/lit/ - Literature

[Anonymous No.3366296]

Creative Writing Critique thread. Post your flash fiction, poetry, pastebin links, scribd stuff, or whatever else you want to be read and critiqued. I'm bored and will be around for a couple hours at least. I'm sure there are other /lit/izens who will join in too. Keep copyright and such in mind if you plan on publishing anything. Everyone welcome (even you Tao). Go at it. Crush my brain with your purpley prose.

[Anonymous No.3366309]

Why not tell ME about your ISSUES with Gandhi as opposed to spouting them off to the scufflers at your nethers keen on supping on the flow'ring of your bowels? You know as well as I that some deep untethered psychiatric latchkey's at the 'ginning and the end of this. Oh, Jung and pure! Oh, check Freud! All soci'ty in a blender for the leaving on a market stall some Tuesday. Yes.

Please tell us how gold Ghandi was a pedophile right and true. Please tell us how he offered up the giblets just for you. You loved it, suckled on the old man's gourd for kicks and soon you needed it. The firmament you puckered up your lips to keep a clasp on. Power. Something stiff to lay your bones beneath, to keep your thighs around and all about. Yes. Tell a story of your nights with Papa Brownie.

We'd love to hear you clatter out a gutspew, hear you chatter out the place to hellfire, rigid as the wind with righteous fury, all the iron stuck to you.

Go tell your mother how her knickers found their way on home to you. How you tried out little Susie but you'd rather have a sailor keep your feathers plucked in dirty Navy Blue.

[Anonymous No.3366311]

Bertram Snyder was alleged to be a pulp satirist working in the mid 19th century whose work went entirely unread in his lifetime. In the late 1990s a collection of manuscripts and letters from the man's cottage in Singapore were excavated, plastered to the walls in some exotic and intricate pattern. Several photographs of the site were taken but only a half-dozen or so exist today, buried somewhere in the back halls of the Library of Congress (any number of theories have made the rounds as to what happened to the rest of the photos - some claim they were taken into custody by European interests, others say Faulkner's estate still has them).

The loss of the manuscripts themselves has long been a mystery. In June of 2003 the Library restored five of the photographs for public viewing, but the quality of the stills were pretty wretched - only select bits of text were readable, and only in close-up (the arrangement of the papers in relation to one another was impossible to see). Among a scattering of random text and grammatical arrangements, very little worth a further look was found until some three and a half years passed. A visiting hermeneuticist who had dabbled in crossword fabrication looked through the photos in stints over several weeks and alleged to have found some kind of cypher through which to analyze the text - after several months in some backwater closet on an MIT campus, he published his findings. All the decryption work his team had been engaged in led to a revealing in succession of twenty-five characters:

FORSALEBABYSHOESNEVERWORN

The man was given a leave of absence from university work for six months and never returned. Reports of a chain-smoking would-be lothario in Bedok New Town with a handful of looseleaf and a deathwish have as of yet gone uninvestigated.

[Anonymous No.3366314]

Yes.

It's often that I've found myself at dinner with the fam, the droopy father sitting kitty corner to the perky, pent-up mother, who'd rush on over to my side, intent on giving me 'huggles'. The attempt is deflected with a gimp oblong shrug, coupled with my shrieking howls, in flawless Shakespearean pentameter:
:
'DO NOT TOUCH ME YOU FILTHY FUCKING CA'

She pauses, horrified

'SUAL.'

At this point, I'm generally given to retreating darkly to my basement, where shelved in the hue and pattern of an offset Serpinski triangle is my perpetually festering collection of dust-gathering hardbacks. I gaze at the collection, meta and non-metaphysically patrician in form and content, and begin to feel the trouser snake emerge.

In heat, I unbury my Martin Heidegger Real Doll™ and wrap his continental lips around my throbbing member, cooing gently as his bushy liptuft tickles my pubis. Pumping furiously, I read from my perpetually open copies of Gravity's Rainbow and Infinite Jest with my left and right eyes, respectively. I stroke my braille copy of Ulysses with my right hand, guiding Heidi™ up and down with my left. I come furiously down his ravenous, hungry throat and pull out, looking deep into those soulful German eyes as we share a cigarette in post-coital bliss.

I tuck Heidi™ away and stare at my books, thinking maybe I should read one of them.

My mother shuffles into the room and pats me on the head, singing

'Hahaha, time for 4chan.'

[Anonymous No.3366316]

I was there when God was dead.

The city didn't get it for a while.

All the men took down their trousers as the women laughed.

Their peckers all seemed frozen in the wind.

The little sacks of flesh beneath played lining to the end of things, I had to guess.

The kids went home to ask their mothers if tomorrow left them wanting.

Workers at the yards went somewhere else to do the same.

Paper took the message from the authors but the readers couldn't give a damn.

I had a hand in mine but I wouldn't see myself a part of letting go.

The family was split apart by faggots, but they'd never say that it was so.

Nobody seemed to get that M. Night Shyamalan was the artist of the century.

I took the little ones back to school and let myself go over beers and sitcoms after dinner.

Everything was fine but I couldn't make them see it.

[wardleygateshead !!QJdPXy5wTBF No.3366366]

im gonna pickle that big nigga dick and put it in a mason jar
and im gonna take that pickled nigga dick out and snack on it when i get hungry
that pickled nigga dick will last me a lifetime
pickled nigga dicks could feed a family of 4
when i get that pickled nigga dick i will never be hungry again

i am gonna eat on that big niggas dick till i die

[wardleygateshead !!QJdPXy5wTBF No.3366364]

what or who would possess someone to do that kind of thing to my beautiful wife?
didnt he know what he was getting himself into?

with god as my witness i am gonna kill that nigga

im gonna beat his ass to death for laying his dirty hands on my little girl
im gonna chop his ass up and make nigga stew when i kill that nigga

his days of swinging from trees is over now
but his days of swinging from a tree has just begun

lord almighty am i gonna kill that nigga

im gonna go get myself lunch at the burger stand where him and his nigga pals like to hang around
im gonna go get myself lunch and watch them deal they nigga rocks to the little niglets in the joint
im gonna eat my lunch and not say a goddamned word

but i am going to kill that fucking nigger

when i finish eating i am going to go outside
i am gonna find that niggas ugly nigga car
but i am not gonna throw eggs at that ugly nigga car
and i am not gonna scratch his ugly nigga paintjob
or slash his big nigga tires
im just gonna kill that fucking nigga

im gonna give that nigga a 100 dollar bill
im gonna tuck that 100 dollar bill right inside his spinning nigga rims
and then im gonna wait for him to finish selling his drugs to all the niglets in the burger stand
and im gonna wait for him to say goodbye to his nigga pals
and watch his nigga pals pile into they big ugly nigga cars
and drive on back to they ugly nigga neighborhoods

and when that nigga bends down to pick up this 100 dollar bill he sees
tucked there right inside his spinning nigga rims
i am gonna crack that niggas big mandingo skull from behind
and im gonna take my 100 dollar bill back from that nigga
and im gonna take every 100 dollar bill he has in his nigga wallet
and im gonna take his nigga chains
and im gonna take his big nigga dick for what hed done to my wife
im gonna pry that nigga dick right out of his cold dead nigga hands
and take that nigga dick home with me in my back pocket

[Anonymous No.3366392]

>>3366309
I'll admit that poetry isn't my strong suit, but I'll give it a go keeping that in mind.

I love some of these lines. "We'd love to hear you clatter out a gutspew" and " Please tell us how he offered up the giblets just for you." sound intriguing and though I couldn't give an exact translation I could definitely feel what was being communicated. I wish I could offer more help, but I'm just not strong in this area.

>>3366311
Great build up. Short works are about that moment, that turn, that single image or phrase that sticks with you after you're done reading you got it. There's a few parts that I'd rewrite, but I'll only go into that if you ask. In fact, I might consider cutting out the last sentence all together.

>>3366314
You spying bastard.

[Anonymous No.3366396]

>>3366392

Thanks. All of those are replies to old threads I shat out on the spot.

[Anonymous No.3366397]

hey OP i feel like i'm not getting at the point of poetry with what i write. like i've got the ideas but the execution doesn't match the thought. if you wouldn't mind could you tell me what you see this poem saying? i just want to know if i'm putting enough value into the words. thanks again. titles in subject field.

Unveiling our soleffused
roof, who expects a find
assailing as that lack,
flooding out our minds,
flashing as a child’s
caught inside the sack.

Unbowed, shimmers slats sheets
diminished to a black
finish, door frame
moored, blinding
blemish. None

notice nightly blend,
creased fogs bridging
anchored bedpost ends.

Instead, head affright,
little mariner tips aft
captained light above
and wonders, even
until shadowed terror,
always once
discovered, sloshes
rightly under, why
sunken skylines
look whully painted on,
varnish chipped in heaps,
dotted pricks a shining peak
to canvas laid beneath.

[Anonymous No.3366400]

>>3366396
I suspected it was all the same author especially considering the posting proximity. I really do like your style and would be interested in reading more. Have you written anything longer?

[Anonymous No.3366401]

>>3366397

shit sorry the title is "Ocean Cabins" i'm just retarded.

[Anonymous No.3366408]

Here's a weird dream I had that I jotted down real quick, and never looked at again till tonight.

Dream, 1/5/2013

Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz, Willy Wonka, and someone who looks like the guy from Scooby Doo
who wears the white shirt (we will call him John), but with black hair. Me, in third person, presumably.
I never actually see myself in my dreams. I just observe. John has a stick that resembles an axe handle,
with no axe head. There is a rather long wood screw sticking out of one end, approximately
4 inches exposed. John is repeatedly beating Willy Wonka in the teeth with the stick. Willy Wonka
is screaming, and shreiking as he tries to flee. His teeth shatter, but grow back. There is no blood.
Dorothy is thuroughly amused by all of this. Willy Wonka tries to flee, John uses the screw to trip
him. The screw digs into Willy Wonka's ankle. No blood. Willy Wonka falls backwards onto a table.
His hands are raised in a feeble attempt to shield his teeth. The blows rain down. In stead of teeth
shattering, his entire face is slowly dented in with every blow. As if his face were an empty paint can.
Willy Wonka starts to laugh, as if he experiences some sick pleasure from the abuse. Dorothy is now
jumping up and down waving her hands in pleasure. John is smiling. I remember feeling deep down inside
that this is all probably wrong, but then remembering the lack of blood. If there's no blood, nobody
is in pain.

[Anonymous No.3366412]

>>3366400

Here's some pieces of an old thing I might not go back to.

http://pastebin.com/FVii3v7v

And here's one of very few poems that I've written:

http://pastebin.com/4LJrXxLz

[Different Anon No.3366420]

>>3366408

This reminds me of a post I made a few weeks ago:

I dreamt last night of riding on an underground traincar into some enormous campground run by an incredibly flabby institutional apparatus somehow themed to Pynchon's 'V.' A redhead I used to real-life crush on several months and states ago was riding in the cart there with me, though we didn't know each other. We began to make out and feel each other up, not quite getting to the good stuff as the train rolled in to camp. A haze of activity and later I find her in a gymnasium. She asks me to come join her in the locker room. In heat and ready for a fun little dream-trist (I'm half-aware this all is fake now), I scurry right on over to a group of picnic tables, trying to catch her trail among the scattered heads of twenty-something females. I find her after searching for what seemed an age, she's there just sitting on a table, can of gasoline in hand and smiling at me, asking if I'm ready. She starts to pour the stuff on my leg, I pull away. She douses the other campers, feverish, excited. I'm running far and fast away as she holds that evil smile. She sets the place to flames and I wake up stiff with morning wood, in need of a cigarette I won't get to have for weeks.

[FirstDreamAnon No.3366426]

>>3366420
That's pretty sweet. I want to expand on certain parts of mine. Like Wonka's face getting dented in, it was the most vivid part of the dream. And his ankle getting snagged too.

Here's a synopsis of a different dream from that same night, written from memory right now.

Blue Ford F-100 pickup. Three on the tree. Never see the inside, ride in the back. Somewhere in South America, hitch hiking. Dusty outside, and windy. The two people who picked us up keep grabbing onto their white cowboy hats before they fly off their heads. Me and Caleb sit in the back, with a seemingly dead wolf. Upon hitting a bump in the road, the wolf lands in my lap. The wolf awakens, and attempts to attack me. Caleb grabs it's tail to stall it, I reach for my belt knife. It's designed for skinning game, so it's designed to slash, not stab. I slash the wolfs chest and throat several times. The skin was incredibly hard to pierce, the knife was razor sharp upon later inspection. There was no blood. The wolf dies, we throw it back to its original position. At the next stop, the drivers get out to feed the wolf. The wounds had healed, and the wolf was dead. We shrugged our shoulders.

I've done quite a bit of hitching in my life, and have planned to go down into South America, so those two elements didn't come from knowhere.

[Anonymous No.3366427]

>>3366397
There's a lot of different ideas of what poetry is and should do, but I'll tell you what I think and have learned noting again that poetry is not my strong suit.

Poetry is like condensed milk. All that water is evaporated out making the remaining milk more powerful and viscous. Typically, a poem is very focused on a single idea, image, or feeling which should strike the reader immediately and permanently. They should know what you're saying or be so intrigued by your writing that they want to know what you're saying. If you want general ideas about poetry rather than technical bits I suggest reading Poem Crazy by Susan Woolridge.

As far as this poem, I can't say I know what you're going for. What are "creased fogs bridging/ anchored bedpost ends"? It's an interesting image but I can only catch glimpses of these ideas about childhood and apocalypse. I could arbitrarily assign meaning to this poem. Art critics do it everyday, but it won't be important unless it is to you. Keep working with it until it expresses what you want.

[Anonymous No.3366432]

>>3366408
What do you have against childhood?
"If there's no blood, nobody is in pain." is the best part of this.

[Anonymous No.3366442]

>>3366427

thanks for the reading suggestion. the creased fogs in my mind stood for the halfish darkness permeating the room, while anchored bed post ends continued the analogy of the sea to a child's fear of the dark. is this one better at getting across a solid idea?


“My writing won’t self-reflexive,”
I mumble to myself,
carbon-copy bubbles
wrapped up, on my knuckles,
crunching after hands outline
their troubles.

[FirstDreamAnon No.3366444]

>>3366432
I actually think I know the answer to this one. I grew up on isolated farms, being really fucking poor. (I never had a neighbor before I was 13) So I never got to watch Saturday morning cartoons, movies, or anything else like that. All I had was the outdoors (fishing, hunting, trapping, camping, hiking) and books. Recently I got invited to a "90's" themed party, and even though I was alive (and coherent) in the critical parts of the 90's, I couldn't relate to the Hey Arnold showings or any of that shit. It ended up making me really pissed off.

Of course, I would never, ever go back and change my childhood if I had the chance. But I still feel a bit of bitterness towards 90's kid's child icons.

[Anonymous No.3366447]

>>3366427

thanks for the reading suggestion. the creased fogs in my mind stood for the halfish darkness permeating the room, while anchored bed post ends continued the analogy of the sea to a child's fear of the dark. is this one better at getting across a solid idea?


“I won't write self-reflexive,”
I mumble to myself,
carbon-copy bubbles
wrapped up, on my knuckles,
crunching after taps outline
their troubles.

[Anonymous No.3366451]

poetry is the least effective way to communicate an idea

[Anonymous No.3366452]

>>3366451

i think you've got poetry confused with your psots

[Anonymous No.3366455]

>>3366452
i think youve got ego inflative soul searching bullshit confused with real studies

[Anonymous No.3366457]

>>3366444
It's interesting that rather than having apathy toward those icons your felt frustration and anger. I can imagine every single person at the party (I would be included) going "You've never seen such and such?!?!" over and over and over again. I'd probably get frustrated too.

>>3366447
The crease is the halfish part? I understood it was to supposed to be something ominous as frogs are typically associated with plague or the end of the world. Both of your poems have a wonderful lyrical quality. I love reading them as you flow from alliteration to assonance. I just have a hard time with poetry once it becomes less concrete. I understand there's a sect of people who enjoy that, but I just have a hard time following and trying to guess what everything means. You might be better off waiting for someone who's more experience with poetry. Who would you say your greatest poetic influence is?

[Anonymous No.3366456]

Ideas that can be communicated directly and effectively are almost always less interesting than those which require a reliance on abstraction.

[Anonymous No.3366458]

>>3366451

>>3366447 here, could you elaborate on this? i'm not >>3366452 btw just honestly curious.

[Anonymous No.3366459]

>>3366451
>i don't like poetry
okay

[Anonymous No.3366462]

>>3366456
give any single example of a poem communicating an idea that requires abstraction to explain.

kids think poems are edgy when really they are a means to attempt to communicate what one is not so masterful to communicate himself. it would be better to have a dialogue with yourself.

[Anonymous No.3366464]

>>3366457

i dunno sometimes when i look at semi-lighted places the way the light progresses across the spectrum looked kinda like a wrinkled up blanket or top of a cover. that's probably a stretch though and i haven't described it succinctly enough to encapsulate the image.

[Anonymous No.3366465]

>>3366458
poems were relevant when ideas were persecuted. today we dont have that so theyre really not at all useful.

i can see the draw of language worship but really what is the sense to writing aesthetics? its the greatest act of vanity.

[Anonymous No.3366466]

>>3366462

>edgy

I'm dying to know what sense of the term you're using here. Please elaborate.

>any single example

I'd ask you in return what you think the aim of art is? How can one communicate an emotion without using abstractions?

[FirstDreamAnon No.3366467]

>>3366457
Well, most of the time it is apathy. It's just some times it gets really annoying. I didn't go to the party for that very reason. And when people say things like "I can't believe you've never_____" is awakens angtsy class warfare shit, because I grew up poor, and because I didn't watch these cartoons somehow I am inferior to you. But I know those feelings are immature, it's still fun to whip it out occasionally and watch people shit social bricks.

[Anonymous No.3366469]

>>3366465

>i can see the draw of feelings but really what is the sense to experience? its the greatest act of vanity

[Anonymous No.3366471]

>>3366457

i enjoy robert frost, billy collins and john donne really. i'm trying to work my way into more poetry just sorta bouncin' around poetry.org and reading everything and everyone.

[Anonymous No.3366477]

>>3366466
art is an outlet for an unenlightened mind and emotion can be evoked through even non fiction.

its like, you dont understand what you are trying to get at so you haphazardly output something with aim of causing what you cannot describe.

[Anonymous No.3366478]

>>3366465

personally I really enjoy the technical aspect of writing for writing's sake, the way rhythm works and how words come together. i guess that's aesthetics but to me it's just really interesting to explore permutations available to the english language for its own sake as an exercise as opposed to writing it merely as a "beautiful" thing. i don't enjoy poetry that doesn't attempt to excel within a pattern of some sort.

[Anonymous No.3366479]

>>3366469
experience of what? loving ones own 'creative output'? youre tooting your own horn.

[Anonymous No.3366486]

>>3366479

The experience of art is a two-way street.

>>3366477

>art is an outlet for an unenlightened mind

As opposed to?

>you don't understand what you are trying to get at

How so?

>haphazardly

oh, god...

>aim of causing

Yes. To a degree. The beauty comes into play when a vast array of experiences can be drawn from any singular work of art.

[Anonymous No.3366487]

>>3366479

why is tooting your own necessarily a bad thing? you act as if academic institutions are immune to this element of pride when it probably drives most scientific progress and departments today and is def. an aspect of the modern world in general

going STEM doesn't suddenly remove u from the subtle dance of human emotion even though most fuccs on /sci/ present themselves as case studies noting otherwise

also did you know if you press ctrl s it automatically pops up spoiler tags? p. neat

[Anonymous No.3366489]

>>3366471
Then I'm just going to say be concrete. Use solid imagery. I know I made a point of the frog bed post thing, but it was one of the most concrete images from that poem. You don't have to use a special language for poetry either. You should look up different forms like a villanelle and try those out.

[Anonymous No.3366492]

This is OP, I'm going to bed. Thank you for trolling this thread with anti-art critique, anon. It's souls like you that make nothing fun.

[Anonymous No.3366495]

>>3366489

wait frog? what frog did you see there? the thing said "creased fogs". where are you getting frogs from?

[Anonymous No.3366497]

>>3366486
why is your worldview better than any other? why should your art be worshiped? you are no god. this is why poems are meaningless to us today. they represent nothing. they are one of the lowest forms of art. at least physical art can be collected. you cant write anything more than any other man has, so what do you think to bring to us with this utter shit? do you even read?

and it is opposed to a mind that can describe emotion without cryptic bullshit.

>>3366487
tooting your own horn is fine when it leads to progress for society. i think you will find its not so much an idea of look at me, what i have made is beautiful, but a look at me, what i have made will influence so much to better us. this has nothing to do with STEM anyway.

[Anonymous No.3366502]

It's 8:32 PM, a bit too cold to be out here without a jacket. She's inside watching the food channel, only to make her hunger pains worse. I catch a whiff of Farelli's pizzeria next door, damn that smells so good. He's got his whole family down there helping out, and what do I have? A wife who won't speak to me because I spent my whole day at the Labor Ready with nothing in my hands when I come home, and my little girl who is probably offering her services to some random prick. Damn...

[Anonymous No.3366504]

>>3366296
/lit/ why do i still get headspins from cigarettes even though im hella writer?

[Rakushasu !!5q59JihCZjm No.3366505]

There you go:

http://pastebin.com/8cGF3JZN

[Anonymous No.3367330]

>>3366502
make friends with raskolnikov

[Anonymous No.3367336]

>>3366504

>hella

You've answered your own question by negating its premise.

[Anonymous No.3369795]

>>3366502
5/10, mediocre. Less generalizations, more detail. And if you're going to go for a more colloquial style, make it less pedestriangive it more of a flair.

[Anonymous No.3369806]

>>3366505
>incorrect comma usage two times in the first three sentences
>stopped reading

[Anonymous No.3369810]

The person with the book made noises behind Sam on the sidewalk. "Do you work there?" said Sam. The person said he did. "Do you really work for American Apparel?" said Sam. The person displayed a police badge attached to his belt buckle beneath his oversized jersey. "Oh," said Sam.

They went inside. They went downstairs. Sam was photographed and put in handcuffs. "Don't steal from us," said a manager looking at a computer screen. "Steal from some shitty corporation. We have fair-trade labor. I mean fair labor."

"I spend my money on even better places," said Sam. "Organic vegan restaurants."

[Anonymous No.3369813]

Prepare your edginess. Prompt for this piece was 'Waiting for the Sun'

http://pastebin.com/ufC7Eeqh

[Anonymous No.3369843]

A bottle of rum sat half-emptied on the rickety table. The other half was sloshing about in a young boy's insides in golden foaming waves. His elbow leaned into the table, digging the heel of its nearest leg into the burnished linoleum. His smallish hand was cupped around the far end of the bottle, as though he were drawing near some close friend to murmur a crass joke or a solemn secret. Neither hand gave a shudder or tremor, nor did his posture convey any other symptom of hopeless sorrowful drunkenness, though in truth the boy was hopelessly and sorrowfully drunk. By the law of the land, he was too young to be drinking. By the law of his innate sense, he was too numb and nauseous to be drinking. Yet there he sat, lost in a bitter fog, glazed eyes casting a frostbitten gaze across a room that a week earlier had been foreign to him. From the corner, a gray-tan faux-leather sofa met his state, its cushions soft and puffed-out like tender cheeks, glaring highlights shining bright against the overheads. How had he up and landed here in this apartment, the boy wondered, peculiar to all the otter parcels of living space he could have spun himself into? This was less a highfalutin philosophical inquiry and more a pragmatic attempt to slice through the fog clouding his recent memory. He continued to press himself: Just what path had wound through the past week, stringing him along with shuffling feet 'til he'd had no other option but to stand them on tiptoes and retrieve that bottle of Caribbean venom from the highest cabinet?

[Anonymous No.3369926]

>>3369810
Made me roll my eyes ~6 times. "Jesus" I thought.

[Anonymous No.3369940]

>>3366505

This might be the worst thing I've ever read.

[Anonymous No.3369995]

When I wake up, there is struggle for consciousness.
Always the transmigration of souls about the residential twilight
When the peaking dawn catches hold
of my breath
It was last night
that I felt the fullness of my chest
and migrating geese
with sapphire eyes
swept past the magnetic fields
of radio towered skies

[Anonymous No.3369999]

>>3369843
This is terrible.

[Anonymous No.3370011]

"I'm so scared," said the girl. Her breath was visible, a warm fog of smoke in the cold night air.

"Quiet," said the boy, leaning from behind the tree.

The woods were dark and the only lights came from the town. From this distance, the houses looked like a hundred small Christmas lights. The girl moved over next to him, snuggling her body into his, feeling the warm safety of her brother.

"If," said the boy, then he stopped. He looked down at her. "If he catches us, I want you to run, okay?"

She shook her head.

"You have to run no matter what I do," he said.

She buried her face in his jacket. A crunch of leaves behind them, a deep crunch like a hammer falling.

"Run!" cried the boy, pushing the girl forward. "Run to the city!"

[Supine !OypYdDKP3c No.3370016]

[Anonymous No.3370020]

>>3369995

> "It was last night/that I felt the fullness of my chest"

Seems very Elverum, but it could just be the picture.

[Anonymous No.3370044]

>>3369843
Not bad. Should probably be two paragraphs. Right now it's intriguing, but if you continue too long in the same vein you'll be in rambling territory.
>>3369995
Not bad on a conceptual level but pretty clumsily worded in most spots. Not really a problem with the words you choose, they're all right, but with how they flow and fit together.
>>3370011
Generic, uninteresting.

[Supine !OypYdDKP3c No.3370048]

>>3370016
reposting with the previous paragraph

[Supine !OypYdDKP3c No.3370056]

>>3370048
I've also changed the name for the elevated maglev commuter train countless times now and it's failed to stick so far.

[Anonymous No.3370058]

>>3370044

If by generic you mean not pretentious crap

[Anonymous No.3370059]

>this is sort of long:

1/2/13

I don’t know how I feel about myself. Whether I’m disgusted or relieved. Relieved that I am now aware of several truths; both about me and such. I woke up on New Years Day next to my girlfriend Sally. We cuddled, drank, and had fun the night before. I left and as I had been doing for the past 2 weeks or so, I began paroosing around looking for someone I deemed to be in my interests. I had thoughts of being Gay for quite sometime and it was at this period I told my best friend Marie that I was. Since I have told her I have had conflicting judgements about my own sexuality. I don’t know what I am anymore. At this current time I am in total disarray of my life.

[Anonymous No.3370062]

>>3370020
Haha! Nice catch. He was mos def an inspiration when i wrote this in the heyday. But as Morrissey puts it:
> the words you use should be your own don't plagiarise or take "on loans"
Even for one line

[Rakushasu !!5q59JihCZjm No.3370064]

>>3369806
>>3369940

Any ideas of improving? I am not a native English speaker and translated it by myself. I was looking to get some insight on the overall writing style.

[Captain No.3370066]

Wrote a little somethin and popped it on blogger. couldnt sleep. here goes.


Follow not castonetta those who go into the heretofore unseen and sail ships of the blackest evil of night to where thoughts become polluted and wrongs become things made right and well and feltcovered utterings bring to mind scenes where sin roams free and dim power lies in the lee of the mountain under which all damnable fears grow unfettered by sunlight and run free in the hearts of all who glimpse that startling behemoth of iniquity and shame and heed not the warnings to flee and fall silently into the slumber from which one does not wake and makes these who force change upon the daylit world by their immense unmeasured power stay dull and unmoving as they lie still and fail to hinder the ones who bring the end of all reason at the end of all things as the world slips mindlessly into the pit and castonetta dreams.

[Anonymous No.3370067]

>>3370059
Anyhow, I met up with Sally later in the day and bought a book from Barnes & Noble called “The Stranger.” I was excited to read it because a friend of mine from high school read it and enjoyed it very much. It is about existentialism. So we went back to my house after making our purchases and the whole time we were there I was talking to several other men about meeting up later or getting to know each other. I made a date with a guy named Kevin for the next day and as I was driving her home, I also made a date for that night at about midnight; that is, it would be 12am on January 2. I drove over to his apartment, nervous but excited. As I arrived I felt a sense of distrust and I hid my wallet with my valuables in a secret compartment in my car. I also parked a great deal far away. I went to the side door as instructed and heard him. For some reason, and I am not sure as I look back, I made the sign of the cross. I knocked on the door. He opened it slowly and carefully.

[Anonymous No.3370071]

>>3370067
It wasn’t the person I thought it was going to be. I imagined (from the pictures I received) to see a man who in any other context I would hate. A stereotypical person from where I live. However it was a very strange man with black thinning hair who seemed to be in his mid 20s but his hair would make him seem earlier. He also reminded me of this boy Chad who graduated from my high school before me who nobody particularly liked and always made fun of. He led me to the bedroom and I contemplated leaving. I was very nervous and very tense. He kept asking me questions and I didn’t want to really answer them. I wanted to get out of there. I stayed however. He asked me if I wanted to top or bottom. I repeated several times I did not care. He asked me if I was horny. What a strange question to ask someone. Especially if that said person has come to meet up with you to have relations.

[Anonymous No.3370075]

>>3370071
Anyway he grabbed my crotch and asked me again if I was horny rubbing me. I blurted out, “Yes.” I didn’t know what else to respond with. I couldn’t say no because that would have been awkward. I hate awkwardness. He started pulling my shirt over my head (I had on a shirt and a sweatshirt as well as khakis and slip on Vans). I quickly got undressed and he did too. I don’t remember who lied down first. But before I knew it he asked me, “Do you suck dick.” Another strange question I think. I quickly blurted out yes and before I knew it that is what I was doing. I thought about how much larger his penis was then mine. It wasn’t by all means huge, but it was a nice size. I did that for a while and it wasn’t until he began talking to me again that I realized he was speaking in a whisper the whole time. He asked if I wanted to top or bottom again. I replied, “I don’t care,” just like previously. We decided he would top.

[Anonymous No.3370078]

>>3370075
Now I have never had sex before; particularly while receiving from another man. I gave him my condom and he grabbed a towel and KY jelly out of his drawer. He fingered my ass to stretch it out so it wouldn’t hurt as much when he entered me. I thought that this must be terrible for him. What if he has fecal matter on his hand. How disgusting! The thought was accompanied with him pulling out his finger and examining it. He had the same thought as myself. He put on the condom and lubed himself up. I remember the pain of when he entered me. The whole time I tried to make light of the situation. I was nervous and far from relaxed. For example he tried to put the condom on wrong and I stated I had made the same mistake before. Not even a smirk. Just a gaze of emptiness. Does he realize the magnitude of this situation? He is about to pop my cherry. Why did I allow him to? He kept telling me to relax in this whisper voice that strained my hearing and I didn’t like it.

[Anonymous No.3370084]

>>3370078
I had the feeling he was filming me and I glanced around the room several times. I heard my phone buzz from a text message. It was Sally wishing me a good nights sleep. HA, the irony! After about two minutes of him being inside me and having his way, he pulled out and asked if I wanted to switch positions. I insisted on staying the way we were. He tried to insert his penis again but missed. I told him and he had this look of disdain and hatred on his face. I felt weird. He said, as he had during the act, “You are so tight.” “I’m coming,” was the next words. I’m not sure if it was verbal or not but I said to myself, “Already?” I was just getting into it and was enjoying it almost. Almost. He must of heard me because he repeated, “You’re so tight.” I couldn’t finish myself, I was too uptight. I got dressed and walked out the door quickly. He was still naked with the used condom on. I went home and showered. I masterbated in the shower and felt strangely not as sad as I thought I should feel.

[Anonymous No.3370087]

>>3370084
After I began to read the book I purchased and finished it that night by 4am or so. I became depressed after reading it. But not really depressed. I was confused I suppose. Definition of my life at that point. I am just a confused being. After reading it I typed this up and began searching for more people. The next day I have to meet this chubby kid. He has a mushroom penis. Sex is a definite maybe and I don’t know how I feel. -Regards, anon

[Anonymous No.3370090]

"Are my boobs too big?" asked Megan Busty as she adjusted her bra, her boobs swelling up like two hairless cats, warm and soft.

"I–I don't know," said Chris, her best friend since elementary school. He adjusted the pens in his pocket. "Geez, Megan, if we don't hurry, we'll miss the bus. Also, I..."

But he didn't finish his question. Ten years. Ten years he'd wanted to make his move, tell his best friend that he was in love with her – in love with every inch of her ample bosom, a bosom he'd seen grow up from that of a perky little girl to a babe's body in which all the perkiness was centered on the nipples.

"Yea?" she asked.

"A-are you going to the dance? I mean, w-would you go with me?"

She sighed, her boobs collapsing like two balloons. "Oh, Chris, you know we're just friends. Best friends. Now help me with this bra strap."

[Anonymous No.3370105]

>>3369999
Why so you think so?

>>3370044
Thanks. "By the law of the land" was supposed to start a new paragraph. And I'm not sure if this paragraph is indicative how of the whole story will go, it branches off in several unexpected directions so I think it will steer clear of rambling

[Anonymous No.3370144]

>>3369843
In the beginning you say "table" way too much. You have a good ability to convey detail but what you wrote seemed pretty stupid to me. I don't know. Try another topic.

[Anonymous No.3370151]

>>3369995
I like it. It seems like someone is describing a dream or it makes me feel that way.
>>3370011
There's not really anything here. It's like what the other guy said, generic. You need to be more descriptive and really paint the scene. The reader's not getting any emotion or anything right now.

[Anonymous No.3370165]

He stood in the ice at the foundation of all ice so many miles from his glacier of origin . He gazed up into The White and his eyes followed the crystal tide that crest and broke against Her altar; that holy cast full of divine purpose drew all eyes and consciousness and shone with ghostly light. In his peripheral the piercing glow of the ice burned and he closed his eyes, feeling that vast frozen plain extending out to infinity around him and impressing its scale upon him more so than his sight would allow. Opening his eyes and lifting his blistered hands to his lips he exhaled and cupped the crystalline idol that shaped itself in his palms. With the last of his strength he knelt and offered up his sacrifice to Her. He felt Her smile within him and tears came to his eyes and froze as life escaped him.

[Anonymous No.3370177]

Micro holes in the ceiling, and whether they leaked a porous light, would be something one might consider after waking. Sometimes thought was like walking, had the qualities of walking, was something for sorting out. Other times it was not. What were those holes for and maybe they were not for what someone would expect. The apartment in daylight, the ceiling, under a magnifying glass, was not any different than expected. The door exited to the outside, under an array of branches, needle-like, past which the sun pressed its tungsten gaze up against everything and the ply-siding. But the light was not hard that day and would be later in the season, when the clocks are set back for winter. Annexing parts of her brain, she feels, Laurie into that mid-fall cold, stepped cautiously, certain that she would wake the tom sleeping on the rail directly outside the door. The teakettle meanwhile, which she had forgotten, reached climax, sending both Laurie and the tom in wake-up frenzies to full consciousness, Laurie back through the bedroom and to the galley kitchen, and the tom in his fur caroming down the stairs.

[Anonymous No.3370198]

One of my feet caught on a pyramid shaped rock as I walked to school one English morning in the winter of 1983, and as I toppled and my head flew towards the ground so much faster than the rest of my body I knew that this is how I would die. The ephemeral, frosted breath from my last exhalation a split second earlier hung in the space my adolescent skull had occupied at the apex of my final descent, and as I fell I looked through it and saw the sky and I saw the sun. Obscured only partially by the foggy afterbirth of my death rattle the sun seemed to me perfect, like an orange from the table of the Hellenic gods. It was a glorious uniform sphere hanging above an inconsequential teenage human boy on an inconsequential island, and its colour was of the desert that spreads endlessly outwards from the vast base of the Pyramid of Khufu on the hottest day of the Egyptian year. I remember thinking that it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, that if I were to die then the English sun as it appeared that day would be one of the better sights that had occupied the vision of dying men since the dawn of human sentience, and, that if I were to survive I should very much like to have Angela Lansbury's autograph.

[Anonymous No.3370205]

Resting softly under my own personal sun
A burning in my heart and a cold in my mind
Me, myself, and my fake talking like friends
Together we shine as our own secret stars

A lover
A hater
A fighter
The smooth talkers

A fountain and sieve collecting our dreams
Pooling together to create our own world
Making up our own friends and enemies
We don't need anyone else...

On our own
With our own
For our own
Just us on our own...

The reality and the fantasy
The dream and the nightmare
What we can do and what we can't
Our own reality is what we make it

Me, myself, and my fake....

[Anonymous No.3370216]

>>3369813
I think I sliced my eyes open on all that edge.

It reads well, though. A few minor gripes but otherwise it's an 8/10. Good use of the writing prompt, I'd say.