
its robes hung on earthen racks
Under whose palm the wind freezes
is turned an unmoving mask

[Anonymous No.13890460]

scribbled this down the other night when i was really in a fucked up mental state.

it is a miracle that God has not torched this entire planet. it is a miracle that God has not thrown me into the trash fire. it is a miracle that i am still even breathing. i am scared. any moment could be my last. any moment could be the final straw. any moment could be the moment where God's patience finally runs dry. any moment could be the one where God finally decides to down fire on the earth. He could wipe us all out like nothing. we have no right to exist like this.
God is truly merciful. i am afraid for my life.

[Anonymous No.13890461]

>>13890411
why would i pretend to be you when im already me?

[Anonymous No.13890491]

>>13889057
Can I get a critique on this?

[Anonymous No.13890520]

>>13890389
>>13890291
>>13886516
see
>>13885216


>>13886195
also angsty zoomer teenage cringe but if you are actually under the age of 18 i see some hope for you, you seem to have a good grasp at poetry. Most young good poets have their cringy phases, even Goethe wrote Leiden des jungen Werthers before he wrote Faust.

[Anonymous No.13890525]

As I lay,
In this bed,
Awful passing thoughts fill my head, wrapped in sheets up to my chest,
As my brain tests,
My heart sobs,
I pass on and on but stay attached,
To the girl through broken glass.

[Anonymous No.13890552]

>>13890525
r8 me /8

[Anonymous No.13890554]

>>13890525
Great poym, but what does your brain test anon?

[Anonymous No.13890565]

>>13889057
Am i supposed to care why you remembered something you read a decade ago? this isn't awful for an English paper, but if it's supposed to be the start of a novel i'd suggest trying again.

[Anonymous No.13890592]

>>13890552
coomercore/8

[Anonymous No.13890610]

Un sistema de sociedad como el que vivimos, cuyas características fundacionales son la competencia y la ganancia, requiere de un sujeto que se sustenta en su egoísmo y que desprecia –por tanto- toda relación solidaria, cooperante, comunitaria, que no sirva a sus intereses singulares.

La inagotable acumulación de riquezas en manos de una minoría, en desmedro de la calidad de vida de la mayoría, hace que, en tanto parte de esa mayoría, nos planteemos la necesidad de avanzar en la construcción de un proyecto de sociedad donde prime la justicia, la democracia radical y el respeto a nuestro hábitat.

[Anonymous No.13890644]

milky milky
round and round
tightly bound
let it out
let it about
no fear
just doubt
it feels good
just like I should
just like I chould
but Im an underachiever
and wouldn't believe her

[Anonymous No.13890702]

Hello,
I am applying for employment as a Marketing Assistant at the Orchestra of St. Luke's.

I recently graduated cum laude from Columbia University with a B.A. in music. During my time at Columbia, I worked at WKCR, Columbia's radio station, including a period as New Music Director. This role often involved communicating with promoters, artists and listeners, and arranging interviews and other promotions for artists and concerts.

In addition to my radio experience, I have also been an active composer and musician for many years now, including participation as artist-in-residence in international composition festivals and in local New York new music ensembles. I have also served as part of the administration for Columbia New Music, Columbia's undergraduate composition circle, where I organized, programmed and advertised concerts of our own. New York's music culture has nurtured me for a long time, and I believe it has given me the experience and excitement necessary to properly advocate for the innovative and energetic programming of the Orchestra of St. Luke's.

Also attached is my résumé. Please feel free to contact me with any further questions you may have.

[Anonymous No.13890748]

>>13890702
dear anon,

we've reviewed your resume, and everything seems to be in good order, but we must ask: are you in fact a P.O.C? the position we're offering is one that, as a company, we think would be best filled by a latina woman, or perhaps even a pigmy negroe.

[Anonymous No.13890808]

>>13890565
Dude, it's fictional. I'm not the narrator, none of that happened.

[Anonymous No.13890893]

>>13880445
your missing some comas. you lost me at "i want want"
>>13880446
this was nice.
>>13880455
that was interesting up until Bofur started thinking
>>13880472
i really enjoyed this. i like how you handled the subject matter, it's very.. holy crap that's good.
>>13880535
sorta. they meet up for the fist time in years and have kinky cave sex but the abbot monk catches them and cuts off the girls head and the forces the guy to cut off his penis head. later on the guy becomes a servant to the local lord who puts him in charge of the brothel he owns.

[Anonymous No.13890901]

i listened through class
to my head in alarm
and all i could hear
were songs about me
like 22 and all i can say
is hi, its me, mr pity on rice
navel gazing some more
ill tell you so thrice
that and my theories
the uncertain and so on
my nail bed for you
im sure its real nice
but excuse me, im sorry
i missed parking, im sorry
but dont worry, dont worry
cause id like to go
to canyons up north
and trip along the way

[Anonymous No.13891065]

>>13880641
>where cold Ohio winds have blown
>name dropping other places in America and Europe
GO TO BED MARK

[Anonymous No.13891105]

>>13890344
i've thought about but i never will. it's just too likely that some borderline reader will get either inspiration and/or strategies and tactics

plus my whole family and all my friends would be ashamed of me.

>>13890702
nice. with this level of writing you should definitely find a good job somewhere. good hunting!

>>13890748
is it hypocritical i voted for Obama in 2012 but still find this tragically amusing? white upper-middle-class male btw

[Anonymous No.13891120]

>>13891065
nah that's part of its hokey charm. it subtly suggests to the girl that the poet likes traveling and exploring the world, and by extension, would like to take many vacations with her and thus keep the spark of romantic adventure alive in their marriage

like the magic carpet ride all over the world in the original <Aladdin>

[Anonymous No.13891143]

>>13891120
Stop rambling Koz, we've got enough of this in your latest records

[Anonymous No.13891164]

Et un autre été qui se termine.

Bientôt on va tout faucher et on va tout récolter, et une fois que la moisson est passée, on se demande s’il reste quelque chose.

Est-ce que des souvenirs vont persister, séchés et mis à l’abris pour les vieux jours? Ou peut-être que tout est parti et que c’est un autre été perdu.

On se dit qu’on ne peut pas se souvenir de tout. On se dit que d’ici la fin, tant d’étés auront filé devant nos yeux que certains doivent être oubliés afin que l’on puisse se souvenir des plus beaux. On se dit qu’il va quand même bien en rester un petit quelque chose, une impression, un sentiment, un rêve. Ou peut-être que tout est parti et que c’est un autre été perdu.

Et bien des années plus tard, tant d’années plus tard, on retrouve une photographie, mais aucun souvenir n’y est rattaché, et on réalise que tout est parti et que c’était un autre été perdu.

Et on pense à tous ces étés qui ont passé, et on pense à ceux dont on se souvient, et on trouve que ce n’est pas assez. Bientôt on va tout faucher et on va tout récolter, et une fois que la dernière moisson sera passée, on se demande s’il va rester quelque chose de notre vie.

Et un autre été qui se termine.

[Anonymous No.13891184]

>>13891164
:(

[Anonymous No.13891256]

It's scary
sound can suffocate so much.
Hiding your wits in the bushes,
angrily staring back.
Every way, a trumpet.
Every thought a roar.
So little space for whispers;
such sheer anxiety.
LISTEN TO THEM you beg under their own raucous howl.
You'll never clean the sewers out again.

[Anonymous No.13891410]

Monster is what anyone would call the creature that lives in the lake behind my house. But to me it is a force of nature that has defied not only time itself but these earthly limitations that make us mortal. It is an entity that has survived through the brutalist struggles and reigned in it's environment as the apex predator. To bear witness to this entity, it's earned power and it's startling resonance with the human race, is a gift greater then life itself. I will always remember the first encounter with it as my partake to a world immensely deeper then the void popular media and seculars try to make this world appear as. How could anyone think that this world holds nothing when there is evil and mystery and wonder?

You have a soul as do the creatures that inhabit this earth and this entity has been subsisting off of them for millennia. However it has been mostly animal souls. It told me in fluent english that animal souls are the purest as they're untainted with the corruption of flesh that most humans have brought to themselves. Fetishes, alcoholism, drug abuse, abortions, all leave their marks on the human soul that we can't see. And sometimes it's not even that, sometimes there are people that are born with pieces of their soul missing because of a generation of abuse that has been passed onto them.

It made me wonder if it could look into my soul and tell me what it saw. But it would be a pointless waste of breath. I know what resided in my body. You see before all of this, I couldn't stand being around people. I couldn't stand listening to the cliché talking points they parroted from their favorite media pieces. I couldn't stand their tolerance for the apathy and so called "progressive" ideals that blinded truths that had threatened them. But most of all, I couldn't stand their conformity to the entropy that surrounded them. The price of my indifference to this was solitude. I had no friends and my family was either in their graves or too distant to for me to reach out to them. If I had cared, I would have been worried I had no one to carry on my name or legacy.

But I accepted my solitude. I had embraced what struggles came my way because of my indifference, because of my defiance to the entropy around me. That's why it chose to seek companionship with me. That and my virtue for violence.

[Anonymous No.13891620]

>>13880446
keep it up

[Anonymous No.13891656]

>>13880546
unironically good /relatable/ meme

[Anonymous No.13891668]

>pt 1/2
>im in a cringe uni class where we made a story sentence at a time person by person
>it's obviously garbage

"I was born in a small town, living in a lonely world. I’ve lived in Indiana my whole life. I have big dreams! I knew my dreams of grandeur would take me to a big city. I am going to make a lot of money in New York. Afterwards, I’ll be happy with the life I have with my wife. I fight laser-shooting dolphins at night. That’s what life is like when you’re working for the CIA. I take my dolphin sniffing dogs with me… and that’s when I got drug tested. I’d like to take my nursing degree to Texas, but unfortunately I have no money. I realized life is not easy, it will take you in all kinds of directions; however, it’s hard to go anywhere with a meth charge on your record. Who knew meth was illegal? Before, at least drugs were cool… still are. I took over Pluto with my army of talking rocks. As you might be able to tell, I have severe ADHD. Sometimes, my Adderall makes me hallucinate. That’s why I lick windows. As you can see, some medicines make you do crazy things. And that’s when I met Snoop Dogg. He taught me you can get inside anywhere with a ladder and a kilo of cocaine. During last Saturday night with Snoop Dogg, I ate a giraffe. That’s how I lost a lawsuit against a family of giraffes. At least the world isn’t so lonely anymore."

>then we have to "fix it" and make it into a real chronological narrative
>prof only gives us ten minutes
>most people just rearrange the sentence or something

eg: I was born in Indiana and have lived there for all my life. I Have big dreams of working for the government. So I moved to New York While in New York I got a job with the CIA and met the love of my life. Since my job mainly includes fighting laser-shooting dolphins, I have 2 special dogs that can smell dolphins from a mile away. Or so I thought, turns out, the daily vaccines I thought I was taking were actually just meth. I found that out after a surprise drug test when I was fired from my office job in the CIA. After my dreams were destroyed right in front of my eyes, I decided to move to Texas. But because of my previously mentioned meth charges/addiction I had no money. That's when i found out life was not easy. Like, who would have thought meth was illegal? Not me, that's for sure. While in Texas I also learned from a fellow homeless man that I had severe ADHD. I think the Adderall he gave me makes me hallucinate, but when I asked my good friend Snoop Dogg he said it was fine. He also taught me how to get inside anywhere, all i need is a ladder and a kilo of cocaine. With Snoop Dogg around, the world isn't so lonely after my wife left me

>i have autism so i decide i'm going balls to the wall
>frantically write for ten minutes
>i put together this trash:

[Anonymous No.13891675]

>>13880641
cute song/10

[Anonymous No.13891678]

>pt 2/2
While browsing the Internet a few weeks ago Jason stumbled over upon Wikipedia of an individual whom could only be described as “a character”. This person was none other than Smitty Warbenjagermanjenson. Jason scrolled through the wiki article, absolutely enthralled by each new piece of information he learned. It opened, as many wikipedia articles do, with a brief description of the individual: where they lived, why they are important, and a choice other notable things.

“Smitty Warbenjagermanjenson was an American hero,” the article began. “He was born in IN, but spent most of his adult years in New York City.”

Jason smiled. This article was going to be an adventure in and of itself.

“He is most known for his outlandish interactions while working for the CIA. While many things he did were criticised wildly by his peers, his actions likely saved the human race.”

He quickly scrolled down to the section header titled “CIA Career”

“After Warbenjagermanjenson graduated from Harvard University in 1995 with a degree in nursing he was determined to move to Texas. However, his best friend and mentor, Calvin Cordozar Broadus Jr. (professionally known as Snoop Dogg) piqued his interest in another career option. Mr. Dogg had recently become aware of a situation in which an alien race of dolphins from Pluto were planning on taking over Earth.

“Warbenjagermanjenson was convinced that he was the only man capable of preventing this situation. He repeatedly contacted John M. Deutch, the former Director of the CIA, and presented the gravity of the situation to him. Deutch disregarded his warnings. Warbenjagermanjeson, despite his efforts could not actualise any plan. It was at this point that he decided to wait for the correct plan of attack.

“On 15 December 1996, Jagermanjenson, in an Adderall and meth fueled rage murdered Deutch’s successor, George Tenet, and assumed his identity as well as full control over the CIA.

“His first act as CIA director was an order to train all dogs within the United States borders to become, in his own words, ‘dolphin killing machines’. It was eight months of constant work to teach the dogs to hate the smell of dolphins. On top of this, during these eight months Warbenjagermanjenson had also effected a plan which would animate lifeless rocks. He and Snoop Dogg one Saturday night taught these rocks to speak. It was a combination of these rocks and dogs that would ultimately save the planet.”

Jason was amazed. He couldn’t believe he had not heard of this man before. He checked to make sure he wasn’t on some scam website. But, in fact, he was on Wikipedia––and this was the featured article of the day. For a moment Jason skipped past the tale of how Warbenjagermanjenson stopped the alien dolphins and decided to take a look at how this great man died. He scrolled to the section titled “Death” and began reading.

>fuck still too long

[Anonymous No.13891681]

>pt 3/2
“Smitty Warbenjagermanjenson died in 2001 during his space odyssey. After saving humanity, a number of scandals emerged, revealing the truth of who he was. The public learned that he had killed George Tenet to gain his position. The punishment was life in solitary confinement. Smitty supposedly could not handle the idea of being locked in a single room for the rest of his life, and so he built a rocket ship to escape the planet.

“Tragically, video footage salvaged from his space craft revealed that during take off he was licking the window of the shuttle so hard that the glass shattered and he suffocated as the rocket left the atmosphere. Without a pilot, the vessel came crashing back to the Earth.

“Warbenjagermanjenson’s grave is unmarked and in an unknown location.”

Jason was in shock. He scrolled down a little further to a section titled “Resurrection.” His eyes widened.

“The moment that shocked the entire world was when Warben––”

The page crashed.

“That’s weird,” he said. Jason’s wifi was working perfectly. He reloaded the page to find himself on the article for George Tenet. He searched up Smitty in the find bar at the top. No results came up. Jason was visibly frustrated. He Googled the name as well in search of this article. Nothing was popping up.

A knock at the door. Jason got up, determined to find the page when he got back to his desk. When he opened the door two men in black suits stood before him.

[Anonymous No.13891686]

The society of Cincinnati is organized along lines of blood. To which clan you belong is incredibly important, by marriage, adoption, or biology. The government is formed by powerful aristocratic families, invariably those who own huge tracts of land and employ a majority of the population as laborers, servants, middleman, etc. Their primary levers of power are their control of the vast automated slave-plantations and their economic/social links to the Morpheus co. (a subsidiary of the honorable C&W co.). As Myrrans become more organized and open secession becomes a real possibility, the power of the weak and disunited aristocrats is becoming increasingly threatened. Many call for the institution of a stronger, more centralized government to bring the planet (and the profits of Sandman) back under control.
Theatre is the highest and most respected art on Cincinnati, and massive productions are almost continuously commissioned by the rich. Huge displays, wild special effects, hundreds or even thousands of actors, dedicated to performing dozens of times over a period of years. The soirees and clubs surrounding these plays form an integral part of the social fabric among the upper crust, allowing different aristocratic families to rub elbows with the all-important company men.

[Anonymous No.13891688]

>>13880755
why not channel that into writing?

[Anonymous No.13891690]

>>13891686
The common attitude of a Cincinnatian is a powerful sense of loyalty to family, a strict and upright adherence to the rule of law, and a disdain for labor. A job or position holds no intrinsic sense of worth to a Cincinnatian, creating massive inefficiencies as they are eminently nepotistic and corruptible, gladly shirking duty to look out for their own interests. Although they believe that serious offenses must be punished, they do not consider bribery one of those offences. This particularly affects the military, or the Colonial Militias, which are formed out of able-bodied men drafted for two years of service. They are known to be cowardly and prone to insubordination and an avarice for personal advancement and wealth. The officer and non-commissioned officer corp of the militias are formed nearly entirely out of those from poorer families, where advancement through the military is seen as an escape from the drudgery their lives promise. The rich see service with the militia as an awfully embarrassing and uncouth choice of career for a gentleman, and pay a special tax to avoid the draft.
The population is broadly split between two ethnic groups, the Yang-tui and the Norsec. The Yang-tui are the original settlers of the planet, and they see themselves as more rugged, independent, and hard-working then their counterpart. They have brown-yellow skin and tend to be thick-set, with black, shaggy hair and epicanthic folds surrounding brown and occasionally blue eyes. The Norsec are taller and fairer, people who arrived after the devastation of the scream. They have blond hair and green or blue eyes, with a tendency towards ruddy complexions. A significant portion of the Morpheus co. is Norsec and they enjoy much closer relations with the company. Yang-tui tend to resent the Norsec, who they see as interlopers and carpetbaggers. This rarely boils over, however, and mainly serves as another wedge between the various clans forming the ruling class.
The original Yang-tui population of the planet was much larger prior to the Scream. After the scream wiped out a significant portion of their technological might and drove their psychics mad, the Myrran took their opportunity to rise up and overthrow their masters. What resulted was a swift and brutal toppling of the empire of man, followed by an increasingly bitter piece of asymmetrical warfare as the outnumbered humans used what technological advantages they retained to out-maneuver and confound the Myrrans’ attempts to exterminate them. By the arrival of the second, Norsec colonization force, the war had settled into a bitter conflict of tiny skirmishes and raids. Reinvigorated with men and new postech machines, the humans pushed the bugs back into their tunnels and reinstalled the plantation system, making heavy use of automated systems and VI guards to offset their disadvantage in numbers.

[Anonymous No.13891709]

>>13891686
>>13891690
Really good stuff man, what is this for if I may ask?

[Anonymous No.13891712]

>>13881144
good

[Anonymous No.13891736]

>>13880546
>wake up at 9am
>immediately make a cup of coffee
>freshly grind the beans
>enjoy the ritual of making a cup of coffee
>beautifully tranquil and grounding
>take a couple sips
>meditate for ten minutes
>finish coffee
>do some calisthenics
>make sure all my homework is completed
>don't eat breakfast. too many calories.
>still live with parents.jpeg
>i'm moving out next semester.jpeg
>get in the car
>listen to America First with Nick Fuentes on the drive
>leave at the precise time to get to class five minutes before it starts
>no anxiety. i have a good outfit on.
>i have renewed confidence because i just lost 35lbs in the last two months.
>dodge femoids trying to come onto me.
>i don't need that shit
>get home
>go for a mile run
>make a 400cal lunch
>relax with one episode of TV
>start an assignment
>back to class
>drink plenty of water. it helps to make you feel full
>take notes and actively engage in class
>talk to the professor after class just to chat
>get home
>tell mom about my day
>eat a 700 cal dinner
>no class tomorrow
>jack off for the first time this week. no porn. just jacking it. just to get that post nut clarity
>do a bit of homework
>watch some twitch streamers, play some smash bros with friends
>make some tea. it's getting late
>write a little bit of that book ur working on
>read a book for 20min
>pop on an asmr video and fall asleep

probably sounds cringe. but at least i'm happy. i'm not bashing you man. but you just gotta put in the effort. i tried to kill myself two years ago, but now i'm here. you can turn it around.

[Anonymous No.13891745]

>at a track meet in 8th grade
>400 meter race
>starting gun fires, I immediately turn around and start running in the wrong direction
>I hear people shouting, the gun fires again for a restart
>I keep running, maintaining immaculate form and pace
>confused shouting gets louder
>I come towards the finish line surrounded by confounded bystanders and I pump my fist in celebration as I charge past the tent, in first place
>walk up to the table and take a blue ribbon, and pin it to my shirt
>I walk away from the track and field into the parking lot as all my fellow runners and everyone in the bleachers stare at me in shock and confusion, I can’t contain my pride
>2 months later I’m in my house with a girl I met at school, I lead her up to my bedroom
>pull back a curtain to reveal a board behind a glass case with all my blue ribbons pinned to it, 36 in all

[Anonymous No.13891773]

Are children brought into being from this paradise? Do we return to this paradise at death?

It seems incoherent to me that our lives and ourselves just burst from 'timeless non-condition' because our parents had sex. We are not brought into existence from somewhere/something that's not the world. As in, this abstract paradise ("unmanifested") is unnattainable because we are not distinct from the way in which the world is manifesting. There is no substantial self or being, separate from the world that has or lives a life, that will be annihilated at death - returning to paradise. It is through projecting nothingness prior to ones birth (and after), that these thoughts arise. There's nothing and nowhere and no time that's not worldly/manifested.

[Anonymous No.13891806]

He was reading <The Great Gatsby> and thinking sad self-pitying thoughts.
<<
Did I really come into being because of God?
Was I an inevitable person?
>>
He didn't know the answers to these questions.
He questioned the existence of the will. Did he really have a choice? Had he ever?
Morever, could he have lost that chance? Perhaps his parents really had broken him. Or his loves had broken him. HE had been free but only so strong, and eventually a cabal and a conspiracy had overrun his position and rendered his freedom in essence dead. His freedom remained only as a ghost in the machine of rational thought. And it was not even true rationality or true reason.
He thought:
<<
Perhaps my parents always wanted me to be a loser.
Perhap they were worried that if I were too successful I would come back an look down on them.
Perhaps my mother had to ruin my romantic prospects because she wants me to keep her company in her old age.
>>
He was not above blaming his mother for his fucked up life. And after all it wasn't really so bad, to be unmarriageable, visiting with an old lady, a slightly soft-bellied confirmed bachelor wtih a humanistic semi-feminine profession. He could probably find personal fulfillment despite being without wife, childless, wiping his parents' asses in their old age and eventually burying them.
He wanted to say:
"Mom, Dad, you win. I wanted to go to Harvard and do great things with my life - maybe become a senator, or Secretary of State - but I accept that you vetoed that choice. For all I know God Himself willed you to break me. Maybe if you had affirmed me I would have gone n to be president but a bad president, a president who ought to have been hit with a brick as a child and rendered too stupid to achieve social influence and destroy things."
He truly wanted to say this all.
He accepted it. Maybe parents had the right to break their children this way. Maybe society had been right to trample over him. After all his thoughts and feelings in his teens had been intensely unnatural - indeed unreal.
But no less there continued a vein of something like anti-Semitism or anti-Bolshevism. And a part of him wanted to say, "Fuck you all or wrecking all my innocent aspirations. I know you wanted a middle-class friend and a mediocre friend instead of a rich excellent one. You all won. I'll never do what I myself had wanted to do. But I can't really prove that self-determination and freedom are good things either; or even real things."
An then he thought perhaps he'd simply run away too slowly, and been overtaken.

[Anonymous No.13891859]

Stories

We don't have to believe stories are real
to believe in the stories.

We don't have to say
that this is fact and that
is not more than a thought…

No, all of these are the times of our lives.

When you look closely at the details
you can see life's true self -

not just the proof of the scientist,
not just the lines of the poet.

Tell a story about some
Of these details, your sacred gatherings

to make people respect life's mystery
and the silent promise of tomorrow.

Let’s just tell some light, heartwarming stories
about those we both know and love.

[Anonymous No.13891877]

>>13891143
I'm OP and this is fucking hilarious

[Anonymous No.13891931]

Melanie fumed.
She had been in fights with her boyfriend before, sure, but not like this. This had been public, at a party, in front of friends and strangers alike. It had started with teasing, and retaliated with taunting and, neither willing to be out-down, escalated into accusations and recriminations. The worst of it was that most of it had been true, and even if it hadn't been, those overhearing probably would have assumed I so.
She wasn't going to put up with that sort of embarrassment, and had stormed right out of that party. Forget him, and his ride home, fancy sport car regardless. She'd walk herself home, it didn't matter that she would have to walk alone at night.

[Anonymous No.13892060]

In this same vein, Socrates speaks about the experience of love with boys in his conversation with Phaedrus in the eponymous dialogue. The dialogue has a main purpose of nay-saying rhetoricians, and Socrates does a good job at this, but not without giving an excellent speech about what Love is, how it is manifest in the world, and what it looks like at the time. The initial statement offered by Lysias, a sophist, through Phaedrus, is that it is better to love someone who does not reciprocate the feeling. A key argument for Lysias is that “[those in love] confess that they are insane, rather than in their right mind, and that they know they are foolish, but cannot control themselves” when they are in love, and as a result, they “praise your words and acts beyond due measure, partly through fear of incurring your displeasure, and partly because their own judgment is obscured by their passion.” (231d2-4; 233a4-233b1). Lysias uses these ideas to support his position that loving a non-lover is a more rational action.
Socrates wishes to give a better speech in response. The second speech of Phaedrus concerns the relationship with a boy, and what happens if, like Lysias states, the relationship is wrought with madness: “He who is ruled by desire and is a slave to pleasure will inevitably desire to make his beloved as pleasing to himself as possible.” (238e2-4). The lover will mold the young boy as he wishes, naturally, but the boy will not be raised in a good manner, because “the lover will not, if he can help it, endure a beloved who is better than himself or his equal, but always makes him weaker and inferior” (239a1-2). Socrates gives a speech, in a very logical manner, agreeing with Lysias that madness is not conducive to successful relationship.

[Anonymous No.13892088]

I keep them stashed within my book — a copy of Mastering the Art of French Cooking Vols. I & II that I keep around solely for its thickness and dullness. For extra safety, I store them midway through the section on brains and sweetbreads.
One of the papers is a map of La Grande Terre. They had it printed for me on a sheet of newsprint, so when it folds out it nearly covers the entire bunk, and it is scored with gridlines every eighth of a mile. Each tiny square is marked with a number and a letter so that I can check them against the other paper — the Orange List. I call it that because they felt the need to print it in dense, neon orange agate type instead of black. Whether they did that to impress on me its importance or simply to infuriate me, I have no idea.
Reading through the Orange List for the first time is like listening to a child rapist playing recordings of his victims on a pirate radio channel. At first, I have no idea what it is trying to get across, but the brazenness of some of its orders — the "sanctioned campsites" ten miles from fresh water, or in the middle of a glacial lake, or atop a peak; the "anti-despoliation guidelines" that provide a table I have to fill out when I urinate; the precise recipes (down to the number of leaves!) for the island's cabbages, which I am required to eat at certain spots instead of the dry rations in my pack — causes an abstract dread to crystallize in my mind, and I bury the list back in the book. I fear that if I stare too long, my unconscious might try to ferret out the process by which it was written.
The boatman raps on my door, and my neck tenses on its own and I quickly flip to the section on aspics and cold buffet before he lets himself in.
"Sir, you'd better come up and see the land," he says, leaning through the low doorframe on his black walking stick: a thick, unwieldy hardwood thing, shaped vaguely like a baseball bat but tipped with a point. Now he is inches from my face, his neck snaking down like a crane examining a juicy frog. "It'll be about a week before you get to see it again, after all. And—" he rocks forward with a wry grin and nearly pecks at my book with his nose— "it's definitely healthier for you than reading about stuffed duck assholes." He hoots and howls and pounds the floor with the point of the stick, leaving a rough, splintered dent. In an outfoaming of rage, I clutch the book to my chest and fantasize about pushing the recipe for duck en croûte up against his wet, gray nose. But it is only that — a fantasy. The old boatman is graciously taking me on this damp, gray voyage all alone, after all, and anyway he and his peals of self-indulgent laughter have already gone back abovedecks.
The island is just a mossy, amorphous rock with some dead seals fermenting on the shore.

[Anonymous No.13892523]

Terminally ill children get make a wish because why? Well obviously they didn't get to have a *full life*. But when they turn 18 it's the magic cutoff as if that is the point where you have experienced enough to have lived. Therefore why can't I killmyself

[Anonymous No.13892600]

/mu/tant here
got inspiration in the shower last night so I started writing down some lyrics to a song I have yet to write. It's edgy and a super obvious metaphor for depression so prepare for cringe. Sadly I don't know shit about poetry, rhyming or meter, so it doesn't flow very nicely. Any tips would be welcome.

https://pastebin.com/3iLNrCR1

[Anonymous No.13892783]

>>13891773
very low IQ post

[Anonymous No.13893360]

>>13883042
"I" er os

[Anonymous No.13893364]

>>13882905
What's your native?

[Anonymous No.13893386]

>>13880535
Your writing is as wooden as you

[Anonymous No.13893597]

>>13880422
Rubbing his temple, the sorcerer scrambled to his feet. His head was spinning. Never before had he even attempted to maintain the spell of farsight for so long. He'd never even maintained it for an hour. Yet now, six hours later, Kolimandross was drained, as if suffering from a hangover, but otherwise fine. No blood trickled down his nose or ears, and his internal organs hadn't been ruptured. All in all, a succesful scrying.
He slowly turned around to regard the man who had seen all he had seen, heard all he had heard. L'hann, Captain of the Silver Swords stood impassive and stoic as was his habit. His presence filled most of the tiny tent, and Kolimandross filled the rest. A cramped space to be sure, but such were the requirements for the sharing of sights and voices.
That, and a terrible hangover. The sorcerer's head felt like it was about to split in two.
"Feeling alright, Kolimandross?" The Captain inquired.
"Never better, sir. A bit groggy, but nothing a good nights' sleep won't fix." He replied weakly, disbelief in his own voice. "Did you get what was going on in there?"
"Unfortunately not. Only single words which won't be much use. I'm disappointed in your skills, Kolimandross."
The sorcerers eyes lit up like a sacrifial pyre, his grasping hands clearly imagining themselves around L'hann's throat.
The Captain barked a hearty laugh and slapped his only sorcerer on the shoulder. "Calm down, i got it all. Figured i'd try to lighten the mood."
"Instead, you destroyed what was left of my nerves." A small pause. "Sir."
"I apologize. I'll make it up to you, how does a drink sound?"
"Passable."
"Then it's settled." With that, L'hann stepped out from the cramped tent. Kolimandross promptly followed, though on much weaker legs.
The Silver Swords' camp was neatly organized and arrayed next to the Rhevar, their employers and comrades. Truth be told, the Silver Swords cared not much for Malern's populance. The overly optimistic Ferenians, the arrogant Drackyr, the brash Yrn'Korethi, the stoic Nhor, not to mention the dour Wyrne, though not officially part of Malern, like the Rhevar. Incidentally, the Silver Swords weren't either Rhevar or Malerni in origin, but had instead hailed from a faraway continent merely known as Boiraas on Malerni maps. For reasons unknown to anyone but themselves, they'd fled the continent, and had ended up on Rhevar, when it was in the midst of the Unification Wars. Originally taking the side of a rich kingdom named Inadar, the Silver Swords were then absorbed to Rhevar's army of conquerors after being defeated.

[Anonymous No.13893672]

Please crit! A scene from a scifi I'm working on:


https://pastebin.com/HVaqU7b7

[Anonymous No.13893714]

You dreamed you were walking home together. From some arcade or something. You both kept your routes together to last until the last possible moment. Then you came to a familiar park, you have been through it many times. It was there where she seized your hand with confidence, walking with you beside her. Arms almost intertwined. Along the path the walk was pure happiness. You clearly wanted it but she escalated. You came to the point of departure the fork in the asphalt path. Those yellow swing gates. She was framed in them, you looked directly at her, face glowing, held between long hair she was looking at you smiling but then a look of worry. She sighed, and said you are too hairy. Confusion. It drives me crazy right now to see you like this, so strong. You were intently focused on her face. You see I am ovulating. She smiled. The implication struck. Heart was pounding so hard you fell backwards onto the rough rocky surface of the pathway. Overwhelmed with chest pains you shuffled back trying to get up. Still moving away from her smiling suggestion you gasp. I just want to thank you for letting me know. It was a relief. You take a few more steps away. Then you are awake. Heart racing. In bed with someone else. Disappointed that it was not true. Sometimes the subconscious does not beat around the bush.

[Anonymous No.13893748]

>>13880968
What was the plastic for though?

[Anonymous No.13893760]

>>13880641
please be a girl/10

[Anonymous No.13894085]

>>13893672
Paste expired on accident: https://pastebin.com/ahFPX1hA

[Anonymous No.13894297]

>>13890389
Thoughts anyone?

[Anonymous No.13894304]

>>13880422
The year is 1985. You're sitting in your torn leather armchairs, watching the TV flicker from static to campy movies and commercials. You're slowly falling asleep, slowly falling into the deep and your head is filled with strange images and half memories. Your definitions are fading, and soon there will be nothing left.

[« Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ » !mxvabIoSIE No.13894939]

>>13893386
It’s in bullet points

>>13890893
Your ending sucks.

>>13884279
>>13884211
Thank you

[Anonymous No.13895665]

>>13893760
Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I have a cock

[Anonymous No.13895728]

I was trying to write some pseudo-philosophical word salad just for fun, but I ran out of buzzwords 2 paragraphs in so I gave up.

[Anonymous No.13895763]

Des ténèbres de la nuit de l'existence, l'aube apparaît.
C'est le flambeau divin de la conscience.
L'esprit qui s'éveille du sommeil éternel, pour suivre son chemin prédestiné.
Et dans une croissance créatrice continue, créant des mondes, irradiant la vie, dans la création des formes et des mondes, se manifester toujours plus clément.
Et à la fin, quand sera clôt le cercle de l'être, dans un réveil éclatant, dans une manifestation parfaite, connaitre soi-même et son chemin, des ténèbres du Rien vers la lumière du Tout.

Et des formes imprécises flottent dans l'espace.
Formes confuses, à peine perceptibles.

Ô réveil premier.
Ô mouvement initial,
Cercle divin, anneau de l'existence, forme parfaite.

L'heure a sonné,
La limite est franchie,
Et voici, l'aube s'est allumée,
Le jour se lève et d'un rayon lumineux éclaire l'univers assoupit.
Il est plein de langueur.
Il aspire à l'épanouissement.
Esprit immortel, devenu chair mortelle.
Et avidement, il tend vers sa plus complète floraison,
Au large, à la rencontre du monde qui l'environne,
Mais épuisé, il tombe dans l'assoupissement.

Ô flambeau de l'inconscience,
Ô réveil second,
Et de nouveau, il aspire à l'épanouissement,
À un plus fort,
À un plus complet,
Et de nouveau, il retombe dans le sommeil.

Et dans cette succession de mouvements et de repos de plus en plus claires deviennent les images du monde,
Et la Vie obéissant aux lois de la Vie saisie d'un élan créateur,
S'élance vers l'avenir inconnu,
Et dans son envol,
Se perpétuant dans la douleur,
Crée toujours des formes nouvelles.
Ô diversité de tout ce qui existe,
Ô heure matinale de l'existence.

Mais dans cet épanouissement de plus en plus riche,
La vie conçoit ses limites,
Et dès lors, par la voie de la naissance et de la mort,
La Vie connait toute la beauté de la lutte,
Et des forces indomptables, dans un débordement illimité,
Battent furieusement les rives de l'être.
Et voici, se tournant contre elle-même,
La Vie se domine elle-même.
Des formes se soulèvent contre formes,
Dans une lutte implacable,
Menacent de s'anéantir mutuellement.

Ô vies divisées,
Soulevées contre elles-mêmes,
Dans une incessante création produisant formes après formes,
Dans une lutte réciproque détruisant formes après formes,
À la recherche de la meilleure.
De la plus parfaite.
Tu es au seuil de la victoire.

L'heure a sonné
La limite est franchie, et voici que s'allume le flambeau de la connaissance de soi-même.

[Anonymous No.13896668]

>>13880422
>>13880422
Islam is RIGHT about women

[Anonymous No.13896701]

>>13891709
Thanks. It's for a scifi campaign I want to run.

[Anonymous No.13896720]

Scorn and lust, being the pillars of the new –because the term modern has been overused– way of expression pertaining to all of those trying to fit in into the internet and with the norms it has diffused, have in part succeeded in permeating most ways of our thinking outside of it. This modified mentality, begotten from itself, drives us further into the depths of ever the more intense apathy at whatsoever that doesn't bring forth ways on which we can base our discourses upon to form either enraging or enamoring talking points, that serve to lure ever greater amounts of individuals amalgamated onto our preferred hivemind.

[Anonymous No.13896966]

>>13890520
Werther is good tho wtf are you on about

[Anonymous No.13897019]

I don't really have to write anything. It would be of no consequence, I'm sure; at least, not to anyone other than myself. The question of whether it would be of any consequence even to me had no answer, either. Why, then, did I sit down at my desk? It couldn't have been to write. Maybe it was, but that would have been my mistake.
Thoughts of this sort rarely entered my idle mind, I realized. Why is it that sitting at my desk caused them to arise? What was it about the environment of my desk that caused all creativity to evaporate? Perhaps I just needed a new desk. Yes, it must be something about its color. A dry, tan sort of color, like barren flatlands. Not a color conducive to creative thought at all. I would like a blue desk. Blue is the most inspiring of all the colors. Its age and wisdom know no bounds.
Damn it all. What am I still sitting here for? I have already decided, consciously or not, that I won't be writing anything tonight. The inspiration I felt before reaching this accursed desk has withered. And, beyond the struggle with inspiration, I have realized that writing would do me no favors. It would not elevate me nor my reader. In fact, I predict the banal images I have conjured would appall any reader unfortunate enough to see them. These writings send both myself and my patrons to unwell places. To be read now seems of great consequence, to continue writing, a crime.
So I will then get up from my arid desk, walk to the window, stare with empty eyes at the damp city streets below, and rest. Maybe inspiration - that vile snake - will slither back into my mind. I will not fall victim this time. I will not rush back to my desk in hopes of catching its elusive splendor. I will watch the rain, and let it dilute my poisoned mind.
What is my duty? The postman waiting in soaking traffic delivers my mail. The taxi driver, so small down there, takes me to and from bars and libraries. The cold girl without the umbrella has some duty too, I'm sure. How do I fit into their lives? I have yet to be published. At this moment, then, I have been consigned to the realm of the worthless. I have no duty, or, have been denied the ability to serve one. Even if fate were to publish me, what would I provide? I whine and weep on my paper as much as I do in my head. It would be wrong to bring more crying into other's lives.
I continued to watch the shivering girl without the umbrella as she waited at the bus stop. The rain seemed to taunt her; it would ease up, and she would relax, then it would bear down on her again and wipe away her smile before it was fully formed. I thought I could maybe write about her, but I saw the snake coiled under that thought, and ignored it. She looked up a bit, maybe at me. Yes, she is looking at me. Why else would she tilt her head up into the rain? I stepped away from the window a bit and felt slightly embarrassed.

[Anonymous No.13897019,1]

>>13885780
Seeing my shitty OC on a board i've never visiteds truly fils me with joy