/crit/

[Anonymous No.15167980]

1. Post your shit

2. Crit others' shit

3. Remember that we're all gonna make it, brahs

[Anonymous No.15168009]

If you want a crit, crit someone else’s first, you fucking stupid cunts

[Anonymous No.15168029]

>>15168009
Yeah this was a big problem in the last few threads. Practice good /crit/iquette anons

[Anonymous No.15168034]

“Isn’t it clear to you dumbies. I want to get one over on Peachfucker.”

Moe (well, Morris). Sixteen years old - half of which, by his own reckoning, spent grifting. Wheeler dealing. Picking up what fell off lorries like some kleoptomaniac Hansel and Gretel in reverse. Trotters deep, deep into the underworld.

It was, we thought, mostly bullshit.

“He’s not so bad.”

“Not so bad? Rick, did you hear him in there? Telling me what to do What not? Not even to talk?”

Rick (well, Richard) finished what he was eating and took a drink of water.

“Teacher. That’s his job, Moe.”

“Freedom of speech, Rick. Besides, you let people run over you like that now? You’re never going to get back up on your feet. Even when you’re old and in your golden ears, you’ll still be taking orders. Wash now. Come see your visitors. Turn over. Stop hitting the carers.”

“My golden ears?”

We were sitting in the school canteen. Friday. Fish and chips. Moe reached over and took a chip from my plate.

“What about you, Patrice?”

Patrick.

“Fat got your tongue? Weigh in on this.”

At that point he walked in. Peachfucker, born Peacham - Mr. Peachem. English Literature don, self-proclaimed bon-vivant; tireless, tedious raconteur. A short, slight man, approaching his late 40s - divorced, so the kids who overheard him on the bus on the French trip said, because his wife was spending too much money. Favoured the girls, with an eye-drop average of twice per lesson with Marla, the school’s bustiest prospect. He was in his trademark gilet.

Just as he walked in, Clarissa sat a few seats down from us with a piece of fish and two, three, four chips. She was nearby, but sound didn’t necessarily travel well on these long cateen tables, the sort that you all sit along. Like on a bench. I couldn’t guarantee that she was in earshot. But I took my chance.

“Well. Sure. A prank can’t hurt. What’ve we got to lose, anyway?”

I quickly looked at Clarissa, who showed no sign of having heard. She was totally still, intent upon a chip.

“Patrice. Why are you shouting? You’re going to get us busted.”

[Anonymous No.15168133]

>>15168034
Good, consistent voice. Some of the descriptions are a bit too complicated and strained, such as "like some kleoptomaniac Hansel and Gretel in reverse."

---

First few paragraphs of a flashback scene in a novel:

Bill’s basement was excessively air-conditioned. They sat in front of the glimmering tremendous flatscreen, a white canvas with pulsing squares in rows across it, each square denoting an entertainment service – HBO Go, Netflix, Hulu, YouTube. The walls were lined with crammed bookshelves. Red smog drifted beyond the windows. Grainy bark dust choked Seattle’s sky, drizzling down from the B.C. fires, burning wood debris clotting in your orifices when you stepped outside.

“This remote is just broken,” Bill said. “It doesn’t work. Well, I’m just sorry. We’re gonna have to watch with subtitles. I can’t get rid of the subtitles.”

“That’s fine,” Tristan said. “Do we have any snacks here though.”

Bill stabbed at the remote buttons with his index finger. “Well now are you actually hungry or do you just want to eat.”

“Actually hungry.”

“But think about it,” Bill said. “Think about that feeling of hunger. Is it hard to bear? Or can you just sit with it for a while? Notice the feelings that arise in your consciousness and try to practice mindfulness, try to say ‘hey, what does that feel like?’”

“Alright jeez,” Tristan mumbled.

Bill booped between the TV’s entertainment-squares with the remote. “Don’t go ‘jeez.’ There’s no need for you to be saying ‘jeez.’”

Tristan squinted out the window above Bill’s head, looking up into the bushes of the front yard. A skinny pigeon was bobbing its head against the glass. The pigeon’s feathers were discolored in blotches across its wing, and its eye was leaking some kind of fluid. It finished bobbing and just stood there, breathing laboriously, wreathed in smog. It hobbled away.

[Anonymous No.15168395]

I am afraid and confused.
My life is a song
Many notes have felt like the final one
The build and crescendo
Indicates a final note, a last breath
But I have not yet reached that final flourish
So I am unafraid of death

I am confused about the texture of my life
The past is a raging forest fire
My fate, a violent meteor shower
Powerful rain tends the soil, puts out the fire
But the clouds can block the stars
And there is a difference between water and a deluge

In order to work, a scale must never be in balance
That scale is thrown through a current

I am no longer confused, I am no longer afraid

[Anonymous No.15168416]

>>15168395
Anytime I write stuff like this, I feel like a mixture of deep understanding, extreme productivity, profound achievement. But when I look at it from the eyes of someone else I feel nothing. I feel mild pain. Can anyone confirm this or am I just jacking myself off way too painfully?

[Afraid and confused poem !!dbC6x/DQFYo No.15168675]

>>15168034
Very british and therefore very gay. I like the singsong rhythm, the tireless energy. The thing is definitely breathing, but this abundance of energy can be hard to sustain in the long term. Think about some dramatic detours you can take, some shift in tone, to give the thing a life. Very good overall I really like it. But I am not proud of liking it.

[Anonymous No.15168711]

I tried writing something humorous.

[Afraid and confused poem !!dbC6x/DQFYo No.15168732]

>>15168133
Very fucked up and disturbing while also managing to be domestic and mundane. I don't think it's necessarily a good thing, but definitely hard to achieve.
At the end of paragraph 1 you switch to second person which seems like its on purpose I guess but I am unaware of what your purposes are. You don't want to insert me into the story, you want to insert me into the character. Also "denoting an entertainment service" just seems too autistic. We all know what it is, what that means, what it looks like. Making something that is so obvious and so normal in our lives seem like alien object being looked at under a microscope doesn't contribute to the unsettling tone, it's like driving a car with square wheels. It's bumpy and unwieldy, and fake profound.

[Anonymous No.15168772]

here's a few short poems I wrote today and yesterday

[Afraid and confused poem !!dbC6x/DQFYo No.15168795]

>>15168711
Big thumbs down waaaaay too dark.
If you want to have some really dark thing you either depict it straight up with a harrowing frankness or you make it beautiful. The horror and darkness is all about tension whereas humor is all about release. The humor sabatoges the tension, the tension sabatoges the humor. Doesn't work.

[Afraid and confused poem !!dbC6x/DQFYo No.15168820]

>>15168772
Big thumbs up. Self conscious in the most healthy sense, effortless, shows the targets you're trying for and hitting them accurately. "Unc's shit himself again," made me laugh my fucking ass off good job you beautiful motherfucker keep it up

[Anonymous No.15168847]

>>15168732
Thanks for reading. "Fucked up and disturbing while also managing to be domestic and mundane" is exactly what I was going for. I've edited >>15168133 to make the descriptions better, and a bit less on the nose with the whole "entertainment service" thing:

Bill’s basement was excessively air-conditioned. They sat in front of the glimmering tremendous flatscreen, a white canvas with pulsing squares in rows across it – HBO Go, Netflix, Hulu, YouTube. Smog hung in a dead sheet beyond the windows. Grainy bark dust choked Seattle’s sky, drizzling down from the B.C. fires, burning wood debris clotting in their orifices when they stepped outside.

“This remote is just broken,” Bill said. “It doesn’t work. Well, I’m just sorry. We’re gonna have to watch with subtitles. I can’t get rid of the subtitles.”

“That’s fine,” Tristan said. “Do we have any snacks here though.”

Bill stabbed at the remote buttons with his index finger. “Well now are you actually hungry or do you just want to eat.”

“Actually hungry.”

“But think about it,” Bill said. “Think about that feeling of hunger. Is it hard to bear? Or can you just sit with it for a while? Notice the feelings that arise in your consciousness and try to practice mindfulness, try to say ‘hey, what does that feel like?’”

“Alright jeez,” Tristan mumbled.

Bill booped between the TV’s squares with the remote. “Don’t go ‘jeez.’ There’s no need for you to be saying ‘jeez.’”

Tristan squinted out the window above Bill’s head, looking up into the bushes of the front yard. A skinny pigeon was bobbing its head against the glass. The pigeon’s feathers were discolored in blotches across its wing, and its eye was leaking some kind of fluid. It finished bobbing and just stood there, breathing laboriously, wreathed in smog. It hobbled away.

[Anonymous No.15168855]

3am smoker
Wispy plumes slip from his lips
Hiding from his home

[Afraid and confused poem !!dbC6x/DQFYo No.15168865]

>>15168847
The first paragraph is huuuugely improved. So much more smooth of an intro. Good job.

[Afraid and confused poem !!dbC6x/DQFYo No.15168880]

>>15168855
When you write something scant and very minimal you are trying for maximal effect, a compactness of meaning and you need tremendous impact in order to make a 3 liner work.

[Anonymous No.15168905]

>>15168847
i like this

[Anonymous No.15168942]

>>15168711
>another teenager trying to write black comedy with a serial killer/rapist POV

[Anonymous No.15169001]

>>15168855
I enjoyed "wispy plumes slip from his lips." This could work as part of a longer piece, but as it stands it's kind of pointless.

[Anonymous No.15169042]

>>15168133
>Bill's basement was excessively air conditioned.
This line doesn't fit well I think. It would be better to use some description to describe the character's feeling cold rather than just stating it. Plus, saying excessively air conditioned is subjective leaving it up to the reader to figure out what that means. You want to describe it from the character's viewpoint, maybe something with how they react to the cold basement, do they try to bundle up, shiver, grab a blanket, hug themselves to keep warm, etc(I assume a very cold basement was what you were going for).

[Anonymous No.15169043]

>>15168820
thanks a lot mate YA BILSHH

[Anonymous No.15169046]

>>15168034
I like it. Very easy to read, which in my opinion, is a good thing.
>>15168133
Your best part was the pigeon bit. I'd read more of this.

-
I got a project I've been working on, read for however far you want. If you crit, try to let me know where you are so I can have some context.
https://justpaste it/1mi1t

[Anonymous No.15169080]

>>15168034
I like where you are going with the Hansel and Gretel line, but imo, it would be better to make a reference about the birds from Hansel and Gretel that ate up their bread trail. Just take it with a grain of salt, its meerly preference.
Picking up what fell off lorries like some kleoptomaniac bird following Hansel and Gretel.

[Anonymous No.15169119]

>>15168133
>>15168675
>>15169046
>>15169080

Thanks for the feedback. This is more, from the same story:

Clearly Moe had been thinking it over all weekend. He got on the train first at Bishop Stortford. Me and Richard joined him at Audley End. We saw him through the window as the train pulled up. He was sitting at a table, with a notepad open and pen behind his ear. He made the Come here gesture to us with all four of his fingers.

The three of us shared the table with a man in a shirt and tie who was working on his laptop.

“Fickle as thieves, gentlemen. And.”

Moe jerked his head towards the man in the shirt and tie.

“Don’t worry about salaryman here.”

Moe tapped his fingers against his ears.

“Airpods. Series 2.” Impressed.

Moe had written just two words in the notepad open before him. An insider. It is essential, of the highest priory, he explained, that we cultivate an insider. Somebody who knows the system. Perchance, he continues, the insider is a malcontent. One of the higher-ups has taken a big shit on him, perchance. Maybe Peachfucker himself had played a bit fast and bit loose with his wife or significant other at a staff social. An axe to grind, and by Christ do we have the whetstone just for him. Just the perfect whetstone. Somebody who it would take only the faintest, faintest nudge to flip.

We were approaching Cambridge. I loved days like this: bright, clear, cold, glass, with all the fun of visible breath. It was downhill to the Christmas holidays now. Just a few weeks. You didn’t have to work too hard. Or at all. You just put yourself in neutral and let it roll to January.

Richard was looking at his phone. It vibrated; he smiled. Moe looked at him sharply.

“You have someone in mind, Moe?”

Moe nodded sagely. I looked at Richard, wondering if he knew I’d just done him a favour.

* * *

Just before we got off the train, Moe turned to the man in the suit and tie.

“I must say. Very impressive spreadsheet there, friend. The formulae and such. Perchance, what does a fellow such as yourself earn? Bread wise if you are shy about cold hard cash. What bread?”

[Anonymous No.15169131]

>>15169119
3

We had always been generous to Moe, and indulged his schemes. In Year Seven he’d wanted to infiltrate the Charity Committee to funnel bake sale funds directly to his Natwest Young Saver’s account. In Year Eight, he had looked into the possibility of brewing beer in the cricket shed at the bottom of the sports fields. He came back from the Spanish exchange with half his host family’s silverware, claiming to the Christian Union that the knives had been used in the Inquisition “to interrogate Signor Saint Paul himself”. He tried to offload them as relics - at a premium. He was colourful. He was our friend.

But Richard’s heart wasn’t in this one, I could tell. He had been distracted for a few weeks now. He was always on his phone.

“It’s not one of those, she goes to another school things, is it, Rich?”

“No. Come on. No.”

“Then who is she?”

“What’s it matter?”

“Rick, Patrice is right to ask. You could be being groomed.”

“Jesus Christ, Moe.”

“I was groomed. Woman in her thirties. I was twelve. Huge jugs. Arranged a meeting where she gave me a handjob. Said I had one of the biggest schlongs she’d seen. Ever. And she’d been with people older than me. Year Elevens, probably. And I was just thirteen. I’m looking out for you.”

Richard wasn’t listening. He was smiling into his phone. He was a goner.

* * *

“There he is. That’s our man.”

Some background before we meet our Inside Man. Me, Rich, and Moe joined the school we were at from a state comprehensive in a neighbouring town after finishing our GCSEs. This school cost money, but our parents, who worked together, had come into some money suddenly through a lottery syndicate, and so sent us here. Historically it had been a girl’s school, but boys were allowed in the Sixth Form. The Sixth Form itself was its own building, about a mile from the Senior School, where you had some of your lessons, like most of the sciences (all the labs were there). To get from the Senior School to the Sixth Form, there was a shuttle bus that left every fifteen minutes. These busses were driven by, I think it’s fair to say, the gruffest sector of the school’s well-heeled staf. Ex-policemen, retired college porters, people from the trades. One of these drivers was Julian. And Moe had selected Julian as our Inside Man.

[Anonymous No.15169141]

>>15169131
Richard looked up from his phone to see Julian, a short, barrel-chested man, leaning against the Sixth Form building, smoking.

We exchanged a look. Moe had his arms crossed and was nodding to himself. I worried that he noticed our lack of enthusiasm.

“Well. How’re you going to flip him?”

“Very good question Patrice. Obviously this man has some skin in the game. The job keeps him in fags, if nothing else. And you may have heard him mention his wife on the bus. Not always in flattering tones, I may add. She enjoys shopping, he says. Hats and dresses don’t come cheap. You can tell this is a bugbear for him. Cause for consternation.”

“You’re saying he might not take the risk? So why have we chosen him?”

“‘We’. Do not overstep, Patrice. Although.” He looked at Richard. “Although I appreciate your team spirit.”

Come on, I wanted to say to Richard. Don’t make me do all the heavy-lifting.

“Fortune favours the gold.”

Moe approached Julian. We couldn’t hear what was said, but Moe made a smoking gesture with his finger to his lips. Julian looked away from him, and shook his head. Moe then made a lighter gesture with his thumb. Julian did not look at this. He was looking far away from Moe at this point. Moe continued to speak until Julian turned towards him and made an exasperated gesture with his arms.

Julian was shaking his head as Moe walked back to us.

“The man enjoys his solitude, evidently, Patrice. I respect that. Often I look for peace and tranquilisers amidst the chaos of this life.”

* * *

Peachem, period 7. Me and Richard were staring blankly at an extract from Tom Brown’s School Days, printed on A3 and titled with the instruction, ‘Annotate’.

“This fucking guy. Can’t he just put on a Christmas film?”

“I know. But he wouldn’t be able to see down Marla’s top in the dark.”

Sure enough, he was at the back again, with Marla and Olivia. We could hear faint snatches of their conversation. Materialistic. Completely. Lost the meaning of. Not that I’m an ideal Churchman, myself. Of the devil’s party... Laughter, mostly his own.

Moe had his fingers tented before his face; his eyes staring over them at Peachem.

“Ah! Gentlemen. Working hard I see. Or hardly wor-”

“Annotate. Annotate what?”

“The text, Morris. For meaning. And for effect.”

Richard’s phone vibrated on the table.

“Ah! Not that kind of text, Dicky. Hand it over. You know the rules.”

Richard didn’t move. Peachem reached over our untouched A3 sheet and took his phone.

“Ah! What have we here?”

Voices from the back. “Read it out, sir!”

“Do a dramatic reading, sir! It’s so funny when he does that.” Marla.

Peachem affected to be clearing his throat.

“‘Miss you.’”

Pantomime ooohs.

“‘Speak on the phone tonight? I can’t get off otherwise.’”

Laughter.

“Ah! I hope she means off to sleep, Romeo!”

[Anonymous No.15169148]

>>15169141
Richard looked down at Tom Brown’s School Days.

“Get it from me at the end of the lesson.”

Moe hadn’t moved a muscle through the entire exchange: tented fingers, unblinking eyes.

4

The love which moves the sun and the stars. Dante, we’d done him in Year 11. Maybe he was right about celestial matters. But here on earth, it’s hatred that moves things along.

After Richard had collected his phone, we had to get the shuttle bus down to the Senior School. Biology.

Moe was advising him on matters of security.

“The more modern phone will not show the contents of the text until your face has been identified, or I.D’d, by the camera facility. This would have saved your blushes.”

It was Richard’s turn to sit still and fix his stare in front of him.

“Not that I advocate for these 5G capable phones. The recent debacle? The Corongavirus. A consequence of the implementation of beyond 4G networks, say those in the know.”

“Correct. The first piece of sense I’ve heard on this bus.”

The voice had come from the front. It was full of smoke. It was Julian.

Moe instantly knew what was at stake, but before he could push home his advantage, and just as Julian started the engine, the passenger door opened.

“Ah! Trying to make a break without me, John?”

Richard’s jaw tightened.

Moe ignored Peachem. You noticed that his timing, Moe’s timing, was exquisite. He held us in that breathless moment before the conductor, baton raised, signals music to begin.

And now.

“I myself find it suspicious, that at the very moment the world installs 5G” - Moe was practically leaning and shouting in Julian’s ear at this point - “we find ourselves in the throw of a viral pandemic.”

Julian made a noise of assent. “The Chinese,” he added.

“Now really.” Peachem’s well-fed voice. “That is the greatest load of tosh. And I wonder if members of staff should be giving credence to these views? Maybe this is common in the Working Man’s Club. Or.”

He turned his head to the passengers onboard.

“Or the White House.”

A pause for laughter. Polite.

“But it is not de riguer here. In an educational environment. I hope we all understand.”

Julian looked at him.

[Anonymous No.15169157]

>>15169148
Crooks can have sublime moments, too. How often has some hack, writing for some literary magazine, tried to compare the careful planning and execution of a bank robbery with the choreography of dance, of ballet? And what was the appeal of those Godfather movies, if not amidst the oranges and pasta, there was some genius in all the butchery? Genius, I’d once read, consisted mostly of making good guesses about people. And here Moe made a very good guess. Enough had been done for the moment. He sat back in his chair. Once Peachem had got off the bus, he completed his masterpiece. Undoing his seatbelt, and well within earshot of Julian, he turned to Richard.

“It was wrong of Peachem to humidify you like that.”

“Humidify?”

“You know. Embarrass. Take the piss.”

Julian looked into the rear-view mirror at us.

Flawless.

* * *

Walking into the Senior School, I heard footsteps scuttling behind me. And then there she was, Clarissa. At my side. Her books hugged tight to her chest.

“Peachem. What did he do. To your friend?”

I looked into her face. She always looked like she had just woken up from a dream.


5

Friday, the train home.

“Behold.”

Moe placed it on the table. A brown leather satchel.

The story went like this. Moe had worked out when it was Julian’s turn to drive the bus, and when Peachem needed to travel between the two sites. Armed with this information he’d travelled on the bus upwards of two, three times a day - always with Julian, always with Peachem. This had led to many missed lessons, a referral for absenteeism, and an invitation to a disciplinary consultation sent home to Moe’s parents - but, Moe explained, that was a wholly different matter, and accidental (incidental) to the matter at hands (hand).

Julian had taken a shine to Moe. Moe picked up on China, segued into the nefarious operations of the Vatican Bank, the light sentencing of the rich and famous compared to the common man, and the blackout on reporting Musliim grooming gangs in North England. Each topic was met with Julian’s hearthy (hearty) enthusiasm and agreement and condescending reproofs and condensation (condemnation) from Peachem. The antipathy between the driver and his teacher-passenger grew. Until finally Peachem - his knickers, Moe explained, truly doing the twist - quit the bus earlier that day in righteous fury. Leaving behind, et voila, his satchel. A deeply homosexual accessory, Moe clarified.

[Anonymous No.15169169]

>>15169157
“I told Julian I’d get it to him. Julian seemed happy to leave the job to me. But, quail surprise, I couldn’t find him.”

“I guess Peachem will have to wait ‘til Monday.”

Was Richard smiling? His phone vibrated, but he didn’t take his eyes off the satchel.

“That’s not all.”

Out of the satchel Moe took out an iPad with a magician’s flourish. He pressed the Home button. A request for a passcode appeared. Without a moment’s hesitation, Moe keyed in the digits.

“1- 9 - 7 - 6. I watched over his shoulder one time on the bus. 1976. God knows why. Maybe it was the best year of this sick puppy’s life. Fuck knows - and knowledge, friends, is power.”

Richard was smiling. Moe noticed; he was energised by it, high on it, in his element. Cooking on gas.

Before me and Richard got off at Audley End, Moe gestured further down the carriage towards a man in a suit and tie, working on his laptop. It was the man from Monday.

“Look at that. 3.45pm, and he’s done for the day. On his way home. Weekend with the wife. Probably. Or the mistress? Astounding. What is his secret, do you think?”

6

That weekend I sat down with a book I bought from Amazon called Clarissa. I’d bought it to see if it had any clues about what I should do. It was really long and really boring, and I didn’t fully understand the language it was written in, which was like English but, as Moe said of Dante in Year 11, retarded.

The real Clarissa was lovely. She had blonde hair. Sometimes I’d get the train into Cambridge on a Saturday, in the hope that I’d bump into her.

One time I did.

“Clarissa. It’s so funny to see you out of school.”

“Is it?”

“Are you up to much?”

“Just going to meet someone, actually.”

I thought about it all evening. Rhapsodies on a theme. Clarissa sat opposite me, with her hands around a hot chocolate, impressed that my debit card has contactless. Clarissa inspecting a dumpling, impressed that I’m using chopsticks. Clarissa underneath the colours from the stained glass window in King’s chapel, impressed that I can identify all the Saints and Martyrs. Clarissa smiling over a drink, impressed by my easy manner with the bar staff.

Clarissa impressed that I’m reading Clarissa.

I texted Richard that night.

Do you think Clarissa is fit?

Why? Why are you asking that?

No reason. I guess I prefer Marla, anyway.

[Anonymous No.15169176]

>>15169169
7


Monday morning we saw him through the window again, next to the man in the suit and tie; the brown satchel in front of him, smiling triumphantly.

“Behold.”

Moe unlocked the iPad, navigated to the photos, and turned the screen to face us. Richard turned pale.

“What the fuck is that?”

“Rick, what does it look like. What does it look like, Rick.”

“It looks like your cock? It looks like a picture of your fucking cock?”

“Bingo.”

Moe didn’t think to trawl through Peachem’s emails for something juicy, something incriminating. He didn’t condescend to going through his browser history; he didn’t, he explained, look through people’s bins. He wasn’t the gutter press. In the forty-eight hour window that he’d had unfettered access to Peachem’s iPad, Peachem’s whole digital life, he’d taken four pictures of his own cock.

“You’re not even hard in these?”

“Is that a problem, Patrice. Are you questioning my virility, Patrice.”

Richard was still white.

“But what does this prove? At most that he’s gay? He could just say these pictures of a friend. A grown man. Not, technically, a child.”

“Rick, at first may I say I am flattered. Furthermore, may I direct your attention to the background of each image.”

We looked. Sure enough, Moe’s school tie was clear in the background of every shot. Another moment of sublimity.

Moe was tenting his fingers again.

“And, if I may pre-tempt you. You may ask, what if he were to delete them, Maurice?”

Me and Richard waited in silence. Moe navigated to Peachem’s email, then to his sent mailbox, where at the top was an email, (no subject), addressed to the whole school staff mailing list, with four attachments.

Moe sat back and smiled.

All of a sudden, we realised the man in the shirt and the tie wasn’t looking at his computer. He was looking at each of us in horror. Moe’s smile widened.

“Ah. No airpods today, chum?”

[Anonymous No.15169182]

>>15169176
8

Peachem’s satchel appeared in his room the first period. Two periods later, the alarm was raised. There was an assembly. Those with information about a recent incident regarding a member of staff’s personal property (‘technology’ was specified) were encouraged - strongly encouraged - to come forward. Tittering in the staff room. Some of the less discrete teachers dropped hints throughout the week. The outline was patchy. Peachem. Something pornographic. An email.

In a staggering act of self-destruction, Moe himself took the opportunity to add some detail. Over fish and chips, he held court. His audience was rapt; noise travelled perfectly well up and down the canteen that day.

“And not just any penis. Especially not that of an adult, in the eyes of the law. For there was an incriminating detail. Yes. A school-tie.”

Pantomime horror.

If Moe was in high spirits, and enjoying his moment, so was Richard, who was brighter than he’d been in weeks.

“And Moe,” he added. “The penis being flacid, not erect. The significance thereof?”

“Excellent question, Rick. Who knows. This man Peachem, such a sick puppy that he is...it might be some fetish, online shit. Who knows, and knowledge - knowledge is power.”

Richard continued to play the straight man for Moe. His phone vibrated and I, unthinkingly, looked down at it.

I’ve been thinking about it all day. Our usual spot, this Saturday?

It was from Clarissa.

The love that moves the sun and the stars. Dante might’ve spotted it. I hadn’t.

* * *
We learnt later that Julian had been questioned by the higher-ups at the school. Peachem claimed, furiously, desperately, but somewhat correctly, that he’d left his bag that Friday afternoon in the shuttle bus and that Julian had been behind the email that saw his stock in the school drastically sink. Julian denied everything. Ten years of service, he said, and never have I put a toe out of line. Why would I suddenly do this? Then Moe, they asked; how does this boy know so much about it? You must be his source. Peachem says you’re chummy with him. Moe? Julian blinked. What Moe? Listen. I drive the bus. When I’m not driving the bus, I smoke. I’m a peaceful man. I enjoy my solitude. That’s my favourite part of the day. You want to be careful, by the way, about the allegations you bring to my door. Not all of us are ex-coppers and college porters, people from the trades. I used to be a Chartered Accountant, you know.

[Anonymous No.15169192]

>>15169182
9

Years later, after my mother died, me and my Dad were clearing through her things. We came across a framed picture, sent by Camelot, the lottery people. It was of the syndicate winners, holding champagne, looking half-cut, and agog at the big cheque in front of them. I spotted Mum, and my Dad pointed out Richard’s Dad.

“You should show that to him.”

I hadn’t spoken to him for ages.

“Where’s Moe’s Mum?”

“Moe?”

“Morris.”

“Oh. That’s one for your Mum really. When they won, and we decided that you, with Richard, were going off to that new school, your mother felt bad for your friend Morris. You’d always been thick as thieves. And. Being left behind. So we split his fees between us. Sentimental. Didn’t want to break you all up. Soft like that.”

Another pause.

“Do you still talk to him?”

End

[Anonymous No.15169232]

The detective approached the dame in the pink dress. "Sure is rainy tonight, eh?"
"That it is, that it is"
The detective pulled his cock out and shoved it up her rectum.

[Anonymous No.15169263]

>>15168395
First and last line imply some development happening in between. It does sound like you think you have a big revelation. Though if you really discovered some meaningful truth about life you fail to share it with us.
Still you manage to make it sounds like you do. So if that's what you are going for, well done.

[Afraid and confused poem !!dbC6x/DQFYo No.15169301]

>>15169263
Fire=clear sighted living, painful life
Meteor showers=astronomical fortune telling connotation
rain=pleasure
clouds=blindness induced by pleasure
current=time, movement through life
scale=choice between pain and pleasure
Pain and pleasure must constantly be swaying. It's the way things must be. Balance would entail the end of the song, the final flourish, the crescendo of life.

[Anonymous No.15169331]

>>15168711
Try to be less edgy (it serves little purpose) and write about stuff you know, anon, I don't think you could sustain a whole story like that... I like the narrator, he's got personality. I disagree with the other anon, the humor like the Kellogg stuff makes him more real, makes the situation more tense on top of it being funny, because everything is put on the same level. It makes him a real psycho, not a romantic or cartoonish idealized Bad Guy Type. The short sentences work well, but it could use some work overall.

[Anonymous No.15169368]

I wrote this yesterday for some anon who wanted to send his brother in law some kind of joke letter. When finished I had to discover that I have been to slow to post. So maybe you will read it now?

By hand I write to you, my friend
So bear with me to the very end
I won't start all that deep
As not to bore you to sleep
Let us start with a geeting
And the assurance that I look forward to our next meeting
At home it's been quiet
Without (sister's name) around life's not much of a riot
But you have nothing to fear
The sky is clear (and I hamstered some beer)
With nothing else to do
Certainly no women to woo
I have come upon some interesting reads
And am curious where (fitting book title) leads
I hope all is well
Though with my sister around there is no way to tell
So it has come to it, oh my
That all I've left ist awaiting your reply

[Anonymous No.15169416]

The Hermit

Nothing is said in this house anymore,
the vibrations of dying plants are audible,
each room is an invisible tundra
for the strange arctic birds that I call thoughts.

There are many quiet hours, meditations
on rain and its semantics,
the esoteric tongue of nature.

But it is a false hermitage, there are people here
floating like corpses in a lake above my mind.

[Anonymous No.15169463]

Please remember the idea of providing criticism to one post and then posting one post. 1 for 1 is a good rule to make these threads less dumping.
You don't need to be a grade A writer. Just point out things you don't like or maybe a different way you would have wrote it.

[Anonymous No.15169516]

>>15168772
I like the thematic desolation between the poems, and the grays. I'm too sure on the last poem though - I understand how the eyes are like stones, but castaway like stones in milk? obviously extends the simile, but how? - I'm not too sure whats being driven at beyond the literal.
otherwise, I like the style and think it's well placed, your meter is free and effective, especially in accentuation of the harsher statements by isolating them to a line.

>>15169119
I like the momentum here, you aren't deliberating on unnecessary details, and have very little adjectives that break the flow
Here's a triad I finished earlier:
...
I.
By wind upheld, in silent-heaven’s blues
There flies a pelican who seeks new hues.
Above the wild, the far-flung plains of green,
By bird no works - by man, or god, are seen;
The eyes but specks, but glinting flints of Violet;
The eyes yet plotting pilgrim’s paths to pilot;
The eyes that saw the tartareous born
Life from the colours taking their own form.
His consort giving shape, to muraled walls,
Walls north, past Thule, great caves and mulled halls
With no account of Jupiter’s Hidden city
Sought within miles of carved profundity
But there! The golden roses, stained with blood,
Such stained, not even Time’s hand will disbud —

II.
Rose-tree, colossal bronze! A Great monument,
Are you? Why so, disrupt the view and halt
My eye? allow me this measure of composure!
How aught, before these twin trunks, my eye be?
Shall I, for eye, content with such delights,
Change speech from form to that without, or stay
Still moved upon my track, till complete – Rhodes!
Till trod the earth untrod, and seen the sights,
The waters tasted (wine in my mind’s eye!),
Till sought out the rose-isle’s fruit from the tree,
And found, if naturally to be so,
Then that too shall I taste – and wet my tongue!
But sin it seems, to eyes, though it’s not forbade;
for all these joys, beside you, are but shade!

III.
What fopless frankness. Better men care less,
Would that I were one; Ouranous! – Heavens
Highest no preface needs; yet, Heaven’s heights
Must be - If we are to know them such – named.
Tell me? Who Heavens Highest is to thee?
You give the sight to blind! And so blind sight!
If you will not ever now guide my hand
Then you won’t check my will filled hubris. But.
Not yet so will it be completed! Cast
Down, so It was. It is no greater thing
To stand, tall. But to have been known to have!
Stone rose! The rubble passed among the nations –
Proved thus as stood. Whence ceased thou, Hymns of creation,
Destroyed to that creation, muse of mine.

[Anonymous No.15169543]

>>15169516
Oh a little context:
Rhodes - Greek for rose
Rhododendron - Rose-tree

I.e I'm using rose-tree as a kenning for the famous "tree" of rose, the colossus

[Anonymous No.15169657]

>>15169301
So you are afraid and compare life to music. As the song still goes on, you are alive. In this, what I think you want to say fits the theme of your analogy and the narrative you establish.

The second part is less clear. You talk about the past and the future and what you later describe as the imbalance that determines life. As you say, the language used holds a lot of meaning (though I understood it differently but in a way that still made sense inside your poem). Your narrator as 'I' uses those words while still claiming to be confused. Which in turn confuses me.

What I am missing is the moment of change from uncertainty to the conveyed understanding of life. You just don't come across as confused to me. Rather the opposite. You or your narrator beliefs to have found an ultimate truth and by claiming confusion has es excuse to enlighten us peasants.

I really liked the flow and image of the first part though.

[Anonymous No.15169663]

>>15169416
On first reading it I didn't like it too well. But given a re-read it grew on me; I appreciate the rain metaphor (I love rain, it really does seem "the esoteric tongue of nature as you put it", though the ambiguity, which I also appreciate, could mean the rain is not the tongue, and it is nature itself that is tongue. Very well done!)

[Anonymous No.15169690]

Take my critique with a grain of salt, I don't know what i'm doing

>>15168847
like other anons said this is a good improvement.

>>15169516
>The eyes but specks, but glinting flints of Violet
>You give the sight to blind! And so blind sight!
If you will not ever now guide my hand

I like your content/thoughts and II is very good. I think some other parts are a bit clunky and could be edited, but it might just be my taste.

I'm not writing anything but a keep a text file where I splurg stuff i think about when working out, so here's an excerpt from my diary desu. Wondering what I could think about to generally improve my writing as i'm doing it

It seems like we have lost the ever-wise notion that when glued to the back of the human mind imbues humility: life is no good, and its pruning is not selective. No matter how gifted you are, no matter the number of people you impact, the point-form summary of your virtues in the newspaper column noting your death for the local retirement community will not do you justice. The small solace we have is when those liver spotted friends melancholically learn about your passing, and call to each other across the apartment:
“Dick!”
“Yes!”
John Lewis passed away”
“Suzanne’s John Lewis?”
“mmhm”
“mm”.

[Anonymous No.15169704]

>>15169416
I am curious. Does what you say have any meaning (at least in part) or do you just write words and phrases that sound confusing and like they should hold a lot of meaning to seem deep an intellectual?
I enjoy doing the latter.

[Anonymous No.15169710]

>>15169690
>Friends melancholically learn about your passing, and call to each other across the apartment

reading this over I just realized melancholically is in the wrong spot and should be after "call". it should probably just be removed entirely.

[Anonymous No.15169819]

>>15169704

The images are meant to convey my emotions and musings, they only mean what I feel. Nothing here is arbitrary or intentionally opaque, each phrase is a deliberate constructor of mood.

[Anonymous No.15169826]

>>15169690
Aye, being clunky is something I have to work on, it's worse why I try to have it somewhat intentionally (for III specifically), but usually just spoil the poem.

Your extract has good dialogue, but the preceding prose, I think, should be broken up a bit more.
Take the first line:
>It seems like we have lost the ever-wise notion that when glued to the back of the human mind imbues humility

Just inserting commas makes it easier to read:

It seems like we have lost the ever-wise notion that, when glued to the back of the human mind, imbues humility

these commas also place an emphasis on the fact that it should be "glued to the back of the human mind", as if the narrator has broken the general narrative to provide this clause of information - because it is that important

[Anonymous No.15169891]

>>15169819
Thank you. I think about that a lot especially when it comes to poetry.
Are you all right then? Just reading that makes me feel alone and sad. Which I enjoy in the way of thinking all deeper understanding of the world will inevitably lead to disappointment and depression. I imagine it to not be as pleasant to feel that way as opposed to thinking about feeling that way.

[Anonymous No.15169895]

>>15169704


The images are meant to convey my emotions and musings, they only mean what I feel. Nothing here is arbitrary or intentionally opaque, each phrase is deliberate and attempts palpability.

[Anonymous No.15169906]

>>15169891

Sorry I changed my post because I didn’t think I was being clear. >>15169895 I hope makes sense? Or maybe it did before, idk. But yeah I have been in a depressive state the past few days and I’m grateful to be able to write but it’s not fun at all. It’s messing with my professional life and they’re advising me to seek help.

[Anonymous No.15169909]

Someone said I didn't have enough information in the last version so I added a stanza and I wanna know whether it was a good addition or if it seems out of place:
Why did you make me care?
Memories exhaled like grasping arms of
blue smoke lost in the wind,
burning, choking throat,
eyes burning, bloodshot,
marching, empty, down the violet road
toward the dusk.

Why did you make me care?

Up in blue smoke:
Was all life like that?
I couldn’t see her in other faces,
feel her in other voices.
She was gone like blue smoke, exhaled.

Inhale, the ass-end of a hand-rolled cigarette glows red,
enraged, burning. I breathe
blue smoke. Red eyes, blue breaths
still my beating heart.
Why did you let me go?
Why did you make me care?

When life was en rose
and every freckle on your face
shown brighter than lights on the
LA skyline, and all my eyes sought
was to drown in yours,
you made me care, but why?

How can I escape you when
my mind is modelled in your image,
molded by the constant noise
of an old upstairs tenant?

I asked you not to walk around my head all night,
but you refused to leave,
and now that you’re finally gone, all that’s left is
blue smoke.

[Anonymous No.15169939]

>>15169416
>Nothing is said in this house anymore,
I really like this as an opening line, very blunt and sets up the rest of the piece well.

>each room is an invisible tundra for the strange arctic birds that I call thoughts.
I'd change this line, it makes it sound like the house is supposed to represent his mind which makes the second line confusing, and I think the piece would benefit from a grounded setting. Try something like "my thoughts roam around the room like an arctic bird over an invisible tundra."

>meditations on rain and its semantics,
Really like this line as well.

>But it is a false hermitage, there are people here floating like corpses in a lake above my mind.
Need a comma between lake and above, spent like five minutes trying to figure out what a lake floating over his head was supposed to represent.
Overall I enjoyed the piece and I think it has a lot potential, just needs some tweaks and a couple extra lines would do it some good I think. Expand more on that last part, it gets interesting then sorta just ends.

---

Limbs shiver and throb in chaotic anticipation
as razor blade fingers trace along the nook of an,
armpit, collarbone, waist, navel, jaw line.
The blood they draw pools in the pit of the stomach,
bubbling, sifting, aphrodisic, pink sludge.
Violent passion as bodies thrash and fold, lungs heaving, expelling wisps of pleasure,
brains now musky puddles blotting the sheets.
Crescendo.
Both bodies lay limp, muscles pulsing a lullaby rhythm,
their eyes melt onto each others skin, smooth as porcelain.

[Anonymous No.15170025]

>>15169939

Thank you, I wish I could expand more but I don’t know if it’d be worthwhile. It’s hard to come back to something when it’s been done in a particular mood, you know? Also, the image is a lake floating over the mind, that is the proper reading, are you saying the comma would convey that or that’s how you took it without the comma? Your revision of the tundra line makes sense, I’ll consider that most likely. The only issue with rewritings in that way is that it’s saying something different than intended / felt. It was not a grounded feeling, you know? But I get you. Thank you again.

As for yours,

The first line is intriguing but the second transitions awkwardly to third, I’m not sure that “of an” is the best way to go. The diction has a bizarre, feverish quality that somehow comes off as passionate, it’s the greatest strength of the poem. The weakness is the clunky prosody, it doesn’t flow very well at all, and the “crescendo” bit is unnecessary or at worst, abrasive. The penultimate line, specifically “lullaby rhythm” is well done, but the final feels a lot lazier. How many times has skin been porcelain or eyes melted into something, you know? This poem feels like it’s meant to surprise and deserves more innovative imagery in certain places. Overall it’s quite poignant, just needs to be cleaned up musically and could use more ambition.

[Anonymous No.15170036]

>>15169906
I think it makes sense. A few years back I had the problem of feeling lonely while not being alone. It's in the very nature of this problem that the people around you cannot help.
It was just luck that my circumstances changed by themselves. In hindsight I wish I acted before that. It's not like there is much to lose in seeking help.

[Anonymous No.15170051]

>>15170036

You’re right, I just haven’t been taking my emotions seriously because I feel like most depressives have it worst. I’m religious and not in despair so it’s hard to feel like I have a real “problem”. But with so much senseless ennui it becomes worrying. Thank you for your words.

[Anonymous No.15170070]

>>15169119
>tfw you see a reply to your writing post but it's just more of their writing

[Anonymous No.15170141]

HOW THE FUCK DO I WRITE ACTION SCENES
I ONLY HAVE THREE IN THE ENTIRE GODAMN NOVEL BUT I FEEL LIKE THEY'RE POO POO
HELP

[Anonymous No.15170166]

>>15170141
why don't you try actually posting it then

[Anonymous No.15170190]

>>15170070
lol yeah this is a big pet peeve of mine in these threads

[Anonymous No.15170259]

>>15170070
what do you want? A line by line analysis of your novel? All the replies to what I assume are your posts make some comment on it, pretty much all in praise - what more do you want?

[Anonymous No.15170272]

>>15170259
>>15170070
Have you actually given any crit to another anon? from the text blocks all it seems to be is you posting more in response

[tringleboper !!to/XtEuVdZ2 No.15170291]

test

[Anonymous No.15170323]

>>15169080
>>15170259
I am not that poster

[Anonymous No.15170327]

>>15168711
aside form the Lel edgy;
The narrator has a distinct character, and the prose is halfway decent, it wouldn't cause much a stink if the topic wasn't so touchy - but hey, murakami has the same shit in 1Q84 (but he "condemns it ")
Kid, with work, or maybe it really is just the topic, you can improve - you have some talent at least. It's not difficult to read (again, past the topic) and is very tight with word choice in some places which I appreciate.

But, really, as some others have emphasised: Change the subject matter. It does read with a hint of comedic tone, and maybe if you could tone it down and work on the comedy it could work right, but you still play with fire in terms of reactions with what it is

[Anonymous No.15170355]

>>15170323
I don't understand. Were you misaddressed by that poster for the other, or are you distinguishing the two because you're being addressed as both. if that makes sense?

[Anonymous No.15170645]

>>15169909
Tou should spell arse like this, it's nicer to read.

>>15169939
nice but needs more rhymes.

========
Sadness is warm,
Happiness is distant,
Pleasure is pain.
Life is pain, life is pleasure, life is distant.

Yes, I know some logic too
The logic of the falling star
The logic of the crashing car
The logic of a time now gone
Like lyrics to a forgotten song
Like epic empires now growing greater
Like globewars on Astrum Naiter,

Everyone has to make a contribution
It says so right here on this constitution
A dusty sail on a broken mast
But finally order has come at last

Said the idiot to his cat
As he hit it with his baseball bat
Knowing he should not do that
He ate some food and he got fat

To think it would end like this
Man elated at his own hubris
He thought to himself as the stars burst into parts

A glass pane finally shattering,
Supporting our inane ambition
Then facilitating our transition
To awareness of our own position

The music stopped and I was sad
I had lost the last thing I had had

That nagging feeling
I ought to do something
And that nagging feeling
One ought not do anything at all
and instead end it all

Death is that warm bed dreamed of often
The place one feels finally in place
Free from the lack of responsibility
Inherent in a life without brutality.

But I wouldn't have it any other way
I tell myself as I waste away
Spending yet another day
Eating bread and living free

Like children in an empty dream,
Teenage mutants' extacy:
Something so distant I
Couldn't spell it for the life of me,

Like teenage geniuses on a rocket ship,
Of to some foreign world so ignorant
Of the blessing that comes to them
Like red ink flowing from that bloody pen
And like my hand cut right off
From my body decaying now
Laying abandoned in a trough
Like that guy who ate a cow
In the Indian streets of system Tau
Saying he knew the true dao
Even as his body they did disembowel
Like mutants on that planet now,
Lifeless and oh so quickly pulled apart.

But that thing that only knew
The danger that they always knew

Someone wise said something once
And someone dumber said it again,
But they messed it up like always,
And that's how we ended up in space,
No longer a single human race,
Those on Earth we looked down upon
As to these new heights we did reach,
not realising we were just like wales
Stranded on a foreign beach.
Great and proud,
Dying and decaying and forgotten.

[Anonymous No.15170681]

>>15170025
That's how I took it without the comma, if you're trying to imply a lake floating over the mind I'd leave it as is, the line just confused me on my first reading.

Also thanks for the critique it's greatly appreciated.

[Anonymous No.15170839]

>>15168772
The image of a honey bee expiring after having its viscera ripped out following a stinging was grotesque -- hilarious

>>15169042
>Bill's basement was excessively air conditioned.
Alliteration is good, the need some reference to the icy temperature resulting therefrom -- debatable, could go either way.

>>15169416
>Nothing is said in this house, but
>The murmur of dying planets
>In every room, this translucid tundra
>Home an aviary to arctic birds
>I call my thought

>Many quiet hours, many meditations
>On the cymatics of rain, its syntax
>Mandalas precipitants of mercurial song

>It is a fey wedding, preordained
>In this false hermitage: no rebis, nor nigredo
>When there are carcasses of people
>Floating in the lake over my mind.

A version -- take what you like. The core imagery is compelling.

>>15169909
Less is more, the refrain is breaking the 4th wall in a "your blogpost is my blogpost" manner; lose it. If you're going to mix metaphors, exactitude is required. e.g. --

>Exhaled memory, clasping blue smoke
>Arms lost on the wind to bloodshot
>Eyes marching down the violet road
>Smouldering, asphyxiating procession
>Through the throat and into dusk.

If you absolutely insist on the personalization expressed in the refrain in a way that isn't voyeuristic for the reader [as if we're reading private correspondence] -- go with
>I cared, once . . .

Register has to be elevated in confessional stuff. "Ass-end" in the other direction, can't be going ham with the over-wrought-ness. It's one or the other.

[Anonymous No.15170905]

>>15170141
>how to write action
Watch combat veteran interview stories -- John Stryker Meyer's as a LRRP in Vietnam are haywire as it gets. Time is warped with adrenaline dumps, you have more real estate to articulate the scene than you think. More jargon for specificity can help [whether medieval {HEMA references} or modern {/k/ommandos}]

[Anonymous No.15171159]

>>15170839
>Less is more, the refrain is breaking the 4th wall in a "your blogpost is my blogpost" manner; lose it. If you're going to mix metaphors, exactitude is required.

Sorry, can you explain this a little more? I'm not sure I understand

[SM. A. K. No.15171643]

I realized -

All of the people in my life… - They all mean absolutely nothing to me. It is not that I am sociopathic, it is more so… I am rather sensitive, and thus, always protecting my best interests. My soul is hurt each time the picture of superficial friendship reaches my eyes.

The superimposed white luminescence -

The stillness of that mask, its placement poetic -

biting -

ironic - The ruminations behind it visible in the eyes behind the eyes. Why should I subject myself to people who view me in such contempt? Why should I play fool when there is a brief slip and the mask comes undone? No, I have been hurt before. I am in no need to be hurt again. Viewing every single face, I have come to the conclusion that no person in my life has my best interest. Alone - In a time where life itself is giving me opportunity to take my solitude - Amidst a cast of peculiar characters (whom I’ve decided not with capacity to match me. [But, here is where I think the problem of my person rests: My ego is so fragile that I cannot handle being treated poorly, which I base by offenses real and wrongly percepted. I am entitled. I think I have a great set of skills that at the very least should level any person. I truly am not a monster. I know I am not. I think I just have some issues to deal with. I want discipline.) Intuition is one thing, but apprehension is another, and foolish impulsiveness, easily sparked by these newfound, yet imperceptible emotions, is what leads me to make decisions that in consequence mar my person to all subject to my behavior. What must I do? I lack esteem. I find it in nothing I do, for nothing I do has real efficient effort. I am capable of so much, yet do so little. That is the horror of my life. It is haunting me, has been haunting me, but now is starting to grow to my detriment - [Story I Wright]

I am scared of what I might find.

[Anonymous No.15172735]

Been workin' way too much need to get out and get fucked up
What's going on? Where's it at?
Make some calls to make it crack, let's see
I need money, drugs, a ride
And a spot with hot ones inside
The mission:

To get all of the above in a limited amount of time
I can do this and it's done
Like that we're on our way
Be it acid on the tongue
Cocaine in your brain
Or some weed that hits your lungs
Like a runaway train
Hell yeah, from DMT to MDMA
Got all that shit and more
So till dawn we're okay, but anyway

Fuck a line, every time
Get in, get a drink, and lose our minds
All eyes on the dime
That makes your dick want to grind
Know you got a good buzz going
Cause everything is glowing
Skirt so short her ass is showing
And she's looking so you’re knowing
You could get it tonight
But there’s so much around
Best take your time, do it right

As you keep getting higher
Lights look like they're on fire
Soon all that’s left of you
Is your most primal desires
Ass clappin', dick suckin', lock the door to the bathroom – quick fuckin'
Find a whore and it could happen
But it's nothin', cause you're drunk and you'll be blackin' out
Before you even get a chance to think 'bout what you're doing

I want it I, I need it, need it to make me feel heated
Shake it, can't take it, must break it
Break if off, yeah, what'd I say bitch?
I want it I, I need it, need it to make me feel heated
Shake it, can't take it, must break it
Break if off, yeah, what'd I say bitch?
Bitch
I want it I, I need it, need it to make me feel heated
Shake it, can't take it, must break it
Break if off, yeah, what'd I say bitch?
Bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch
I want it I, I need it, need it to make me feel heated
Shake it, can't take it, must break it
Break if off, yeah, what'd I say bitch?

Getting looser and looser and looser and losing yourself
In the groove that has the whole party movin'
You're cruisin', you don't know what you're doing and you don't give a-
Cause you're so liquored up, you throw it up
And keep on riding cause your timing is on
And that fine one is on you, it's time to get gone
Too far up in it to yawn, till it's finished come on
Get more twisted and bomb the dance floor till it breaks
Start to pondering rape
Me, I'm all about the face
But it takes all kinds
So pay no mind to the taste
Want to hear that song?
You know, the one with the bass
That makes their asses gyrate
Forget to hydrate
Till they're so fucked up they take
Off all of their clothes and whip
It on me like my body's made to fit 'tween their lips
You got the ones on their grill
Or between their hips
But either way, I must say
I really don't give a shit
Long as it's done well, and they promise not to tell
We could do this like an orgy
In the bowels of hell
Where every Lucy’s hella horny
And their pussies don't smell

[Anonymous No.15172741]

cont.

Argh...
Where's it at?

I want it I, I need it, need it to make me feel heated
Shake it, can't take it, must break it
Break if off, yeah, what'd I say bitch?
Bitch
I want it I, I need it, need it to make me feel heated
Shake it, can't take it, must break it
Break if off, yeah, what'd I say bitch?
Bitch, bitch
I want it I, I need it, need it to make me feel heated
Shake it, can't take it, must break it
Break if off, yeah, what'd I say bitch?
(Bitch) Bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch
I want it I, I need it, need it to make me feel heated
Shake it, can't take it, must break it
Break if off, yeah, what'd I say bitch?

Responsibility's cool, but there’s more things in life
Like getting your dick rode all fucking night
By the kind of girl that knows how to keep her shit tight
Legs in the air, looking like they feel nice
Volcano pussy melt your peter like ice
And the drugs got you going back for more cause you're like
I just can't get enough of that cum clutch, well alright
It's time to find one and take one
Right now
It's time to find one and make one say
"I'm down"
Think I just found one, 'bout to break one off
Meanwhile

Hallucinating crazy, getting lost for miles
May have gotten too fucked up cause I forgot how to smile
Gonna have to do this shit Jim Morrison style
Will it work? Probably not, but it's worth a try

First hot one I see with sex in her eyes
Will be the hot one I need to take home with me tonight
Wish me luck, give me dap
And I'll talk to you later
And when I do, let's hope my story isn’t all about haters
Where's it at? Cause I want it like, man
Got the drugs but need a hot one that'll make me go damn
Was the most banging guts that I ever have smashed
If you got it push it up on me cause I'm feeling that ass, know what I mean?
Where's it at?

I want it I, I need it, need it to make me feel heated
Shake it, can't take it, must break it
Break if off, yeah, what'd I say bitch?
Bitch, bitch
I want it I, I need it, need it to make me feel heated
Shake it, can't take it, must break it
Break if off yeah, what'd I say bitch?
Bitch, bitch
I want it I, I need it, need it to make me feel heated
Shake it, can't take it, must break it
Break if off yeah, what'd I say bitch?
Bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch
I want it I, I need it, need it to make me feel heated
Shake it, can't take it, must break it
Break if off yeah, what'd I say bitch?
Bitch

I want it I, I need it, need it to make me feel heated
Shake it, can't take it, must break it
Break if off, yeah, what'd I say bitch?

[Anonymous No.15172898]

He was sitting at a table, drinking a cocktail. She came over, sat down and said nothing. He glanced over her shoulder. Her friends were watching. No sign of Clari. She and her friends probably went out once, maybe twice a week, and to different clubs. Not just this one, every night, like he did.
'May I?' She nodded at his drink.
He slid it over. 'Go for it.'
She had a sip. 'I'm Elle.'
'Austin.'
'Pleasure.' She slid it back.
He shook his head and stood up. 'That one's yours.'
'Thanks,' she said. 'But do you have anything else?'
He smiled. 'Sorry, not sure what you mean.'
'I think you do.' She winked. 'I can see it in your eyes.'
'My eyes?'
'Your pupils.'
He laughed and walked off. At the bar, he looked back at her. Blonde, bright eyes. Twenty, he guessed. Waiting for him. She flipped off her friends, who were trying to make her laugh. He brought over two of the same and sat beside her. It was time for another line. He chopped one out and rolled up a twenty.
She leaned over so they were touching. 'Is that for me?'
He looked at her, held her gaze and gave her the note. 'Enjoy.'

>will crit anyone who crit me

[Anonymous No.15173464]

>>15172735
>>15172741

holy based

[Anonymous No.15173799]

>>15170272>>15170190>>15170259>>15170323>>15170355

I'm >>15169046 and this is my third time posting in this thread.

[Anonymous No.15173856]

>>15173799
Ah shit, I understand now - I mistook you for the guy you were complaining about lol. Yeah sucks, there's a bunch of anon's that post and dip

[Anonymous No.15173864]

>>15173799
I just tried the link, it doesn't work?

[Anonymous No.15174030]

>>15173856
Yeah. I try not to crit and post in the same post sometimes, just in case I'm either a dumbass or, manage to piss someone off to where they'll give me a shitty crit just because. It is what it is, at least we have infinite threads.
>>15173864
You got to put the dot where I say dot, I forgot to say it in the last link.
https://justpaste DOT it/1mi1t
If you don't the link doesn't work, no. Unless you did that and it doesn't work, in which case tell me and I'll just make a new one.