critique thread

[Anonymous No.14266397]

I did not see any in the catalog. I will start

The initial speech of a new play I'm working on. The original is in portuguese. The translation is mine.

RABBI JOSEPH OPPENHEIMER: I would like to end this Shabbat sermon by talking about loneliness. Many of our community members have confessed to me that they suffer from this problem, many have asked me for advice, and we often read in newspapers and magazines that loneliness is a kind of new epidemic. So I would like to talk to you about loneliness. I ask you to think of the loneliness of your ancestors, to think of the loneliness of the Israelites in the desert. Both the desert they crossed to reach the promised land and the deserts of Israel itself. What is the desert if not a ghostly immensities of dead dust grains, petrified egg-cells, never fertilized? What is the desert if not an ocean of ashes sown by little more than islands of hawthorns and parched bushes? This was the world our ancestors entered, few people, a tired people, a people corroded by slavery, a people that was as lonely as the archangel who walks upon the slime of the abysses of the ocean. (the Rabbi coughs) They entered the country of thirst, a land with a voice of salt, a mangy and malnourished land, like an old beggar with withered breasts. The milk of prosperity there was little, and it was sour. (the Rabbi coughs) There the sweet blue face of the heavens was fierce as spring in hell, when all the fire fauna emerges from hibernation and all the flowering of sulfur blooms. The winds, their throat hoarse and infected with dust, whipped the bushes and made them screak, made the dunes that they flayed scream in pain. That dead world was like a land where the skin of nature had been torn off, revealing a primordial and semi-formed landscape, where the bare, pointed mountains were like the prehistoric spine of the planet before God had finished modeling it. (The rabbi coughs, and feels that he will have a more violent coughing attack.) Sorry, give me a minute. (the Rabbi coughs violently) Sorry, my throat itches ... Let me continue. Our fathers and mothers had tarantulas, rattlesnakes, and scorpions for companions; jackals, vultures and poisonous lizards were their brothers. This was not a land for humans. It was a Babylon for animals that ate themselves alive and insects that parasitized each other. (Another fit of violent cough) It seems that the desert soul infected me through the words, my throat is as rough as sandpaper.

cont

[Anonymous No.14266401]

>>14266397

Jonas, please get me a glass of water. (Jonas, a teenager, goes out to get the rabbi's water) Where were we? Ah yes. The Israelites in the desert. At the end of the day, when the sun was finally dying, when, after the bloody mourning of twilight, the night stretched its black carbonized corpse over the skies, and the people nestled by the bonfires, the stars could do little to comfort them. There it was that swarm of blond eyes and honey pupils piercing the dark skin of nothingness, tearing up the coat of that black panther that is the empty sky. There it was: infinity staring at them, yet its splendors were so far away. (coughs) Sorry. In that solitude the stars were nothing but moths of gray dust.

(Jonah returns with the water)

JONAS: Your water, Rabbi.

RABBI JOSEPH OPPENHEIMER: Thank you, my boy. Danken (the Rabbi drinks the water) Ah! That's better. Think of our ancestors, what were the stars, the sun, the mountains and the sea to them? Beyond the solitude of the desert there was the solitude of God, for we were not like the heathen. For us there were no nymphs bathing in the streams, mermaids lathering with sea foam, sprites playing the flute in the woods, no Apollos riding the sun or a Falcon God wearing the sun as a crown, no deities sitting on the clouds, germinating lightning bolts to shoot the earth, cherubs picnicking and angels dancing ciranda around the starfires. We could not paint and carve gods for ourselves. Think of the loneliness of those who elected one God. How sweeter and more consoling it would be to worship a handfull of Gods, to have a particular entity as steward, gods who worked for us, to have a deity for every need. But not for us. (coughs and drinks water) Not for us. Yahweh told our parents that if they chose him as their God, he would choose only them. But what kind of God is Yahweh? "Thou shalt not see my face, because man cannot see me and continue to live," so it is written.

cont

[Anonymous No.14266407]

>>14266401

Our God is a God of flaming whirlwinds, luminous explosions, storms and whirlpools. It is fire that eats fire and light that blinds light. There is no hand to shake, no shoulder to comfort, no lips to kiss, not even small symbolic idols to put on the shelf or under the pillow. There is only the invisible infinity of Yahweh. (Sips water, catches his breath) Our ancestors suffered in the desert. The dreadful and endless monotony of the dunes stiffened them, hardened them into a race of prophets. Many times our parents despaired with God, many times they defied God, many times they spit out angry psalms against God, and God punished them for it, but also took pride: in that flesh no soft breezes blew, like the souls of the lazy and buttery men of civilized world. No. Within that flesh cyclones roared, tempests discourse, thunders scrambled like raging dogs, and God understood that within that flesh the vital breath that awakened Adam was still as strong as when it first came from his lips. I ask you now to reflect on this. It was in the solitude of the wilderness that God revealed Himself to us, and our people became "a kingdom of priests, a holy nation," as it is written. Reflect also on all the pagan beliefs that were born and died over time, how many Gods have evaporated, while the word of the God of emptiness, woven into the emptiness of the desert, still cherishes the world, still lulls millions of hearts. So don't think of loneliness just as a punishment. Loneliness is also an exercise. And always remember that in emptiness, in silence, there is also the majesty of God, for God is always with us, he sees the essence of every atom of our being as if watching the embryo stirring inside a transparent egg, he hears the confession of each cell of the self with the loving attention of a mother listening to her son say his first words. God was with us before we were, is with us now, and will be with us during all infinity beyond death. Thank you for your attention. Shabbat shalom.

[Anonymous No.14266801]

The beginning of a story I'm writing based on actual events of my life. Please tell me it's not as cringe as I think it is.

[Anonymous No.14266877]

I like it. Seems a very believable character.

[Anonymous No.14266890]

Today I went to work. My parents are dead, and I reside in their rustic domicile. Far from arcadia, it’s a worn-out derelict mansion. The type an old writer would live in. A large white townhouse with a mossy outer vestibule. There is a gated entrance and a driveway beyond the gate. Upon entering and veering left, the oddly shaped amalgamation of ceramic and cement sits. It looks as if it were designed by one of those contemporary artists that I detest: bulky brown gutters, a misshapen roof, and a back-portion that juts out higher than the front. The house is also sideways, as from the road all that is seen is a large grey wall and a window and, of course, the misshapen top. A hackneyed digression, but the importance of my house is the metaphor. A grotesque apparatus with surreptitious inner presence only to be revealed as horrid, yet rancid and insipid. I am a dull old woman, with hedonistic urges and a lawsuit forthcoming. My sojourner on this planet shall be several more years, I presume. However, in this previously aforementioned shallow and vain attempt, I will document my circumambulations, milieu, and de-glorify the mystique of adventure in our 21st century. Typical woman ruining all the fun. Ah, but perhaps. But Perhaps Admiral Byrd is on his last whim.

[Anonymous No.14266989]

too long
i aint reading that shit lmao

[Anonymous No.14267004]

>>14266877
>>14266989
why don't you people indicate what you're referring to?

[Anonymous No.14267045]

>>14267004

>>14266877 here

You are right. I was referring to OPs rabbi

[Anonymous No.14267304]

>>14266801
I'm intoxicated at the moment so I'm not going to crit or read this, but as a word of advice, your life being cringe does not make it less than genuine. I've met plenty of people whose lives were cringe, whose experiences and perspective I still respect greatly.

[Anonymous No.14267563]

Audrey was beautiful. It makes me sad to look at her pictures and I don’t know why exactly

[Anonymous No.14268115]

>>14266890
you need to vary your sentence structure more. you are also not justifying the style. zero emotion. descriptions have to grow out from a virile core. this almost sounds like an ai wrote it

[Anonymous No.14268189]

>>14268115
I don’t see any of this, but thanks for the feedback anon.

[Anonymous No.14268192]

>>14268189
>>14268115
Although, maybe I view it differently as this is an excerpt for a longer story

[Anonymous No.14268242]

>>14266397
This is interesting but hard to evaluate without knowing the rest of the play. What's the direction you're going with it?

[Anonymous No.14268310]

>>14268189
you asked for critique, i gave it to you, and now you are being overly defensive and refusing to listen to it. why ask for critique?

[Anonymous No.14268345]

I'm writing a lighthearted fantasy romance novel about a tsundere warrior princess and a shy/awkward but noble and courageous knight. It's very juvenile, so they just blush/hold hands/kiss/cuddle.

[Anonymous No.14268357]

>>14266407
I can't fathom the point of this. It doesn't ring true, for one thing; at least not in English. Why would a Rabbi go off half-cocked like this to his congregation? Even if it makes sense in the grand scheme of the play, it's rather tedious. It's overwrought for the sake of being overwrought and literally nothing grabs one's attention in terms of characterisation, scene-setting, drama, humour, tone, what-have-you. (It doesn't even make a coherent point about loneliness.) I was hoping with all the coughing he'd at least drop dead at the end of the sermon to give it a hook.

What plays do you know that begin with a long ass POETIC! sermon like this? It's unearned. Maybe as a sort of climax after people become vested in the drama and characters but to throw this at the audience straight off? No.

I mean, is this a play or millenarian apologetics?

[Anonymous No.14268375]

I am not a coomer.

[Anonymous No.14268380]

>>14266801
The subjact matter is pretty corny but it's well written. I'd like to read more.

>>14268345
This is really bad.

[Anonymous No.14268412]

>>14268310
>now you are being overly defensive
Rather, defensive not anything more and I disagreed, but appreciate the feedback. Goodnight anon, I'm sorry you didn't like it.

[Anonymous No.14268430]

>>14268412
Not him, but you came to a critique thread. What did you expect? A Pullitzer? Stop being so defensive. Your writing is shit. Take the criticism and learn.

[Anonymous No.14268449]

>>14268375
How many fucking words when you could just say "she was pretty" jesus fucking CHRIST

Also that ending was laughably dumb

[Anonymous No.14268453]

>>14268375
This may be the worst thing I've ever read in my entire life, and I'm not even joking.

[Anonymous No.14268458]

>>14268375
>the hair, straight as cornsilk set, shimmers under the light of the stage, effervescent and grieving, supposed fire but really it was the thread of the hem that binds, perfectly unnaturally
If you're gonna write about a horny dude, don't write literal nonsense

[Anonymous No.14268522]

>>14268345
There's a lot wrong with this but it's the kind of thing that would sell anyway if you self-published (just read some of the top self-published fantasy stuff and you'll see that its not too far off). Your audience doesn't care about technique, so it doesn't really matter.

The bigger issue is how the scene takes the obvious choice every time, even in the specifics. e.g what the princess says to express her indignation--the hyperbolic threat of execution--is exactly what the reader would expect her to say and not because it's something inherent to the character, but because its the first thing that would pop into the reader's head. The reader's expectations are so totally fulfilled that there is no point in reading further. No novelty. No interest. You've written a bad anime, but no one will read a bad anime because you can't see the cute waifus in a book the way you can see them on a screen. And without cute waifus, a bad anime is unwatchable.

I recommend you study the movie It Happened One Night (or any of Billy Wilder's romcoms) to understand the structure of the kind of story you're trying to write. I also recommend reading the chapter on "orchestration" in Lajos Egri's book on dramatic writing. That will help you sharpen the characters. The chapter on dialogue and jumping conflict couldn't hurt either.

Finally stop posting this same excerpt over and over again. Post something else.

[Anonymous No.14268661]

>>14268522
How the fuck can anyone put so much thought into such a piece of shit? Please prive to me you're not samefag.

[Anonymous No.14268982]

'Twas his fourth brithday, and poor lil' Mattie had gone through the same suffering as any high-schooler goes during their family birthday celebrations. Shame and disgust reign in these celebrations, but the young boy had already decided not to celebrate any of his anniversaries on this valley of tears, anymore. A conclusion most people come to realize on their late 20s. This was all because of his retarded, millennial parent, Andrew. Andrew had a fixation to extreme, bizarre pranks, probably due to his Conservative upbringing in a Reaganite, SBC household.

What triggered so much lil' Mattie to ask his Mother "no more birzzdays, Mommy"? Alas, in his 1st brithday, his Father had decided to give the little, "boring" baby a little fright, so things cheered up in their "boring" home. "Things are, like, errr, so boring since he came, like, uhm, Idk, lol", he replied after his (still) wife asked him why on Earth had he decided to introduce a North American cougar into the backyard of their rented house (which was her boomer dad's property).

[Anonymous No.14268985]

>>14268982
Unsatisfied by this, the lil' shit (Andrew) began planning his present for Matty during the funeral Mass held soon ater, celebrated for the eternal salvation of the 3 kids and 5 adults killed by the animal (including one of Matty's best friends). The family held this new birthday celebration in the parking lot of an abandoned fast-food joint. His (still) father-in-law had decided to evict them from his property after the incident, and they had had to move to an inner-city area. "It's so cool, there are so many abandoned houses I can sneak in, and look for more Pokémons on my 'Pokémon Go!' game!", said the son-of-a-bitch (Andrew) when asked by their new neighbour, Tyrone about "how they like their new neighbourhood", after giving them a warm, welcoming greeting.

Back to Matty's chain of disfortunate birthday celebrations. That motherfucker (his Father, Andrew) was kept out of the whole organisation of the event by his (soon-to-be ex) wife. While she walked around the parking lot in some tight, white leggins and a short, pink top, she asked her (still) husband to go look for some balloons, as to keep him busy. This was the only way she could make sure everything went nicely. Thank God good ol' Tyrone was there to take care of her, and help her out in all her needs. That lil' piece of shit (Andrew) came back right when Matty's friends (the few that had dared to come this time) sang "Happy Birthday" to our lil' friend. That dipshit (Andrew) decided it would be fun to put the gloves above his son right after the song was finished. "Kinda like these titles that show up in my FF videogame, after you won, lol", that idiot (Andrew) said to the local TV station after the incident. The helium in the balloons got too much heat because of how close to the candles they were held by the retard autist (Andrew), and burst in flames. Luckily enough, no deaths were to be mourned in the aftermath, only a few kids and 2 adults in the hospital for minor burns. "i am so sorry, little buddy", said deep imbecile (Andrew) after they came back home from the hospital. This was more than enough for Matty's Mother, and she cried in Tyrone's strong arms in the waiting room of the hospital, she decided to fill for a divorce. The family economy was severly hurt because of the split up of the couple.

[Anonymous No.14268988]

>>14268985
A year passed, and recently-turned-3-years-old lil' Matty had to leave for his father's new home, since it was a weekend, and in accordance to the divorce arrangements. As he stepped out of Tyrone's truck, he said bye to his step-father and his 6 months-old baby sister, Mulattoe Shaniqua. "Good bye, son, stay safe. Love you!", responded Tyrone. As the vehicle drove away, the lil' dense motherfucker (Andrew) stepped out of his house. "Hi, amigo. Sup? I got you a present for your birthday! It's in the kitchen/living room/bedroom!", exclaimed to lil' Matty. Matty had had a great birthday celebration for his 3rd birthday party, and the jow that filled him made him so excited he ran into the house. "Wow!", shouted Matty. "A Nintendo Switch?! Thanks Andrew", said to his Dad. The weather was rather rainy, so neither of them was up for any outdoor activities. They spent the whole weekend in, only going out for a quick trip to Walmart to get some Onions Latte drinks and Cheetos. When Tyrone came back with his truck Sunday evening and honked, lil' Matty came out of the house and slowly walked through the front yard, and into the cabin. "Sup, boi. What's da problem?", asked his new Dad (Tyrone). "Nuthin'?", replied Matty, with a frowning expression. What Matty didn't want to share with his new Father was that the weekend-long gaming session had consisted of hours of his Father (the retarded one) 'showing him how to play', , since he was "such a fucking noob, lol", as the moron (Andrew) had said to his 3-y.o. son.

The rage filled up lil' Matty's body and mind. Mental images depicting suffering and horror filled his mind. Another year passed. Andrew had to move in with his ex wife and Daddy Tyrone, into their basement, to be precise. it was all because of Andrew "not being 'emploid'", or something of that sort, as Matty understood from poking about right outside of the couple's bedroom. He also heard a lot of bed screeching, and sometimes Mommy began moaning, like she was experiencing great suffering, but after a long 30 minutes period, she talked with such a pleasant tone. It probably was some adults' game.

The doomed day came: lil' Matty's 4th birthday. Mother and Daddy (Tyrone) had organised the whole party, making sure Andrew (somebody's father?) stood aside from all of it. After weeks of crying and whining, Andrew had been allowed to come out of the basement for 5 minutes (as soon as all candles were put out), so he could give Matty a present. The house was fully-packed with friends of the new family, and allies and members of Tyrone's gang. After the gangstas paid their respects to Tyrone and his family, Matty's surviving friends sang "Happy Birthday", and he blew out the candles, Andrew was allowed out of his home/ex wife's basement. He wore black leggins and a Stranger Things t-shirt, and he smelt like Dr. Pepper and gluten-free avocado toasts. He carrried a small package that gave Matty (his biological son).

[Anonymous No.14269001]

>>14268988
Matty couldn't open it by himself, because of the PTSD kicking in right in that moment. The whole crowd stood in an awkward silence, and Tyrone, an alfa male, asked one of his subordinates to help his heir out. Everyone was terribly shocked when they were able to take a peek of what it was: a shotgun. "Wtf, yo!?" excalimed some gang members and Matty's friends. All glares took the general direction of Andrew, who then said: "I know, I know, all guns should be banned. lol, still I thought it would be fun, because of all the PoC guys around the neighbourhood. One of my favourite YouTubers did this once. Also, my parents' would love it...l". This was an obvious act of protest of Andrew against his strict parents, who lived in rural Alabama, loved those evil, noisy guns that Andrew hated so much.. "Wtf, bro, this white boi crazy...", some members of the audience began whispering. Lil' Matty's face began to turn as red as his t-shirt. Mommy was crying uncontrolably again in Tyrone's arms. Just like in his second birthday. He was already fed up. He could feel all the ageing hormones pumping through his veins, due to all the stress Andrew was causing him with his retarded pranks.

He raised the gun and shot thrice.


FIN

[SR. No.14269036]

>>14267304
>>14268380
>>14266801
I really agree with these 2

[Anonymous No.14269078]

>>14266801
It's ok, just an advice.

Granted english is not my native language but I would avoid finishing too many sentences with "I/she/he said", specially in a converdation of two. I know already which one of them is speaking and you are also not adding any info about the way they are saying (for example, she said, visibly nervous). If anything try to use other word (he replied, maybe?).

[Anonymous No.14269102]

Repostin from dog thread, fixed errors i didn't see before

As I shambled my way home: bones broken, skin bruised, blood oozing from swollen flesh: I came upon two dogs. They laid upon a hill of sand, what must have been a construction site for it was surronded by gates and houses all around, and seemed more at home in it than I had been anywhere. I reasoned that they must be domesticated, for their furs where immaculate and their bodies told no great history of battle. Soon my mind was filled with fantasies of what these dogs had been doing at so late an hour, imagining some great love affair: how they must have been relaxing after a passionate session in the sands; how the female must already be carrying her mates pups; how their owners must be showering them in affections; how the world must be showering them in affections; how they had suffered no injuries in their blessed life; how they did not deserve such a life; how I who has never been loved; I who was rejected by his fellow man; I who was the favorite victim of a legion of demons; I who was cursed where ever I roamed; I was the one who deserved such a life, certainly not this pair of mindless beasts. So, filled with rage, I resolved to use the last vestiges of my strength to kill the beasts: praying to what ever diety that watched over me to at the very least allow me the female so the male would be denied both his love and his children. I clambered over the fence, and crawled to them to perserve what little energy I had left. The fiends examined me with a calm gaze, and, as if pitying me, as if having decided that something as low as I could do no harm, didn't move a muscle. But as soon as I reached them, as soon as I had wrapped my hands around one of their necks, as if some greater power had whispered my ambition into their ears, they lounged out with fury and began a brutal assault. They bit me and stamped on me and tore apart my clothes, leaving me naked and and too tired to move.

[Anonymous No.14269104]

Man: Can you see me? Can you actually see me? Wow. I feel something. My heart. Do I have a heart? I must if you can see me. (Holds out hand) I'm not invisible. How can I not be invisible? No one sees me. No one. But you all see me, don't you? You see my eyes, and my nose and my mouth. I don't understand. (Sits) I don't understand. I am a man that has always been invisible. I'm sorry. My eyes feel itchy. I'm not crying, I swear. (Covers face) If they see me, then everything I have done is known. I am so sorry. Forgive me? Someone please forgive me! I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to do it. I thought I was invisible. No one has ever seen me so why shouldn't I have done it. But I didn't mean to. (Walks to front stage) You believe me, don't you? You believe I am telling the truth. You have to. You don't have any choice. You have to! (Sits and covers face) I am so sorry. Please just let me be invisible.

[Anonymous No.14269475]

>>14266890
The pace is kind of fucked with how staccato every thing is

[Anonymous No.14269927]

Future is female. Fifth time is the charm. Let's hope this gets yous


Fulcrum of fate,
Fell to a faction,
fond of force,
Forged
Furnace, food,
Famine , ferment,
Forbiddance and frailty,
Full on farce flooded with folly,
Finished off with finality


Forth,

fulcrum of fate
Fell to female,
Fond of fornication,
Fostered,
Feast, flora
Favor, fibre,
Flare, finesse,
Flushed with fealty,
Fiefdom forbade finity

[Anonymous No.14269954]

>>14269927
I get it, all the lines start with F. Cool to work that into a coherent piece but not very enjoyable to read for anyone else because its distracting. Felt like I didn't actually get to read any of the words because it was just a bunch of Fs and I knew what was coming.

[Anonymous No.14269965]

>>14266397
My cat has a loud voice
And he knows how to use it
Not always to annoy me
For more food
Sometimes, it's a softer sound
And then he curls up on me
Like a white little ball
With whiskers
Then he purrs
Because he trusts me
And his tail tip slowly pats
His eyes seem heavy
His head sinks deeper into our blanket

[Anonymous No.14270087]

>>14269954

F has power. It pays respect and I wanted to pay my respects to female.
How about this. All things l

Liberty lost to lustrous laws,
Lists and Letters link the ladder,
Lust is littered,
Lazy lambs locked in laughter,
Listening limped to a lump,
Learning was life's lamp,
But Light lightened, love is lazar,
Falling leaves lurked light's last crawl,
As society leapt to a luminating fall

[Anonymous No.14270111]

>>14269475
Meaning?

[Anonymous No.14270119]

>>14269104
Damn, so good!!!!!!

[Anonymous No.14270141]

>>14270111
Your sentences are really fucking short

[Anonymous No.14270144]

>>14270141
Ah okay, probably because I’ve been reading Celine lol

[Anonymous No.14270706]

>>14269102
Can simeone at least read it iver and tell me uf it's bad

[Anonymous No.14271067]

>>14270706
It's bad

[Anonymous No.14271775]

>>14271067
What's bad about it

[Anonymous No.14271790]

>>14266397
>What is the desert if not a ghostly immensities of dead dust grains, petrified egg-cells, never fertilized?
>What is the X if not Y?
At least in english this is somewhat cliche, but everything beforehand is good and unpretentious enough to carry me through it for now.

>a ghostly immensities
That's plural, you wouldn't say "a." Or you would say "a ghostly immensity."

>voice of salt
This is good.

> (The rabbi coughs, and feels that he will have a more violent coughing attack.)
Telling us what he internally feels (especially given that this is a play) is too far into the rabbi's perspective. Unless this is explicit for the sake of informing actors, just say he felt his chest or something like that. Gesture. But then again, I like how "violent" is brought back in such a predictable fashion.

>give me a minute.
Something about this is oddly casual. "give me a moment." might be better.

>my throat itches
This might be an english thing, but this sounds like how a child would phrase it. It's sort of an understatement I guess, or just too obvious. I could see an adult saying it, but not in a sermon or after a coughing fit.

>no Apollos riding the sun or a Falcon God wearing the sun as a crown,
The second instance of "the sun" could just be "it," but it might sound better as-is in your language.

The most important thing I can probably say is that the following lines were better than your "What is X, but Y?" stuff:

>I ask you to think of the loneliness of your ancestors, to think of the loneliness of the Israelites in the desert. Both the desert they crossed to reach the promised land and the deserts of Israel itself.
Instead of just being descriptive these lines offer a genuine insight, specifically that the grass is not greener on the other side. Maybe this isn't the deepest insight ever, but it's an interesting one to have in such a religious context.

[Anonymous No.14271849]

>>14267304
>>14266801
>or something like that
I don't like the reusage here. The first one was enough to establish the property, or at least, the unpleasantness of the second one isn't worth what it adds. Maybe just replace it with the word "supposedly" if you aren't confident in cutting it.

>Isabelle and I had just met. We...
These feel really out of place at the end of this paragraph, as well as unecessary in general.

Generally a smooth read.

[Anonymous No.14271934]

>>14266890
>Today I went to work.
I don't get how this line relates to anything else here. I'm going to guess I'm supposed to see them coming back from work? I can see why you would want to do that but this doesn't accomplish it.

>mansion. The
This and the mext period could be commas but I suppose that would take away from the "hint hint, wink wink, a writer lives here" the middle sentence provides. The more I think about it the more I think you should leave it as is, honestly.

>Upon entering... sits
It isn't as though it only begins sitting upon you having entered.

>hackneyed
This is one of the more well chosen of your words.

>horrid, yet rancid and insipid
>yet
I don't see how these are in contrast to it being horrid.

>previously aforementioned
[sooiler]This character is a writer?[/spoiler]

[Anonymous No.14271939]

>>14266890
>Today I went to work.
I don't get how this line relates to anything else here. I'm going to guess I'm supposed to see them coming back from work? I can see why you would want to do that but this doesn't accomplish it.

>mansion. The
This and the mext period could be commas but I suppose that would take away from the "hint hint, wink wink, a writer lives here" the middle sentence provides. The more I think about it the more I think you should leave it as is, honestly.

>Upon entering... sits
It isn't as though it only begins sitting upon you having entered.

>hackneyed
This is one of the more well chosen of your words.

>horrid, yet rancid and insipid
>yet
I don't see how these are in contrast to it being horrid.

>previously aforementioned
This character is a writer?

[Anonymous No.14272031]

>>14271849
Thanks for your feedback!

[Anonymous No.14272035]

>>14271849
>the property
"the uncertainty," no idea how that happened.

[Anonymous No.14272055]

The opening pages of a satirical piece I started awhile ago. Thinking about revisiting it. It's written in an intentionally archaic Victorian style.

[Anonymous No.14272261]

I come in late, about 1:00 AM. The new resident, a transgender hooker named Della, about 25 years old, with the roundest face and eyes I have ever seen, is at Bill's door across the hall from my room. She knocks softly, as she does almost every night now. She cradles a bottle of wine in the crook of her arm. She wears pajama-like red silk pants with some kind of Asian flower-art embroidered on them. Bill, who holds advanced degrees in physics, is retired from the Merchant Marine. His hair and beard are all snow white, the longest in a flophouse full of aging hippies and junkies.

There is no answer, so Della walks back up the hall to the community kitchen and tells her secret, forbidden roommate, Julie, that Bill isn't answering and she'll try again in a few minutes. Julie, thumbing through a copy of People Magazine, says she'll just stay in the kitchen until Della comes back. Della tells her not to forget.

I enter my room and change into a bathrobe, ready to head upstairs and take a shower. Before I can leave my room, Della has returned and is knocking on Bill's door again. I wait. Bill finally answers and says Entrez, mademoiselle, entrez. Della tells Bill he is very sexy and sweet with his French. The door closes and I leave my room for the shower, seeing Julie in the kitchen as I walk past.

I take my shower and walk back downstairs. The kitchen is now empty. I close my door and get dressed for bed. Suddenly, Bill is yelling loud for Della to get that tramp Julie out of his room. What is she doing in here anyway? I hear Julie bolt past Bill's door and fly up the hall to Della's room, slamming the door. Bill is on fire, yelling at Della out in the hall. How can you bring that trash into our home? I should call the police for this. You have disgraced our home, Bill yells.

Della calmly tells him she does not want to see the police and that he can have his $25 back even though he already got what he paid for. That will make everything even, she says. Bill says he doesn't care about even, only about her, sweet beautiful her, but if Julie ever tries to come back and steal his money he will hurt her real bad.

Bill goes back into his room and smacks his door closed. Della heads back toward her room. I look out into the hall to see if the smoke has cleared. Suddenly Della's mildly retarded sister, Angie, comes bursting through the front door and tromps down the stairs and yells and screams for Della. Angie's face is bruised and bloody. Oh Angie, Angie, what happened? Della asks.

Angie's pants are a mess, twisted and muddy. She sits on the floor and cries. Della is on her knees cradling her sister's head in her lap. Why do boys do this? Angie yells out. Why? Why do they have to do this? It's okay, Angie, it's okay. I'm here. You'll be okay. Angie says they'll fire her at work for this. No they won't, Angie, no they won't. They like you. You're good. You do a real good job. They'll keep you. Don't worry, Angie, they'll keep you.

[Anonymous No.14272279]

>>14272261
Angie's cries and howls are muffled by her sister's arms. Gradually, Angie stops crying and starts to smile at Della. Della runs her fingers on Angie's hurt face. They'll keep me? Really? Of course they'll keep you. They'll keep you forever. Forever and ever. Just like me. You're real good. They're not going to let you go. We'll make something up. It'll be okay. Come on, let's go to the ladies room and get cleaned up. It'll be okay.

[Anonymous No.14272410]

tried doing a stream of consciousness thing -- version one,

[Anonymous No.14272412]

The violent-looking, naked, lifeless being gazed at them with a sort of death-like, spiteful, savage, ferocious look, and something like a, and it might even have been a— smile.

[Anonymous No.14272416]

>>14272410
and another.
guess i'm just looking for opinions. a simple good or bad would work

[Anonymous No.14272417]

>>14269102
As an exercise, I tried improving your piece just by removing stuff and changing some punctuation. Tell me what you think:

I shambled my way home, blood oozing from swollen flesh: I came upon two dogs. They laid upon a hill of sand surronded by gates and houses all around more at home in it than I had been anywhere. Their furs where immaculate and their bodies told no great history of battle. my mind was filled with fantasies: how their owners must be showering them in affections - how the world must be showering them in affections; they did not deserve such a life; I -never been loved; I who was rejected by his fellow man, who was the favorite victim of a legion of demons, cursed where ever I roamed; I was the one who deserved such a life, certainly not this pair of mindless beasts. filled with rage, I clambered over the fence, and crawled to them. The fiends examined me with a calm gaze, and didn't move a muscle. as soon as I reached them, as soon as I had wrapped my hands around one of their necks, some greater power whispered my ambition into their ears; they lounged out with fury and began a brutal assault. They bit me and stamped on me and tore apart my clothes, leaving me naked and too tired to move.

[Anonymous No.14272422]

>>14272055
reads like a book you would find in Skyrim

[Anonymous No.14272496]

>>14272422
Thanks. I don't play Skyrim, so I'm not sure what that means.

[Anonymous No.14272504]

>>14272496
It's an insult

[Anonymous No.14272505]

>>14269927
This is utter garbage and I have no idea why you bothered writing it.

[Anonymous No.14272511]

It was raining inside the elevator
I could not see his face, covered with a thick velvet mask but his fingers, his fingers twirled like insects and the elevator music changed - not a homogeneous change, more like a surgical operation or an embroidery. Pieces of sound were cut off and melted into instruments that I did not recognize, giving rise to a strong triumph. The drops of water changed rhythm adapting to the melody.
-I'm going to the 23°. You? - The voice stumbled over the blanket of the mask.
-29° -
Fifteenth floor. We stop: in front of us, two men over their fifties suited up, one wearing a red tie, the other a red one with blue dots – he was a bit higher.
-Come with us -
Lightning, he pulled a water pistol from his jacket and pointed it straight at their faces. Their faces identical , they looked like wax statues, staring at the wall behind us.
He put the pistol to his temple: his head burst like a balloon and a river of confetti filled the elevator to my ankles.

It stopped raining. Inside the cabin only a body a pool of blood already stale and the tingling of the same music that echoes in my ears every morning,
- We take it anyway -, they said, the taller one carried him on his shoulders face to the ground; or rather, neck to floor since that face was crumbled over the floor.

[Anonymous No.14272521]

>>14272504
Playing Skyrim as an adult (presumably) is an insult to yourself.

[Anonymous No.14272573]

>>14266397
>>14266401
>>14266407
>>14266801
>>14272055
>>14272261
>>14272279
good

>>14266890
>>14268345
>>14268982
>>14268985
>>14268988
>>14269001
>>14272511
bad

>>14268345
>>14268375
>>14269927
>>14269965
>>14270087
>>14272410
>>14272412
>>14272416
never ever attempt to write again

[Anonymous No.14272599]

>>14272573
care to go more in details? This doesn't really help anyone...

[Anonymous No.14272615]

>>14272412
>The violent-looking, naked, lifeless being gazed at them with a sort of death-like, spiteful, savage, ferocious look, and something like a, and it might even have been a— smile.

[Anonymous No.14273413]

A meek woman,
sits with a haranguing beast,
She ponders her fate,
of the infinite possibilities,
This is how she started her date,
Years of learning,
with an undettered state,
She started preparing for the night,
With her destined mate

[Anonymous No.14273418]

Bump

[Anonymous No.14273449]

A Furry on a Hotel

The furries had a convent
Decided they should meet
I didn’t know about it
I walked out to the lobby
It was the furries inn

That night I watched the savages
Rush through the hotel halls
Screaming and knocking
in others people’s doors
The wolfs the squirrels chaseth
The doorman had no other option
And so he called the cops

At last they were arrested
The rest of them kicked out
I slept until a nightmare
Did turn my skin to fur

[Anonymous No.14273484]

>>14273449

I don’t quite get the meaning of the poem, but I liked it. I loved the two verses that close it.

[Anonymous No.14274070]

Man: Can you see me? Can you actually see me? Wow. I feel something. My heart. Do I have a heart? I must if you can see me. (Holds out hand) I'm not invisible. How can I not be invisible? No one sees me. No one. But you all see me, don't you? You see my eyes, and my nose and my mouth. I don't understand. (Sits) I don't understand. I am a man that has always been invisible. I'm sorry. My eyes feel itchy. I'm not crying, I swear. (Covers face) If they see me, then everything I have done is known. I am so sorry. Forgive me? Someone please forgive me! I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to do it. I thought I was invisible. No one has ever seen me so why shouldn't I have done it. But I didn't mean to. (Walks to front stage) You believe me, don't you? You believe I am telling the truth. You have to. You don't have any choice. You have to! (Sits and covers face) I am so sorry. Please just let me be invisible.

[Anonymous No.14274382]

>>14271939
Yeah, This is not the beginning. It's a middle portion of the work. Maybe it'd be better in context. As for the Work, I was going to get back to it, but I'm trying to do some unique things stylistically.
>It isn't as though it only begins sitting upon you having entered.
Yeah this is good. I do stupid things like that too often
> I don't see how these are in contrast to it being horrid.
Yeah I should clarify that sentence. I meant to say that on the exterior she's horrid, and the interior she's just as horrid, but also forgettable and ordinary. I didn't mean yet to be a contraster.

[Anonymous No.14274514]

>>14272279
Man that was dark

[Anonymous No.14275104]

>>14266407
>Our God is a God of flaming whirlwinds, luminous explosions, storms and whirlpools. It is fire that eats fire and light that blinds light.
>It is fire that eats fire and light that blinds light.

that part was good

[SR. No.14275193]

>>14272573
>see pic related
it's you
this, also: >>14272599

[Anonymous No.14275803]

>>14272261
>>14272279
Very good, I'd really like to read more and find out where this is going. I think I know who you are. Not a lot of ideas on improvement, so hopefully another Anon could do that. I do think that some contractions wouldn't hurt, such as:
>You have disgraced our home
>She does not want to see the police
But this is just my stylistic opinion.

>smacks his door closed
slams

>His hair and beard are all snow white, the longest in a flophouse full of aging hippies and junkies.
You could replaced the comma with 'and'.

>Gradually, Angie stops crying and starts to smile at Della.
Kinda going too fast here. I'd make it two sentences and put 'slowly' somewhere, though it might be redundant given the 'Gradually'. Unless this was intended, of course.

Thanks for sharing.

[Anonymous No.14275985]

>>14272511
First, I have no idea what's going on here, and that's after considering the fact that this is sci-fi. Second, you need to improve your description (and writing in general). Third, punctuation. I'll try to go through everything.

>It was raining inside the elevator
I'm gonna assume this is because of some futuristic gadget. Also, missing a period at the end.

>I could not see his face
>I did not recognize
Why not write "couldn't" and "didn't"? If anything, that would make your voice more realistic and less pretentious.

>covered with a thick velvet mask but his fingers
Put an em dash between 'mask' and 'but' to separate these two clauses. Sure, I felt the urgency, but what's so important about his fingers that you had to disregard punctuation?

>twirled like insects
If you're referring to that twitching movement that gunslingers make before drawing their gun, pick different words.

>and the elevator music changed
First, cut 'elevator'. We know where they are, no need to repeat. If you meant to describe the generic music that elevators have, say that. Second, separate this into a different sentence. It's way too long especially considering what comes after the hyphen.

>music changed - not a homo
Rookie mistake. Don't confuse the hyphen (the short-ended one) with the em dash -- this one. https://www.thepunctuationguide.com/em-dash.html

>not a homogenous change, more like [...]
>change
Rewrite this. What do you mean? What is a 'homogenous change'? Why would you use those words to describe music? What kind of music sounds like a 'surgical operation or an embroidery'? I'll try to rewrite this:
>The generic jazz track abruptly buzzed into static and ended in silence.

>Pieces of sound were cut off and melted into instruments that I did not recognize, giving rise to a strong triumph. The drops of water changed rhythm adapting to the melody.
Rewrite these. The first sentence fails at creating a coherent image, and 'a strong triumph' sounds tacky. The second sentence has punctuation issues, but more importantly is dry, weak, and a typical case of showing-not-telling.
>The water dripped with each rising note before gradually fading into silence.

>-I'm going to the 23°. You? -
First, use quotation marks. Second, why would a stranger initiate a conversation like this? Nobody tells another guy where he’s going without being asked, it’s unrealistic. Unless, of course, they knew each other or this conversation was already going.

Continued on next post.

[Anonymous No.14275992]

>>14272511
>>14275985

>The voice stumbled over the blanket of the mask.
He muffled through the mask. Voices don't 'stumble', especially in this case. No need to describe the mask as a 'blanket' -- the image is enough from 'muffled'.

>We stop:
Watch your tense. 'We stopped'. I see no reason for using the colon. If anything, use it here:
>Fifteenth floor. We stopped. In front of us: two men [...]

>two men over their fifties suited up [...]
>In front of us: two men over their fifties, suited up, red ties on both, one was a bit taller.
Since you seem to be trying to write a quick-paced scene, I omitted the blue polka dots. You don’t focus on trivial details when you’re in a hurry.

>Lightning,
Loved this. Might be the only good thing here.

>water pistol
If this is another gizmo, pick a different name. This is misleading since I thought he was pulling a prank, or just trying to commit suicide by cop, and certainly created confusion when he actually died from this apparently lethal gun.

>from his jacket
Cut. This just slows down the prose. Let readers fill in the blank. It doesn’t matter if he pulled it out from his jacket or his holster.

>straight at their faces
Two faces at once? ‘straight at them’

>Their faces identical , they looked like wax statues, staring at the wall behind us.
They stood frozen, staring at the wall behind us. Sometimes simple words are better than unnecessary description. They get the point across without distracting the reader, thus are more powerful.

>He put the pistol to his temple:
and pulled.

>his head burst like a balloon and a river of confetti filled the elevator to my ankles.
If you’re going for a metaphor, then you’re doing it wrong. If not, then I have no idea why a literal river of confetti suddenly became blood by the next paragraph.

>Inside the cabin only a body a pool of blood already stale and the tingling of the same music that echoes in my ears every morning,
First, use commas if you’re listing. Second, don’t end a sentence with a comma. Third, this sentence really feels like you didn’t put any effort to is.
>blood already stale
crusted blood
>Inside the cabin only x [...]
Inside the cabin only x remained.
>echoes
Watch your tense.

>since that face was crumbled over the floor.
Erase this entirely. We get it. He has no head. You’ve already established enough image with the balloon popping and the “rather, neck to floor”. Don’t re-state the obvious.

Overall, not good, but I’ll take a gamble and say you’re not entirely hopeless. Rookie mistakes, we all start somewhere. Keep reading, writing, and learning. Thanks for sharing.

[Anonymous No.14276505]

>>14275803
>I think I know who you are.
Who?

[Anonymous No.14277090]

Audrey was perfect

[Anonymous No.14277100]

Think on the last days of Hitler.

He might have looked at his world map and said to himself in his mind: “How was it...what was his name again. Chaplin? Yes, that’s right, Charles Chaplin. He portrayed me in that comedy...it was a good film. I was playing with the globe, like a happy child. That was a clever way of making fun of me. But if they only knew, if they could peep inside my brain and see the wonders that I have imagined for the future decades. The glory that I would raise from the dust in all corners of the world. I would cover the Earths crust with marble monuments, I would dress the souls of humanity with mantles of light. I would help the human race achieve its fullest potential...If only I could actually hold the world in my hands...My hands...so weak now, trembling...That’s all over now, it’s futile to think on it”.

Then he would walk to his desk and take some papers out of a drawer. They are some drawings and old scribbles. “I wonder if things could have been different. I’m so tired. What if this was all for nothing, all this muscle work, all this mental work, all this suffering, all this blood and sweat and tears and cerebral fluid. If only I had put more effort into my art, maybe I could have been happy now, and living an anonymous life, maybe in the country that I love so much...the black florest. I didn’t have to be extremely successful, only be able to live of my art. I wonder if I was wrong about it all. To hate others: it’s so tiring, so life-consuming. How much of my mind and body and soul I gave as food to hatred...was I wrong? What is the final meaning of my life?...”

Enter a general “My führer, we need you to approve some orders and plans of action”.

Hitler: Yes, yes. I’m coming.

[Anonymous No.14277362]

>>14272511
>It was raining inside the elevator
I don't think this needs to be isolated.

>but his fingers, his fingers
This makes me roll my eyes a bit

>twirled like insects
I don't think "twirled" is the word you're looking for. And I don't even mind things like "voice stumbled" like the other anon, or at least not in principle. It didn't seem like the actual voice you were going for, I suppose.

>their faces. Their faces
>neck to floor since that face was crumbled over the floor.
The repetitions sound odd.

This wasn't particularly tangible or immersive. The bit with the music wasn't very fluid either, I wasn't confident in which subjects I was supposed to keep on hand as I read it. It was quite understandable by the end of the line though.

[Anonymous No.14277400]

>>14277100
>How much of my mind and body and soul I gave as food to hatred...was I wrong? What is the final meaning of my life?...”
hitler only ever acted out of love
don't you wish you were ruled by someone who'd give anything, even his own humanity, to protect you from the "them"?

[Anonymous No.14277415]

>>14269102
>They laid upon a hill of sand
If this is all they're doing, it might be better to just have a period here instead of trailing on. Which isn't to say the rest should be outright cut.

The only way I could justify the melodrama was supposing the narrator to be a feral wolf. The mention of hands and so on later felt weird, but I suppose I was forgetting the phrase "fellow man."

[Anonymous No.14277479]

>>14275992
Hi!
Thank you for giving so much effort to your critique!
I appreciated lots of it; however, I wanted to clear a couple of things so that maybe you can steer me towards a better direction.

First of all, a lot of grammatical and punctuation mistakes come from the fact that I'm italian; I write in italian and when I post here I basically use google translate and then "fix" the translation by hand, but sometimes things slip through. Some metaphors are hard to translate as well.
But I appreciate it anyway because my ultimate goal is to write in english - I'm just not there yet.

Also, I'd like to provide some context to mitigate the confusion; not using it as a justification, just asking how I should implement it in the piece so it comes off less jarring.

Basically this isn't supposed to be sci fi; it's more of a "fantasy"; the setting is supposed to be comprised of the narrator, who is as clueless of the situation as the reader, and this weird guy who he hasn't seen before.
He isn't using any instruments: for both the reader and the narrator, he seemingly manages to make rain appear inside the elevator with no reason - it's basically magic. At the same time, by merely moving his fingers he changes the music: the idea I had in mind was that of a software device for music production, where you can edit and modify the various instruments, hence the cringy comparison to a surgery. The music as well is not supposed to be silent, but something similar to a classical piece made with instruments the narrator hasn't heard before.

A stranger wouldn't start a conversation like this; I wanted this to be off-putting ahah.

Both the water pistol and the confetti are kinda real in the sensethat this is what the scene appears like to the narrator; you see, what I failed to get through is the fact that the kind of magic this masked guy is employing is basically just illusion. The rain, the music, that's what his abilty is: sensory manipulation.

Though I'm not trying to "defend" myself, but writing this made some clarity in my head; I'll try re-writing it all and make it clearer.

[Anonymous No.14278024]

>>14266397
bump

[Anonymous No.14278941]

>>14277090

She looks very different on this pic

[Anonymous No.14279818]

Man: Can you see me? Can you actually see me? Wow. I feel something. My heart. Do I have a heart? I must if you can see me. (Holds out hand) I'm not invisible. How can I not be invisible? No one sees me. No one. But you all see me, don't you? You see my eyes, and my nose and my mouth. I don't understand. (Sits) I don't understand. I am a man that has always been invisible. I'm sorry. My eyes feel itchy. I'm not crying, I swear. (Covers face) If they see me, then everything I have done is known. I am so sorry. Forgive me? Someone please forgive me! I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to do it. I thought I was invisible. No one has ever seen me so why shouldn't I have done it. But I didn't mean to. (Walks to front stage) You believe me, don't you? You believe I am telling the truth. You have to. You don't have any choice. You have to! (Sits and covers face) I am so sorry. Please just let me be invisible.

[Anonymous No.14280092]

[Anonymous No.14280107]

>>14272573
>putting the same post in the "bad" and "kill yourself" columns

i'll tolerate the daddy dom 'harsh but fair master' shtick up to a point and that point is them coming home drunk and trying to walk through a screen door without opening it

[Anonymous No.14280111]

>>14277100
I'M GOOONNA HITTLE

[Anonymous No.14280227]

[Anonymous No.14280241]

>>14266397
“Excuse me,” Katarina said.
“Yes?”
“What are your pronouns?”
“Well, I’m a genderfluid individual, so it depends. But today my pronouns are he, him, and his.”
Katarina grabbed a handful of his long, greasy hair and pulled him to the ground. Her steel dagger shone in the dim moonlight before it punctured his neck. She stabbed him again and again until he stopped moving and the ground was covered in a puddle of dark blood.

[Anonymous No.14280366]

‘We have to stay trendy,’ Jen says, showing me how to make one. It’s just milk, Jen. First it was soya, then it was almond, and now it’s oat. Milk.
‘Remind me,’ I ask. ‘What’s wrong with dairy?’
She looks at me. ‘You’re serious,’ she says, laughing.
I glance at Tess. She’s by the window, gazing out. ‘Dairy cows,’ she says. ‘Just imagine.’
(They graze the sun-kissed grass. My bucket squeaks in the breeze. A calf looks up at me.)
‘Poor things,’ she says, sighing. ‘Suffering.’
‘What?’ I say. ‘They don’t suffer.’
She glares at me in the reflective glass. ‘They do,’ she says. ‘I went to a dairy farm once —’
‘Well I grew up on one,’ I tell her, ‘and we took care of ours.’ (Good boy. Mum pours a glass.)
‘Enough,’ Jen says. She hands me the latte. ‘Tastes change, sweetie,’ she says. ‘Suffering or not, our customers are demanding more dairy alternatives. We need to supply.’ Jen’s a business major. Tess, ethics. They met at uni. I'm at trade school for rural operations.
‘Anyway,’ Tess says, ‘we should go.’
‘Where are we going? I ask.
‘We need you here,’ Jen says, smiling at me. She strides out. Jess follows. The door hangs open.

[Anonymous No.14280368]

>>14266397
‘I’m the First Fist of the emperor you troglodyte and I’ll be shown some god damn respect!’

Chorl-Jam stumbled as he fell behind. At the hinges of the platform he felt them press on, marching as if they prepared to descent through the cathedral and take down the floating tower. He could see the troops, the parameters drowning him as fast as a fluke would. With each moment Jroad approached him with his fists gradually engorged in a clotty sphere of nails.
Just then Jroad began foaming blood out of his mouth and nostrils. His chest was hardly pumping any longer and spikes were known to sprout of out it at times.
As soon as he was near, from inside of him reaved a giant groaning flesh spear. On top of it, eight tiny faces sang, words cheerfully flowing through their open mouths:

‘I say we ought to dine on his spine, we ought to batter and yet to splatter all of his guts on the floor.’

‘Wait, not yet, he should suffer slowly at first. He needs to be gutted like a pig.
We need to make sure that we’re going slowly on him, just so he won’t die of shock.’

‘Great idea my dears, I knew I could count on you for this.’

Despite this peculiar maneuver which endangered his life and mind, the heads that kept sprouting out of him threatened to make him kneel and dive in, leaping to a perilous depth.
He would not forget what Chorl-Jam did to anger the emperor, as even now the mere act of betrayal angered him beyond belief.
Since this was a glimpse of victory, he took not a second more before receding into his arrogant state.
Bent on making a fool out of the man, he simply turned him over on his back placing his heavy iron boot underneath his chin.

‘Have you ever looked at this kingdom and the clouds? Have you ever seen the plains become mist as they join the heavens in the sky?
The hue of red comes from dying men, the blue comes from the crushed insects of Allor, the tainted green comes from the verdant spirals, and yours.
Yours shall be shallowest in the mix.’

With a pointer he scraped him on the neck, since that’s how it all started. He had been pricked. He bled.
And once that happened they saw what he hid and judged to their contentment that he should be cleaned.

‘Your blood is of a different shade, your mind is nothing like ours. Why shouldn’t I end you here and now?
What’s the point of being on the run?’

[Oat Latte No.14280379]

‘We have to stay trendy,’ Jen says, showing me how to make one. It’s just milk, Jen. First it was soya, then it was almond, and now it’s oat. Milk.
‘Remind me,’ I ask. ‘What’s wrong with dairy?’
She looks at me. ‘You’re serious,’ she says, laughing.
I glance at Tess. She’s by the window, gazing out. ‘Dairy cows,’ she says. ‘Just imagine.’
(They graze the sun-kissed grass. My bucket squeaks in the breeze. A calf looks up at me.)
‘Poor things,’ she says, sighing. ‘Suffering.’
‘What?’ I say. ‘They don’t suffer.’
She glares at me in the reflective glass. ‘They do,’ she says. ‘I went to a dairy farm once —’
‘Well I grew up on one,’ I tell her, ‘and we took care of ours.’ (Good boy. Mum pours a glass.)
‘Enough,’ Jen says. She hands me the latte. ‘Tastes change, sweetie,’ she says. ‘Suffering or not, our customers are demanding more dairy alternatives. We need to supply.’ Jen’s a business major. Tess, ethics. They met at uni. I’m at TAFE.
‘Anyway,’ Tess says, ‘we should go.’
‘Where are we going? I ask.
‘We need you here,’ Jen says, smiling at me. She strides out. Jess follows. The door hangs open.

[Oat Latte No.14280386]

‘We have to stay trendy,’ Jen says, showing me how to make one. It’s just milk, Jen. First it was soya, then it was almond, and now it’s oat. Milk.
‘Remind me,’ I ask. ‘What’s wrong with dairy?’
She looks at me. ‘You’re serious,’ she says, laughing.
I glance at Tess. She’s by the window, gazing out. ‘Dairy cows,’ she says. ‘Just imagine.’
(They graze the sun-kissed grass. My bucket squeaks in the breeze. A calf looks up at me.)
‘Poor things,’ she says, sighing. ‘Suffering.’
‘What?’ I say. ‘They don’t suffer.’
She glares at me in the reflective glass. ‘They do,’ she says. ‘I went to a dairy farm once —’
‘Well I grew up on one,’ I tell her, ‘and we took care of ours.’ (Good boy. Mum pours a glass.)
‘Enough,’ Jen says. She hands me the latte. ‘Tastes change, sweetie,’ she says. ‘Suffering or not, our customers are demanding more dairy alternatives. We need to supply.’ Jen’s a business major. Tess, ethics. They met at uni. Me? TAFE.
‘Anyway,’ Tess says, ‘we should go.’
‘Where are we going? I ask.
‘We need you here,’ Jen says, smiling at me. She strides out. Jess follows. The door hangs open.

[Oat Latte No.14280392]

‘We have to stay trendy,’ Jen says, showing me how to make one. It’s just milk, Jen. First it was soya, then it was almond, and now it’s oat. Milk.
‘Remind me,’ I ask. ‘What’s wrong with dairy?’
She looks at me. ‘You’re serious,’ she says, laughing.
‘Dairy cows,’ Tess says. She’s by the window, gazing out. ‘Just imagine.’
(They graze the sun-kissed grass. My bucket squeaks in the breeze. A calf looks up at me.)
‘Poor things,’ she says, sighing. ‘Suffering.’
‘What?’ I say. ‘They don’t suffer.’
She glares at me in the reflective glass. ‘They do,’ she says. ‘I went to a dairy farm once —’
‘Well I grew up on one,’ I tell her, ‘and we took care of ours.’ (Good boy. Mum pours a glass.)
‘Enough,’ Jen says. She hands me the latte. ‘Tastes change, sweetie,’ she says. ‘Suffering or not, our customers are demanding more dairy alternatives. We need to supply.’ Jen’s a business major. Tess, ethics. They met at uni. Me? TAFE.
‘Anyway,’ Tess says, ‘we should go.’
‘Where are we going? I ask.
‘We need you here,’ Jen says, smiling at me. She strides out. Jess follows. The door hangs open.

[Anonymous No.14280395]

>>14280227
Dude I love buying de-shelled pistachios so I can shovel several of them into my mouth at a time. So good. Why are they so goddamn expensive though?

[Anonymous No.14280686]

>>14279818
Stop posting this god tier writing

[Oat Latte No.14280779]

>>14280392

>edited

‘We have to stay trendy,’ Jen says, showing me how to make one. It’s just milk, Jen. First it was soya, then it was almond, now it’s oat. You know. Milk.
‘Remind me,’ I ask. ‘What’s wrong with dairy?’
She looks at me. ‘Seriously?’ she says, laughing.
‘Dairy cows,’ Tess says. She’s by the window, looking out. ‘That’s what. Just imagine.’
(They graze the sun-kissed grass. My bucket whistles in the breeze. A calf looks up at me.)
‘Poor things,’ she says, sighing. ‘Suffering.’
‘What?’ I say. Vegans, man. ‘They don’t suffer.’
She glares at me in the reflective glass. ‘They do,’ she says. ‘I went to a dairy farm once —’
‘Well I grew up on one,’ I tell her, ‘and we took care of ours.’ (Good boy. Mum pours a glass.)
‘Relax,’ Jen says. She hands me the latte. ‘Tastes change, sweetie,’ she says. ‘Suffering or not, our customers are demanding more dairy alternatives, and we will supply.’ Jen’s a business major. Tess, ethics. They met at uni. Me? Rural operations. TAFE.
‘We should go,’ Tess says.
‘Where are we going? I ask.
‘We need you here,’ Jen says, smiling at me. She strides out. Jess follows. The door hangs open.
‘Awkward,’ I hear Tess say. ‘His family runs a farm?’
‘Just his dad,’ Jen replies. ‘Old Summer Fields.’ As the door swings shut, I take a sip, and shiver.

[Oat Latte No.14280785]

>>14280392

>edited

‘We have to stay trendy,’ Jen says, showing me how to make one. It’s just milk, Jen. First it was soya, then it was almond, and now it’s oat. You know. Milk.
‘Remind me,’ I ask. ‘What’s wrong with dairy?’
She looks at me. ‘Seriously?’ she says, laughing.
‘Dairy cows,’ Tess says. She’s by the window, looking out. ‘That’s what. Just imagine.’
(They graze the sun-kissed grass. My bucket whistles in the breeze. A calf looks up at me.)
‘Poor things,’ she says, sighing. ‘Suffering.’
‘What?’ I say. Vegans, man. ‘They don’t suffer.’
She glares at me in the reflective glass. ‘They do,’ she says. ‘I went to a dairy farm once —’
‘Well I grew up on one,’ I tell her, ‘and we took care of ours.’ (Good boy. Mum pours me a glass.)
‘Relax,’ Jen says. She hands me the latte. ‘Tastes change, sweetie,’ she says. ‘Suffering or not, our customers are demanding more dairy alternatives, and we will supply.’ Jen’s a business major. Tess, ethics. They met at uni. I study rural operations at trade school.
‘We should go,’ Tess says.
‘Where are we going? I ask.
‘We need you here,’ Jen says, smiling at me. She strides out. Jess follows. The door hangs open.
‘Awkward,’ I hear Tess say. ‘His family runs a farm?’
‘Just his dad,’ Jen replies. ‘Old Summer Fields.’ As the door swings shut, I take a sip, and shiver.http:

[Oat Latte No.14280792]

>>14280392

>edited

‘We have to stay trendy,’ Jen says, showing me how to make one. It’s just milk, Jen. First it was soya, then it was almond, and now it’s oat. You know. Milk.
‘Remind me,’ I ask. ‘What’s wrong with dairy?’
She looks at me. ‘Seriously?’ she says, laughing.
‘Dairy cows,’ Tess says. She’s by the window, looking out. ‘That’s what. Just imagine.’
(They graze the sun-kissed grass. My bucket whistles in the breeze. A calf looks up at me.)
‘Poor things,’ she says, sighing. ‘Suffering.’
‘What?’ I say. Vegans, man. ‘They don’t suffer.’
She glares at me in the reflective glass. ‘They do,’ she says. ‘I went to a dairy farm once —’
‘Well I grew up on one,’ I tell her, ‘and we took care of ours.’ (Good boy. Mum pours me a glass.)
‘Relax,’ Jen says. She hands me the latte. ‘Tastes change, sweetie,’ she says. ‘Suffering or not, our customers are demanding more dairy alternatives, and we will supply.’ Jen’s a business major. Tess, ethics. They met at uni. I study rural operations at trade school.
‘We should go,’ Tess says.
‘Where are we going? I ask.
‘We need you here,’ Jen says, smiling at me. She strides out. Jess follows. The door hangs open.
‘Awkward,’ I hear Tess say. ‘His family runs a farm?’
‘Just his dad,’ Jen replies. ‘Old Summer Fields.’ As the door swings shut, I take a sip. It's cold.

[Anonymous No.14281380]

>>14277479
>just asking how I should implement it in the piece so it comes off less jarring.

Make it longer, explain stuff. That's the whole piece and not an excerpt, right? You have a lot of ideas, but you can't just cut details and try to fit everything into barely half a page. The reader can't read your mind. Provide more details. It's called world-building, which is especially relevant in genre fiction -- in your case, fantasy. Spend time to build and show what this world looks like. An indoor rain that suddenly appeared isn't enough to create a fantasy setting.

>the narrator, who is as clueless of the situation as the reader,
I get what you're trying to do, but unless this was a dream sequence (which kinda seemed like it), find a way to let your readers know what's going on. Yes, I felt clueless when reading your piece, but it's not the good kind, not the kind that makes you curious. The narrator was just there in that situation at the beginning of the story, seemingly without any reason or backstory whatsoever. This, in turn, doesn't give me any reason to read on.

>this isn't supposed to be sci fi
Provide details. Give something to the readers to see. Show us that it's a fantastical setting. For example, you can't expect the reader to read that line about the fingers and immediately think, ah he's changing the music with that movement. Let us know that it was magic that he was going. Same with the rain.

>is basically just illusion.
Give us hints. For example, the narrator may feel that something's off when the illusion was happening, like he felt in a dreamlike state or something, and this gives us a hint that something's just not right. And then, when the illusion ends, show us the real thing with a reveal, don't just tell. For example, "But when the rain stopped, instead of confetti all I saw was blood and meat splattered on the elevator walls."

>A stranger wouldn't start a conversation like this; I wanted this to be off-putting
Okay, so it was intentional. But why would you write unrealistic dialogue on purpose? To show that the masked man is somewhat strange? In that case, the narrator should feel strange was well.
>"I'm going to the 23°. You?" The stranger muffled through his mask.
>Eyeing him suspiciously, I answered, "29°".
Frame that strange dialogue to let readers know that this man is talking strange because he was strange, not because the writer (you) can't write dialogue well.

You have the right mindset and you take critique well. That's very good.

[Anonymous No.14281432]

>>14280227
I'm already in love with the subject matter. I think it would have been better if you kept to a tighter meter, because it read a bit haphazardly. Unless that was what you were going for. The rhyming adds to the humour, so well done there. And the last line really hits home. Great poem, but I think you need to read a little more if you want to rhyme and use meter because it's not really there yet. However, I loved your sense of humour and the timing was perfect. 80/100

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[Anonymous No.14281444]

>>14281432
trying to gentrify weird hentai shit always ends poorly

[VORE Zine No.14281461]

>>14281444
Let me break it down for you... key word: "cannibalization"

>This situation evidently determines what the architecture historians call "historicism," namely, the random cannibalization of all the styles of the past, the play of random stylistic allusion, and in general what Henri Lefebvre has called the increasing primacy of the "neo." This omnipresence of pastiche is not incompatible with a certain humor, however, nor is it innocent of all passion: it is at the least compatible with addiction -- with a whole historically original consumers' appetite for a world transformed into sheer images of itself and for pseudoevents and "spectacles" (the term of the situationists). It is for such objects that we may reserve Plato's conception of the "simulacrum," the identical copy for which no original has ever existed. Appropriately enough, the culture of the simulacrum comes to life in a society where exchange value has been generalized to the point at which the very memory of use value is effaced, a society of which Guy Debord has observed, in an extraordinary phrase, that in it "the image has become the final form of commodity reification" (The Society of the Spectacle).

>We are left with that pure and random play of signifiers that we call Postmodernism, which no longer produces monumental works of the modernist type but ceaselessly reshuffles the fragments of preexistent texts, the building blocks of older cultural and social production, in some new and heightened bricolage: metabooks which cannibalize other books, metatexts which collate bits of other texts -- such is the logic of Postmodernism in general, which finds one of its strongest and most original, authentic forms in the new art of experimental video.

[Anonymous No.14281471]

>>14281461
look i'm sure you have a classy rationale but it doesn't end well. it never does. 4chan got turned into Fake Opposition Party Central, anime got eaten by normies, i mean, come on

[Anonymous No.14281578]

When i jab my eyes into a screen and fill my brain
with purple smog,
I feel polaris liquidating in the marshes
of my soul.

Sometimes for weeks I am as a fly dunked in porrige.

But if a single marble, aster-glazed, trickle by..
O!

[Anonymous No.14281888]

>>14266801
Damn, this is actually pretty good. And I felt it even more, because I was in a similar situation just a few weeks ago.

[Anonymous No.14282870]

>>14272261
Very good, reminds me of Carver

[Anonymous No.14283591]

oh yeah, I think I’m bumping this

[Anonymous No.14283700]

>>14281888
Thanks a lot!

[Anonymous No.14283841]

>>14275992
>>14277362 >>14281380
Don't want to bother too much, but I tried re-writing it keeping in mind your indications; don't expect lots of improvement over a couple of days thugh ahhaha.


The sound of the rain covered the elevator music.
The water reached our ankles.
I looked at the ceiling, searching for a leak; instead, I met the eyes of the stranger standing besides me. He smiled, and pointed upwards:
“Watch this” His voice struggled to get through the thick velvet mask covering his whole face.
He opened his palm, with the grace of a blossoming flower, and his fingers started moving like they were caressing the raindrops. They would twitch, for a brief second – in a way similar to the legs of an insect who fell on his back – and at those moments, I coould hear a slight change in the song the old speakers were playing . The generic jazz track that played every day for more than fifteen years melted, replaced by outerwordly sounds.
I was mesmerized: the raindrops would fall on my head, shoulders, soaking me wet but there seemed to be a link with their rythim and the music, as if they were part of a single performance, an instrument.
Fifteenth floor. We stopped. In front of us, two men over their fifties. Twins. Both suited up.
The one on the left squared us head to toe.
“Come with us. No questions”. He was a bit higher.
No more rain, no more music. A quicksand of silence. The masked guy raised his hands, dropped his chin.
Lightning, he pulled a water pistol and pointed it straight at the short man.
Not a blink, the twins stared at the wall behind us.
He put the pistol to his temple, pulled: his head burst like a balloon and a river of confetti filled the elevator to my ankles.

Inside the cabin only a pool of blood and a body with a shining, menacing Colt in his hand.
“We take it anyway ”, they said, the taller one carried him on his shoulders. I stood frozen as they walked away. As they turned the corner, I press the 28° button and started whistling the weird tune as the doors shut.

[Anonymous No.14284849]

Man: Can you see me? Can you actually see me? Wow. I feel something. My heart. Do I have a heart? I must if you can see me. (Holds out hand) I'm not invisible. How can I not be invisible? No one sees me. No one. But you all see me, don't you? You see my eyes, and my nose and my mouth. I don't understand. (Sits) I don't understand. I am a man that has always been invisible. I'm sorry. My eyes feel itchy. I'm not crying, I swear. (Covers face) If they see me, then everything I have done is known. I am so sorry. Forgive me? Someone please forgive me! I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to do it. I thought I was invisible. No one has ever seen me so why shouldn't I have done it. But I didn't mean to. (Walks to front stage) You believe me, don't you? You believe I am telling the truth. You have to. You don't have any choice. You have to! (Sits and covers face) I am so sorry. Please just let me be invisible.