Critique Thread

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Critique Thread Anonymous Sat Dec 13 17:12:44 2014 No.5856752 [Reply] [Original]

Didn't see one, so I made one.

You know the deal.

>>	Anonymous Sat Dec 13 17:13:59 2014 No.5856759 >>5856752 >Didn't see one are you too retarded to use the catalog?

Anonymous Sat Dec 13 17:14:03 2014 No.5856760

Same shit I posted in the last thread: I wrote this a month ago. It was the beginning of a story which I dropped soon after because it was going to be shit anyway.

I contemplated the vast green fields by the window train while hearing the faint sounds of [the train] behind the Lilium piece I was listening with my headphones.
“I suppose it's been a long time...“ I thought, passing one song after another mecanically without thinking or listening to any of them. Letting my head rest on my left hand I admired the blue skies with only a few white clouds on that summer morning. I felt numbed by the sight where no glint of civilization could be seen anywhere near.
I've been alone in my cabin since I sat here, but I could hear few people talk in the adjacent cabin which annoyed me more than it should.I never liked talking, every word I exchanged seemed to trivialize the matter discussed, it seemed that it turned a complex living-matter into a mere collection of facts.
My numb mind drifted just like the summer wind until I fell asleep. Knock knock wake up, I did not know who it was. I was in a train cabin where anyone could enter. I know anyone could enter and I waited someone to do so, but no one did. Knock knock I heard again, which made me say at loud “The door is open“ to the one who was tapping the door. Knock knock one more time, and “Open the door!“ someone yelled before start giving small kicks to the door. I stood up for the first time in hours and went slowly to the door in front of which I stood for a while without touching at all with hands in my pocket and a vein in my forehead.
“Open open open!“ and the screams continued. Kick kick kick one more time, and back to the screams again. It was a childish voice, as it could only be to exhibit that kind of behaviour. A small girl?, that´s what it seemed. A small girl playing in the train, just a girl playing and nothing more. I opened the door, not having intention at all to met anyone or to help as it may seem, but to stop the screams and tell her she should go and play somewhere else, play somewhere else or instead take a rest and a nap in the lap of a rapist.

Anonymous Sat Dec 13 17:14:16 2014 No.5856761

Bleak beaks dangling from the sky
peck at the pent-up bubble-wrap of throats
that enables steam-stacks to rise up
and deposit down-town with a frown.

Engorged, on the porch in a scorch,
I, as in you, leap–without having wept–
into the asphalt hallway of arterial traffic,
blood reins in the salt stuffed pebbles.

Somber tones skip across fish-less ponds
and honking echoes between sub-shops,
and echoes between sub-stops,
and echoes between sub-plots.

So an astronomer tickles the night sky,
with his feathered instruments afloat,
and watches swaths of colored gas
drop and rise, dyeing the canvas; dying.

>>	Anonymous Sat Dec 13 17:15:41 2014 No.5856769 >>5856759 *lazy Didn't say I searched.

Anonymous Sat Dec 13 17:18:55 2014 No.5856785

>>5856752
Halt the grief, restore the threshing
for seedless pomegranate offerings.
She of grain lay with he of water
then washed in the current where the city law is from.
Crete is starving to the keening moans of
the mare who birthed the river's daughter

>>	Anonymous Sat Dec 13 17:20:15 2014 No.5856796 >>5856769 delete this thread

>>	Anonymous Sat Dec 13 17:20:29 2014 No.5856797 >>5856785 I'm telling Superintendent Hull that you post here.

>>	Anonymous Sat Dec 13 17:22:33 2014 No.5856809 >>5856796 Why would I do that? The other thread is reaching its post limit soon.

>>	Anonymous Sat Dec 13 17:26:20 2014 No.5856826 Posting this here too because two thread, yo. Basically first attempt to write something that is not a scientific document, mathematical proof, or a shitpost. http://pastebin.com/migBCKeK

Anonymous Sat Dec 13 17:27:37 2014 No.5856832

>>5856760
>I contemplated the vast green fields by the window train while hearing the faint sounds of [the train] behind the Lilium piece I was listening with my headphones.
That was awkward as fuck, redundant, and made my head hurt. I couldn't get past the first paragraph because the whole thing read like that.

>>	Anonymous Sat Dec 13 17:27:56 2014 No.5856834 >>5856796 delete this post

Anonymous Sat Dec 13 17:32:17 2014 No.5856848

>>5856832
This. Try something like this:
"I contemplated the vast green fields flying past outside the train's window. The faint sounds of the train behind the Lilium piece setting the music to the scene playing out in front of me."

And just establish that he/she is listening to music earlier.

>inb4 purple prose

>>	Anonymous Sat Dec 13 17:39:02 2014 No.5856883 >>5856826 You have the clear and concise writing that I would imagine a writer of mathematical proofs to have, and it's good. Keep it up, I'd like to read more.

Anonymous Sat Dec 13 17:42:30 2014 No.5856907

He didn't want to keep running–
the nominee nor the runner–
yet he still ran, sprinting.
He didn't want to keep anything,
especially his dreams,
for they were morsels of meat dangling forever in front of him on a splintered pole above his treadmill,
yet he kept keeping.

He didn't want the air to be so cold,
yet lived in the Arctic, and still does.
And he didn't want to be told,
yet was all ears, and still is.

He didn't want to be,
but he kept being.
And he didn't want to want,
but he kept wanting.

What he was (and still is),
was what he wasn't (and still isn't).
He and I–I and he–are the very same ones
that you tell yourself you will never be:

we are dead.

>>	Anonymous Sat Dec 13 17:46:06 2014 No.5856931 Oh, prim paltry prose: a grim salty rose. Bestow'd upon thee I have an inheritance not of gold, but of wealth, for I am your father's father and the keeper of the last copy of our secret family recipe: Coca-Cola.

>>	Anonymous Sat Dec 13 17:48:12 2014 No.5856945 >>5856797 u wot m8

Anonymous Sat Dec 13 17:49:31 2014 No.5856953

I'm a bored idiot,
a deceiver of the self,
a purveyor of barren virtual lands and women paid for sex,
an unfortunately fortunate soul without homelessness.
How–no, what can I do?
Other than rhyme with poo?
No thing, nothing, some thing, something–
nah, nothing. So, Ill just abandon ship
and leave my crew without a captain
or even a log,
because I ain't got time to leave evidence
of my being (to say nothing of anal).

>>	Anonymous Sat Dec 13 17:53:11 2014 No.5856979 >>5856848 Thanks, that sounds better.

Anonymous Sat Dec 13 17:58:19 2014 No.5857010

>>5856752
I suppose this doesn't really fit in this thread but starting a new thread doesn't seem fitting to me either.
I'd like to know what you understand when you read this:

The smallest and the greatest deeds matter most,
for we deem the smallest so unimportant and the greatest so important
that they are most likely to lead us to betray our ideals.

>>	Anonymous Sat Dec 13 17:58:43 2014 No.5857014 File: 17 KB, 300x350, Slavoj.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] >go to critique thread >no actual critique My god...

>>	Anonymous Sat Dec 13 18:13:10 2014 No.5857088 >>5857010 Took me three reads, but yeah, that's pretty profound.

>>	Anonymous Sat Dec 13 18:22:02 2014 No.5857116 >>5857088 Well thanks for reading my post, but I'd really like to know [[ what ]] you understand when you read that.

Anonymous Sat Dec 13 18:29:24 2014 No.5857149

>>5857116
What I understood was this:
Since we are biased in judging actions, i.e. small actions don't really count and big actions count for a lot, it means our system of morals and ideals can actually be skewed, rather than if we valued each action depending on its size and effect.

For example: Let's say one our ideals is education. Then large actions that we value too greatly may be the building of schools, where small actions like making sure students and teachers feel more friendly, and less authoritarian, don't get counted. This means that we end up with a less effective system (Skewed ideals) because our (humanity's) was of judging actions is non-objective.

I made that really wordy, but hopefully it will convey every facet of wisdom I squeezed out of that statement.

Anonymous Sat Dec 13 18:29:35 2014 No.5857150

Star-crossed lovers
Were we meant for each other?
I'd hate to know another
indifferent mutter

Wasn't love like a fire
Where the strong burned brighter
and the weak felt lighter and
I'd hate to have to know her

But nothing could stop you
and nothing would stop two
from crossing all the stars
just to call this love ours

and I'd crush these little lights
and we'd forget all those nights
But I would still remember
All the love in December

But soon it would be gone
Wasn't love like a bomb?
So dangerous to hold
but your eyes had me sold

So I curse the hot summer
My heart plays the drummer and
the sun becomes a singer
Whose fiery words linger
Too long for me to remember
All the cold nights in November

So I'll crawl into the ocean
And not make a motion
But let the waves take me
And watch my heart fly free

And when you find me in December
i just hope that you will remember
All the dreadful days of summer
And forget this broken drummer

Anonymous Sat Dec 13 18:30:41 2014 No.5857153

Rocking myself on a big green hill
The kind it's hard not to roll down
I laugh as she tears down the sky
And a cloud tilts my big gold crown
The world spins a little faster
When rain isn't holding us down
And we can roll a little faster
When the green hill isn't brown
But I'd rather lay on this hill
And love big brown eyes until
The world stops spinning so fast
But who knows how long it'll last

I'll think of another lovely place
Wherever love is more than a face
And dying is something like living
Except we loved to live much more
Than we loved to think about dying
and dying left us feeling so sore

I almost died when I learned that
Some people can't wait for death
So I found another lovely place
Where dying is something like living
and loving is something like healing
and those people lived
and those people loved
Where they couldn't tell whether
they were living or dying

But they never really changed
Their thoughts seem arranged
And they read that I was asleep
And that I was in way too deep
So I found another lovely place
Living and dying were no different
And that was something hard to face
But both and a hill were so sufficient

>>	Anonymous Sat Dec 13 18:31:00 2014 No.5857154 heres some critique for you guys your all gay

>>	Anonymous Sat Dec 13 18:38:36 2014 No.5857172 >>5856761 it's good but personally I find it aesthetically nasty also seems like you're putting rhyme over meaning.

Anonymous Sat Dec 13 18:40:27 2014 No.5857181

>>5857149
That was some real good commentary, thank you.
I'd like to sway the interpretation another way though.
Suppose we look at the actions an individual undertakes, and (I know this is ridiculous, but just for exercise) that person is entirely against medical care.

Taking an aspirin when you have a slight headache could be seen as a minor action.
Because it is seen as a minor action, the person is more likely to betray his/her ideals (in this case: medical care), thinking "It's just an aspirin."

Undergoing an operation for something life threatening would then be (arguably) the greatest action.
In this case, since the choice has such a great impact on the individual, he/she is more likely to betray his/her ideals.

>>	Anonymous Sat Dec 13 18:41:10 2014 No.5857183 >>5856826 >It started as a slight feel of unease >using "feel" as a noun well, you weren't lying about the shitposting Also >Fae Everything ending with ae just reeks of mediocrity and a renunciation of human dignity.

>>	Anonymous Sat Dec 13 18:42:17 2014 No.5857187 >>5857154 lucid, succinct and powerful. I like it. Remember to proofread though

>>	Anonymous Sat Dec 13 18:42:29 2014 No.5857190 >>5856931 I get the impression that you're trying to give off the impression of not really trying, but being amazing anyway. Am I wrong?

>>	Anonymous Sat Dec 13 18:42:57 2014 No.5857193 >>5857181 I should also have added that what you explained put more stress on the smallest deeds, while I believe what I suggested might be a more balanced interpretation.

>>	Anonymous Sat Dec 13 18:46:41 2014 No.5857202 >>5857187 I was going for a hemingway iceberg-style

>>	Anonymous Sat Dec 13 18:49:31 2014 No.5857217 >>5857150 pseudo rap sounding rap it and post the soundcloud to /mu/, not here

>>	Anonymous Sat Dec 13 18:52:29 2014 No.5857228 >>5857183 Yeah, I noticed some minor mistakes like that, and some places where the flow brakes. Yeah, generally I dislike "ae", but I can't call them Fä, now can I?

Anonymous Sat Dec 13 18:54:28 2014 No.5857239

>>5857010
Here

Commenting on other posts for fairness sake:

>>5856907
>yet he still ran, sprinting.
Feels a bit awkward.
You're describing a state of movement as being different at the same time, and additionally in two different tenses.

>for they were morsels of meat dangling forever in front of him on a splintered pole above his treadmill,

This line really stands out and I honestly don't think it's that great.
Are you trying to go for "this line is the meat dangling forever in front of him" ?

>>5856760
I feel like you're using comma's inconsistently, often using them when they are not necessary and not using them when they are.
I'm honestly afraid the texts I'm commenting on are jokes I'm not getting though.....

Anonymous Sat Dec 13 18:55:33 2014 No.5857242

>>5857228
Ok honestly my "fae" objection is an aesthetic judgement that is 100% subjective.

But it's objectively true that your story is telling, not showing. And I know it seems strange to gives rules to art, but you have to crawl before you fly, right? So show, don't tell. It's cliche for a reason.

Anonymous Sat Dec 13 18:56:35 2014 No.5857248

I asked him who the new guy was and he told me Homer Simpson, which made me laugh sharply, and ask again, but back came the same reply, that man up there, clambering across the sky-skeleton like an ape or a spider was Homer J. Simpson. He told me that it wasn't all animated, that, to keep things cheap, it was mostly rotoscoping, and that that man up there, that was Homer, the real Homer, and his true voice, too. I knew he was lying to me, but I couldn't help but believe him, and the longer I looked, the surer I was. His weight was enough, he was bald enough, that jaundice was not jaundice, that overbite, those bulging eyes- and were those four fingers I saw on each hand? How could I have not seen it?
One spring day when I had a break I chased him into the sky until I had cornered him on a bare wide I beam that stood alone in the gasping blueness. I laughed because I couldn't help myself. He looked like some mad Buddhist monkey, squatting up there in perfect symmetry, teetering comically, and a little angry, too.
"Homer!" I cried. I was a few meters below him. I wasn't fool enough to go up there. He reconized his name and shouted down in petulance: "what?"
I felt dizzy with joy and spinning vertigo. Here was the man who had capered across my screen for decades. Here, at my mercy! "Why are you here, Homer?" I asked him. "Why aren't you at home?"
He swayed for a while on the beam, and cast his eyes away from me, for a while. Then he spoke.
"Bart, Marge, the kids all died. I work up here to be closer to them.” Damn fool.
"You're not wearing a hardhat! That's not safe, Homer."
He shrugged and crouched down a little bit, squinting. Suddenly, he leapt, and I staggered back in fright, living by gripping with a sweaty hand a cold iron rebar. I turned swiftly to see him, rising on a high scaffolding that I thought hadn’t been built yet. Rough little ape! I cursed and walked the plankway across. He was a deft climber for such a fat old man.

Anonymous Sat Dec 13 19:04:34 2014 No.5857280

>>5857242
Well, at this point in the story, it is actually being TOLD by another individual. I get that most of the time "show don't tell" is good advice, and is actually difficult for me to execute from time to time.

If I want this to be told as a story-within-a-story kind of way, should I still try to do the "show don't tell" thing? I mean it makes sense, if I was telling someone about something that happened, I would say something like "It felt weird.".

>>	Anonymous Sat Dec 13 19:05:41 2014 No.5857285 >>5857280 Well, if it's being told, it should be shorter.

>>	Anonymous Sat Dec 13 19:06:47 2014 No.5857290 >>5857190 Well you're right in that I wasn't trying (hence the impression), but whether or not it's 'amazing' is up to you (though I think it's not (really)).

>>	Anonymous Sat Dec 13 19:07:16 2014 No.5857292 >>5857285 How so? Also made some minor edits: http://pastebin.com/S74Jt4GA

Anonymous Sat Dec 13 19:20:30 2014 No.5857342

"Somersaults,
acid rain,
deteriorated herniated discs,
filibustering crack-heads,
delivery men in jumpsuits,
a week-old pastrami sandwich,
Stalin's grave,
rusty pump-jacks,
crabapples,
the Bill of Rights (2nd edition),
an old Beach Boys record,
a dollop of sour cream,
Cragganmore whisky,
the sound of music,
John of Arc's tush-bush,
a particle of stardust,
an elk's poop-chute,
liquid nitrogen,
a misspelled ward,
pre-election masturbation,
a Satanic possession,
Miss Fortune,
a ball-park frank,
and a picture of the HMS Beagle
all smell like my spunk."
–Jesús

Anonymous Sat Dec 13 19:28:48 2014 No.5857381

Nigga
Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga, I'm 100% nigga
Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga, I'm 200% nigga
Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga, why do police hate niggas?
Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga, they hate us cause our dicks is bigga
Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga, why you call yourself a nigga?
Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga, cause I'm a mother fucking nigga!
Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga, why you drink so much beer?
Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga, I don't drink beer, I drink malt liquor

Cause I'm a nigga!
I'm a motherfuckin' nigga man, I ain't all that African-American shit
Fuck that I'm a nigga, I ain't mixed I'm a nigga
N-...I-G-G-A, nigga, you already know

Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga, why you eat so much chicken?
Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga, why won't you make it in my kitchen?
Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga, why you call them hoes bitches?
Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga, cause them hoes is bitches!
Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga, why you stay in the hood?
Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga, cause I don't like livin' by peckerwoods
Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga, why you ain't got no job?
Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga, seven dollars all won't feed me dog
Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga, why yo' pants gotta sag?
Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga, cause hand-me-downs downs is all a nigga has!
Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga Nigga, why you scared to go to court?
Shit, cause the judge look just like that motherfucker put our ass on the boat and made me a nigga

Mamma Rag is a nigga
Du-Rag is a nigga
Ballistics is a nigga
And I'm Uretha's nigga
Nigga!

>>	Anonymous Sat Dec 13 19:37:50 2014 No.5857420 >>5857239 >I'm honestly afraid the texts I'm commenting on are jokes I'm not getting though..... Are the texts that bad?

>>	Anonymous Sat Dec 13 19:40:51 2014 No.5857438 Ch1 of a novel I'm writing https://docs.google.com/document/d/1qCMGJkKVqrBNZLTlQ8QBMShNOrYtQddBZafQMHif1a8/edit?usp=sharing

>>	Anonymous Sat Dec 13 19:44:34 2014 No.5857454 >>5857420 The ones I commented on aren't at all

Anonymous Sat Dec 13 19:50:09 2014 No.5857477

>>5857239
>I feel like you're using comma's inconsistently, often using them when they are not necessary and not using them when they are.

Thanks for your comment. I'll give it another read and I'll try to fix what you pointed.
I'm not a native speaker but I still wanted to give it a try because I've never wrote anything in a foreign language. Seems natural that some lines I wrote sound unnatural to a native speaker or someone more acquainted with the language.

>>	Anonymous Sat Dec 13 20:11:33 2014 No.5857561 >>5857477 You've done a good job for a non-native speaker then. Could you look at my post >>5857010 In return?

Anonymous Sat Dec 13 20:48:25 2014 No.5857690

>>5857561
>>5857010

What I understand from the text is mainly that actions considered superfluous are more likely to be done without worries or without giving them a lot of thought. Small actions being unimportant are more unlikely to be affected by our ideals precisely because of what we stated (they're not important enough).
I could believe in "you must not steal", but still steal something as long as I consider my action "small" (e.g: keep a pen I found in the floor of the classroom instead of asking if someone lost it or take something that someone forgot when I could return it to the owner).

When I consider the greatest actions I'm thinking mainly about action which have big consequences, therefore they will affect my in a non minor way according to my actions. We may betray our ideals for great rewards, which may come easily from great and important actions. Example: Someone could hold that lying my be wrong and still tell a lie if that give them a better job or a better position which will assure them a lot of money.

Ideals only hold between certain boundaries and beyond them there is no certainty about the behaviour of anyone, despite of the experience we may have with people in our daily lives in such boundaries are constructed.
The boundaries depends of society and how they are perceived, for example, some people argue that there is no such thing as a private moral but is always public (Korsgaard applying to her field what Wittgenstein said about private language), then what lies outside the public view depends purely on the subject itself since no one is there to take any action to what has been done.

We see ourselves morally through he eyes of others because what it means to lead a morally correct life depends of an already constructed ethic, therefore, deeds the public is not aware don't have any influence upon us.

>>	Anonymous Sat Dec 13 21:09:57 2014 No.5857757 >>5857381 The ellipsis as you're spelling out nigga is awkward, but it is all around solid 8/10 short story.

Anonymous Sat Dec 13 21:10:00 2014 No.5857758

>>5857690
Thank you for your response.
I'm afraid I can't provide as lengthy a response to your writing, though it can be considered a compliment.

Looks like my little phrase was a success then.
I was able to cram quite a bit of meaning in a single sentence, as I intended.
Though I bet some will say 'duh' to the meaning of it.

>>	Anonymous Sat Dec 13 21:21:52 2014 No.5857806 >>5856761 I liked this and maybe even had a vague idea of what it was about but the alliteration and rhyme combos get irritating pretty quickly. Still satisfying though

Anonymous Sat Dec 13 23:21:25 2014 No.5858279

Castles made of celestine burn faster than gasoline,
for those inundated by freeform grievances
usually end up on the wrong end of a crank binge
and die of dysentery in a thousand years.

So if your only eyes are knots in wood
and your fingers the strings of a blind puppeteer,
then I suggest you leave the moat dry
and jump into a hot air balloon
manned by a rogue science experiment
otherwise known as Up-Syndrome Phil.

Anonymous Sat Dec 13 23:28:31 2014 No.5858298

I bum-fucked a bum in the bum
and soared high, high with sour sores.
I came down, downtown down, onto mound
consumed numb by furious fire ants
pouring out from the pores near my sores.
Then I sent this message to myself,
and realized that this dude is crazy.
Don't listen to this guy,
he's crazy.

Anonymous Sun Dec 14 01:25:15 2014 No.5858660

A relevant dissertation I wrote today
on paper distorted with the silk of clouds
cast down to Earth likes cotton balls from the heaven
they landed beneath our feet
they gave us breath to eat.
In the beginning, the paper was white
a white lost in the foggy mist of thought
design searching for a designer, lost among the swampy muggy mist.
A light in the distance drips through,
normality ensuing in a space lost in time
a time lost in space left undiscovered.
The words spilled over the wounded white
punctured by needle and penstroke
inkblot black draping the night in her soft motherly embrace.
The child wished to be encapsulated entrapped
within the whitened darkness --
but among this dissertation
there was no dark to be found.
No words left on an empty page.

* * *

For in the beginning God created the Heavens and the Earth and He saw that this was good.
But for us existence could not be good, not in this life written in blackened ink.
No, we wanted to return to the whitedark
To the nothingness that we seek.

Anonymous Sun Dec 14 05:08:35 2014 No.5859114

>>5856826
Good. It seems that you know what you want to do and also know how to achieve this. BTW you speak German, don't you?

This faggot wasn't able to properly read your first sentence >>5857242. He's scum, telling you tell-and-not-show shit every nigger who's read some shitty blogs tells you.

>>5857285
Fuck, I can't take your shit any longer.
>>>/reddit/

>>5856760
What >>5856832 said. I can't get past your first sentence. It reads like it was written by an angsty teen, especially if there is someone with headphones.
*Vast green passing by like a never ending brush stroke, while I was lulled by the Lilium piece [would drop this, tho, and'd try to describe music], but slight trembling kept my awake.

>>	Anonymous Sun Dec 14 05:28:13 2014 No.5859133 >>5856752 What a horrendously amateur model.

comment please Sun Dec 14 09:28:25 2014 No.5859566

>>5856752
Here is a short piece I posted on my blog a little while ago.

While Jenny maintained a fundamental belief that it was every person's moral obligation to complain when they were treated unjustly, she walked away from the cash desk and out of the store without saying anything. She was trying something new. It was an attempt to soften herself as many of her friends and colleagues had suggested her unforgiving moral righteousness was the reason the clammy grip of isolation had locked its fingers tightly around her social life. But she couldn't see the trial lasting much longer. As far as she could tell the only thing this trial had produced was a disturbed feeling in her stomach. A byproduct, she suspected, of a conflicted character, or more likely a result of the trial's first successful sleepless night's screams of 'yes, yes, yes! Fuck me' where usually, hours earlier, when told how beautiful her eyes were, she would have said 'fuck off', finished her drink, caught a taxi home, and without turning on the lights undressed and curled up in bed alone, numb.

There was also the possibility that starving herself, for fear of being another bloated, fat, uncoupled, pregnant woman, was the reason for the pains in her abdominal area. However, until her teeth fell out as a result of the foetus's parasitic leaching of her vitamins and minerals, she couldn't be sure. So it was best for Jenny to just control what she could by going to work, going home, and discarding her friend's caustic advice for both her own and the baby's sake.

She wasn't one to believe in destinies, and the universe's divine plan, but when her resolution to finally free herself from her friend's manipulations was highlighted by the introduction of Peter, she nearly converted.

'... just going to see if everything was alright.'

'What? Oh, Peter. Fine, fine. Just going home... Would you date a pregnant woman?'

'Not sure. It would really depend on how much we got along, I guess. Why?'

'No reason. I just see so many pregnant women walking around and wonder if they are alone.'

'I'm sure most of them are fine. And the ones that aren't? What can we do about them? We can only hope that they can find what they need. Are you sure that its better?'

'Yes. Fine, now.'

'Good to hear. I'm just heading over there now.'

To where, Jenny didn't know, and she was too tired to care to know. As she watched him walk off she wondered what it was that made everyone impossible to tolerate, let alone love.

>>	Anonymous Sun Dec 14 10:12:09 2014 No.5859688 >>5859114 >>5856760 Leaving aside the first sentence, what about the rest? Should I burn it or try to fix it instead?

Anonymous Sun Dec 14 10:26:49 2014 No.5859719

>>5859566
I don't know where you are going with your story. Is it part of a longer piece ?
>but when her resolution to finally free herself from her friend's manipulations was highlighted by the introduction of Peter
Are you sure "highlighted" is the right word here ?

This is the beginning of the second chapter of my novel:

Il était placide et anguleux. Des yeux débordant de curiosité enfantine. Le verbe facile, déconstruit, mais d'une cohérence implacable. Il maniait remarquablement l'ironie pour clouer toutes les susceptibilités, toutes les hésitations, au pilori de son sourire intransigeant. Lui résister était futile, mais lui céder était pure folie. Il aimait le sport, la bière et la loi des hommes. Comme un justicier alcoolique, il passait des soirées enivrées à critiquer les actions des grands de ce monde, avec toutefois un peu de retard: il ne lisait jamais que les journaux de la veille. Son sac miteux était une source inépuisable de canettes de bières bon marché, dont il faisait profiter des étrangers croisés par hasard et dont il buvait lui-même goulûment. Son ivresse était douce, presque imperceptible. Il la dissimulait habilement, sous un flot continue de mots d'esprit et de taquineries innocentes. Mais derrière les portes closes et dans la pénombre d'une cavité chaude et glissante, le produit de ses lèvres talentueuses mourrait en un murmure à peine audible. Son souffle glissait sans s'attarder, et le langoureux mouvement de ses membres s'interrompait pour laisser place à la respiration paisible du dormeur. Il était là, comme ils l'avaient tous été un jour, dans la position de l'amant repu. Sans violence et sans regret, comme un vieux gramophone qu'on aurait éteint à contre cœur.
K n'en avait plus besoin. Elle en avait assez du bruit rêche que produisaient ces lèvres étrangères lorsqu'il prononçait son nom. Et aussi de la forme trop féminine de ses lèvres, de ses moues androgynes, de ses grands yeux d'éternel enfant. Son besoin d'être seule atteignait des seuils intolérables. Au diable les promesses: Dehors, sur le pavé gelé par le froid et balayé par le vent, elle allait enfin redevenir elle-même.
Elle se rhabilla et dans le silence de la chambre duveteuse le bruissement du coton contre sa peau sonna comme le bruit assourdissant de vagues tumultueuses qui s'échouaient sur les murs sombres.

>>	comment please Sun Dec 14 10:51:17 2014 No.5859789 >>5859719 No, as far as I am concerned that story is complete. Thanks for pointing out 'highlighted' it felt awkward when I wrote it at the time too. Unfortunately, my french isn't goof enough for me to give you anything on yours.

>>	Anonymous Sun Dec 14 11:00:40 2014 No.5859822 >>5859789 Just curious: Are you a woman ?

>>	comment please Sun Dec 14 11:07:17 2014 No.5859843 >>5859822 Why do you get that impression you rape apologist?

>>	Anonymous Sun Dec 14 11:15:32 2014 No.5859877 >>5859843 You write like one.

>>	Anonymous Sun Dec 14 11:20:37 2014 No.5859894 >>5859877 In all these posts, or just the story?

>>	Anonymous Sun Dec 14 11:30:46 2014 No.5859921 >>5859894 In the story.

>>	Anonymous Sun Dec 14 12:15:59 2014 No.5860045 >>5859921 Then I'll take that as a compliment. The character was female, and I was trying to write with her voice.

>>	Anonymous Sun Dec 14 14:21:47 2014 No.5860454 Is this thread dead ?

>>	Anonymous Sun Dec 14 14:48:18 2014 No.5860598 >>5860454 yes

>>	Anonymous Sun Dec 14 14:57:04 2014 No.5860648 >>5860598 Oh. Ok then.

>>	Anonymous Sun Dec 14 15:26:11 2014 No.5860777 >>5860648 Pussy. Post something

Anonymous Sun Dec 14 16:57:36 2014 No.5861212

I write articles for a student publication. I understand that I need to convey a clear message but in an entertaining way. I am not trying to create a list-summary, I am trying to write a captivating, original piece of writing.

Whenever I show my friends they say it's 'pretentious' or that I 'sound like a cunt', but I don't really understand why. I am painfully aware of the drawbacks purple-prose and I try and abide by Orwell's advice in writing. Because I aim high sometimes my writing comes off as a bit clumsy or less impactful than I'd like, but I never so much as touch a thesaurus or try to be pretentious.

What's up? It really just drains my enthusiasm to write well.

Koffeeguy !!BP2n1Oywuq6 Sun Dec 14 17:31:15 2014 No.5861367

Did some of the suggested changes on it but still looking for critique. I've got two years of writing on here and so far the only stuff that's been covered is the first post.

Anyway story is alt-history post-apocalyptic (yes I know it's been done to death) written as blog entries, that will eventually roll into sci-fi with various fantasy elements invoked as well.

This is a tinyurl.

com/Koffeeguy-s-writefaggotry

Also to address the concerns from the critiques earlier:

I adjusted the bit about what woke up the protagonist, because it made no sense for him to be wondering what woke him up, and then a sentence later saying what woke him up.

Thanks in advance by the way.

Anonymous Sun Dec 14 18:30:58 2014 No.5861670

I wanna see if /lit/ thinks I'm a shitty writer.

A sitcom rerun played on the small television, and Kelly watched it with a glassy stare. He itched the inside of his thigh with one hand, and clutched a beer with the other. He sat in a broken recliner. The fabric was green and worn, and there was a wet patch on the armrest from where he set his beer can. The footrest had collapsed in the middle, and the support in the back had started to crack. It was the only piece of furniture in the room.

Allen sat on the floor beside his father. He looked around, examining the yellow-stained walls and the bare plywood of the floor. The carpet had been torn up before they had moved in, and it had never been replaced. The outlets around the room had their covers stripped, wires exposed. Allen listened as another beer can hit the floor behind him. The crinkled cans were like small headstones around the base of his father’s recliner- his throne.

“So what do you think?” Kelly asked.
“It’s okay.” Allen said.
“Just okay?”
“It’s great, dad.”
Kelly belched and shifted in his chair.

Ads about whitening toothpaste and the safest vehicles on the market dribbled out of the fuzzy speakers of the television. Allen pulled his knees to his chest, careful not to drag his feet across the floor. He’d picked enough splinters from his toes. Beside him, Allen heard the crack of another beer.

They’d been in the house for three nights. It didn’t take them long to move, considering Kelly had sold almost everything they owned. They each had a few bags full of clothes, bathroom supplies, and some personal belongings. They “borrowed” the TV from the Salvation Army so Kelly had something to watch while he drank his beer. It sat on top of an old white lawn table, which was made of flaking plastic.

“Don’t you have school in the morning?” Kelly asked.
Allen turned to face his father, who looked down on him with a stern gaze. Allen nodded.
“Then get to bed. I didn’t waste all afternoon down at the high school getting you enrolled so you can wake up late.” Kelly said. He turned
back to the television.
Allen pushed himself to his feet and walked down the hallway. He passed the bathroom to his left and a small closet to the right. His bedroom, the dark doorless portal that it was, lay at the end of the hall. He heard the recorded laughter from the sitcom roll out behind him, and the clink of another can hitting the ground.

Anonymous Sun Dec 14 19:19:39 2014 No.5861895

I am four stanzas into a villanelle. Are there any francophones who could take a look?

Autrefois, je rêvais que quelqu'un me délivra,
et son coeur sacré me parfit
afin que j'ai dormis, denudé, au creux de ses bras.

Et mon souffle tremblerais sous son emprise, tremble-là
comme un lapin. Je vous implore pour destruction ravie:
autrefois, je rêvais que quelqu'un me délivra.

Votre sens étoilé m'imprégne d'joie rouge: mon corps brûla
pour vous. Je gravai les histoires éroiques sur mon buste, je l'ai encerclé avec lys
afin que j'ai dormis, denudé, au creux de ses bras.

C'est une idée surréele, d'être muselé par vous, au-delà
de la confusion sentimentale qui rage au mon chair faiblit:
autrefois, je rêvais que quelqu'un me délivra.

Anonymous Sun Dec 14 19:24:49 2014 No.5861915

>>5859719
I really like how your work reads. It has strong cadence, beautiful word choice and nice imagery. I do feel it's missing something, though, and I can't quite put my finger on it. Perhaps that its' the second chapter and I don't have much of an idea what's going on. But damn, your French gives me erections.
would read entire novel/10

>>	Anonymous Sun Dec 14 20:23:49 2014 No.5862205 Hi guys, I'm trying to write a short story. I'm currently a bit stumped so I figured I'd stop for today and get some input. http://pastebin.com/F2uVevrt I'll give back some criticism in a while.

Anonymous Sun Dec 14 20:31:06 2014 No.5862225

>>5862205 here

>>5861670
I like it, I like how austere and indifferent your descriptions are since it fits what you're describing. But then again, since your style fits the scene, I'd have to see you doing something different to get a better picture of your style.

>>5861212
Can you post something of yours then?

Anonymous Sun Dec 14 20:40:37 2014 No.5862271 [DELETED]

At a college concert It smells good and all the girls are so pretty I want to feel
like I’m praying to her every time we talk It doesn’t have to be difficult but
I want to make it difficult so if she kisses me when we are both drunk it will feel
like I’ve earned it My job right now is standing here and waiting for various
kinds of validation Later I will stand somewhere else and wait for validation
there I will do this every day for the rest of my life and it will never consciously
occur to me, or anyone, or bother us.

Artists together are bad and ugly because they think they are great and beautiful
I hate you forever and you can’t change it
“Let’s get fucked up”
They went and got fucked up

I hope Everything’s okay. (It’s not.)
I hope everything’s Okay. (It’s not.)

I will hide in this

Why do I care if you like me
I don’t like wanting to know why

Kill me but tell me how to be better
I can be hurtful
I don’t know what I will do when I leave you

I feel like I am dangling off the cliff
of myself Someday I will lose my grip
when my hands get too sweaty and fall
forever until I hit the bottom of myself
where there are rocks as jagged and angry
as teeth and I will shred myself apart on
myself and it will taste great, like metal,
like the back of my throat when I’ve run
12 miles and do not know how to stop
running Do you know how hard it is to
keep every second sentence from being
“I love her, I want to kiss her forever, I
want to live inside the space between
our lips Especially when there is
none” It hurts all the time I hope it
never ends

Anonymous Sun Dec 14 20:46:51 2014 No.5862291

Barlowe's ten feet tall. His feet are wide as mountains. With a clatter draws the oldish in, a nightbag oily, dusted full and with a stack of smokes and lip gloss, pupil feathers. Uncle Rudy grew behind him from the light. They met at Georgie's. Next at Minnipaw. Old Lawna took a squat about the foreground, dreaming up a raunchy lot of winded peckers. Slick white paradise.
'The Cables!' Barlowe's puffing.
'Doubt it.' Rudy caws.
Some fun around a street thing. Walkers. Minnow toes.
'The goddamned pipes.' A puff again.
'The old man offered you a seat. He offered you a goddamned fan.'
'More Bible stuff.'
'Again with this.'

>>	Anonymous Sun Dec 14 20:47:45 2014 No.5862295 >>5861670 I would read more of this.

Anonymous Sun Dec 14 20:53:25 2014 No.5862314

we made us then and all along
beyond white rush of water
and all the living sons of father's daughters
made them homeward with a shrug

the veil was lifted,
bridled linen torn
a shroud to drown away the outer:
hands in ash and cupping cheeks
the sigh of mothers

Babel's tainted, sooted drawers
the air in teak and leather
saintly heather for the altar
for the lain about the floor

again the rain's let in
the flood's all drew
the babble shook the roots from out her clasping

seven daughters swung to farther
lain as heather at the door,
no longer dancing

>>	Anonymous Sun Dec 14 21:32:21 2014 No.5862414 The Artist Asks Whomself Is Him?

>>	Anonymous Sun Dec 14 23:11:00 2014 No.5862722 Bump

Anonymous Sun Dec 14 23:14:54 2014 No.5862740

I wrote this one in yellow ink
For the sun.
True maiden of farewells.
We see her sinking from us but rather it is us leaving her.
She weeps not, but carries her
Bright burning love onward
To distant places
And to loved ones
And to former flames.
In Arkansas, from japan,
Or to japan, from Arkansas.

Anonymous Mon Dec 15 06:20:07 2014 No.5863843

She found him in his room, nude, sweaty and asleep, sprawled across his bed like he'd collapsed there. The curtains were drawn and a thick, sultry heat, however it had got in, was now trapped inside. Cups were on both bedside tables, empty and perspiring. At her feet was a box of condoms. They were spilled out toward her, as though offering themselves.

Was this how she'd left him? Maddy stood in the doorway and watched her boyfriend sleep in what looked like peaceful exhaustion, a fan tousling his curls, and thought she might leave him there. Then she bent over and grabbed a handful of dingers. Through piles of clothes -- was that her blouse? -- and possessions, like his private work satchel and the jacket she suspected he only wore to impress her, she tip-toed toward him. At the end of his bed she poised, ready to ambush, with the body he'd inspired and a volley of rubber bullets. But then a sickly sweet smell reached her nose, and she stopped.

>>	Anonymous Mon Dec 15 10:19:32 2014 No.5864372 rewatching akira it's cold in this basement my monitor glow illuminates, brightens, reveals my neckbeard ive watched this movie twenty-one times in the last year i think something is wrong with my dvd

Anonymous Mon Dec 15 10:28:40 2014 No.5864393

I've been exploring the subject of "memes". Here are two short paragraphs, one from a futuristic point of view and one from the past:

>The weed pipe was awash with information. Weed pipes had evolved while he was in his long sleep. They now not only gave you a wicked high, but also connected to the 'net. He took a big long toke of tumblr.com. The memes instantly flooded his head and mixed with the weed particles. Haha, he said. This was gonna be a long, funny night.

>"It's a private invitation to attend the King's memes!" She put the letter down. Great honor had just been bestowed upon her family. The King's memes were heralded across the land as some of the best memes in the world, so why was she not more happy?

>>	Anonymous Mon Dec 15 10:30:36 2014 No.5864400 >>5864393 quite literally dank memes. i like it.

>>	Anonymous Mon Dec 15 10:54:49 2014 No.5864472 File: 68 KB, 499x499, ayylmao.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] >>5864393 >>5864372 truly this is the new poetry

>>	Anonymous Mon Dec 15 10:58:06 2014 No.5864491 >>5859114 How did I misread the Faeggot's first sentence? Should his mediocre fantashit be 100% telling for realism's sake?

Anonymous Mon Dec 15 11:54:05 2014 No.5864684

>>5863843

>this one tho

She found him in his room, nude, sweaty and asleep, sprawled across his bed like he'd collapsed there. The curtains were drawn; a thick, sultry heat, however it had got in, was trapped inside. Cups were on both bedside tables, empty and perspiring. At her feet was a box of condoms. They were spilled out toward her, as though offering themselves.

Was this how she'd left him? Maddy stood in the doorway and watched her boyfriend sleep in what looked like peaceful exhaustion, a fan tousling his golden brown curls, and for a moment thought against disturbing such a beautiful scene. Then she bent over and grabbed a handful of dingers. Through piles of clothes -- was that her blouse? -- and possessions, like his private work satchel and the jacket she suspected he only wore to impress her, she tip-toed over and slid under the sheets, careful not to wake him. Then, up back over hip and down again, her hand crept as she had but found its own destiny ready and waiting. Everything on the bed moved when she did: hinges creaked, sheets rustled and plastic wrappers slipped and crackled in her other hand.

>>	Anonymous Mon Dec 15 18:11:58 2014 No.5865969 >>5864684 Bumping the thread because reasons.

>>	Anonymous Mon Dec 15 18:12:58 2014 No.5865973 Bumping the thread for reasons.

>>	Anonymous Mon Dec 15 19:26:01 2014 No.5866375 >>5856752 Wrote this https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B_LcfOUCeK9oQkYyZWdwcW95SG1vbWRPOVBaWWtFdDRKeE1R/view Would like a critique

Anonymous Mon Dec 15 19:36:24 2014 No.5866412

My most ancient memory is of lyre music, before I had refined its spell to be that of a lyre. I sometimes search for its strings in my self, I find one slender, slender as the faintest hope and just at risk of breaking, slender enough to sew with, each note it sings could be its last though nonetheless it perseveres. The pick chafes, the string sings, but it does not sing of compliance. Whenever my heart is suffocating and my thoughts are of a subterranean quality, the music whispers, and if the abyss does not abate, the crescendo strangles the snakes in its crib….

I was about, on the warmest of days, walking, sifting for memory’s sake autumn’s sight, when received I a visit from the song. Self-conscious was I in my haste to clean my mind and admit it, when out of the corner of my soul’s windows, a subject, in her stray from habit, stole my concern. The discrepancy of the off work woman warmly settling into thirty, was driving backward, away from the direction of her home. The peculiarity of the matter would not be significant were it not that this was its singular occurrence in the course of my term in this district. A indicator of criminal activity, it hardly was, but of excuse there was sufficient for me to pursue for the sake of shuffling my schedule. I turned the key before my ass completed its course to the seat, and there was that hum that I felt in my throat like a Mongolian chant.

Anonymous Mon Dec 15 19:38:52 2014 No.5866421

His face was gaunt and haggard and his age was indeterminable due to the timelessness of intense sickness. Light stubble scarred a jaundiced face and weak blue eyes portrayed only exhaustion and pain. The flesh clung limply to the bones that were frail and jellified. Jaw-clenched and mouth-twisted and the contortions of his face remained as the last vestige of life behind the paling eyes. His pallid face excreted a perennial film of sweat and white gunk flirted with the corners of his mouth and his thirst was constant in the strained narrowing throat. The needle bored into him, a permanent protrusion from his translucent decaying arm and the veins were decrepit from years of junk.

The skin thin and the body emaciated and the veins exploded like blue rivers after torrential rainfall and the blood coursed through these burdened rivers reveling in drug delirium and the veins and the arteries pushed and pulled the thinning diseased blood with futility.

The smell of death and decay clung to the nostrils, and the reek of early putrefaction floated through the dense air of the room like a toxic cloud, and the diseased body excreted pungent odors, causing polite coughs from all intruders. Alone with the disease and the rot and the inexorability of pain and death he lay prostrate wrestling with a rampant disease, the onslaught of desperately dispensed drugs and forlorn prayers drenched with banality from insipid family members would fail to veer it from its virulent path.

The skin peeled and the walls peeled and the friends and family members peeled away as his fate became inevitable and even familial guilt and residual feelings of happy memories long ago shared faded away like the once luculent light that now fled from the room. Bags of liquid were suspended next to the bed attached to gleaming stainless steel poles with long clear tubes containing promises of treatment and respite from agony. The bed was narrow and long and the mattress was stained and soft and allowed him to sink into it even with his weightlessness. The covers were worn and thin with loose threading that tore apart when he writhed in pain causing frays and tangles and the covers covered him in an infernal battle that was protracted and hellish as his body burned from the corrosive treatments that seemed worse than the disease itself or any overdose he had experienced.

>>	Koffeeguy !!BP2n1Oywuq6 Mon Dec 15 20:10:47 2014 No.5866528 >>5861367 So....nothing to say? Didn't even get any emails saying to stop writing, would have expected at least one person to say that, I mean afterall this is 4chan.

Anonymous Mon Dec 15 20:16:59 2014 No.5866546

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1H7jb0fPHWhs3A_iJHlfWVR7G4HNPtfCkIrrHtuWwCZA/edit?usp=sharing

It's kind of funny. I don't really like it though, it's not what I normally write. I've just been reading some different authors and thought I'd try some bits out.

>>	Anonymous Mon Dec 15 20:22:35 2014 No.5866569 >>5866546 It won't be necessary to point out, but this is a first draft, there are some 'theres' and 'yours' that I fucked up and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. No one should ever have to read that, least of all here.

Anonymous Mon Dec 15 20:37:20 2014 No.5866619

>>5866421
I like description, I do (ekphrasis). But it's just too much. You're not even terrible at it, but this passage feels more like a writing exercise than anything keepable. Hint: if you use more than three sentences to describe someone, its probably too much.

>>	Anonymous Mon Dec 15 21:58:11 2014 No.5866977 Hey /lit/, babby's first post here. I recently found this piece from a fee years ago when I was depressed. It's edgy^9, what do you think of it? pastebin.com/bgxkfxdg

>>	Anonymous Mon Dec 15 22:02:17 2014 No.5866995 >>5862291 >>5862314 Any thoughts on these?

>>	Anonymous Mon Dec 15 23:15:12 2014 No.5867258 >>5861670 Bumping my post for more feedback. Look here, everyone.

>>	Anonymous Mon Dec 15 23:37:42 2014 No.5867375 >>5866412 Waaay to much word repetition, you need to break it up. You repeat "slender" and "sings" several times in one paragraph ffs

Anonymous Tue Dec 16 00:36:42 2014 No.5867562

Easy, easy.
My man and me,
we could rest and remain here, easily.
We are tested and pained
by what's beyond our bed.
We are blessed and sustained
by what is not said.

No-one knows what is coming, or
who will harvest what we have sewn,
or how I've been dulling, and dumbing,
in the service of the heart alone,

or how I am worn to the bone
by the river,
and, in the river made of light,
I'm your little life-giver.
I will give my life.

>>	Anonymous Tue Dec 16 01:01:43 2014 No.5867622 >>5867562 >easy, easy...easily into the trash with you

>>	Anonymous Tue Dec 16 01:02:55 2014 No.5867625 >>5867622 ?

>>	Anonymous Tue Dec 16 01:07:55 2014 No.5867634 >>5867562 stop stealing joanna newsom lyrics

>>	Anonymous Tue Dec 16 01:09:52 2014 No.5867639 >>5862291 if this isn't thinly-veiled imagery about masturbation i don't know what you're talking about. Reminds me a little of Hellboy (the comic)

Anonymous Tue Dec 16 01:19:19 2014 No.5867664

Two decades gone I'm so withdrawn
So much time has passed, I ramble on.
I have to ask, "What the hell is going on?"
You yawn and say, "Let bygones be bygones."

Moving on towards removing what's wrong
Running into the storm, I have to forewarn
That I was torn between the thorn of being born
and the unforeseen future forlorn.

The open road has no return
I need to learn that which demands concern
My body is worn, My scars I adorn.
Even if it's a chore, I still want more, To show you what I'm alive for.

Anonymous Tue Dec 16 01:41:11 2014 No.5867727

This is only what I have now.

As I stare at those eyes with anticipation,
my mind can't help but to go in a daze.
As I stare at those eyes, stuck in my infatuation, I lick my lips as if with honey, they are glazed.

As I stare at those eyes I get lost in love,
becoming more than I ever asked for.
As I stare at those eyes, reality hits me with a freezing, wet glove,
leaving my thoughts crumbling as to why I can't get more.

>>	Anonymous Tue Dec 16 04:04:22 2014 No.5868069 >>5857248 i liked this

>>	Anonymous Tue Dec 16 06:52:14 2014 No.5868503 >>5867622 you're a writer. you should be able to rhyme more than a single word over the space of 3 lines. >otherwise you're a hack

Anonymous Tue Dec 16 08:46:19 2014 No.5868754
File: 138 KB, 600x451, HaitianRev.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

>>5856752
Poem about Haitian revolution. Rhyme and metre are pretty babby-tier I know

---
Bokuman

We heard the song of liberty
Come through on slaving ships
This brave new word: equality
Was honey on our lips

Through days in cotton counted out
In capture’s heat and chain
We begged the dead without a doubt
That evil would be slain

The sky grows black, the clouds unfold
The age that page had prophesied
In voices gallic trimmed with gold
Those same that ordered, barked and lied

Now on this crest upon a hill
At empire’s new high water mark
We’ll bloat the earth with porcine blood
And watch the water rolling back.
The blood and song are hot and sweet
The spirits mingle at our feet

>>	Anonymous Tue Dec 16 09:15:59 2014 No.5868832 Bump for crit

Anonymous Tue Dec 16 09:27:52 2014 No.5868868
File: 1.07 MB, 1920x1080, Feb_Wallpaper-1920x1080.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

Time slips away from my cranium, as i remember my youth
Forgotten dirty lakes
and shit filled ponds
collections of tadpoles
and the catching lizards
Beautiful day in cube
I remember this day vividly
When I caught the biggest lizard ive ever seen
with my bear hands
I remember it sitting on the branch
overgrowing a iron fence
My heartbeats, I can still feel it now
"dont be scared" "dont be scared"
"go for it" " go for it"
those were the exact words I said to myself
only thing seperating me and the lizard was a dirt mound about 2 feet tall
I kept me eyes locked on that beautiful lizard
a Cuban Knight if I recall correctly
Bright green scales almost neon, with a tint of red around the eyes-
and white lipstick
Boy was she a beauty
Inching my way ever closer
heart readies to pop out of my chest
I was no longer thinking
the flight or fight responce kicked in
and I lunged forward
I caught her
she caught me
big bit on my thumb
feeling the power this creature had-
gnawing at my thumb, was quite the experience
painful but gratifying for some reason
I was proud showed I to my mother
she screamed and screamed in spanish "DROP THAT THING"
but I didnt let it go
I was mesmerized by its beauty
I kept it in a box
in a dark closet
I was scared to loose such a beautiful thing
and at the end of the day
She left me
She died
shriveled up and dried,
no longer beautiful like i remembered
so i threw it out, on the street
looking for another beautiful lizard to catch and keep
until it too leaves me

i would love some critique. how can i improve?

>>	Anonymous Tue Dec 16 09:30:29 2014 No.5868874 >>5868868 >inb4 shit grammar i know my grammar sucks, is reading the only way to fix this?

Anonymous Tue Dec 16 10:01:21 2014 No.5868947
File: 487 KB, 480x360, lolita.gif [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

It was a secret appetence that had carried me away by tram to a tree-lined strand. The beach was welcoming, though for no reason I could discern was I there. I had perhaps, in my mind a motive to flee to this place I seldom visited, or maybe that motive was only curiosity, as in any case, I had no reason not to be there.

I walked further and further, and it was there by the shore of the sea, I chanced to encounter a swelling of a wave in my heart that evening. Through a lattice of palm leaves she was standing, as if a coy little princess had surreptitiously sneaked through the city, for the seaside; her russet locks, clad in a single ribbon, wavering in the breeze and her boyish, brown eyes gazing past the horizon. She made an attempt to appear prosaic to the paleness of the playa sands. But she had failed, incensing in me, by the glance of an eye, the first impression of an infante to last forever.

But does a furtive encounter necessitate approach? I was unsure of the sight, I was rent unworkable… I had dissolved into the sands. True, she was only a child - she could not be more than fourteen, but she was now walking playfully, slowly marching her toes to the sky with every step, swaying her fausse maigre hips very, very slightly, before closing her legs together at-ease. She poised herself on her toes in the shade, and thrust her freckled-dappled nose in the sunlight, before turning sunwards, disappearing behind beachgoers in the diminishing light.

What could I do but chase her? Through the crowd, exhaling the scent of salt and sand, I could breathe the sight of a ribbon streaming by in the distance. It was her ribbon that charmed me, that had led me here. People between and around us, clattered and scattered, my sights and senses distraught by circumstance, wafted by the speckled shadows of sunset…The girl, where had she gone?

There! the ribbon had appeared again, between the heads of the mass. My following became an absurdity; I could do nothing but trail her from a distance that she would not notice, for I could not bear to do anything else. The people thinned as she turned inwards, and as the streets grew wider, she became more and more obscure, as she ran between blocks of sunlight and shade down the street and turning in alleyways. The waif crossed the road under a scatter of trolley wires across the sky, and a tram passed between us, before I caught the sight of her fluttering into a doorway.

I found a small, arcaded library inside, clad with tables overflowing in paperbacks and walls lined with bookshelves, an old librarian at an old table, and readers perusing lines of literature bound to be tasted, to be sucked like lollipops and to be dissolved like liquor. And by, the table right in front, there came the sight of white legs, encased by oak legs; arms wending forth between pages; and boyish locks of hair – there shifting beneath a long ribbon was her.

>>	Anonymous Tue Dec 16 11:24:10 2014 No.5869141 long, long ago, back when we were troglodytes, one of us invented soup. we don't celebrate it too much, but it's beautiful to take walrus or maize or dodo or mammoth or whale or saber-toothed tiger and boil it in water, so everybody gets a taste.

Anonymous Tue Dec 16 14:05:09 2014 No.5869598

I lust sensibility:
Unmoderated moderation.
A woman (respectfully plain)
With sturdy legs and pious frame.
Holy union--but Oh! what unholy tax rewards!
We flee to an Eden of homes well-insured,
To pluck the forbidden fruits of financial security.
Behold the eros of pagma.
Let loins erupt unimpressive magma,
For the sole purpose of procreation

>>	Anonymous Tue Dec 16 14:52:36 2014 No.5869739 >>5869141 absolute garbage

Anonymous Tue Dec 16 15:47:12 2014 No.5869942
File: 239 KB, 954x1217, young-girl-wearing-a-white-muslin-blouse-1885.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

So...I write word salad haikus. I'll now be staggering out my posting of them. (to allow each it's chance to be appreciated)
-----
-------
-----

draw breathe from hollows
heavenly stars modest bloom
strike fast we dwell twelve

>>	Anonymous Tue Dec 16 16:09:47 2014 No.5870036 >>5861915 Thanks bro. Where did you learn French?

>>	Anonymous Tue Dec 16 16:25:42 2014 No.5870105 File: 796 KB, 1280x800, lego-picasso-guernica-4.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] curled sprawled twisted now bounding once to this today won't catch the rabbit

>>	Anonymous Tue Dec 16 16:52:03 2014 No.5870230 File: 351 KB, 1448x2265, mother-with-child-1921.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] howitzer grieving halt burning seek envelopes scatter wicked sneeze

>>	Anonymous Tue Dec 16 17:53:15 2014 No.5870577 File: 2.81 MB, 1338x550, JustAnotherTuesday.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] chalk lit cherry cheers row fort cancerous in June tweak nibble wise owl

>>	Anonymous Tue Dec 16 17:58:09 2014 No.5870590 >>5870577 >>5870230 >>5870105 I like you. Did you write the one that started with something about gargoyles and harangue and maybe pepperoni or something? Thee words you use are very tasty.

>>	Anonymous Tue Dec 16 18:04:13 2014 No.5870614 >>5869141 I like it! It's fun, kinda out there. Has the feeling of something fitting for an older kids' book or something.

>>	Anonymous Tue Dec 16 18:15:31 2014 No.5870654 File: 164 KB, 296x328, 2014-12-16 23.13.44.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] >>5870230 Bruh.

Anonymous Tue Dec 16 18:29:08 2014 No.5870703
File: 370 KB, 1226x1500, zzz.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

>>5870590
No sir. Thank you for being nice enough to critique my work in the critique thread. I shall continue.
-----
-------
-----

blackberry trisket
wander separate oxen
grass on toes waits whole

>>	Anonymous Tue Dec 16 19:22:33 2014 No.5870902 File: 213 KB, 766x1000, 346.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] free hole lay verde fish dune ore zip-line san kay vulpix then ninetails

>>	Anonymous Tue Dec 16 19:43:43 2014 No.5870972 File: 179 KB, 720x480, untitled.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] Saturn's whale of hope look through salty white bodies animation cure

Anonymous Tue Dec 16 20:01:09 2014 No.5871008

cowardice

It had been quite a few days that he's been walking on this path daily. A few days earlier before he started to walk there, there was this huge storm. The city had to send snow trucks around the whole city to shovel up the snow in the streets. One night, as he was walking on the street, he noticed that there was another path that went across the forest. He remembered that he had walked that path in summer, and he knew that it led to the same place he wanted to go. He looked where he was now, but felt like he would rather walk in the forest instead of being exposed in the air. He looked at the path that went in the forest and noticed it already had some footsteps in it. The snow had been pressured down and he could walk on it as if it was mild ice. It seemed like the best solution so he entered the path. As he was walking in the forest, he couldn't help but feel pure contentment. As if he had just found something out that revealed the world to his eyes. But the more he walked, the higher the snow level rose. His feet were submerged in snow and it was up to his ankles. He didn't want to continue like this and wanted to get out of there. He thought about the distance he had since he embarked on the path and it seemed way too long. He looked to his right and saw that he could cut through and enter the main path. He started to walk but the snow level didn't seem to stop rising. The snow was up to his knees when he finally got out. His shoes were completely filled with snow, but he still felt accomplishment. In same time though, he thought how stupid the idea was in the first place.He looked back to where he had started to see how far he had gotten. The distance was so short. He couldn't believe his eyes.

Anonymous Tue Dec 16 20:18:16 2014 No.5871062

Of Andy's toys' dispute, debate, and ire
Oh, sing, thou Muse, who helped the guy who wrote
The Star Wars films as though they were the plays
Of William Shakespeare, best belovèd bard!
Of Woody's wrath and indignation t'wards
Quixotic Buzz, the toy who took himself
too seriously, annoying all the rest,
Of Sid's sadistic cruely t'wards them both,
And Andy's fam'ly's plan to move away
From older house to newer - sing, oh Muse!
Direct your eyes at once to plastic men,
And let your song of their pursuits be heard!

When Andy's birthday came around again,
His insecure and num'rous tiny friends
Became afraid of being replaced by new,
Attractive presents, deprecating them.

A party formed by Woody, King of toys,
Was sent to watch and quietly report
The riskiness of each successive gift.

Until the end, they thought that they were safe,
With tiny, hollow, working radios,
Announced that Andy's gifts were looking tame,
But one last gift was hid behind the tree!
They looked and, fearful, tried to send the news.
Communication died before they could,
So panic held the room where Woody ruled,
Until he calmly beckoned them to stop.

... That's it so far.

>>	Anonymous Tue Dec 16 20:21:11 2014 No.5871071 File: 124 KB, 720x480, noodling2.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] shirt bear strong features quartz jebediah hungry filtered baby sheep

>>	Anonymous Tue Dec 16 20:42:34 2014 No.5871150 File: 431 KB, 1280x960, Frieze-Takashi-Murakami-Perrotin-AM-1.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] zero maverick wretch lurch wind-down horse pie yay no caution tonight

>>	Anonymous Tue Dec 16 20:43:33 2014 No.5871156 On the black market Yeaaaahhh On the black market Yeeeeaahhheeaaaeaahh Ever since I was 6 bloody pussy clits Dead black throbbing flesh in geometry dripping with plastic shit moving in a throbbing clockwise spiral Down the black market Yyeeeeeaaaahhh

>>	Anonymous Tue Dec 16 20:45:36 2014 No.5871161 >>5871156 Is the spelling of the yeahs entirely intentional?

>>	Anonymous Tue Dec 16 20:46:29 2014 No.5871165 >>5871156 And that was fear And then I was good cause I had seen a physical representation of one of the forces that shaped life

>>	Anonymous Tue Dec 16 20:48:03 2014 No.5871173 Man lives All year But ne- ver sees His ba- by girl Again

>>	Anonymous Tue Dec 16 20:48:26 2014 No.5871175 >>5871161 Oh ya It's part of a song I'm listening to Why though?

>>	Anonymous Tue Dec 16 20:50:38 2014 No.5871183 >>5871173 All year in constant fear That she Will ne Ver clean her Beaver Again

>>	Anonymous Tue Dec 16 21:00:50 2014 No.5871229 >>5871161 Yes

Anonymous Tue Dec 16 21:46:45 2014 No.5871392

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by emptiness,
a silent death, a moving staleness, an invisible suffering,
a moving cadaver, owning an excess in silence,
stirred not by sleepless dreams, but dreamless sleep.
Filling themselves into nothing,
intelligent youth drawn into wet excess,
stuffed into calculations,
a stale phosphorus-lit room.
Vapid world, ocean-dry in the inner chapel,
the boys are running through the woods,
gathering up through school and squeezed out
into a false sunlight.
They turn flaccid,
People are bothered by the Sun,
day by day,
more and more refuse to sit in the sunlight,
refuse to go out into a hot day.

Anonymous Tue Dec 16 22:03:55 2014 No.5871443

There was a man so absorbed into the wave of numbers before him that he could see them coming out of his own eyes. Oversaturated and watching the skin melt off of him, his friends watched as he jumped 30 feet from a bridge into a coal train. He was untouched.

>>	Anonymous Tue Dec 16 22:05:36 2014 No.5871454 >>5870614 Thanks! That's the vibe I was going for. >>5871173 I kind of like the words, but splitting up "never" and "baby" is a bit too distracting for me.

Anonymous Tue Dec 16 22:10:05 2014 No.5871475

>>5869598
>I lust sensibility:
Did you mean "I lust sensibly:"?

>A woman (respectfully plain)
>With sturdy legs and pious frame.
This part is great.

>>Holy union--but Oh! what unholy tax rewards!
I'd like this if you dropped the "but Oh!" part. Maybe:

"Holy union, unholy tax rewards" ? I think the "Oh!" makes it sound too old-fashioned.

>>	Anonymous Tue Dec 16 22:22:47 2014 No.5871528 File: 51 KB, 640x427, wall-e.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] >tfw ignored poet Haikus count...

Anonymous Tue Dec 16 23:03:40 2014 No.5871661
File: 1.58 MB, 1280x688, dudemilk.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

>>5871528
- did you review anyone else's poems?
- i liked the way your haikus used unexpected words, but you yourself described them as "word salad". if they're just random words mixed together that makes them hard to critique/discuss. sure, we can force-extract meaning from them but if i know that they're jumbles it kind of makes me feel like i've been trolled, critically speaking.

Anonymous Tue Dec 16 23:05:30 2014 No.5871667

Thuy Johnston (a name that (like Phuc Stevenson (named (by me, not his parents (government attorneys (I know what you(Katrina?)'re thinking, how did lawyers raise a postman and under what kind of class system does this novel operate?))) after the 2011 NBA champion Deshawn Stevenson)) implies (to assumption-prone readers) that Mrs. Johnston was pro-trad enough to take her husband's (we're being implicitly socially conservative (by not acknowledging the likelihood that she's gay (or adopted or a pop star with a stage name)) for the sake of space (yes le parentheses man is economical as fuck with space)) last name but still asserted enough cultural dominance to give her child a decidedly ethnic (to Americans (UT didn't stand for U of Tel Aviv or what have you)) first name. Marv "Yellow Fever" Johnston's dainty Asian bride has the cultural steering wheel (or maybe they're sticks for her (that's too absurd to be earnestly racist (also I'm Asian (half (I mean Obama can make black jokes (is that the same thing? Yellow peril and Jim Crow Seattle but look at China's GDP compared to every country in West Africa (which is to say we're not in the same boat (which is to say I'm sorry for all the ching-chong jokes (but I still get the appropriation pass to name my characters Phuc and Thuy and Trang (oh shit you haven't met her yet ("Trang West is an 11 year-old Nepali yak-milking enthusiast at George W. Bush (Honor the Texas flag ("just like you like it")) Middle School ...")))))))))))) is a grad student at UT. She's with Wynn despite a 7-year age gap and the murky (is it murky if she's a woman? (yes)) ethics of a TA fucking a freshman undergrad. She'd actually be a rapist in a few states since Wynn is only 17 (due to an error in which the Spanish 1 credit-by-exam packet (Wynn's last name is Hernandez) the school district gave him in 9th grade also had tests and scantrons for six more courses, resulting in accidental early graduation) but thanks to some handy Texas AOC laws (at least we're not Thailand (see page 1)) she's in the clear (Martin Scorsese doesn't judge his characters but my name isn't Martin so I think we're tied (it's these Grantland-tier jokes that are sinking my parentheticals)).

Anonymous Tue Dec 16 23:07:24 2014 No.5871677
File: 110 KB, 647x641, freedom.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

She gives me "the look". You think I'd be used to it, but no. She is strapped down, tied and prepared. Bare nude, her ass glistens in the radiant life of the nearby television, playing her favorite movie. I know this, for a fact, you see. I went up to her (before the kidnapping and the undressing and the tying), and I said "Hey, excuse me. What is your favorite movie?". She looks at me, questioningly, just for a second, pausing. Thinking, I know.

"Wreck-It Ralph." I was amazed at her unfathomable taste, but I didn't press the matter any further. A quick swing of metal, and she was on the floor, and I took her.

She has been here for some time. I am preparing the meal. She is looking at me. She would be screaming, but socks are cheap and plentiful.

Ralph says that he is going "to wreck it", and so am I. I spread her legs apart, and begin the phase of examination. Another female, I see. I can be sure now. The ugly pink flaps characteristic of them. Like some demented jellyfish, screaming for air. Fret not, my friend, for I will provide you the salvation you seek.

Oven dings, and it is ready. The McDonalds Bacon Habanero Ranch Quarter Pounder has been burned to a black crisp after thirty intense minutes of fifteen hundred degree Celsius. It is a black hunk of coal, of hotness. My hands are covered with mittens and towels, and it still almost hurts with heat.

But the lips, they invite the temptation of a snack. They scream for it, and I seek to please. She squirms, nervously; I think Ralph is exciting her, a bit much.

The lips kiss the burned burger with hard passion, and I hear screams of delight escape the cotton fibers of her gagging. Her vaginal walls have accepted the blackened lunch into their cluster, and they have created a red, orange mess of happiness together. Her labia has fused with bun, to become something more. I find myself wanting. I must join them.

I stick my head in her legs, joining the meat, the special sauce, the blood. Her labia, her pubic hair, and yes, the pickles; we are one. We are content, in our land. I am up to my neck, on the inside, now. It is hot, I must admit, but I relish the feeling. Her gag has slipped out, and she is excitable. I can hear muffled words of Ralph and Vanellope, in the background. I wish they could be here. It is incredible, and I have never felt this well. She won't stop making noise. Clitoris instructs me, and I use my outside arm to punch her stomach. She stops moving, and I can again enjoy my time in paradise.

And what a paradise it is.

>>	Anonymous Tue Dec 16 23:08:44 2014 No.5871680 >>5871392 yes

>>	Anonymous Tue Dec 16 23:14:02 2014 No.5871702 >>5870036 High school. I'm bad at it, on the whole. This is me: >>5861895

>>	Anonymous Tue Dec 16 23:16:02 2014 No.5871713 >>5871677 i like the fact that it's overly pretentious writing on a guy stuffed a burned sandwich into a chicks cunt, but I don't think you did it on purpose/ironically

>>	Anonymous Tue Dec 16 23:18:44 2014 No.5871723 File: 1.90 MB, 1000x1000, klf.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] A haiku for you: life's a dick, so jerk it off, suck it, fuck it, die. I will now look for someone to give my shitty opinion.

>>	Anonymous Tue Dec 16 23:20:49 2014 No.5871733 >>5871723 that isn't a haiku you retard

>>	Anonymous Tue Dec 16 23:23:00 2014 No.5871739 >>5871677 Personal preference: replace the parentheses in the second line with dashes (-). Dashes are easier to read than parentheses, and they look nicer.

>>	Anonymous Tue Dec 16 23:25:40 2014 No.5871746 >>5871739 >Dashes are easier to read than parentheses, and they look nicer could you review this one >>5871667 just for laughs

>>	Anonymous Tue Dec 16 23:26:41 2014 No.5871749 File: 8 KB, 264x200, elohel.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] >>5871733

Anonymous Tue Dec 16 23:28:38 2014 No.5871756
File: 43 KB, 500x281, tumblr_mhsbqwY4SP1r8ae1oo1_500.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

'The sharp throbbing ache that was pounding away at the back of my neck is probably what woke me up, or it could have been the sudden drops and akward lean of whatever I was currently resting against . It was probably a mixture of the two as with every jostle and lurch strings of lightning would shoot up my neck and coat my skull pulling small groans and pants from my dry and gritty mouth. Head lolling slightly to the side trying to alveviate some of the pain, more of my senses slowly came back to me. The strong smell of pine, the sharp pressure on my wrists coupled with numbness in my fingers, the rythmic clopping sound just to my left. Eyes pried open and the searing light of the world slowly came into focus on what was distressingly unfamiliar.'

Anonymous Tue Dec 16 23:30:36 2014 No.5871762

>>5856826
>Supplied the people I did
Cringed and choked I did.

>As a trader I'm not afraid of many things, I have faced bandits, storms, disease, starvation and all the horrors that the Gods deem it necessary to punish us mortals with, but this... this was something different. It was unknown. Not in the usual sense, mind you. It was unknown not as if it was merely not discovered or understood yet, but as if the very nature of it prohibited it from being known to us.
Plox. Stahp.

>>	Anonymous Tue Dec 16 23:32:22 2014 No.5871768 >>5857381 best of the recent threads.

Anonymous Tue Dec 16 23:33:10 2014 No.5871769
File: 39 KB, 400x311, the streak.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

>>5871746
>>5871667

Replace the parentheses in the first line with dashes (-); they are are easier to read than parentheses, and they look nicer. Also, replace the parentheses in the second line with dashes (-); they are easier to read than parentheses, and they look nicer. Also, replace the parentheses in the third line with dashes (-); they are easier to read than parentheses, and they look nicer. Also, replace the parentheses in the fourth line with dashes (-); they are easier to read than parentheses, and they look nicer. Also, replace the parentheses in the fifth line with dashes (-); they are easier to read than parentheses, and they look nicer. Also, replace the parentheses in the sixth line with dashes (-); they are easier to read than parentheses, and they look nicer. Also, replace the parentheses in the seventh line with dashes (-); they are easier to read than parentheses, and they look nicer. Also, replace the parentheses in the eighth line with dashes (-); they are easier to read than parentheses, and they look nicer. Also, replace the parentheses in the ninth line with dashes (-); they are easier to read than parentheses, and they look nicer. Also, replace the parentheses in the tenth line with dashes (-); they are easier to read than parentheses, and they look nicer. Also, replace the parentheses in the last line with dashes (-); they are easier to read than parentheses, and they look nicer.

>>	Anonymous Tue Dec 16 23:34:24 2014 No.5871772 >>5871749 >life's a dick, so jerk it off, >suck it, fuck it, die. how the fuck is this a haiku

>>	Anonymous Tue Dec 16 23:34:30 2014 No.5871774 >>5871769 I laughed like an animated disney character on shrooms

>>	Anonymous Tue Dec 16 23:34:47 2014 No.5871776 >>5861670 It's decent. Nothing professional. More showing, less telling, plox.

>>	Anonymous Tue Dec 16 23:36:04 2014 No.5871779 >>5864372 feck. Awesome.

>>	Anonymous Tue Dec 16 23:37:16 2014 No.5871783 >>5866977 >I don’t really know why I write, I’m not especially good at it. Okay, then. Bubyee.

>>	Anonymous Tue Dec 16 23:37:53 2014 No.5871785 >>5871772 A-hai-ku-for-you (five syllables) life's-a-dick-so-jerk-it-off (seven syllables) suck-it-fuck-it-die (five syllables)

>>	Anonymous Tue Dec 16 23:38:16 2014 No.5871788 >>5871183 kek

>>	Anonymous Tue Dec 16 23:41:03 2014 No.5871801 File: 39 KB, 472x645, daffy_after_dp.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] >>5871774

>>	Anonymous Tue Dec 16 23:41:33 2014 No.5871805 >>5871785 not syllables. haiku are in mora

>>	Anonymous Tue Dec 16 23:44:10 2014 No.5871815 >>5871805 In every layman term it's not. Don't be a linguistic+ faggot for the sake of being one.

>>	Anonymous Tue Dec 16 23:45:21 2014 No.5871822 >>5871805 shows how much I know about haiku thx bby

>>	Anonymous Tue Dec 16 23:46:46 2014 No.5871825 >>5871805 "we can't really define it but i can be a prick about it on the internet" godbless the pseudosciences; how else would humanity majors try and nitpick definitions.

Anonymous Wed Dec 17 00:02:18 2014 No.5871867
File: 2.77 MB, 979x987, forherpleasure.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

>>5871661
-No, but only because it would bury my haikus, not because I'm unwilling to.
-I'm curious mostly of if I've chosen the correct words to make each haiku unique in every way except the they (should) share a pleasant tonal quality. I think they sound pretty, especially the last one I posted, it contains generally dreary words, but I find the contents of the poem, beyond the word choice itself, so overwhelmingly...irrelevant to said word choice, but at the same time...delivered by it?

I dunno, I like haikus, but you can only write so many dirty ones.

>>	Anonymous Wed Dec 17 00:14:12 2014 No.5871889 File: 46 KB, 453x604, happybirthday!.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] >>5871867 many of us have had poems skipped over in this thread. nothing you can do about that. all you can do is contribute critiques and hope others do the same.

Anonymous Wed Dec 17 00:27:24 2014 No.5871922
File: 81 KB, 427x660, Cavedone_St.-Stephen.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

>>5871889
I assumed the fact that I posted haikus rather than a broken up paragraph about an inane subject, it would be easy to have thoughts on them.

Here, for shits and giggles, a /lit/ poem:

I woke up covered
curious
wrong and lashed
bones
do I know where I am?

?
both
blushing but I'm here
be confused with me
you
-----

I'll admit, I don't think this is very good.

>>	Anonymous Wed Dec 17 00:30:46 2014 No.5871930 >>5871776 I felt the exact opposite. I thought there was too much showing.

Anonymous Wed Dec 17 00:31:51 2014 No.5871932

>>5856752
One late spring afternoon, after the leaves had all grown and the trees had straightened, no longer weighed down by harsh winter, a man stood on the edge of a dock. He took his time there, setting his chair up and pulling his hat down, adjusting the bait on the pole he was going to use to fish, and reflecting as he did when he went to that dock. He remembered a long life, though he wasn't really so old himself, and remembered days so long ago when he would never have come here alone. His father had come with him most times. It was their day-trip every weekend when they'd bring their poles and talk about what had happened in the days since they last met. He remembered with a bitter but sweet twinge the times they talked and laughed about his mother or his brother or sister. He remembered all the days when with the sun going down they had packed their gear and stood to leave, and his father would shake his hand and say that he'd see him next weekend. Dark clouds were drifting in from over the horizon and he knew it would rain soon, but to himself he just noted that the rain would bring the fish. His father had said, on the last weekend they'd met, that very same thing. Watching the clouds drift in the reflection of the water always gave him the feeling of flying. His bobber pulled once, down through the clouds, and he pulled sharp to hook whatever might be on the other end. It was funny to him that now, of all the times he'd sat this very dock with his bobber in the same place, that this time it would move. This time of all the times. As he reeled it in a memory came to him of long ago, even longer than the last time, of this very dock. He remember himself as a child once again with father by his side. It was another time his bobber had bobbed. When the tug had been too strong and almost pulled him in to the lake his father had jumped up to grab him, and from there helped him reel it the rest of the way in. It turned out that he had hooked a large bundle of weeds from under the lake instead of a fish. His father had laughed and said "Sometimes you get shit". He didn't mind then, and he didn't mind this time as he pulled the line out of the murky water covered in green spindly weeds. He set about detangling the line as the rain started to fall on his back and neck. The dark clouds had overtaken where there had once been sun, leaving a feeling of dusk.

>>	Anonymous Wed Dec 17 01:52:08 2014 No.5872082 File: 942 KB, 707x582, Screenshot_148.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] http://pastebin.com/6aL55JCc I need help with this.

Anonymous Wed Dec 17 02:45:54 2014 No.5872206

The counter is clean. Declan knows that because he has spent twenty-four minutes cleaning it. First he applies the all-purpose cleaner, then a cloth. Sanitizer follows that. A customer approaches and leans on it. The customer is a tradesman, and his arms are caked in dust and dirt. He leans forwards and squints at the menu.

“Hi, welcome to McDonald’s,” Declan says. “What can we get for you?”

“Uhhh,” the tradesman replies.

“Still deciding?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Of course the man is still deciding. Ordering from McDonald’s is a very complex business. It’s not like all the food tastes the same anyway, or anything. Declan represses a huff. He isn’t allowed to leave the counter when he has a customer but he does so anyway to retrieve the all-purpose cleaner and a cloth. His manager pounces.

“You’ve got a customer,” she says.

The words are like a gunshot to his composure, and Declan is fighting to keep things that should be inside him, inside him. “Really?” he asks.

“Yes,” his manager replies. Her name is Sandy, and she is a bitch.

Declan grabs his all-purpose cleaner and cloth. “Okay,” he says, and returns to the counter. “Ready to order?”

“Yeah, yeah, um. I’ll have a, uh, a Big Mac meal with a coke.”

“Was that a large?”

“Huh?”

“Did you want a large meal?”

“Oh. Nah, regular.”

Declan punches the button for a medium size meal. There is no such size as regular.

“That’s nine eighty.”

“Just on card, thanks.”

“Paywave?”

“Yeah.”

The transaction goes through - miraculously - and Declan hands over the receipt. The tradesman retreats from the counter and Declan removes the stains he has left with short, sharp motions. The cloth is filthy by the end, and he throws it into the dirty cloths bucket. It lands with a thick, wet slap.

“You’re in a bad mood today,” Sandy remarks from where she is assembling fries.

“I’m just tired,” he replies. He’s not, but whatever.

>drabble experiment in present tense
>i know the part about the gunshot to his composure is weak

>>	Anonymous Wed Dec 17 02:46:53 2014 No.5872208 File: 11 KB, 160x240, yomikokig.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] >>5861670 >with a glassy stare cliche >He heard the recorded laughter from the sitcom roll out behind him, and the clink of another can hitting the ground. wonderful

>>	Anonymous Wed Dec 17 03:01:16 2014 No.5872245 >>5871161 Yes obviously

Anonymous Wed Dec 17 04:01:25 2014 No.5872359

HAHA TIME FOR POEMS
Kind of romanticist, it's about a bay/beach near my school

Waterfowl perched on the squalls
Vagrant gulls and cormorants
Obsidian plateau
Sapphire plain
Pearly waves climax and drop
At the mercy of the moon

Aggressive gust slide off the sea
What has the ocean brought for me?
Clumps of kelp and lumps of weed
Neglected shells and orphaned wood
Rocks break into sand
Grain crafted into castle

Horizon tucks in the sun
In wintertime much faster
On cloudy days of black and grey
Distant lights flicker red and white
In fog’s domain horns blow all night
On sunny days it all feels right

Anonymous Wed Dec 17 05:05:14 2014 No.5872467

>>5872359
>At the mercy of the moon
I really like that line.
I'm not a fan of free-verse, however.

>>5872206
>He’s not, but whatever.
I would change this, it dismisses the lie as an excuse, rather than a character building transition towards another source/subject of/for his tiredness. Beyond that, up until then, the narrator was succinct.

>>5871932
>remembered a long life, though he wasn't really so old himself, and remembered days so long ago
Kind of wishy-washy language, just tell us how old he is. Otherwise very good.

>>5871756
Not bad. Probably intentional, but since you're asking for critiques, I'll point out the changing tense. (woke, could, would, coat, came, coupled pried)

>>5871392
Purposefully vague, I dig it.

>>5871062
>too seriously, annoying all the rest,
>Became afraid of being replaced by new,
I count 11. Nice so far, though.

>>5871008
This is really bad, pretty much all of it.
>"this huge storm"
>One night, as he was walking on the street, he noticed that there was another path that went across the forest.
>he's been walking on this path daily.
>>5869141
Salvageable. The point is very good the execution leaves us in want.

>>5868868
It would seem English is not your first language. Or you made quite a few typos.
>and the catching lizards
Should be catching of lizards.
>with my bear hands
Should be bare hands(unless you have bear hands)
>I kept me eyes locked on that beautiful lizard
Should be my eyes
>the flight or fight responce kicked in
It's usually written "fight or flight response."
>big bit on my thumb
Should be "bite."
>I was scared to loose such a beautiful thing
Should be "lose."
>When I caught the biggest lizard ive ever seen
I think you're confusing tenses, you're looking back on a memory of the largest lizard you had seen, unless you haven't seen a larger lizard as of writing this memory.
I'd go with "I'd"
>overgrowing a iron fence
Should be "an."

>>5867664
Plz critique or berate me.

>>	Anonymous Wed Dec 17 08:34:01 2014 No.5872783 >>5867664 The meter and rhyme scheme confuse me, but I like the tone. It sounds like a Van Der Graaf Generator song.

>>	Anonymous Wed Dec 17 08:41:18 2014 No.5872794 Serenity now. Insanity later. Tea at 11.

Anonymous Wed Dec 17 10:46:42 2014 No.5872976

1/2

Her pace slowed as she neared the bridge over the river.

She felt bad. She truly did. Nobody deserved to be relegated to such pitiful duties as this. Him least of all. Had he done anything to deserve it? Other than turning out to be human after all? For being just as prone to mistakes and vulnerability as everyone else?

She gazed out over the river’s undulating swells.

No, he didn’t deserve it. Not really. But that didn’t mean some part of her didn’t feel a vicious sense of primal satisfaction at the thought of surpassing the seemingly invincible. Of beating the unbeatable. Of witnessing an angel - a god, discarded from paradise, fallen to earth.

She let out a deep breath and turned from the rippling water.

Really, was it her fault that his power had turned out to be an illusion? Was it her fault that his strength had turned out to be nothing but a mask hiding a pathetic little boy who had never got over the trauma of his past?

Her boots clicked loudly against the stone slabs as she trod across the bridge. She paused and hesitated as she stepped onto muddy ground on the other side. She didn’t know where to find him.

The tall trees silhouetted in the setting sun to the west drew her eyes. The park, perhaps, where they had used to meet. She knew he sometimes sat on a bench there, staring off into nothing in particular.

She grimaced.

Even death would have been a better fate than his.

The crowds of the market place gave way to the narrower alleys of the dining sector which opened back out into the gardens that lay sprinkled in between the western grounds. She reached the park they used to meet at and looked about the tranquil scene. She exhaled softly in some guilty relief, thinking he had vanished off to somewhere else.

Then, as she turned to leave, she saw him. For a long time she stared at the back of the man who had been her colleague.

How cruel fate worked. To give him such a powerful chance at his dreams, to take him to the very brink of his ultimate goal, and then to snatch it all away in a matter of moments.

She found herself standing behind his bench without even realising she’d moved. Her red lips twisted in a frown as she stared down at him.

Messy black hair. Sickly, pale skin. A dead, emotionless face.

He was staring into the small pond ahead of them. The water was unbroken and smooth, appearing clear enough to see down to the bottom of the pool. A thin ray of light broke through the grey skies and highlighted their little garden with a golden halo that reflected shimmering waters into his eyes.

His hands were resting on his knees. Chalk white on jet black. It was rather cool out, and the dark pants he wore were threadbare to the point that a gentle breeze could have cut through them.

He had to be aware of her presence by now, as her shadow had hung over his motionless form for over two minutes, but still he gave no acknowledgement of her.

Anonymous Wed Dec 17 10:47:42 2014 No.5872980

2/2

If it wasn’t for the slowly pulsing vein on his neck, she could have mistaken him for a corpse.

“You have a mission.”

It tore through the air between them. The hole in the clouds collapsed, taking their little patch of sunshine with it, as though the gods were snatching away a beautiful offering from a child found unworthy. The false shine disappeared from his eyes.

She could almost taste the accusation hanging in the air.

“You … Um … Well, we got a request from a client.”

No response.

“Some politician needs a bodyguard for … He’s going campaigning and he needs someone to watch over him.”

No twitching in the fingertips.

“It’s—I know it’s not that … great, but it’ll look … good, on your record.”

No sudden intake of air.

“The pay is decent. Almost as much as when we used to … Well, politicians like to give incentive.”

No jump in his pulse rate.

“There aren't any ... Um, expected problems, but just in case … You know.”

No dilation of the eyes.

“It’s not bad. They were already told you can’t—about your con—about you. But it doesn’t matter, yeah? He trusts you enough to do this. You won’t let him down, right?”

Nothing.

She let out a sigh, but it didn’t relieve any of her tension. It wasn’t like she was facing down a mortal enemy; this man was her friend.

Was her friend.

“Here.” She tentatively held out the mission briefing paper in front of him.

The wind moved the paper in her clenched hands, as well as his hair, but it didn’t make a sound.

“It’s … It’s the only mission … The war makes a lot of missions, but not many for someone who can’t—not many that you can do,” she said quietly.

He didn’t move a millimeter.

“Please just take it. You might not get another chance,” she said in a hoarse whisper.

Ten long heartbeats, then his left hand slowly rose.

She tensed but his fingers didn’t touch hers as he pulled the assignment briefing from her grasp. For one long minute, he stared at the page. Then he slowly tilted his head back up to look at the pond.

She shifted her weight from the ball of one foot to the heel of another.

“I know you don’t want to be stuck babysitting a politician but it might do you some good to get out of here for a while - get out and meet some new people. You’ve hardly done anything since—since then. Who knows, you might even meet a gir—”

“Accepted.”

She closed her eyes and pressed her lips together at the sound of his voice.

A brief rushing of dead leaves through a graveyard.

“I … Good, that’s good,” she nodded, less talking to him and more to try fill the awful silence engulfing them.

And suddenly she had to escape, had to get away from the empty shell of a warrior god she’d fought beside, the blazing prodigy she’d admired for so long, the man in boy’s skin she’d lo—

… She had to get away.

Anonymous Wed Dec 17 10:59:54 2014 No.5873006

With money spent in your pocket, And a jacket full of lies,
You walk towards a streetlight,
Who beams and says:
“Regretful of my fate, I announce my retirement”.
And so, in the soviet press,
Underneath newspaper headlights,
You see images of your earthly soul,
The evil text, the lying text, the con text.
And so reform, with the patience of wood,
Become more the you that is read backwards,
Or in the captions of images,
Of smiling, happy electorates.

A Reformation in Sophism

Anonymous Wed Dec 17 11:34:37 2014 No.5873078

International blasphemies fucking your television signals like beasts,
Shadows, pompous conquerers, nuns and priests,
Raising the dead, performing erotic autopsies only to replant the seed,
That once grew up like a sunflower to reign true on false beliefs

Islamic asexuality defining and describing the smallest sands,
Vincent van Gogh repainting stars above the rio grande,
In the hopes of changing the minds of those to ignorant to take a stand,
Instead they invest in corporate orgies unplanned

Baskets of apples sold off as oranges to Kings and apprentices,
Buying the forbidden fruit under a delicious false name to identify your capitalist preferences,
Do you really think you question EVERYTHING? Do you REALLY read every sentence?
Some things just fly and others crawl, but why should it matter in the midst of genesis

Brackets covering details that never captured your attention,
Words with silent letters forcing thought and perception,
Then all of a sudden, foreign slaughter in a city of false connections,
Like Aleister Crowley to the Plymouth Brethren

>>	Anonymous Wed Dec 17 11:37:08 2014 No.5873088 Nigga you trippin You a stupid ho I be grippin my mufuggin pisto

Anonymous Wed Dec 17 12:34:35 2014 No.5873216
File: 38 KB, 405x499, 06785d29e9[1].png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

>>5873078
tl;dr Vulgar for the sake of it, and pretentious.

Long form critique:
Your vulgarity doesn't add any oomph, which makes me wonder why it's there. It feels like a failed attempt at shocking me.

The subject of the poetry is the typical "everyone is stupid and horrible" without actually saying anything about. Yes, we get it. You hate the world. But you didn't tell us anything more than that. All you did was describe how shit the world is - and that *could* have been enough if your description was beautiful and evocative and elegant and so on, or alternatively if it was revolting and disgusting and evocative. Unfortunately, your attempt at vulgarity precludes the former and its failure means you never really achieve the latter, so it just comes off flat and insipid.

I don't mean to be harsh and overly critical to put you down, but that's how it came off to me.

I recommend you have a good look at pic related (if you haven't already seen it). /That/ is how you use poetry to make a statement.

>>	Anonymous Wed Dec 17 12:38:36 2014 No.5873221 The essence of good poetry is having something to say. My life is good and comforts me, and so my voice fades away. >tfw no inspiration

Anonymous Wed Dec 17 13:00:02 2014 No.5873259

>>5873216
I don't think it's nearly as bad as you make it out to be, I think you're just jaded and assuming, I do not hate the world at all, and I'm not calling anyone stupid and horrible either.

As for the pretentious bit, that's fine, the poem you posted is also pretentious, most poetry is, that's a good thing. I think you missed the entire point of the poem, or maybe you just don't understand poetry at all.

Anonymous Wed Dec 17 13:05:21 2014 No.5873272

The days are getting longer, the night is losing stars
Exploding is the pain deep inside my heart
My legs are both trembling, I am turning blue
I’m waiting at the railroad to catch a glimpse of you
I am on my knees with my head in both of my hands
I would never expect you to understand
Some things you just never comprehend
So goodbye, this is where I draw the end

The many women shattered from the splitting image
That lays upon your conscience right before the finish
Heartbreaks drawing blood, heartbreaks drawing love
Paraphernalia of your partner when you loved them enough
Calculated pain, without further ado
Suicidal tendencies is what they’ll introduce
Some things you just never comprehend
So goodbye for good, it’s where I draw the end

Fortified decisions getting made every day
Everything is pointless when you lose and never gain
Making it with girls you don’t want to keep
Another day of hatred, another day of sleep
Your kinship runs amok at the break of dawn
You wish you were a king but you’re just a pawn
Some things you just never get to comprehend
So goodbye for good, you were a chore to tend

You’re so “sad all the time” but you’re just growing thin
Because you know that in the end, you will never win
Try to slay the beast but it just won’t die
Maybe she’d open up if you only made her cry
Talking gibberish, running through the crowd
Curled up in the alley way, looking lost and found
Some things you just never get to comprehend
One too many mornings, one too many friends

>>	Anonymous Wed Dec 17 13:36:44 2014 No.5873373 >>5873259 Fair enough, that's your prerogative. I told you how I saw it, and that's probably how I'm going to continue to see it and similar works. Whether you care about what I see is up to you.

>>	Anonymous Wed Dec 17 13:39:31 2014 No.5873383 >>5873078 early death grips lyrics need to be as part of the song to be interesting

>>	OP from that other thread Wed Dec 17 13:47:53 2014 No.5873400 Hey, just gonna post here because I would like some critique. Gave my thoughts on 5 posts so far in my thread. If someone could give me their opinions on my work, I'd be appreciative. Link is in my OP >>5871128

Anonymous Wed Dec 17 13:56:33 2014 No.5873426

>>5873383
wat

>>5873373
I just feel like it's not obvious that the only reason I wrote what I did was because it was what I felt like writing, I wasn't intentionally trying to be vulgar, or anything like that, in fact I found one line in the poem of mine particularly pretty "Vincent van Gogh repainting stars above the rio grande"

We've probably just read in different directions.

Anonymous Wed Dec 17 14:42:16 2014 No.5873556

We were both young when I first saw you.
I close my eyes and the flashback starts:
I'm standing there on a balcony in summer air.

See the lights, see the party, the ball gowns.
See you make your way through the crowd
And say, "Hello, "
Little did I know...

That you were Romeo, you were throwing pebbles,
And my daddy said, "Stay away from Juliet"
And I was crying on the staircase
Begging you, "Please don't go"
And I said...

"Romeo, take me somewhere we can be alone.
I'll be waiting; all that's left to do is run.
You'll be the prince and I'll be the princess,
It's a love story, baby, just say, 'Yes.'"

So I sneak out to the garden to see you.
We keep quiet 'cause we're dead if they knew
So close your eyes... escape this town for a little while.
Oh, oh.

'Cause you were Romeo – I was a scarlet letter,
And my daddy said, "Stay away from Juliet."
But you were everything to me,
I was begging you, "Please don't go."
And I said...

"Romeo, take me somewhere we can be alone.
I'll be waiting; all that's left to do is run.
You'll be the prince and I'll be the princess.
It's a love story, baby, just say, 'Yes.'

Romeo, save me, they try to tell me how to feel.
This love is difficult but it's real.
Don't be afraid, we'll make it out of this mess.
It's a love story, baby, just say, 'Yes.'"

Oh, oh.

I got tired of waiting
Wondering if you were ever coming around.
My faith in you was fading
When I met you on the outskirts of town.
And I said...

"Romeo, save me, I've been feeling so alone.
I keep waiting for you but you never come.
Is this in my head? I don't know what to think."
He knelt to the ground and pulled out a ring and said...

"Marry me, Juliet, you'll never have to be alone.
I love you, and that's all I really know.
I talked to your dad – go pick out a white dress
It's a love story, baby, just say, 'Yes.'"

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh.

'Cause we were both young when I first saw you...

Pls critique

Anonymous Thu Dec 18 00:21:54 2014 No.5875209

Neither finite flesh or mind eternal;
thoughts, reaching, lie down at deathly
limits of lively others.

Skin that does not brush lightly
against,lurching ungraciously across.

What is left of the point at which I
becomes I?

Presence of absence.

Chasms widen and icy shores
just beyond reach never thaw. Webbing
fleshy wounds enmesh pleasures reached
not found.

Land locked lost;
peninsular solar rays.

Open ears always lie
out of reach of exploding
whispers.

Horizon remains the same,affixed,
immutable hinging jaws--
clicking, cartilage decayed.

An open wound ripens in plain sight.
A bandaged kiss reaches, then stumbles.

Anonymous Thu Dec 18 01:26:42 2014 No.5875382

>>5856752
Just wrote this now.:

Today I’ve been doing not much of anything. It might have been the most wasted day in months. Maybe. That can’t be true. Although I’m blindly keeping myself comforted with the thought: Even batman had to take off his suit and shit on a few roof tops in between fighting bag guys. There’s not much going on in life right now and there’s not much motivation when there’s no reason to do anything. I am making excuses. I hear, or read on the internet, that boredom is a result of a lack of imagination. But I’m not exactly bored. I am directionless. Everything is an excuse and winter is cold and unforgiving to those who don’t cooperate. Does anything get done in this season?

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/lit/ - Literature