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/lit/ - Literature

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578140 No.578140 [Reply] [Original]

Due to the overwhelming response of my previous thread I have decided to make a new one about my story that I wrote a long time ago.

As many of you have noticed all of my stories have a reoccurring character. Green Goblin Man. In this story it explains his beginnings and how he came to be.

The rules of the previous thread are still here. If you are not a Post-Philospher Minimal Existentialist, please do not give me any sort of "review" your entry level mind thought up. However, you are free to enjoy the story.

>> No.578142

I await this eagerly.

>> No.578144

This story is entitled "The Murderer Green Goblin Man":


Hide drove her motorcycle through the heavy rain, camera in a waterproof bag on her hip. She was

careful to avoid any puzzles as she double checked the map that lead her to the suspects house. She had been

following the cases of this cereal murderer, but now it was time to get her hands dirty. Her motorcycle's

rythmic sounds slowed to a halt as she stopped right in front of his house. He lived in a impovershed

neighborhood, it was a 2 story house that was starting to rot. Once cream colored walls cried their paint

away revealing brown and grey drywall. Most, if not all, the window frames were gone, and all the windows

were warped into strange convexes. He had an attached 1 car garrage along with a short driveway.

>> No.578146

I, for one, love this dude.

>> No.578148

>cereal murderer
you may or may not mean serial.
you also misspelled garage.

>> No.578150

Ffuck notepad fucked up the formatting I'll repost the first one.

Hide drove her motorcycle through the heavy rain, camera in a waterproof bag on her hip. She was
careful to avoid any puzzles as she double checked the map that lead her to the suspects house. She had been
following the cases of this cereal murderer, but now it was time to get her hands dirty. Her motorcycle's
rythmic sounds slowed to a halt as she stopped right in front of his house. He lived in a impovershed
neighborhood, it was a 2 story house that was starting to rot. Once cream colored walls cried their paint
away revealing brown and grey drywall. Most, if not all, the window frames were gone, and all the windows
were warped into strange convexes. He had an attached 1 car garrage along with a short driveway.

>> No.578154

Leaving her motorcycle there, she walked up and noticed that the flag for the mailbox was up, indicating that there was mail there. Hide dug through the slop of wet mail. It was obvious to her that he hadn't been there in at least 3 days, but just to make sure, she strolled to the garage and peaked through the window. "Yup, no car. Definatly not here." She jiggled the doornob of the front door and sighed in frustration when it was locked. There was a short alley between the house and the garage, protected by a fence. She walked opened the fence gate and walked into his small backyard.She could see a small pile of dishes covered in mold throught he window. Hide came to the window and pushed upwards. "Lucky me! it's unlocked. What kind of cereal murderer leaves his windows open?" she said grimly. She struggled to move a 10 pound empty barrel of oil so that she could ascend into the house, but after 1 minute of struggling with this endeavor, she was able to place it beneath the window.

>> No.578155

>Most, if not all, the window frames were gone
>Most... the window frames were gone
You need "of" somewhere in there, bro.

>> No.578158

You're such a dreamy hunk OP @_@

>> No.578159

The first apperception of the small house was an exhibition of dirt. Grime encrusted walls, and stains that had been there for seemingly forever decorated the house. However, the stains themselves appeared like ornaments on the bland walls of peeling wallpaper. Where the wallpaper wasn't dangling there were straight brown lines from the ceiling to the floor every 5 inches. Hide coughed as stale putrid air rose into her nose. She followed the horrible scent to the first door on the right, which appeared to be the bathroom. When she opened the door she was greated with the vision of human wastes. The toilet was so full of feces that it was unable to flush, piled so high was it, that it couldn't even shut. Apparently, when he was done with the toilet he used the bathtub, and even the sink. Hide had found his shit, his piss, and even his vomit, but she hadn't found him.

>> No.578161

She scaled the stairs when the lock on the door clicked. She dashed behind a corner and watched a fat man in his mid 40's waddle into the house. In almost a ritual precision he closed and locked the door, and shut all the blinds. He then proceeded to try to reach the middle of his back with his arms. When he couldn't reach with his left arm, he tried his right arm. Hide thought, "What is he doing? Stretching? I don't understand." What he couldn't reach with his left arm, he was able to get with his right. He caught something and pulled up. His skin came off revealing underneath a green thick man. Hide said outloud "What? Green Goblin Man? Didn't he die." Hide thought him disgusting, so thick with goblin and skin so thickly green. Just vaguly resembling a man, but she had spoken to loud. "WHOO'S IN MY HOOOUSE" Green Goblin Man roared as he toar up the stairs at a speed unbelieveable for someone of his stature. He grabbed Hide by the collar and rasied her up. "WHY ARE YOU HERE?!" Green Goblin man asked. Hide said, "I've read about you Green Goblin Man" she said "I know your weakness" she punches his nose, which by chance, happened to be where his testicles were.

>> No.578162
File: 201 KB, 1000x1000, tripfag blocking.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]
578162

added

>> No.578163

>peaked
should be peeked
>Definatly
>should be Definitely
>She walked opened the fence gate and walked into his small backyard
lolwut
>cereal
should still be serial

>> No.578167

Green Goblin Man dropped her in pain, and our heroine, who had made no waste of her time began running at full speed towards the door, quickly unlocking it. She made for her motorcycle, but Green Goblin Man was already in front of it. Knowing that the ground was slick she slid underneath Green Goblin Man's legs like in an 80's movie. She deftly put the keys in the ignition and was off. "That was SO close. I almost died back there. After this, I'm quitting journalism and becoming a chef." She had spoken too soon. Green Goblin Man was already stuffed inside his tremendously small 2door Toyota chasing her down. Hide, had driven these streets before and quickly lost him darting between traffic, while he had trouble steering with his blubber occupying up most of the space.

>> No.578171

She walked inside to her apartment and darted for the phone. She called the cops explaining what she saw and where his house was. After she put down her phone and and sat in her recliner listening to classical music, she grabbed a gun, just in case. Somewhere inbetween Beethoven and Mozart she was startingly awoken by a slam. Her door flung open as Green Goblin Man smashed through the boundry. She quickly unloaded her shotgun ammo in her and managed to knock off the head of Green Goblin Man. Green Goblin Man was not of this world, and his head could be reattached, his brain was really in his heart. Green Goblin Man's naval enlarged to reveal a thick slimey green tongue that wrapped around Hide. She was never seen again, and reported missing when her landlady checked on the buildings when there had been a plethora of reports of a strange Green Man running around the building with a woman's head coming out of his belly button.

>> No.578172

>>578162
This shit gave me a fucking virus
God fuck you

>> No.578175

>apperception
wat
>greated
should be greeted
>spoken to loud
should be too
>outloud
should be out loud
>punches
should be punched

>> No.578177

>>578172
put your tripcode back on, Plato.

>> No.578179

>>578163
Please do not review my Post-Philosher Minimal Existentialist story, if you are too entry level I suggest reading a book called "The Foreigners" to at least grasp the level of thought that went into crafting this novel.

>> No.578183

>>578179
That wasn't a review, I was trying to help with some typos.
I love it, though, if it makes you feel better.

>> No.578184

>pretentious

>> No.578185

>>578175
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Apperception
Jesus, I thought /lit/ was intelligent.

>> No.578186

>>578175
Same goes for you please read this post.
>>578179

>> No.578187
File: 11 KB, 441x408, starttreksmile.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]
578187

>this thread

OP has never gotten laid

>> No.578188

>>578185
oh, well fuck me.
the rest of the corrections are still valid, though.

>> No.578190

>>578187
And at this rate, he never will be. I can FEEL the ego from my computer screen.

>> No.578191
File: 3 KB, 107x114, reaction_cup.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]
578191

Sure is /r9k/ in here..

>> No.578195

>>578140

>>578184
>>578187
>>578191

>> No.578196
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578196

>Hide drove her motorcycle through the heavy rain, camera in a waterproof bag on her hip. She was careful to avoid any puzzles as she double checked the map that lead her to the suspects house. She had been following the cases of this cereal murderer, but now it was time to get her hands dirty.
>She had been following the cases of this cereal murderer, but now it was time to get her hands dirty.

Why would you even put that in? Also, Green Goblin Man? Why does he have the name 'Green Goblin' and 'Man' tacked on like a Megaman character?

>> No.578201
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578201

>>578187
What's the matter, jealous?

>> No.578202

>>578196
Don't ask questions about Green Goblin Man.

>> No.578205

>>578196
Reaction image? Why would you even put that in there?

>> No.578207

>>578201
>woman in picture turns out to be just as egotistical and pretentious as he
>they masturbate each other by feigning submission

>> No.578208

>>578202
I will ask goddamn questions. Why would a serial murder go by the name "Green Goblin Man"? Did his daddy never hug him enough?

>> No.578213

>>578207
Someone's butt­hurt.

>> No.578215

>>578208
Well he's actually a green goblin man.
If you read Philosopher's other works containing the character, it will all be explained.

>> No.578216

>>578208
Because that's what his name is on his birth certificate?

>> No.578217

>>578216
How would a green goblin get a birth certificate?

>> No.578219

>>578208
What's wrong with green goblin man?
He's pretty much the best villain I've ever seen. Unlike 99% of literature's villains, he's actually a deep character with a background and a reason for doing what he does.

>> No.578221

>>578217
The same way a human does, being born. duh.

>> No.578223

>>578221
That's not...
But you...
fuck this shit.

>> No.578224

>>578217
That's like asking why your ass was ever conceived. Maybe if you didn't dwell your fucking basement all day you wouldn't be so uneducated now would you, scumbag?

>> No.578225

>>578219

>> No.578226

>>578215

I'm betting you find it some sort of heavenly writing? It sounds goddamn stupid and how 'Philospher-Chan' writes is equivalent to that of a fanfiction writer.

And his tripname is even spelled wrong.

>> No.578227

>>578215
You spelled my name wrong.

>> No.578229

>>578225

>> No.578231

>>578226
You quoted my name with apostrophes so go back to grade school kid.

>> No.578242

Post-Philospher Minimal Existentialist

What does that mean?

>> No.578245

>>578219
>Nigba
Looks like you're shitting up another board.

BAWL HE'S A DEEP CHARACTER UNLIKE 99.999% OF OTHER VILLAINS! HE HAS REASONS FOR WHAT HE DOES BAWL.

Please, if you may, elaborate to prove his reasons. If it's something that was child abuse, alcohol, or psychological problems included, try harder.

>> No.578250

>>578242
It means troll.

>> No.578251
File: 8 KB, 548x408, resemblance.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]
578251

>>578140
>>578179
>>578205
>>578216
>>578219
>>578221
>>578224
>>578231

>> No.578253

>>578245
He's a goblin, they're lawfully evil.

I thought you guys were supposed to be intelligent, do I have to spell EVERYTHING out for you?

>> No.578256

>>578242
It means that I philosophize things in a minimal way about how it pertains to us in a existentialist way after someone has already philosophized it.

>> No.578258

>>578245
>OMG P-CHAN KNOWS THE CUTEST GIRL ON ALL OF 4CHAN AND IS IN A RELATION WITH HER FFFFFF

>> No.578260

>>578231
How about you don't act like a juvenile with parental problems. Do you know about that 'quoting' is the written version of sarcasm?
Having '-chan' in your name and being a guy makes it apparent that you might be an enthusiastic of anime.

>> No.578268

>>578260
Wow? Really, you're going to assume something based off of my name? Why don't you try to grow up 5th grader, just because I have a name that may SEEM like I am obsessed with Japan doesn't mean I do love Japan. Go take your D.A.R.E classes again and learn some tolerance you elementary level reader.

>> No.578269
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578269

Fantastic job, /lit/

>> No.578271

>>578256
I goggled it and nothing except this thread comes up with that phrase. Try harder to make up word meanings and positions.

>>578258
>Implying that is what I care about.

>> No.578272

>>578269
I'm not a troll I'm a Post-Philospher Minimal Existentialist

>> No.578274

>>578271
>>Implying I implied anything
>>>Implying you implied that you wanted anything

>> No.578275

>>578271
>Implying all words at one point in time weren't made up.

Learn 2 be creative. Sure is H.P. love craft in here.

>> No.578276

>>578268
>Name calling
>Assumptions made after negative response towards a simple assumption towards name

My hat's off to you, sir. One fine troll.

>> No.578278

>>578275
more like HP LoveCRAP

>> No.578282
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578282

>>578268
>Implying I'm a fifth grader
>Implying I care about DARE

Go ahead and tell us where your daddy touched you.

>> No.578284

I feel sorry for you /lit/ regulars who have to deal with this prickish individual.

>> No.578286

>>578276
I'm not a troll I'm a Post-Philospher Minimal Existentialist.

>> No.578289

>>578282
I implied nothing, I told you. Learn to read beyond an elementary school child's level.

>> No.578293

>>578286
>I'm a troll not a Post-Philospher Minimal Existentialist.

Fixed.

>> No.578298

>>578286

I'm a Symmetrical-Radical for the Mineral Microcosm Association of Cabet

>> No.578302

>>578298
I've know 12 of them and they're all faggots.

>> No.578304

>>578302
>>578298

BUNDLES OF STICKS
GET IT?
Oh, how I make myself laugh..

>> No.578305

>>578289

You want to challenge me on that, kid? How about going back to you fantasy to be a cereal murder called the Green Goblin Man, hero of the cabbage patch.

>> No.578309
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578309

>> No.578312

>>578305
I'd challenge you on it, if I was playing the same weird RP game you were.

>> No.578314

I like them square hamburgers.

>> No.578317

>>578312
Are you really sure? I don't think it is as DEEP AND SENSITIVE AND SCARY AS YOUR BOOGYMAN

>> No.578328

>>578317
wat

>> No.578335

He obviously never knew what -chan was supposed to mean in the first place and just added it because he thought it was a required gesture.

>> No.578337

How about you all discuss how good my story is instead of trying to cyber with me.

>> No.578341

>>578328
Ask Nigba, she's the one that said he's a deep character.

>>578219

>> No.578342

>>578337
it was pretty good.

>> No.578343

>>578335
I know what it means, it's a suffix added to a girl's name in japanese.

>> No.578348

>>578342
What was your favorite part/character?

>> No.578351

Isn't this the heavy rain DLC?

>> No.578354

>>578348
I liked the Green Goblin Man's subtle satire and philosphical undertones that commented on the nature of humanity.

>> No.578356

>>578337
There really is nothing to discuss. This story is trash.
>Constant spelling errors
>Constant grammatical errors
>Terrible dialogue/thought-train (corny)
>Assumes reader is an idiot (explaining things that shouldn't need to be explained; pretentious)

It really is, overall, a badly written pile of trash.

>> No.578360
File: 112 KB, 863x792, serious.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]
578360

>> No.578362

>>578356
If you were less of an elementary level reader, you would be able to see beyond your entry level mind and actually comprehend the story like some other characters did in this thread.

>> No.578366

>>578362
That's not even the right tripcode.

>> No.578368

>>578362
lolol forgot a capitol

>> No.578370

>>578368
never mind, then.

>> No.578374

Sorry to tell everyone who's been reading this thread, but I'm actually everyone in this thread. I've got 12 computers and 24 proxies on shuffle for me to post 84 posts this quickly.

>> No.578375

>>578312
Relating to challenging my intelligence, I decided on posting this little piece of writing.

(First two paragraphed removed, only small back story.)
A cup was thrown at the television, liquids splattering all over the LCD screen. The cup make a clank against the tilted floor before it rolled towards a crumbled plastic bag filled with garbage. A dull light of a brown lamp illuminated the tiny living room along with the ever changing light from the television. Settled on the aging couch was a stout, under maintained man with stubble poking out, casting tiny shadows onto a grim face. With an angry grunt, the man pushed himself off of the green furniture.
“And again the epidemic is paraded on the tubes,” he spat, picking up the cup and sack of trash. Without another word he stepped over the boxes and sacks lying on the floor towards the kitchen. Five clips of ammunition lay on top of a box of pizza and a CZ-75B sat lopsided just a few inches away. A crash came from the sink as he just dropped the cup onto an already piling amount of plates and cups.
The water system has been restricted for the past couple of weeks because of the outbreak, resulting in the messy sink and unclean owner of the hotel. “Precautions, they said. This is ridiculous,” the man said, repeating it again only to himself. It was getting past midnight and his roommate had not returned. “Where is that slimy sonuvabitch.”

>> No.578377 [DELETED] 

>>578362
>Unwarranted Self-Importance
>Implying it's MY job to decode YOUR work
You're a riot.
Please, either take a writing class or stop being the high-school-dropout that you obviously are.

>> No.578382

>>578375
>I decided on posting this little piece of writing.
More like this little piece of shit.
Seriously, bro.
You're going to have to write harder than that to go head to head with Philospher.

>> No.578383

>>578375
Same poster, shall I continue?

>> No.578385
File: 77 KB, 426x357, how about no bear.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]
578385

>>578383

>> No.578386

>>578383
Sure but your story is so bland, there's no plot and it's already been 1 paragraph.

>> No.578387

>>578382
It's only three paragraphs, the rest of it is sorted in 92 paragraph and it is not finished. It's full of TD;LR

>> No.578389

>>578387
Well then I guess you lose as I have more fans than you.

>> No.578390

>>578386
How about if I add the first two then?

“More signs of the pandemic had spread throughout Asia and Africa today. China has abandoned its territories totally today and is preventing people from entering and exiting Chinese territories. Liam Lao has not made any statements on the current situation in China, however the United States President, William Shaddart, has made an announcement.
“Three months ago, a bomb erupted in Shanghi, China. That eruption in Shanghi created chaos and fear, not only from China, but from the rest of the world. A biological outbreak occurred in that blast, and it has spread throughout Asia and into Africa,” started the president of the United States of America, interrupting the broadcast of the news reporter.

>> No.578391

>>578390
Cliché

>> No.578395

>>578390
You spelled Shanghai wrong, dumbassheadface

>> No.578400

This thread is now about Notes from the underground;

Part I
Underground*
*The author of the diary and the diary itself are, of course,
imaginary. Nevertheless it is clear that such persons as the
writer of these notes not only may, but positively must, exist
in our society, when we consider the circumstances in the
midst of which our society is formed. I have tried to expose
to the view of the public more distinctly than is commonly
done, one of the characters of the recent past. He is one of the
representatives of a generation still living. In this fragment,
entitled ‘Underground,’ this person introduces himself and
his views, and, as it were, tries to explain the causes owing to
which he has made his appearance and was bound to make
his appearance in our midst. In the second fragment there
are added the actual notes of this person concerning certain
events in his life. —AUTHOR’S NOTE.

>> No.578404

>>578395
ahahaah you're so dumb. Not you 578395 the person you quoted.

>> No.578405

>>578389
Fans does not matter when you are in the early, unpublished stage. It is the one of the classifications between a FanFiction Writer and a full blown Writer. It is the same with FanArt Artists and a full blown Artists.

If they phrase something that is not edited over and over again, you cannot get better. Reread, rewrite, edit, and get second opinions to advance your writing ability. If you do have potential, you would take what other have replied to patch up the story.

An elder man that is a supposed 'goblin' that was once a serial killer and shits in his bathroom everywhere doesn't hold up well.

>> No.578406

>>578400
I
I am a sick man. ... I am a spiteful man. I am an unattractive
man. I believe my liver is diseased. However, I know
nothing at all about my disease, and do not know for certain
what ails me. I don’t consult a doctor for it, and never
have, though I have a respect for medicine and doctors. Besides,
I am extremely superstitious, sufficiently so to respect
medicine, anyway (I am well-educated enough not to be superstitious,
but I am superstitious). No, I refuse to consult
a doctor from spite. That you probably will not understand.
Well, I understand it, though. Of course, I can’t explain who
it is precisely that I am mortifying in this case by my spite:
I am perfectly well aware that I cannot ‘pay out’ the doctors
by not consulting them; I know better than anyone that by
all this I am only injuring myself and no one else. But still,
if I don’t consult a doctor it is from spite. My liver is bad,
well—let it get worse!
I have been going on like that for a long time—twenty
years. Now I am forty. I used to be in the government service,
but am no longer. I was a spiteful official. I was rude
and took pleasure in being so. I did not take bribes, you
see, so I was bound to find a recompense in that, at least.
(A poor jest, but I will not scratch it out. I wrote it thinking
it would sound very witty; but now that I have seen myself
that I only wanted to show off in a despicable way, I will not

>> No.578411

>>578406
scratch it out on purpose!)
When petitioners used to come for information to the
table at which I sat, I used to grind my teeth at them, and
felt intense enjoyment when I succeeded in making anybody
unhappy. I almost did succeed. For the most part they
were all timid people—of course, they were petitioners. But
of the uppish ones there was one officer in particular I could
not endure. He simply would not be humble, and clanked
his sword in a disgusting way. I carried on a feud with him
for eighteen months over that sword. At last I got the better
of him. He left off clanking it. That happened in my youth,
though. But do you know, gentlemen, what was the chief
point about my spite? Why, the whole point, the real sting of
it lay in the fact that continually, even in the moment of the
acutest spleen, I was inwardly conscious with shame that I
was not only not a spiteful but not even an embittered man,
that I was simply scaring sparrows at random and amusing
myself by it. I might foam at the mouth, but bring me a doll
to play with, give me a cup of tea with sugar in it, and maybe
I should be appeased. I might even be genuinely touched,
though probably I should grind my teeth at myself afterwards
and lie awake at night with shame for months after.
That was my way.
I was lying when I said just now that I was a spiteful official.
I was lying from spite. I was simply amusing myself
with the petitioners and with the officer, and in reality I
never could become spiteful. I was conscious every moment
in myself of many, very many elements absolutely opposite
to that. I felt them positively swarming in me, these oppo

>> No.578412

>>578395
Why thank you none me. I shall take this as a critique and put in the correct spelling. Thank you for catching it kind sir.

>> No.578415

>>578405
Have you even read my first stories?
I've gotten much better, why don't you read more instead of blindly posting.

>> No.578418

>>578411
site elements. I knew that they had been swarming in me
all my life and craving some outlet from me, but I would
not let them, would not let them, purposely would not let
them come out. They tormented me till I was ashamed: they
drove me to convulsions and—sickened me, at last, how
they sickened me! Now, are not you fancying, gentlemen,
that I am expressing remorse for something now, that I am
asking your forgiveness for something? I am sure you are
fancying that ... However, I assure you I do not care if you
are. ...
It was not only that I could not become spiteful, I did not
know how to become anything; neither spiteful nor kind,
neither a rascal nor an honest man, neither a hero nor an
insect. Now, I am living out my life in my corner, taunting
myself with the spiteful and useless consolation that an intelligent
man cannot become anything seriously, and it is
only the fool who becomes anything. Yes, a man in the nineteenth
century must and morally ought to be pre-eminently
a characterless creature; a man of character, an active man
is pre-eminently a limited creature. That is my conviction
of forty years. I am forty years old now, and you know forty
years is a whole lifetime; you know it is extreme old age. To
live longer than forty years is bad manners, is vulgar, immoral.
Who does live beyond forty? Answer that, sincerely
and honestly I will tell you who do: fools and worthless fellows.
I tell all old men that to their face, all these venerable
old men, all these silver-haired and reverend seniors! I tell
the whole world that to its face! I have a right to say so, for
I shall go on living to sixty myself. To seventy! To eighty! ...

>> No.578420

>>578412
Pardon my misspelling, I mean "Thank you not me"

>> No.578426

>>578415

If you were a real Post-Philospher Minimal Existentialist, you'd already be perfect.

>> No.578428

>>578418
Stay, let me take breath ...
You imagine no doubt, gentlemen, that I want to amuse
you. You are mistaken in that, too. I am by no means such
a mirthful person as you imagine, or as you may imagine;
however, irritated by all this babble (and I feel that you are
irritated) you think fit to ask me who I am—then my answer
is, I am a collegiate assessor. I was in the service that I might
have something to eat (and solely for that reason), and when
last year a distant relation left me six thousand roubles in
his will I immediately retired from the service and settled
down in my corner. I used to live in this corner before, but
now I have settled down in it. My room is a wretched, horrid
one in the outskirts of the town. My servant is an old
country- woman, ill-natured from stupidity, and, moreover,
there is always a nasty smell about her. I am told that the
Petersburg climate is bad for me, and that with my small
means it is very expensive to live in Petersburg. I know all
that better than all these sage and experienced counsellors
and monitors. ... But I am remaining in Petersburg; I am not
going away from Petersburg! I am not going away because
... ech! Why, it is absolutely no matter whether I am going
away or not going away.
But what can a decent man speak of with most pleasure?
Answer: Of himself.
Well, so I will talk about myself.

>> No.578433

>>578426
Being a Philosopher I don't believe in perfection.

>> No.578434

>>578415
Where is it then? So I could get a full understanding on how silly your entire story sounds.

And for note, check anywhere on the internet, there is people that have a mass following of people that create the most stupidest plots and ideas.

>> No.578435

>>578428
II
I want now to tell you, gentlemen, whether you care to hear
it or not, why I could not even become an insect. I tell you
solemnly, that I have many times tried to become an insect.
But I was not equal even to that. I swear, gentlemen, that to
be too conscious is an illness—a real thorough-going illness.
For man’s everyday needs, it would have been quite enough
to have the ordinary human consciousness, that is, half or a
quarter of the amount which falls to the lot of a cultivated
man of our unhappy nineteenth century, especially one who
has the fatal ill-luck to inhabit Petersburg, the most theoretical
and intentional town on the whole terrestrial globe.
(There are intentional and unintentional towns.) It would
have been quite enough, for instance, to have the consciousness
by which all so-called direct persons and men of action
live. I bet you think I am writing all this from affectation, to
be witty at the expense of men of action; and what is more,
that from ill-bred affectation, I am clanking a sword like my
officer. But, gentlemen, whoever can pride himself on his
diseases and even swagger over them?
Though, after all, everyone does do that; people do pride
themselves on their diseases, and I do, may be, more than
anyone. We will not dispute it; my contention was absurd.
But yet I am firmly persuaded that a great deal of consciousness,
every sort of consciousness, in fact, is a disease. I stick

>> No.578436

>>578434
>there is people
Cool mental retardation, bro.

>> No.578437

>>578434
Where is it?
I said stories.
Generally I don't re-release my classics until at least 3 months after I have released them to the public.

>> No.578440

>>578435
to that. Let us leave that, too, for a minute. Tell me this: why
does it happen that at the very, yes, at the very moments
when I am most capable of feeling every refinement of all
that is ‘sublime and beautiful,’ as they used to say at one
time, it would, as though of design, happen to me not only
to feel but to do such ugly things, such that ... Well, in short,
actions that all, perhaps, commit; but which, as though purposely,
occurred to me at the very time when I was most
conscious that they ought not to be committed. The more
conscious I was of goodness and of all that was ‘sublime
and beautiful,’ the more deeply I sank into my mire and the
more ready I was to sink in it altogether. But the chief point
was that all this was, as it were, not accidental in me, but
as though it were bound to be so. It was as though it were
my most normal condition, and not in the least disease or
depravity, so that at last all desire in me to struggle against
this depravity passed. It ended by my almost believing (perhaps
actually believing) that this was perhaps my normal
condition. But at first, in the beginning, what agonies I endured
in that struggle! I did not believe it was the same with
other people, and all my life I hid this fact about myself as
a secret. I was ashamed (even now, perhaps, I am ashamed):
I got to the point of feeling a sort of secret abnormal, despicable
enjoyment in returning home to my corner on some
disgusting Petersburg night, acutely conscious that that day
I had committed a loathsome action again, that what was
done could never be undone, and secretly, inwardly gnawing,
gnawing at myself for it, tearing and consuming myself
till at last the bitterness turned into a sort of shameful ac

>> No.578446

>>578440
cursed sweetness, and at last—into positive real enjoyment!
Yes, into enjoyment, into enjoyment! I insist upon that. I
have spoken of this because I keep wanting to know for a fact
whether other people feel such enjoyment? I will explain;
the enjoyment was just from the too intense consciousness
of one’s own degradation; it was from feeling oneself that
one had reached the last barrier, that it was horrible, but
that it could not be otherwise; that there was no escape for
you; that you never could become a different man; that even
if time and faith were still left you to change into something
different you would most likely not wish to change; or if you
did wish to, even then you would do nothing; because perhaps
in reality there was nothing for you to change into.
And the worst of it was, and the root of it all, that it was all
in accord with the normal fundamental laws of over-acute
consciousness, and with the inertia that was the direct result
of those laws, and that consequently one was not only
unable to change but could do absolutely nothing. Thus it
would follow, as the result of acute consciousness, that one
is not to blame in being a scoundrel; as though that were
any consolation to the scoundrel once he has come to realise
that he actually is a scoundrel. But enough. ... Ech, I
have talked a lot of nonsense, but what have I explained?
How is enjoyment in this to be explained? But I will explain
it. I will get to the bottom of it! That is why I have taken up
my pen. ...
I, for instance, have a great deal of AMOUR PROPRE. I
am as suspicious and prone to take offence as a humpback or
a dwarf. But upon my word I sometimes have had moments

>> No.578447

>>578406
Nice plagiarism of Dostoevsky's - Notes from underground. I also like how you stole his pendulum style in your writing. Giving before recieving, consistent inconsistency, but at a realistic level where there reader doesn't give up, you tease with proper self-praise and of course contradictions. Yep, Dostoevsky all over the place. You should try reading Gogol a little, I'm sure he has plenty of steal-able material too.
6/10

/entry level reverse.

>> No.578450

>>578447
>>578400 "This thread is now about Notes from the underground"

>> No.578451

>>578446
when if I had happened to be slapped in the face I should,
perhaps, have been positively glad of it. I say, in earnest, that
I should probably have been able to discover even in that
a peculiar sort of enjoyment—the enjoyment, of course, of
despair; but in despair there are the most intense enjoyments,
especially when one is very acutely conscious of the
hopelessness of one’s position. And when one is slapped in
the face—why then the consciousness of being rubbed into
a pulp would positively overwhelm one. The worst of it is,
look at it which way one will, it still turns out that I was
always the most to blame in everything. And what is most
humiliating of all, to blame for no fault of my own but, so to
say, through the laws of nature. In the first place, to blame
because I am cleverer than any of the people surrounding
me. (I have always considered myself cleverer than any of
the people surrounding me, and sometimes, would you believe
it, have been positively ashamed of it. At any rate, I
have all my life, as it were, turned my eyes away and never
could look people straight in the face.) To blame, finally, because
even if I had had magnanimity, I should only have had
more suffering from the sense of its uselessness. I should
certainly have never been able to do anything from being
magnanimous—neither to forgive, for my assailant would
perhaps have slapped me from the laws of nature, and one
cannot forgive the laws of nature; nor to forget, for even if it
were owing to the laws of nature, it is insulting all the same.
Finally, even if I had wanted to be anything but magnanimous,
had desired on the contrary to revenge myself on my
assailant, I could not have revenged myself on any one for

>> No.578454

>>578447
you'll notice that that poster explicitly said he was going to be copy pasting notes from the underground.

>> No.578456

>>578454
Good authors create
The Best authors steal

>> No.578458

>>578451
anything because I should certainly never have made up my
mind to do anything, even if I had been able to. Why should
I not have made up my mind? About that in particular I
want to say a few words.

>> No.578472

>>578458
III
With people who know how to revenge themselves and
to stand up for themselves in general, how is it done?
Why, when they are possessed, let us suppose, by the feeling
of revenge, then for the time there is nothing else but that
feeling left in their whole being. Such a gentleman simply
dashes straight for his object like an infuriated bull with its
horns down, and nothing but a wall will stop him. (By the
way: facing the wall, such gentlemen—that is, the ‘direct’
persons and men of action—are genuinely nonplussed. For
them a wall is not an evasion, as for us people who think
and consequently do nothing; it is not an excuse for turning
aside, an excuse for which we are always very glad, though
we scarcely believe in it ourselves, as a rule. No, they are
nonplussed in all sincerity. The wall has for them something
tranquillising, morally soothing, final— maybe even
something mysterious ... but of the wall later.)
Well, such a direct person I regard as the real normal man,
as his tender mother nature wished to see him when she
graciously brought him into being on the earth. I envy such
a man till I am green in the face. He is stupid. I am not disputing
that, but perhaps the normal man should be stupid,
how do you know? Perhaps it is very beautiful, in fact. And
I am the more persuaded of that suspicion, if one can call
it so, by the fact that if you take, for instance, the antithesis

>> No.578482

>>578472
of the normal man, that is, the man of acute consciousness,
who has come, of course, not out of the lap of nature but
out of a retort (this is almost mysticism, gentlemen, but I
suspect this, too), this retort-made man is sometimes so
nonplussed in the presence of his antithesis that with all his
exaggerated consciousness he genuinely thinks of himself
as a mouse and not a man. It may be an acutely conscious
mouse, yet it is a mouse, while the other is a man, and therefore,
et caetera, et caetera. And the worst of it is, he himself,
his very own self, looks on himself as a mouse; no one asks
him to do so; and that is an important point. Now let us
look at this mouse in action. Let us suppose, for instance,
that it feels insulted, too (and it almost always does feel insulted),
and wants to revenge itself, too. There may even be
a greater accumulation of spite in it than in L’HOMME DE
LA NATURE ET DE LA VERITE. The base and nasty desire
to vent that spite on its assailant rankles perhaps even
more nastily in it than in L’HOMME DE LA NATURE ET
DE LA VERITE. For through his innate stupidity the latter
looks upon his revenge as justice pure and simple; while
in consequence of his acute consciousness the mouse does
not believe in the justice of it. To come at last to the deed
itself, to the very act of revenge. Apart from the one fundamental
nastiness the luckless mouse succeeds in creating
around it so many other nastinesses in the form of doubts
and questions, adds to the one question so many unsettled
questions that there inevitably works up around it a sort of
fatal brew, a stinking mess, made up of its doubts, emotions,
and of the contempt spat upon it by the direct men of ac

>> No.578488

>>578434
My first story is right here

>>578463

>> No.578496

>>578482
OP here, I love Dostoevsky

/thread

>> No.578508

>>578454
>>578454
Then I apologize for my mindless and ruthless mistake. But I'm sure you understand my inability to stay calm in this matter. Dostoevsky has been subject of much plagiarism lately, especially with his character development and multi-character story-overlapping. I didn't even think about him copy pasting it, I only recognized the infamous pattern.

You probably took everything I said in this post seriously didn't you silly little subhuman? No but, enough, now I'm just imitating Dostoevsky. Leave me alone. Thank you.

>> No.578548

ITT:samfaggery