Critique General

[Anonymous No.5890630]

r8, h8, b8, etc

[Anonymous No.5890636]

>>5890630
8/10 qt, would look at and dream of dating with her for a few months.

[Anonymous No.5890656]

>>5890630
6/10, would have confusing homosexual fantasies about

[Anonymous No.5890666]

>>5890630
Prose, poetry, dramatic verse, etc all welcome.

[Anonymous No.5890697]

who is this girl and how can I fuck her

[Anonymous No.5890702]

>>5890630
5/10

Manlish face, hair too short

[Anonymous No.5890709]

>>5890702
>hair too short
Your opinion is objectively wrong

[Anonymous No.5890719]

side shot? really?
I dunno, anywhere from 2 to 8 out of how the fuck are you meant to asses from side profile pic.

[Anonymous No.5890731]

>>5890709
>I am literally so homosexual that I like women who look like little boys and somehow even proud of it, please rape my face
>>>/a/

Just kidding. Different strokes, man.

[Anonymous No.5890739]

Basically OP needs to post more pictures of the qt

[Anonymous No.5890802]

I now regret starting this thread with such a qt image

[Anonymous No.5890816]

>>5890802
Never post a picture more interesting than your post, old-as-fuck rule.

[Anonymous No.5890819]

>>5890816
I thought it would attract attention to the thread

[Anonymous No.5890855]

>>5890819
The wrong kind, but yes it will.
>>5890731
no hard feelings man, its all cool

[Anonymous No.5890874]

>>5890739
She kinda looks like Hannah Hart but I don't think its her.

[Anonymous No.5890876]

>>5890819
>I thought it would attract attention to the thread
It did.

[Anonymous No.5890903]

GRAPEFRUIT MOON

When he had time, Tucker would be sure to pay a visit to the West Hurley Museum of Art and History; more specifically, to pay a visit to her. Nothing caught his eye like the statue of the woman displayed in the second to last room. Some days, all he’d do was linger in that room, all by his lonesomes, and stare in perpetual wonder. Tucker liked the other exhibits: the paintings were scenic and vivid, and the relics seemed more esoteric than they actually were, when sat behind glass on pedestals. However, not a single artifact in the whole of the West Hurley Museum had quite caught his attention like that marble statue of the women with the outstretched arms.

Every detail about her was more than real; from the curls of her hair to the curve of her hip. How weird was it to think that at some point a woman in the world looked exactly like the statue. What was even stranger to Tucker was, though he would never meet the model for the statue, he felt a connection to this immortalized likeness like he could have known her. Somehow, someway.

The paintings had their allure, however this was lost on Tucker: they didn't carry the sheer weight and presence the woman had inherently. The artifacts behind the glass were physical, although were seemingly separate from the world, never again to be touched except by the eyes. The statue was an immortal muse made material by the sculpting of one so dedicated to create their forever; a goddess created by man.

Hidden inside of every stone block there is a statue awaiting release by some keen eye and steady hand. From a young age, Tucker had always been fascinated with this particular statue. Initially, it would seem simple: the woman was bare and this would get any young boy’s attention. But it persisted, festered into something beyond anyone’s control, least of all his own. He lusted for the marble curves beyond both his reach and his full understanding. The only thing between her immortal magnificence and his fragile, earthly hand was the air.

Tucker stepped outside, and the December air nipped playfully at his ears. He looked towards the sky, and saw no stars, but only the full moon. It was so weird to think how it was the same moon that everyone saw: regardless of location. As a boy, he wondered if the moon was sad that no one got to see all the work it put into making the night beautiful, because everyone was asleep. It was only when he got older that he realized for every dozen people there were sleeping, there would be the poets, the artists, and the hopeless romantics who would still be up, and be able to appreciate it’s silver spell.

[Anonymous No.5890906]

>>5890903
Tucker came back inside, and looked at the exhibits as they passed him. The place was pathetic in the presence of the woman, it was a warehouse in which items would be stored and never see the light of day again. It was nauseating to think about. It was only then that it came to him: he admired the statue and it’s base, but didn’t know it’s name, never reading the accompanying plaque. Tucker came up to it, focusing on the words which were the decorative name for the woman.

“Erin E. Hughes
Luna Meretrix”

It had to be now. Nobody came back here but him, and the only ones who could watch him now were his ancestors. Tucker ducked under the red rope barrier and stepped towards the woman, hesitantly, like he were coming up to an altar with an offering. He reached out a quivering hand, mind racing: his lust had grown beyond measure. He was so close to interacting with what was certainly a goddess. He reached over the edge of forever, now.

The marble felt warm as flesh against his fingers.

[Anonymous No.5890943]

>>5890903
>>5890906
STOP IT
we're discussing qts

[Anonymous No.5890951]

Check this QT

[Anonymous No.5890958]

>>5890951
And this shows how long the hair of a woman should be.
And how her face should be.
And the body.

[Anonymous No.5890966]

>>5890958
hair and face I can get on board with. but GOAT body is without a doubt milana vayntrub

[Anonymous No.5890978]

>>5890903
>>5890906

Why are you ripping off Pygmalion and the Palla books from Elder Scrolls? And Tom Waits songs.

[Anonymous No.5891007]

>>5890978
I have no idea about the Elder Scrolls thing, but you're right about Tom Waits. It shares a title of one of his songs.

[Anonymous No.5891031]

>>5890903
>When he had time, Tucker would be sure to pay a visit to the West Hurley Museum of Art and History; more specifically, to pay a visit to her. Nothing caught his eye like the statue of the woman displayed in the second to last room. Some days, all he’d do was linger in that room, all by his lonesomes,

this is where I stopped

[Anonymous No.5891058]

>>5891031
me too
>all by his lonesomes
I mean, come on.

[Anonymous No.5891115]

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 No.5891120]

>>5891115
wtf

[Anonymous No.5891121]

>Critique thread
>Newfag r9k nerds ruin it

Typical.

[Anonymous No.5891133]

>>5891115
This is like DFW fanboyism taken to a whole 'nother realm. I wouldn't even dare to call it experimental it's just contrived. There are to many distractions and too much noise going on in the sentences for thoughts to be coherent. The subject matter is too mundane and trite to even justify the writing to be as unconventional as it is.

[Anonymous No.5891137]

>>5891133
I take it you've never read his other stuff. That's part of the same work as http://postmetakolsti.tumblr.com/post/92882440475/opening-paragraph-to-something-im-writing

[Anonymous No.5891145]

rate my poem

My mom
My dad
Me
Together we are three
I'm really glad
To know where I come from

No I am not alone
Except when no one answer the phone
Sorry for your face John
Now you look like mom

[Anonymous No.5891155]

>>5891137
>http://postmetakolsti.tumblr.com/post/92882440475/opening-paragraph-to-something-im-writing
There's memerap but dare say someone went and made memelit. Seriously though there is skill in making parentheses upon parentheses however it just gets boring and grating. There's nothing new I'm reading to justify such a 'daring' choice in delivery.
>>5891145
r8 mine

fuck u
fuck me
fuck /lit/
fuck me

fuck u
ur poem
ur mum
ur phace

[Anonymous No.5891160]

Since everyone's interested in qt3.14s, I thought I'd contribute.

To anyone else: this is a slightly polished rough draft I wrote today.
http://pastebin.com/n2ZWcRGZ

It's somewhat of a fantasy bullshit story, but hopefully someone could look past that. The dialogue will sound a little archaic, but that's just the character's voice.

I mostly want to know if my description is okay, if it's tiring to read; and if my dialogue is too cringy. It's a little rough, but, I don't see that many changes I can make.

[Anonymous No.5891166]

>>5891155
http://postmetakolsti.tumblr.com/post/95595878147/postmetapainbrush-episode-2-tub-girl
is maybe the best use of it

[Anonymous No.5891171]

>>5891160
how could a person with that fucking DESTINY tattoo possibly be the object of your sexual fantasy?

[Anonymous No.5891175]

>>5891171
Sexual fantasy / Waifu material are often polar opposites.

[Anonymous No.5891188]

>>5891166
It's better than what I've been reading. It's a gimmick. And unlike Joyce it doesn't tell anything about the subject matter or what is being said. Different paragraphs or just maybe even quotations from that time would have a better effect. I would say though this was easily the best effort.

[Anonymous No.5891191]

>>5891175
>sexual fantasy
>waifu material
>different, worthwhile classifications of the same people
I will not be reading your work

[Anonymous No.5891197]

>>5891171
>>5891175
also have a wifey, a main bitch, and a mistress. Al three can have different qualities.

[Anonymous No.5891205]

>>5891188
Joyce is a modernist. He comes before the era of message in the medium. Parentheses=self-commentary=self-consciousness=self-awareness=sincerity=struggle of author against mort de l'auteur=all kinds of things.

[Anonymous No.5891206]

>>5891191
That is a shame, my work could be a riveting tale a bout large-bottom catgirls who can only speak the words 'more' and 'harder', but you will never know.

>>5891197
This man understands.

[Anonymous No.5891238]

>>5891137
Will you stop fucking viralling your shitty shit shit you fucking faglord. Fuck off and die. It's terrible, you're terrible.

[Anonymous No.5891251]

>>5891205
You can't have sincerity when you're deliberately making your work confusing. One set of parentheses is fine. Or a footnote is fine, or an endnote is fine. Doing layers and layers and layers like a Shrek joke and dropping internet fad jokes in them is missing the point of sincerity. Sure it puts the author front and center but is it the author or a character? Neither is concrete and the audience will only be confused.

Which is why I said there needs to be a point to it. You can't just throw shit in there and expect it to fit. There needs to be a clearly defined logic to it or it just crumbles. Which is why I said the last piece you shared is the most cohesive. A central character just relating his experience with the parentheses giving back story. When the dynamic between first and third person is bent like that it's disorienting. And when it's a normal day occurrence is disorienting it just leads to confusion.
>>5891238
everyone needs criticism anon. even your shitposting. I r8 0/8

I am deeply saddened that shitposting is in my browser's dictionary

[Anonymous No.5891270]

>>5891251
>when the dynamic between first and third person is bent
thanks anon, I've got to use in a blurb. i'd say this is true of all fiction, since the author is pretty inextricable from a text

[Anonymous No.5891574]

Here’s how he imagines it.

He imagines the quiet suck and snore and vacuum-pressure drone of the air cabin, and taking for himself a deep, swelling breath, really aerating those alveoli.....hold it in now, Ralph…..then out with a sigh and up from his seat, excuse-me-pardon-me to the people in his row as he lumbers roughly by, his knobby knees stabbing at their fleshy, cramped-tender thighs, Ow-goddamit-watch it kid, making sure they’re awake for what’s about to happen. He expects the crepuscular and maroon-gold-softened world of boarding and take-off to have died into an abject and deep-ocean-deathly night beyond the double-sealed aircraft portholes. Really pure nothing, you know, with no stars or satellites or lambent day-glow staining red at the fringes, and too high and cloud-shrouded to see the electric vascularity of America below. His fall must be total and without reference, this is very important to him. He also hopes for a very particular kind of sunset to watch on the ascent vector. Yolky and gushing out fractured radiance, urchin-nettles of light splayed proudly around this bobbing orb, tempting lower and lower and lower until…CRACK on the sharp-rimmed skillet of his known world and out comes pouring a bloody plasma, ruptured embryo of tomorrow’s sun which is never to be, heavier than the other light with its undeveloped viscera as it settles across the Earth’s rim and dries cool into purple, swallowing up the drowsing orange husk until only a dimming haze is left…then nothing, nothing at all beyond the ovoid window but the regnant night and the steady red pulse of the wing-light. He will stare into this, his face going crimson to dark, and cup his smooth cheek and not cry or sniffle, which is also very important to him. Afterwards, he will wait for a cruising altitude of 35,000 feet, which is when the speakers will ding and the seatbelt signs go dim, then he will know to breathe deeply, purposefully, and rise from his seat to move in a very unrushed and no-reason-to-be-alarmed-just-got-a-bladder-to-void kind of way towards the emergency exit he has paid extra to sit near. He expects some bemused faces from the other passengers….

[Anonymous No.5891609]

"And but so it goes," sez Kolsti (17) Easton Lin.

[Anonymous No.5891651]

>>5891115
I remember (from that other critique thread (you're from Texas ( you said so in the thread (I have your email address somewhere) and they liked you (in that ebin :^) thread; they called you a little Pynchon) a lot more if I recall) and you seem like a really cool guy) you.

[Anonymous No.5891666]

>>5891651
kolsti is to pynchon what rimbaud is to shakespeare?

[Anonymous No.5891674]

>>5890630

I just wrote this..

[Anonymous No.5891718]

>>5891651
post his email

[Anonymous No.5891723]

>>5890630
loneliness
is
terminal

[Anonymous No.5891732]

>>5891574
I enjoy your style. The The use of "really" doesn't fit. The stringing-words-together-with-the-dashes thing, there's too much of that. Everything from "pure nothing" to "wing light" is amazing.

[Anonymous No.5891763]

>>5891674
Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem!!

[Anonymous No.5891871]

Closed door **tap tap tap** outside repeats and repeats. I know who they and they know who I am and they know I know they know who I am therefore they wait and refrain themselves.
There was a door inside with doorknob toredown which could not be opened neither by inside nor outside, the safe door as I would like to call it very big but solid and funny with two or three scratch of those who try to get out (funny funny since it's only for show and for people to go to).
Now know not way out for they know what I kept and they tap **tap tap** on my door. Even the hearth seemed by a sec a way out but who an earth would climb a hearth and why? Went to the basement, three kids all of them black and filthy and I couldn't bleach them nor use them without retarded yellings and complains very common today in the unwilling youth tender parents breed.
Took one and then another, left the silent one there (fun for me later if). Two is enough as a fair trade is concerned (as a fair tread for them because both of them worth less than a white one).
Unaware I was of the syringe the kid brought in his hand (I forgot he is black) and very fast as a burglar (I forgot he is black) pierced a heart which felt like my heart and made me fall face to the hearth.
They ran and I couldn't see nothing but black.

[Anonymous No.5892075]

>>5891871
Anymore of this?

[Anonymous No.5892248]

>>5890630

I've written this short story that is supposed to capture the feeling of being a kid who is just on that edge of believing in Santa Claus vs not believing anymore. One of the first times a child questions a major belief.
Can someone please give it a read and tell me if I was effective or not?
It's not very long. I would really appreciate it.

http://pastebin.com/RR7Get74

[Anonymous No.5892324]

>>5891732
Thank you, this is helpful.

>>5892248
Your story is very cute and I would certainly say that it is effective. Capturing what it feels like to be a child is no easy task, especially one on the cusp of disillusionment, and I'm not certain that you have actually achieved this perspective so much as given us a charming projection of how we remember our childhood. The story, like the writing style, is simple and earnest and comfortable to read. I enjoyed it, good job.

[Anonymous No.5892332]

why the fuck is it in every /lit/ critique thread, people post like 100 words of something which half the time seems like they just typed it into the reply box right then.
There are like 4 people on this board who take writing seriously. It's fucking depressing.

[Anonymous No.5892349]

>>5892332
I second this.

[Anonymous No.5892353]

>>5892332
kolsti, gomorrah man, tao lin, and ostensibly you?

[Anonymous No.5892359]

>>5892349
i think the internet is most fun when you dont edit yourslef

[Anonymous No.5892363]

>>5892353
Don't forget Taylor Swift. There has been mounting evidence over the years that she regularly browses /b/ and more recently some people have made the connection that she frequently posts on /lit/ and /fa/ as well.

[Anonymous No.5892372]

>>5892363
link?

[Anonymous No.5892386]

>>5891574
Ok this has some real potential.

You obviously posted an incomplete story, so I am guessing you want us to comment on your writing style?

You need to work on your word choice. You almost have a great rhythm going here, but some of the awkward, lengthy words kill it just as it starts to get going. My advice: after you've written something, go back and read it out loud to yourself, then edit any places where your natural speech gets caught up or tangled.

Best of luck to you.

[Anonymous No.5892390]

>>5892372
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/08/05/taylor-swift-4chan-conspiracy_n_3709118.html

[Anonymous No.5892393]

>>5892390
eh. i'd put kolsti and tao above taylor anyway, at least in terms of /lit/

[Anonymous No.5892400]

>>5892324
Wow that is very nice to hear about my story. Sounds like I didn't quite hit the original mark I was going for, but at least what I've written has some merit I guess.

[Anonymous No.5892430]

>>5892353
Yes I do take writing seriously.
I've been published a few times before, but I've never been paid for my writing yet which is a goal of mine.
I don't come to this board that often because it's usually a mixed bag when it comes to useful critique.
I am always trying to improve my writing skill, and I know that there are others on this board who feel the same.

btw I am the guy responsible for this >>5892248
post.

It's also very hard to give a person feedback on their writing when they give you such a tiny sample with nothing to go on.

[Anonymous No.5892456]

As a regular /b/rowser, it's fucking weird for everyone here to actually be polite to some extent.

Here's a bit of the epilogue for my first book, it's one of my favorite pieces that'll actually fit in 4chin's text thingy.

I tug at the collar of the dress shirt I was forced by Virginia to put on. She threatened me rather heavily, mind you, but I still planned on doing it eventually. Just not this one. I hate this shirt. She's sitting next to me, hands folded in her lap. She's wearing a black dress, which I told her not to wear. But, well, she did it anyways. We're both sitting in the church. Doc Faroe's funeral was just held.
As such, I'm in a mood to not talk. Externally, not internally. I obviously don't mind doing so internally.
I start to stand up, staring down the rest of the force, the few that did survive. We're still rebuilding the station, but we at least have a force outside of myself again.
We don't have a police chief though, which is kind of important.
I walk over towards the group, who are oddly quiet. Virginia is behind me, quiet as well. I chat with them for a bit, nothing really too conclusive in the way of chatter. Just idle words along the lines of "Yeah, Doc was good. Okay."
Not a lot of people aside from myself actually really enjoyed being around Doc Faroe. They just came to show their respect, which is understandable. We've had a lot of funerals to go to recently.
I believe this is the... Ah... Fourth this week? I don't really know. This is the largest one so far though, mainly because I had it done so.
Cassiano's'll be just as big.
A few of the less realistic officers are still on the search for him, even after the whole we - found - his -name - tag - in -ashes - next - to -a - body thing. But hey, if they want to hang onto their views, I say let them. I'm not helping unless they really need my help. Cassiano was a good guy, but I know he's dead. I can tell you that with a good bit of certainty there.
Regardless. Me and Virginia decide to leave after watching Doc get put in his little hole in the ground. I shake Donald's hand, and thank him for going through with the plan like I forced him to- or, rather, heavily coerced him into doing. He'll not thank me for it down the line, only get angry and such.

[Anonymous No.5892467]

>>5892456
And the weird dashes near the end there are a disgusting habit I developed during NaNoWriMo. Needed to do that for the word count.

[Anonymous No.5892490]

>>5892456
Uhh you have quite a lot to work on here.
First of all, other than these characters are at a funeral, I don't understand what the fuck is going on.

You might want to begin with this sentence
>Not a lot of people aside from myself actually really enjoyed being around Doc Faroe. They just came to show their respect, which is understandable. We've had a lot of funerals to go to recently.
I believe this is the... Ah... Fourth this week? I don't really know. This is the largest one so far though, mainly because I had it done so.
because it actually explains the setting and situation a little bit.

Also, the narrator states that he is not in a mood to talk, yet a few sentences later he walks over and starts chatting with his pals. Wut.

The whole thing reads as a stream-of-consciousness narrative which I really dislike.

I sense that the narrator is a cop and some tragedy has taken the lives of several officers including the chief, and that there is some drama in the relationship between this narrator and his (wife? girlfriend? lover? sister? mother? trans-sexual spirit partner?) Victoria.

Maybe some possibility for a decent story here, but you should clean it up to make it read more smoothly.

[Anonymous No.5892516]

>http://pastebin.com/MxFqEx4U

A small snippet from something I've been working on. It's just a little wacky mystery/adventure-type story with some familial values and banter to boot, it doesn't take itself very seriously.

In this scene, the protagonist and his ward are cornered by rough bruisers out to snatch the nameless plot macguffin that he so desperately seeks for some reason.

[Anonymous No.5892532]

>>5892490
A lot of stuff got previously established, 'cause it's an epilogue. Would've posted an earlier bit, but a lot of that is gonna be a total re-write and I don't feel like getting anally raped on that bit when I'm already doing so to myself.

And I will admit, I dunno what the hell my mind was doing when I had him get up and walk to his friends. My pacing dun goofed a lot there.

I personally enjoy stream of consciousness (and most of my better writing is written that way) but that's a personal opinion.

Thanks for the help though.

[Anonymous No.5892533]

>>5892386
Thank you for the kind words and good advice.
Next time I sit down to work on it, I will revisit some of the word choices (though I think I can already guess at some of the offenders)

[Anonymous No.5892537]

The roof finally gave. Down came the monster, crashing onto the stone floor. It spoke. “Where are you, Ophelia? You can’t hide forever.” I already knew that, but I’d be damned if I didn’t at least try. I laid under my bed with the monster’s feet right in front of my eyes. They moved around my room, looking for me, but in the end it didn’t think of looking under my bed. Maybe it was unable to bend over. Anyways, the monster left and I came out of hiding. “Whew!” I said to myself, “Nothing like a good chase to start a Sunday morning!”
It was awfully rude for the monster to leave a hole in the ceiling, though. The sun and the birds leaked into my room. I went over to my staff and waved it around while chanting the words my mother taught me. “Malygos.”
The tiles and whatever else the roof was comprised of all flew up from my floor and back onto the ceiling where they were originally. Good as new. “Another job well done, Ophelia.” I congratulated myself and slung the staff over my shoulder. It was time to go to the inn and figure out what today’s visitor wanted.
*
“Hello, m’lady.” The bartender always greeted me like that. Something about chivalry. “The usual?”
“Yeah. Thanks, Job”
“Anything for you, m’lady.” He replied as he tipped his fedora. A mug of mead with extra honey poured in. My favorite. When it’s constantly freezing outside, you have to be out of your mind to not drink something warm.

[Anonymous No.5892545]

>>5892516
Pretty fun scene.
Is this supposed to be Dr. Who fanfic?
Some of your descriptions are a little awkward, but other than that, it was an entertaining snippet.

[Anonymous No.5892554]

>>5892545
Thanks!

I never watched Dr. Who (should I?). It's more like the protagonist has a doctorate of sorts and flaunts that fact around while adopting the title that comes with it. He is in truth though, a jovial nutcase.

[Anonymous No.5892568]

>>5892554
>It's more like the protagonist has a doctorate of sorts and flaunts that fact around while adopting the title that comes with it. He is in truth though, a jovial nutcase.

>I never watched Dr. Who

Ok now I know I'm being trolled.

[Anonymous No.5892582]

>>5892568
..You're starting to scare me, man. Don't do this to me, I have like tons more where that came from.

[Anonymous No.5892589]

It's not an obsession.

The man with the broken black mask told himself that over and over as he peered at his target through the scope.

Adjacent building, straight ahead, four hundred meters away. Wind direction, allowing adjustment of five millimeters to the right.

Scope magnification, 8x. Tripod wedged firmly on the ledge, steady.

The open air howled around his ears, blowing his hair about, flapping his overcoat like bat wings. Inside, he was a still pool of utter calm. Nothing that he felt outside registered. His senses were dead. All he could make out was his finger on the trigger, and the bright red head four hundred meters away.

It's not an obsession.

He thought to this himself, as the world around him began shutting down.

I am impartial.

His heart fell into pieces, unable to comprehend the awe of the memories he was summouning.

I am God's messenger.

[Anonymous No.5892610]

>>5892589
Are you trying to say the Phantom of the Opera was the second gunman in the JFK assassination?

[Anonymous No.5892627]

>>5892516
I can't say why exactly, but I really liked this. It's a quickie kind of plot with a start and end, it made me smile. I saw more of a Quixote vibe from it than Who though, as opposed to the other anon.

Keep it up.

[Anonymous No.5892664]

early draft of the beggining of a thing i'm working on, translated from spanish.

Wake up. I didn’t want to. Want to go back to sleep. Dreamt about her. Close my eyes. Roll in my bed and try to sleep. I was with her.

My alarm keeps ringing. The best way to hate a song you love is to set it as your alarm tune.

Check the time: 6:30. I want to sleep. Must go to the gym. I get up. She wouldn’t be there if I returned anyways. My bladder is about to burst.

My brain is still booting. I stumble my way to the bathroom. Lift the seat. Undo my trousers and release. I like to dream about her. I shouldn’t. Had already decided that I didn’t. I do. Never felt like I did with her. Funny. I was never with her, but my brain knows how it feels. I guess it’s all in my head. Wouldn't be the first time.

A tapping sound interrupts me. My feet are warm, wet. Shit, morning wood. This is going to be one of those days.

[Anonymous No.5892750]

>>5891160
I like the way you write. I loved your alliterations and (intended?) rhymes. Do you post anywhere with any regularity?

[Anonymous No.5893139]

I'm in jean shorts
And not much else
Taking a drag
On your back porch
As the sun slowly makes it's way
Across that clear Arizona sky
It's a hundred and something
And the monsoon humidity
Is curling my freshly cut hair
We talk of past loves
And regrets
Cold beer in hand
Remembering good times fondly
That weren't so good at the time
The grass in the lawn is green
And I wonder
How they can afford to keep it here
You say some words
That touch a nerve in me
But I choke it out
With hot nicotine air
And drown it
In a quick mouthful of alcohol
We'd be in Phoenix now
If your car wasn't on the fritz
And I'd be in New York now
If I wasn't a fucking coward
And you'd be in Korea
If you had gotten an education
But Casa Grande is our lot
So like the hometown
We tried to escape for so damn long

[Anonymous No.5893141]

>>5892664
This is good. I love stream-of-consciousness type stuff. I actually have something kinda similar I might post later.

Lo puedo leer en español?

[Anonymous No.5893155]

He went to his bathroom to brush his teeth. He used Close-Up cinnamon-flavored toothpaste. It was a different kind of sensation compared to the minty flavors of other toothpastes. It wasn’t necessarily spicy, nor did it have actual bits of cinnamon in it, but it was still a strange outlier when looking at the seemingly endless selection of toothpastes at the store. Many people have stood in front of the hundreds of boxed tubes of toothpaste in the supermarkets. Some people saw the infinite quantity and thought; “Which toothpaste should I get?” “What will my girlfriend think of me if I get the corrective whitening paste?” or maybe even “How will my toothpaste look with the color of my bathroom walls?” The man who was brushing his teeth wasn’t like those consumers. Michael didn’t use the cinnamon toothpaste because he thought it contrasted beautifully with the off-white walls and pink bathtub and shower in his bathroom. He remained loyal to the cinnamon brand because it was what his family used before he had to start buying his own toothpaste. And mint flavored toothpaste made him gag when he brushed his tongue.

>from a short story I'm working on

[Anonymous No.5893216]

Healthy dose of inner peace
I think I might be the only one alive at this point. It's quiet outside the bubble, there is no chance of anyone popping up to trick me into a social web where I'm obligated to justify my world wide wandering eyes; you think about things way too much! Nothing of the sort. There's only a pleasant velocity with a tolerably stinging chill in the near winter wind. Weather that makes you want to reread Crime and Punishment. It was because of hatred that I got to be alone.
Blue sunshine
She smiled, that expression that sneers, that says she could be the most popular girl, but is too smart to fall for it. Her name would have been a literary reference, or maybe an obscure colour. Violetta. I'd play with the words and conversation would take off to leave us at the end of a blue rainbow, happy to have failed so miserably. I would reflect upon it with a smile, happy I fell for it.
Memories surface, the race, the jump, the tumble and pain that came with a handlebar imprinting itself in my chest. I used to ride my bike here, and I still am.

If it doesn't make sense, that's because it shouldn't. It's just me cycling through a park listening to HTRK, writing down stuff I was thinking about. If there are clichés in there, it's because my thoughts aren't that original.

[Anonymous No.5893351]

Listen to me; 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 a motive merely curiosity. In any case, I had no reason not to be there.

I walked awhile, pointlessly, observing without much care to what I observed. Here and there, reality registered with every flutter of my eyelids. It was then that I noticed her. There, I saw her through a lattice of palm leaves, 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 those pale sands. But she had failed, incensing in me, by the glance of an eye, the first impression of an infante to last forever.
If only she had succeeded to lie beneath the surface of existence, to not needlessly distress myself with herself; her who could capture even my reality. My mind was split; she reminded me of a boyhood friend, however, my memory of her could now only remind me of him. But by no fault was she was around so much as it was not my fault I came around. She was simply there, and I was simply there.

Dear girl-child seen by the sea,
was it not my eyes that captured you
the moment you had captured me?

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

[Anonymous No.5893532]

>>5892750
Glad you liked it, some rhymes are intended, others cropped up and I kept.

I've practically posted in every critique thread for the past three months, all excerpts from the same story. Only a couple people have noticed.

[Anonymous No.5893680]

>>5893141
sure, just let me get off work

[Anonymous No.5893739]

>>5892075
Nope because I improvised it for the thread.
I may write something later but I have a small project I haven't work in a while and I'd like to finish soon.

[Anonymous No.5893745]

>>5893155
I enjoyed this

[Anonymous No.5893851]

>>5891197
Wow, you must be so hood rich then.

[Anonymous No.5895154]

>>5891718
>>/lit/thread/S5027223#p5032594

[Anonymous No.5895273]

>>5895154
oh shit why would he post this

[Anonymous No.5895519]

>>5892664
>Wake up
I stopped reading

[Anonymous No.5895882]

>>5895154
sent

[Anonymous No.5896007]

>>5891160
This cunt here. Just updated the pastebin.

I've polished it to the point where I'm relatively happy with it, still looking for thoughts though.

Anything would be nice.

[Anonymous No.5896074]

Let me know what you think. It sort of starts in media res and the dude is alone so there's no dialogue.

http://pastebin.com/FqpfuDVP

[Anonymous No.5896381]

>>5893532
Well, they all sound very nice, and the atmosphere is very well constructed too. I haven't been around here for a while, but I'll sure pay more attention to critique threads from now on.

[Anonymous No.5896479]

>be you
>your mom drives you to the Barnes & Noble
>She drives you to a Black & Decker manufacturing plant instead
>you go inside expecting books but instead you get a Black & Decker manufacturing plant
>the supervisor sees you not wearing your safety goggles
>you get kicked out of the Black & Decker manufacturing plant
>outside the Black & Decker manufacturing plan to you see your mom in the car
>she is only 17 and a half years old now and you find yourself sexually attracted to her
>you run back into the Black & Decker manufacturing plant and scream to the supervisor that you are having unwanted sexual urges towards the younger version of your own mother
>she (ifs a she) scratches her chin (theres a mole on her chin that is very noticeable but you dont say anything because shes actually much more physically substantial than you and you don't want to be fired from the Black & Decker manufacturing plant even though you were already fired from the Black & Decker manufacturing plant) and she says that if you put on your safety goggles it will be cool
>you put on your safety goggles and go back outside and see your mother in the car and shes still 17 and a half and you still find yourself sexually attracted to her but now you aren't particularly phased by the fact that its your own mother
>you enter the car and she that shes actually fingering herself beneath her private school uniform
>her pussy is very attractive, the labia is pale and smooth and tightly closed and theres only a thin strip of pleasantly toned pink down the middle
>she has her fingernails painted red and you find yourself weirdly distracted by the fact that her fingernails are painted red because they werent painted at all when she drove you to the Black & Decker manufacturing plant (even though she was supposed to drive you to the Barnes & Noble) but then again shes also 17 and a half years old now so your fixation on this detail is very much illogical
>you say, "Hey Erica" and you aren't particularly phased by calling your mother casually by her firstname she licks her supple, pouty lips when she looks at you
>you can't resist the urge to have sex with her
>you have sex with her and it is embarrassing because you actually prematurely ejaculated about 20 seconds in and even though your ashamed your mother (Erica) finds it more endearing than anything
>you wish you hadn't done it and so you run out of the car with your pants around your ankles and go back inside the Black & Decker manufacturing plant and no one inside seems to mind the fact that your penis is fully visible and the supervisor tells you that you don't need to wear your safety goggles anymore so you get to work and you get a paycheck and it isn't substantial but ifs just enough to live on and you feel like your work demands more but you don't complain because of how easily you could be replaced at the Black & Decker manufacturing plant
>you wish you weren't you anymore
>i wish i wasn't you anymore

[Anonymous No.5896540]

>>5896381
Thanks, that actually means a lot.

[Anonymous No.5896803]

>>5891160
good, if a bit conventional

a couple notes:

> a makeshift sled slides the frozen sheet
too blatant and ungraceful, especially when put in juxtaposition with the earlier venture into metaphors and abstract imagery. Not really convincing as the thoughts of a deep immortal being.

>I felt guilt at every glimpse, a deeper sorrow.
adolescent execution

>“Perhaps that is for the best. Nostalgia only makes life pale.” My gaze soared above, my thoughts gone astray. I muttered. “As does my midwinter sky.”
Very choppy. I like the themes streaming through this sequence but the execution is sloppy.

>“There are swimming birds that cannot fly! How absurd is that?”
Lame and, again, not a convincing voice

>The rope fell from my grasp, a thump as it landed.
not interesting to read or necessarily a convincing emotional reaction

>“Brutal . . . so, so brutal.” My voice trembled.
Not convincing and describing your own voice as such is not really interesting or descriptive.

> “Oh shut up, you stupid whales. Bigger things than you have tried.”
there is no prevalent voice in this. I can sense an underlying meaning to it but the word choice is terrible and comes off as needlessly juvenile.

>“See Auska? It's all about frame of mind. Keep positive and—”....A single wrong step.
too easily perceptible and makes me feel like I'm being spoonfed. That last sentence is especially dull and amateur.

>"shedding slivers", "Shivers carved down my spine", "skidding, scraping", "Shameful, insensitive", "cinders through icy veins, my blood boiled. Sweat soaked in clothes; layers slathered","skulked under clouds twisting in shadows, invisible chaos","spying geysers spouting, eruptions from the sea", "sailing glacier sheltered", " swollen of scorn", " ice sheet, tunnels skewered", "A single wrong step","slickly sliding", " sea drip from my sodden",
you get the idea

[Anonymous No.5897169]

>>5893680
Thanks mate.

[Anonymous No.5897302]

>>5890951
>skinny ankles, unable to carry my offspring to safety
>skinny arms, unable to hold my offspring for long periods of time
>thin hips, not even close to child bearing
>blue eyes conducive to age related macular degeneration, weak immune system
2/10 would not bang.

[Anonymous No.5897312]

>>5897302
This guy gets it.

[Anonymous No.5898023]

>>5896803
Thanks for the thoughts.

I believe there is a little conflict, but, I'll say they're the result of lacking context/my personal writing quirks.

Most of your points I can't disagree with, I'll see if I can solve them.

Seeing the list, I see how far I've got with alliteration and the 's' sound. That's embarrassing.

[Anonymous No.5898059]

I posted this in a thread a while back and got no feedback so trying again..

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 No.5898212]

Daily reminder to ignore all non-constructive critique from /lit/.

[Anonymous No.5898217]

>>5896479
tl;dr

[Anonymous No.5898231]

I wrote this today.

Dark marks all on me, I’m just honest
Rock star my swag, I’m just honest
Everything exotic, I’m just honest
Gold all on my neck, I’m just honest
Yeah, I’m just honest.

[Anonymous No.5898323]

>>5898231

INC grammy

[Anonymous No.5898538]

I'm writing an article for a magazine to be published this March, all going well.

I'm worried about trying to explain music theory to a general audience. I've also never written a non-academic piece of work.

[Anonymous No.5899185]

>>5892456
>mind you
>but, well,
>as such
>I start to
>regardless
>and such
>or, rather,
>noun verb. Noun verb. Noun verb.

The sooner you stop doing these the better. I don't care if it's its first person and realistic, you don't want realistic.

[Anonymous No.5899221]

>>5895519
>How about this

"Somebody once told me the world is gonna roll me I ain't the sharpest tool in the shed."

No way those were six hours. Want to go back to sleep. Dreamt about her. Close my eyes. Roll in my bed and try to sleep. I was with her.

My alarm keeps ringing. The best way to hate a song you love is to set it as your alarm tune.

Check the time: 6:30. I want to sleep. Must go to the gym. I get up. She wouldn't be there if I returned anyways. My bladder is about to burst.

My brain is still booting. I stumble my way to the bathroom. Lift the seat. Undo my trousers and release. I like to dream about her. I shouldn’t. Had already decided that I didn’t. I do. Never felt like I did with her. Funny. I was never with her, but my brain knows how it feels. I guess it’s all in my head. Wouldn't be the first time.

A tapping sound interrupts me. My feet are warm, wet. Shit, morning wood. This is going to be one of those days.

[Anonymous No.5899711]

>>5897169
here brah

Despierto. No quiero. Quiero volver a dormir. Soñé con ella. Cierro los ojos. Giro en mi cama e intento dormir. Estaba con ella.

Mi alarma sigue sonando. La mejor manera de odiar una canción que amas es usarla de alarma.
Veo la hora: 06:30. Quiero dormir. Debo ir al gimnasio. Me levanto. Ella no estaría allí si regreso de todos modos. Mi vejiga está va a estallar.

Mi cerebro no termina de arrancar. Tropiezo hacia el baño. Levanto el asiento. Me quito los pantalones y suelto. Me gusta soñar con ella. No debería. Ya había decidido que no me gustaba. Me gusta. Nunca me sentí como me siento lo hice con ella. Es gracioso. Nunca estuve con ella, pero mi cerebro sabe cómo se siente. Supongo todo está en mi cabeza. No sería la primera vez.

Un golpeteo me interrumpe. Mis pies están calientes, húmedos. Mierda, erección mañanera. Este va a ser uno de esos días.

[Anonymous No.5899762]

>>5899711

This is pretty good and I can relate to what you are describing, keep up the good job.

[Anonymous No.5899777]

>>5899221
>>5899711
It's bad, not matter what.
Try greentexting, srsly.

[None !trap0OylHY No.5899793]

>>5899711
Second to last paragraph has an extra "me siento". The "I didn't. I do" thing gets kinda ruined in the translation since it expands to a full verb.

It still needs a decent ending.

[Anonymous No.5899834]

>>5899762
thanks, thats exactly what im looking for

>>5899793
You're right, missed that. And yeah, translating is tougher than it looks.

Its a beginning, maybe the beginning of the beginning. But I get what you mean, thanks for the feedback.

>>5899777
And thank you for keeping my feet on the ground, favorable opinions can really get into my head.
I wanted to make it similar to greentext.

[Anonymous No.5899840]

Am I the sea or the Dragon,
That You have set a watch over me?
When I think, “My bed will comfort me,
My couch will share my sorrow,”
You frighten me with dreams,
And terrify me with visions,
Till I prefer strangulation,
Death, to my wasted frame.
—Job 7.12-15

Three days passed and he pulled into the faded metropolis of windblown futility. Jet stream
from Hades rode on up out of the Lakes and carried off the souls trapped in cubicle tombstones;
off to the side there was an old white man playing the blues and scraped by like any other
traveler. The ruckus of the drains behind him was loud, but the sound of the red junker that
flashed by was even louder. He played on and the strings snapped on his gee-tar and the
charcoal of his vocal chords grated endlessly in a harmonious drag.
Eli hopped on out and flicked off the engine; it died with a sigh. The bar he’d been aiming for
was run down and burnt out; it lived underneath the boarded up skyscraper to heaven. Cigarette
butts and mosquito husks were welcome mats at the foot of the stairs. Behind him, a cluster of
prostitutes gave out free glimpses of the afterlife. Eli purchased a few cheap thrills for under a
couple nuts, then headed on into hell.
Inside, it was moldy and dusty and the air smelled like the must from under that old couch at the
nursing home. The old wood cabinets behind the shellacked bar were being pelted by chunks of
glass from the unruly revolutionary populous. They came here to vent their frustrations with
pretentious ramblings that reached for self-righteous glorification, Marxism met with Heineken,
cheers abroad and chugged down with glee and fear and hatred, soon enough meetings fell into
nonstop boxing matches with shivs and broken chairs, ripped up cushions, smashed glass in
twitching limbs, broken faces and slashed bodies, carcasses of freedom piling up in the aisles and
booths, torched with the moonshine in the back room. Supplant the system with the amber-clear
blood in our hard liquored veins. Eli took the scene in with a certain nostalgia and sang with it a
little grim song from the fields.

[Anonymous No.5899938]

>>5898538

My take on your first paragraph.

When we talk of 'free jazz' we're really talking about freedom from these conditions. But when did this backlash begin? Accounts of performances in clubs across America suggest that even as late as the 1960s many young musicians' repetoire was limited to simple chord patterns and hackneyed melodies. Bill Evans and Miles Davis were among the first to depart from this consensus with *Kind of Blue* (1959). The scales, though capricious, soothe as the album plays out through five tracks of unfamiliar progressions. The artists roam freely through different modes, unrestrained by traditional progression and structure.

[Anonymous No.5899954]

>>5899938
ah thats bad, ignore me

[None !trap0OylHY No.5900046]

>>5899834
C-comentarías algo mío?
http://pastebin.com/twyNJ0NF

[Anonymous No.5900070]

>>5891115
I had a similarly stupid idea for a short story once. The idea was to have a lot of narrators telling stories within stories, but keeping all quotation marks, so that by the end it would look something like this:

"'"'"'"'"'"'"'"'"'"I say, old chap, who drunk all the tea?'"'"'"'"'"'"'"'"'"'"

I thought I was so clever.

[Anonymous No.5900088]

>>5891115
>The subjectivist in me
>says I’m already Shakespeare
>But I haven’t been paid for my writing
>since 2010.
>(And I haven’t been paid to write
>since 2009.)

>I shoot classicists the Jaden Smith brow
>when they dare suggest that
>Tao Lin, E.L. James and Thomas Pynchon
>aren’t inherently equal as artists.
>I take the Costanza batting stance
>when someone calls Schubert inarguably better than Nickelback.
>That’s easy. If you’re real you’ll
>kill yourself
>mort de l’auteur motherfucker
>mort de l’auteur motherfucker

>I’m better than Joyce
>I’m better than Wallace
>I’m better than Cervantes
>I’m better than Dante
>I’m better than Pound and Stein and Homer and Hesse
>I’m better than the whole canon and you can’t debate that
>without defining your terms

>define “art”
>define “linguistic construct”
>define “define”
>define “better”
>define “fuck off you edgy Marx-via-Batman Turdwig Shittgenstein”
>define “fuck your postmetamucil”
>define “stop viraling your shit on /lit/ you aren’t tao lin”
>define “I would insult you by calling you an undergrad but you’re not even that”
>define “literary giant”
>define “arrogant””

Sure I can't debate the absolute merit of your art

What I can do, however, is call you a massive bellend

[Anonymous No.5900203]

Okay, boys. This is the opening to a fantasy novel I wrote maybe a year ago and have touched up several times.
>yet there are still glaring errors

http://pastebin.com/sUvFR5uS

To preface:
1. The format is a little fucked because it went from word to pastebin.

2. This story HAS been considered "publishable" by a few people in the industry. My falling out with them has led me to reconsider a lot of things in it, but I'm still curious what you all think

With that in mind, I'm hoping to give you all a bit of hope. If my amateurish fantasy novel can be considered for publishing, your whatever the fuck can, too.

http://pastebin.com/sUvFR5uS

[Anonymous No.5900224]

>>5900203
Opening was solid. Lost me after that.

[Anonymous No.5900247]

>>5900224
Any particular examples? I'm personally appalled by the amount of exposition I include at the start of the work, but apparently no one in genre fiction really cares.

I feel like I pieced together every bad cliche I could here:
>wakes up from a bad dream
>looks in the mirror so reader can get appearance
>provide needlessly long backstory
But people seem to think it's justified because it's a fantasy novel, so I can't be too sure.

I guess it's a tolerable opening within the context of its genre is what I've heard from people? But that feels like such a cop-out.

[Anonymous No.5900259]

>>5900046
>Cuando desperté
ugggggggggh, cierre inmediato.
>fue evidente que estaba en otro lugar.
eso no es algo "evidente". esos principios con elipsis narrativas raramente funcionan. me temo que en este caso no lo hace.
>Aunque todas las mañanas me fuera difícil recordar dónde estaba, no era ese sentimiento de no reconocer, esa total seguridad de que nunca me había visto ahí.
estás empleando o verbos inadecuados o estás organizando mal tus oraciones.
>Las pocas obstrucciones al horizonte podían ser retiradas de la mirada con unos pocos pasos cortos de no llevar bastón.
yo cambiaría "de no llevar bastón" aquí.
>compartía hogar con la confusión de necesitar
no sé si es intencional, pero la repetición de sonidos (com-, con, con-; -ar, -ar) dificulta la lectura y no añade demasiado. hay otras instancias de repetición en el texto, tal vez quieras revisarlas.
>sólo una habitación apenas para dormir
yo utilizaría solamente "sólo" o "apenas", no las dos juntas en la misma oración. "solo", normativamente, ya no se acentúa; no es regaño ni estoy entrando en lo "petty", pero si tienes intención de enviar el texto a algún lugar o algo así tienes que tomar en cuenta esos detalles.
>Veía el tiempo pasar por la planicie en el viento moviendo las hierbas
lo siento, pero este tipo lugar común está increíblemente gastado. creo que entiendo por qué la usas, pero hay alternativas.

por mencionar algunas cosas. en general me extrañan las elecciones que haces al conjugar verbos. la anécdota sinceramente no me interesa demasiado.

[Anonymous No.5900261]

>>5900046
>>5900259
DIOS MIO

[Anonymous No.5900270]

>>5900247
ALL OF IT

[Anonymous No.5900294]

>>5900270
Anon :(

[Anonymous No.5900529]

>>5893739
Oh, I understand. If you ever do continue that though, I'd like to give it a read.

[Anonymous No.5900600]

>>5900046
No creo tener la capacidad. Siento que todo lo que pueda decir sería más una opinión.

Dicho eso, creo que usas "me (verbo)" demasiado, tal vez podrías usar otras conjugaciones para evitar la repetición.

[Anonymous No.5900668]

pls no bully

[please don't read me as petty(...) !trap0OylHY No.5900676]

>>5900259
gracias por tomarte el tiempo.

podrías puntualizar en qué sentido te parecen mal organizadas las oraciones? tenía pensado intentar ir hacia algún lado con eso en terminos de ritmo, pero no tengo mucha idea de qué tanto funciona cuando lo lee otro.
parecido con las repeticiones de sonido, estaba tratando de jugar con esas cosas lo más posible pero siempre es diferente como lo lee uno.
en qué sentido lo del lugar común? toda la estructura general o esa descripción final? le falta refinar y tener más forma, no hay duda.

>>5900600
podés creer que no me había dado cuenta de lo del "me"? supongo que es mucho pensar en inglés o algo.

las opiniones son bienvenidas, si uno se toma cada comentario como ley absoluta termina medio mal de la cabeza

[Anonymous No.5900684]

>>5900676
lo creo, recibí la misma observación hace unos díás

[like that Delillo story but no(...) !trap0OylHY No.5900704]

>>5900684
The Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon

[Anonymous No.5900740]

>>5900668
topkek

[Anonymous No.5900741]

>>5900668

tip top kek

low b8 b8

[Anonymous No.5900745]

>>5890951
What type of dog is this?

[Anonymous No.5900756]

>>5900668
That's...something.

[Anonymous No.5900782]

>>5900668
/v/ pls go

[None !trap0OylHY No.5900787]

>>5900745
A schnauzer.

[Anonymous No.5900808]

>>5900787
top chuckle

[Anonymous No.5900835]

>>5890630
rate my prose, plx


Yes to be back on the street again like the old days, like really in the street with the benches and gutters and those teetering birds boiling into the avenue. Where there are men with their big, enshrouding coats stepping along like the inscrutable end of an unfinished book by a great master-writer— the unintentional half-breath at the end of a beautifully articulated sentence; melting into the streets like opaque projector slides or microscope shift of science class, gone too quick to take notes upon. Murmuring in their dust kingdoms of cities in glorious slow-falling USA afternoons upon the hot, forgotten streets livid with bulging metropolitan eyes wristwatches glinting and cars and storefronts and endless pale skies. Who can cross a broad busy street in the middle of a city and feel the laughing omniscient mirth of the road laughing beneath the urgent goings-on of the busy busy people. He ran his hand along the scruffy side of his face and opened his eyes extra wide and then winced, resigned himself to painting, or continuing the one picture that he’d been doing for weeks now, of a metal animal made to look like a dumpster, but that really looked more like a confusing blob that had trash-looking colors coming out of it. and he sat on his stool with his easel in hand and made tiny little useless strokes to the background while grinding his heel absently into the floor. His mind was swimming again in the listless lusty rank blinding streets of unpredictable endless desertion. That feeling of the Big that one gets right in the middle of a four or six lane road and feeling its slight hot curve, of sentience. Or insentience: to sun himself on a bench with newspapers rustling in the calm breeze; to stretch out his stocky legs and drink an afternoon away unwelcome in some park and watch the joggers and baby carriages go by and make faces at the faces they make at his smell. To eye with distant hunger and glass-eyed curiosity the soft membranous wings of flies that chance to land in his palms, or to will the clouds into different shapes and count with whimsy and shame the innumerable mistakes of his life. His were the cold mornings of public transit and and old bakery bread and the daily zen of cup-jingling for coins.
“fwoop fwoop fwoop fwoop fwoop.”
The fan giving name to his silence. Missing the inchoate wonder of the big street.
****

>more if want

[Anonymous No.5900887]

>>5900835
>too much prose

[Anonymous No.5900909]

>>5890951
ugly kneees/10

[Anonymous No.5900927]

Suuuper rough draft, but here's a poem I wrote.

ode to summer, written on Christmas eve

COLA
Being in a car, driving through little villages with the windows down,
top down,
anything that makes us feel like the pedestrians when we stop (people who are already at the place they want to be)
and makes us feel like we’re falling off a mountain when we accelerate
Playing twee pop
sometimes Beat Happening when we want to think about each other
usually Cub (Betti Cola) because I want to think about myself
sucking the thickest vanilla milkshake through a straw
keeping the rest of my face hidden behind sunglasses

MELTING
Colors melt together
The heat intensifies them, makes them garish
the suburban world looks like a pack of crayolas left in an old car in the desert
People melt together too, bound by sweat.
Everything has to be made a little darker just to be looked at.
The world is aquatic, and we all turn Pisces by sun

SUN
Giver of life
giver of growth
through growth giver of death.
Dripping gold snot on shag carpet.
Light is a drug like dopamine.
The sun can blind away your troubles and make you feel numb

FIREFLIES
There’s something so romantic about the way mosquitoes bite you
court you then tease you
remind you of the night you stayed out too long by the fire then get itched away.
High contrast nights
the sky, the stars, the fireflies
Black, white, yellow
Even the outline of the trees can be seen sharply against the sky.
Something sinister hides behind those trees, seen by flashlight then never seen again.

DIRTY WATER
Jumping into the pond with a t-shirt on
Everything on top is green and below is the color of beef broth and the smell of a fish failing to die on a rock
If I opened my eyes under there I’d see a giant snake watching closely to make sure I don’t wander near the eggs by the cattails

JUST THE TWO OF US
I left you alone in the woods so I could get some ice cream.
There’s too much heat in breath and holding of hands.
I need some manufactured cold.

[Anonymous No.5900949]

>>5900835
I like it! post some more.

[Anonymous No.5900967]

http://pastebin.com/02wekhAJ

Short story I'm working on. Not all the way done yet, I feel like I really need to add more to the middle, to get some momentum behind the character arc, but I'm at the point now where I need some new eyes on it and I don't really know anyone who could give good advice. Anything would help.

[Anonymous No.5901130]

>>5900887
>>5900949

IN THE BATHROOM he saw the doorman watching from a moppuddle in a blue halo of dead reflective difference. Around the time most people are leaving the office sees his nightmare in ripples and rejoining reflections of the toilet and sink water the gaunt black form inverted. The man from the street: put there. Effervescence in the toilet locked in trance of civilized time, hooded in deferent shadow of a doorway from some sleepy creepy sidestep alley; and the bathroom door leaked and got warped by moisture so the light was grey and profuse feeling like a warehouse —with long tile floors piercing the terminal endless eyes of a dead city— and while pumping their old exhausted fluids through his walls and through his head, he heard the formal agencies of the Public Good were providing all the sustenance and concern that befits a human being, and became too cloistersome and difficult for him; breaking into a sweat to see the wavering form of the doorman pumping all his sick water from gloom of a blue & gray puddle. Grasping the stall walls heard the rush of a toilet flush along the luminous silver walls, and sweating like an older man than he was felt a flutter in his heart, bulged his eyes for a moment of expectant horror— it passed. the runoff of everyone else’s life encroaching upon his space in the city according to the authority of the commissions? That terrible feeling of invasion? his Inbox checkered with flashing bulbs of Connections Everywhere, violated by the advertiser and shoplifter and president of the board from the long table tangling his hands in mess of jubby terrible fingers thick and sausagelike into a cat’s cradle, trying to prove that it’s just terrific to hold you down on the neck, over you, who wrote the bill which you signed— and in a broken compartment of the public concealed shame you’re shitting like a nervous dog, like someone in a doctor’s office nervously awaiting an appointment with the higher power.

a minute later he was walking with pants at his feet into MR. DONNAHUEW’S OFFICE and terminated his employment via charging boldly through the first story window, some might say with grace, out onto the waving green bushes and into the hot street below, and commencing his life as a man liberated… But that was some years ago.
IT WAS NOT until he was an old man that he came to realize the cost of life in the ulterior sense; creeping around corners heavy and disconsolate mooring place of body, speed of blood. the unyielding glare through the window. Biding his time like an old man— drinking wine, forfeiting his right to attrition toward life, living and drooling/cooking/dressing/undressing and pulling litter from Jillie’s box when it stunk up in the hanging sun stink of yellow hazy summer afternoon indoors. The hobos milling always on

[Anonymous No.5901131]

Every night I dance with the wolves down the moon around the everlasting fire. I don't have an age for I exist beyond time itself as a being who nothing belongs but its own self and in every place and time nothing can feel for no bond good or bad forge with anyone at at all.
Down the forest and the fire which casts light on every being they born every dusk and die every dawn and we stand, merely observing through the forest every existence come and go every night and every day with no rest for the rest of us.
Once, I walked through the forest of souls with my wolves and my soul in hand which like a flame showed me the path through the darkest of trees. "Why don't you fade?" they asked and called my wolves to come near them to them names and value and worth and make an object out of their existence and being to which they'll see their own light fade.
Along the path I walk every dawn down the dying trees with my wolves and my soul they repeat every word and name and I wait for them to fade out again and again without ever cutting their roots in order to be free from themselves.

[Anonymous No.5901136]

>>5901130
>>5900949

egg-fry pavements, siphoning the richness and docile dark hot purity of the vast streets in useless absolving daytime walkabouts— he gets angry at his old snaggletoothed face in the streaked mirror, drudging thru his memories they were old boxes in the basement too heavy to move upstairs and throw out; remonstrating himself subtly and endlessly and voraciously as if he could dig through his current life and find the old one hiding beneath— old life of useless wandering starving rummaging shuffling glory of see-thru pavement. Thrown for a loop of ambition, O lost! Ever a wife? where are you? where am I? His toaster smoking, looping soft curls in the air that float like jellyfish;
“Fuck” he says, in a gruff voice, removes the blackened bread.

sorry it's long. its part of this prose book thingy thats free on ibooks store :) id be happy if ya looked
https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/this-is-all-much-worse-now/id942808926?mt=11

[Anonymous No.5901140]

>>5891145
102/10

Wow, would copypasta

[Anonymous No.5901170]

She put her mouth on it, she put her face on it, I wanna tardy on it, I wanna be late on it. She pick her head up, she drop her head down, she saying yes, cock and balls on the tip of her tounge. She's a bit young, but we have fun, yes we have fun, yeah she a lot of fun, she like to fuck, she like to suck, she gotta pound booty with a tight waist.
She is the white race, the baby faced, she shut the fuck up when I fuck her face. -brcklndrs

[Anonymous No.5901180]

>>5901136
Among other things, I'm twenty two hours, four pitchers of coffee, and three grams of blow into this shift at the seedhouse. Its a nonstop fuckfest and my system can barely handle it, despite the copious amounts of chems flowing through my veins.

O, my poor retinas, drier than the Atacama. My poor eardrums, blasted into oblivion. And most of all, my brain. My poor neurons, permanently etched with a million bits of pornographic stimuli: colors of fleshy pinks, synthetic blondes. The puke green hue two bit hotel walls. Sounds of a monkey beating his chest in a victory dance and a wet mop being vigorously rammed into a bucket. The list goes on and on. I’m a walking supercomputer that can electrochemically render your favorite porno in 1080p, with SmelloVision to boot.

No time for poetry though; gotta stay focused. On the big screen, Coco Coxxx turns around and stares at me with her sweet ‘ol puppy eyes. That’s my cue. With lightning speed, my hands dart into the whirring contraption of steel and death. Grab the roll of film, swap it out. With the grace of a piano player, my fingers fly around a glowing button panel more complex than the dashboard on a space shuttle. Press them all in the right order. Pow pow zinga, mission successful. Long John Jimbo’s glistening phallus flawlessly segues into Coco’s wrinkled poop chute with 0.2103 milliseconds to spare. The crowd in the seats below cheers, at least in spirit, and I feel like I just returned to Earth from a solo expedition to Uranus.

Five minutes later, enough sperm to double the world’s population is released in unison, all thanks to yours truly. And in fifteen minutes, we do it all over again. Just another day on the job.

[Anonymous No.5901208]

>>5901180
i like this alot, the 3rd paragraph is kinda william burroughs ish with the death-metal-orgasm juxtapositions
>"permanently etched with a million bits of pornographic stimuli"
neat/10

u like mine? itd be cool if you checked out this short prose book i wrote thats free, and its got some of my drawings in it too

https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/this-is-all-much-worse-now/id942808926?mt=11

[Anonymous No.5901221]

>>5901208
>itunes

Is there somewhere else I can look at it?

[Anonymous No.5901225]

>>5891574
I really like your rhythm here but some of the words disrupt it and like another said there are too many word chains. Really nice flow to it near the middle though so it's worth holding on to for sure.

[Anonymous No.5901228]

Got a girl on my mind
She spits venom she spits fire
Her silence is wild
Her presents just slips
Between those heavy finger tips
The trigger That Don't go nowhere
The drug That Won't sit still
Her gaze shoots to kill
I will fuck this bitch for real.

[Anonymous No.5901245]

>>5891674
This seems like you're just trying to get a lot of emotion across and hoping that the feelings behind it will overpower the need for any traditional poetic elements. It reads like it's written by an angsty depressed high schooler, too. Judging from your post even, I can tell this is a topic you want to relate at a very personal level, but as it is nothing of it is remarkable. Why not trying pulling some from other places or using metaphors past the very obvious cage? These could be song lyrics to a very sappy emo band. I would trash this and see about some other ways to relate your experiences.

[Anonymous No.5901402]

>>5896479
someone is having incestous dreams....

[Anonymous No.5901538]

>>5900070
>be me
>go to bed
> dream about getting a few quality replies to this post
Better get off the chans while I can

[Anonymous No.5901558]

On a midnight walk the mist realm revealed itself
It gently hovers over the white snow and the black trees
Everything is still.

This realm extends into eternity
In damp woods, water drops descend, quietly shattering
And soft footsteps are heard by no one.

In empty streets, pasteurized street lights glow
Sending their faint beams into the sky
Absorbed by dense clouds that cover the land like a blanket.

The mist holds magical powers
Breathe it in, feel it saturate your soul
Become one with the calmness.

>gay/10
>IDGAF

[Anonymous No.5901564]

On a midnight walk the mist revealed itself
It gently hovers over the white snow and the black trees
Everything is still.

This realm extends into eternity
In damp woods, water drops descend, quietly shattering
And soft footsteps are heard by no one.

In empty streets, pasteurized street lights glow
Sending their faint beams into the sky
Absorbed by dense clouds that cover the land like a blanket.

The mist holds magical powers
Breathe it in, feel it saturate your soul
Become one with the calmness.

>gay/10
>IDGAF

[Anonymous No.5901583]

>>5901564
>n empty streets, pasteurized street lights glow

Used streets twice in same line, oops

[Anonymous No.5901620]

Took inspiration from
>>5891674

I am a hamhock
Make soup out of me
Then I go to the dump
and rot under the sun

I am a hamhock
and once I was alive
just like my mother
and my consumer
I was raised and killed by machines

I am a hamhock
watch me watch the clock
I don't need any bath salts
in my tub of murky mashed peas
Because i am

a hamhock

[Anonymous No.5901643]

>>5901564
You used a lot of cliches in this, and so to me it was boring. If you want to touch someone with your words, you have to point at something instead of just wandering around or else, it feels unfocused. I mean it feels like you're probably a good writer, but every line is supposed to be descriptive and so it loses its effect because you forget where you're at.

[Anonymous No.5901650]

>>5900088
slam poetry fo real

[Anonymous No.5901707]

>>5901221


>>>email me and ill send it to ya mane :)

[Anonymous No.5901712]

>>5901707
>>5901221
sorry i mean this huueueueueueueueeuueue
http://pastebin.com/9hxkgGVx

[Anonymous No.5901856]

>>5899711
Tiene más ritmo en español. Me gusta.

[Anonymous No.5901946]

.....

[Anonymous No.5902001]

>>5898059
Still looking for something...

[Anonymous No.5902496]

>>5901538
That's because it's already been done. Ever read Heart of Darkness?

[Anonymous No.5902919]

>>5890630

This is from a play that I am writing. I wrote this excerpt today. Please, give me some sincere opinions. The original is in Portuguese and the translation is of my own authorship.


Oh, great master.
With claws of cyclone and slaughterhouse hands
From the shell of flesh death has ripped you off.
But that is now past, that is past:
Death is now dead and pain has dissolved into sleep.
That thy nest in the clouds might never burn
With the electric hornets and the flaming
Harpies of the thunders; that the tempests
Do not scourge your cotton crib
In a beehive of tumult and rumble;
That the cry of the cerebral cicadas
Of the earthly neuroses do not bite you
In the bed of mists where now you sleep.
The world where you walk now might be so beautiful
That the stars that can be seen by the living
Be only moths of gray powder when compared
To the Fireflies that have tamed and instructed
Their neutral lamps and cold candles
To make diamonds be set on fire
In the mysterious heavens of eternity,
In the galaxies that waltz for the dead.
Sweet be the country that you now inhabit.

Oh, grande mestre.
Com garras de ciclone e mãos de açougue
Da concha da carne a morte o arrancou.
Porém isso é passado, isso é passado:
Morta está a morte e a dor solveu-se em sono.
Que teu ninho nas nuvens jamais queime
Com os zangões elétricos e ardentes
Harpias dos trovões; que tempestades
Não açoitem teu berço de algodão
Numa colméia de tumulto e estrondos;
Que o grito das cigarras cerebrais
Das neuroses terrenas não te morda
No leito de neblina em que tu dormes.
Seja tão belo o mundo onde agora caminhas
Que as estrelas que os vivos podem ver
Sejam só mariposas de pó cinza frente
Aos vaga-lumes que seus lampiões
Neutros e velas frias adestraram
Para fazer diamantes pegar fogo
Nos misteriosos céus da eternidade,
Nas galáxias que valsam para os mortos.
Doce seja o país que agora habitas.

[Anonymous No.5902920]

>>5900927
awwww guyz, this isn't that hard to read, promise... :c

[Anonymous No.5903788]

>>5891115
It's a tour de force for sure, but could you keep this up for 500 pages? I don't know.

[Anonymous No.5903833]

>>5902920
Delete that picture and I'll read it.

>>5891115
This is shit. An unconvential writing style like yours is rarely justified, in particular, your average and conventional object of writing does not justify the unconventional style.
This is House of Leaves tier, very very low and highly retarded.

[Anonymous No.5904037]

Help, please. No sir, I must ask that you do not walk away. Why? Well, please observe the circumstances, and use your best judgement. Yes, that's correct. Yes. Yes. Right up her vagina. Of course I'm going in deeper. Probably up to the knee, by this point. Please pull me out, as I am afraid I shall suffocate. I am currently in up to my waist, and I can feel continuous suction emanating from her sweet pussy lips. Oh, you can not help me? You have a prior engagement, I see. Thank you for the willingness to assist nonetheless, my fellow companion. I would bow, but as you can imagine...

Yes, you too. Have a fantastic day.

[Anonymous No.5904277]

<-- required qt
my piece:

https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B1eSErMeetAhNTg2Q05QMnNIeWs/view?usp=sharing

If someone could take a look at this and tell me if it's shit or not, that'd be gr8.

[Anonymous No.5904296]

The faces pass me but they don't fit quite right.
Something off something askew something foreign.
Like masks plastered on to fit their specific projection.
Happy yet professional but I can see it frayed at the edges.
Behind it sits the trembling fear that we all forget.
The endless questions and answers that we all dodge and cover our ears for.
The terrors of mortality and senselessness and reality.
The humanity of the person lay beyond the face portrayed in daylight.
On most people I can see the stitches.

[Anonymous No.5904317]

>>5904277
It might be good but I hate it because I'm so fucking tired of reading stories about awkward young males who want love.

It's fucking boring.

[Anonymous No.5904357]

>>5904317
>awkward young males who want love
But that's life, anon. It's a real thing that real people feel every day. Are we no longer allowed to write stories about love or depression simply because it's been done before?

Did you at least find it a little funny? What did you think of the prose? What could I do to make it not shit?

[Anonymous No.5904377]

>>5904357
It's good enough to make me realize that I do fap to past enounters way too ofter.

And I'm not telling you to stop writing it. I would never say to someone to stop writing anything.

I'm just personally am tired of that specific subject. These last 5 years it seems that most of the works that are pumped out have this premise or at least includes it into the story.

It is nothing personal because it was decent and honestly you don't want anyone from here to "critieque" your work.

Just work on finding your voice and scream and others who scoff at you and demand that you change your words in order to fit their standards are usually shit tier writers anyways.


Just keep at it.


Also ellen page is a cunt find a better waifu.

[Anonymous No.5904455]

>>5904377
Don't say that about Ellen.
She's perfect.

[Anonymous No.5904464]

>>5904455
I agree.
Posting more Ellen

[Anonymous No.5904473]

>>5904464
>>5904455
My niggas.

[Anonymous No.5904489]

>>5904473
i love you guys.

[Anonymous No.5904507]

>>5904489
One of my goals in life is to be such a neat person Ellen Page wouldn't be able to pass up the chance to fuck me.

[Anonymous No.5904520]

>>5890630
Here Nietzsche claims that the principle of “life” is a more pressing and higher concern than that of “knowledge,” and that the quest for knowledge should serve the interests of life. This parallels how, in The Birth of Tragedy, Nietzsche looked at art through the perspective of life.
This is what happens when you engage with philosophy itself as a language game. You suggest alternative thoughts that relate to behavior in preference of the behavior. Morals are simply metaphors - they have no strength because the approach to philosophy you criticize has no understanding of itself as a language, has no idea of its truth in relation to itself as a language game. However, Wittgenstein’s awareness of it means his philosophy survives. In a certain way, Kierkegaard’s, Freud’s and Marx’s also. You must be examining something fundamental - usually expressed in some alternative language game (critiques - particularly psychoanalysis and marxism - do this very well).

[Anonymous No.5904522]

>>5904507
i think she's gay

[Anonymous No.5904529]

>>5904522
Which only sets the bar higher.

[Anonymous No.5904555]

>>5904455
>>5904464
>>5904473
>>5904489
Official queen of /lit/

[Anonymous No.5904632]

>>5904555
>>5904489
>>5904473
>>5904464
>>5904455


You only like her because she look like a boy with a wig on.

Try to critique that faggots.

[Anonymous No.5904667]

>>5904632
It's weird because people say similar things about a lot of the girls I like. I even prefer when they have shorter hair, pixie cuts or even shaved heads. But I'm not attracted to boys. I've never mistaken a feminine boy for a girl. There is a powerful distinction, even if hightests like you can't see it. I bet I'm not alone in this.

[Anonymous No.5904674]

>>5904555

Lesbian jailbait? No thanks

[« Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ » !mxvabIoSIE No.5904689]

>>5904632
>You only like her because she look like a boy with a wig on
Pfff

>>5904674
She's hardly jailbait

[Anonymous No.5904698]

>>5904689
Yes butterfly it's true, you're only attracted to her because she looks like a boy. This is why so many lesbians are butch. Didn't you get the memo?

[Anonymous No.5904796]

Can I please (please!) get some constructive criticism on this?

http://pastebin.com/5CbfHvj5

[Anonymous No.5904835]

Just finished this. It's a bit of an homage.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1PXIC1Vwb1TSYHqGQCqAgQt9R9V9QXdKr3xpyls-uNfE/edit?usp=sharing

[Anonymous No.5904863]

Another piece I'm working on, from the same thing as >>5892664 , also translated. Also also, now with grill.

As always, her eyes are the first thing I notice, clear and guarded by well-defined eyebrows. She’s got a look of cheerful confidence that only age can take away. A button nose barely distinguishes itself from her pale skin. A mouth bordered with lips so thin they might as well not be there, resting in its usual spot slightly to the left of her face. The whole ensemble gives her a look that locks me in place every time my eyes cross hers. I can almost swear that she knows what I want to do to her, but I can’t tell if she’s disgusted or exited.

She is young, very young. The ponytail she sports everyday fits her too much. She must be about seventeen.

Elastic and energetic. The joy of watching her dance engulfs me to the point that I can hardly manage to avoid staring at her. Like a young, provocative Sun. I must only look for brief, casual seconds. Never directly.

Her routine is about to finish. I know this because the mix-tape is always the same. Fatigue is starting to show. Her usual pale and smooth face blushed into a meaty pink. My teeth clench with the desire of biting her cheek. Her mouth, usually tightly closed now opened into a mischievous smile. She always smiles when she’s tired.

The song ends. She and her group hold a pose for a moment. The teacher gives a monotonous cheer and the room is flooded with sighs and groans. But I can’t hear them. My senses focused on her heavy panting. Arousal bristles my skin. I take advantage of her closed eyes to sink mine into her. She is crouching. A lone strand of brown hair escaped from its tie and found place over her face.

I can see her mouth, but it is not enough. I want to hear her exhausted moans. I want her breath to warm my ear while her petite body rests on top of mine. I want the sweat flowing down her neck to salt my mouth while I kiss it. She leaves. I proceed to collect my stuff.

“I took too long”. I think to myself. I took too long getting my things and now she is gone. I needed to see her one more time. I can’t wait a whole week.

I stumble down the stairs into the lobby. She is here still, it’s raining. I hadn’t noticed. She’s on a hurry, staring impatiently at the rain. Without hesitation, I grab someone’s umbrella and go for it.

We are outside. The umbrella is small, but she keeps her distance. I extend my arm and cover her fully. I don’t care about a little water. She must not have noticed the gesture. The rain rages on. She lets out a squeal and clings to me. Her face and hands firmly against my chest, her palms closed. I’m in shock.

“I can’t get wet”. She explains. “I’m a cat”. Her voice is not what I had imagined. A much higher pitch than what I expected. Jesus Christ. How young is this girl?

>>5904317
then you're going to hate mine

[Anonymous No.5904871]

>>5904863
1. No its not the same girl, but I'm still undecided on that.

2. Please comment about my use of "meaty", I was translating from "carnoso" but I dont think the sexy carries over.

[Anonymous No.5904906]

>>5904698
you must convince yourself of stupid shit like this every morning when you wake up, lol.

You really know people so well, you must be a psychiatrist.

[Anonymous No.5905012]

http://pastebin.com/sanJ75pQ

it's shit, but I need some critique

[Anonymous No.5905045]

>>5900927
>JUST THE TWO OF US
>WE CAN MAKE IT IF WE TRY

[Anonymous No.5905230]

He sat stiffly on the couch, smoking a cigarette in the enclosed living room — smoke swirling in wispy clouds around his whiskered face. The TV sounded in the distance, his nose pointed north towards the magnetic screen while his eyes were unaware of the flashing lights. No, his were transfixed elsewhere, somewhere beyond. His eyes were on the man in the desert, the rough hand which weighed upon his own soft touch with cruelty, with uncaring unnoticing scorn. There wasn’t hate — not that there wouldn’t be if the rough man knew. No, there was only dissonance. There was only distance. To the rough man his hand was only a touch, casual and meaningless, but to the smoke-drenched boy it was more. It was a chance at revival, a shot at life. A shot.

It ended with a shot, a bang, a burst. The rough man had burst in the desert, but the soft hand still gripped the hot cigarette, ashes resting on his collared shirt. He looked over the sea, but he couldn’t see the rough hand anymore. He didn’t know that he was gone, he would never be back. He only saw the olive wall, bathed in electric glow.

His show ended, an advertisement flickered. His eyes welled with tears, stung with harsh smoke.

[Anonymous No.5905347]

>>5905230

>his eyes were unaware of the flashing lights
>His eyes were on the man in the desert

>was only dissonance
>There was only distance

>It ended with a shot, a bang, a burst.
>The rough man had burst

These repeating phrases stick out to me, the last one with varying meanings close together, a little distracting when you use burst (a noise) and then burst (a physically violent action)

I notice that the first usage of "his eyes" is important to the sentence as it is paired with another piece of his anatomy, his nose, though the second usage of "his eyes" could maybe be altered to describe, say, his gaze.

[Anonymous No.5905424]

>>5898059
Still can't believe that no one has anything to say about this...

[Anonymous No.5906076]

>>5902496
It was specifically supposed to be a parody of Conrad.

[hope you enjoyed festivus !trap0OylHY No.5906104]

>>5898059
>>5905424
I think it might be a bit too big for posting, posts look longer than they really are. Try with a pastebin next time, you might get more people to check it.

I'm not too comfortable with your focalization. Is the narrator sharing Jenny's world view and emotions? Is he another entity filtering her actions? Try to consider where the information comes and how to convey it a bit more clear, just a general recommendation.
You might want to tell us more about her personallity, so far you're you're trusting a bit too much that we'll get her deal when there really isn't one too clear. For all we know she might be actually a pretty decent person who convinces herself that she's bitter.

Maybe you could consider settling for a certain sentence lenght. It feels disjointed to have really short sentences and suddenly really long ones.

Your dialogue seems a bit dependent on common places. It depends on what you want, but I'm sure you could give it some personality.

Hope some of that rings helpful.

[Anonymous No.5906184]

>>5891674
Needs more angst

[Anonymous No.5906332]

My french teacher asked us for homework to take a picture and write something about it.
I got a 4 out of twelve by the way.

[Anonymous No.5906417]

>>5904667
you aren't alone in this

[Anonymous No.5906940]

>>5891574
1st 1/4 quarter is a quality impression of Pynchon, but unfortunately the rest reads like a dyslexic transcription of "ASCENT," (thinking "His fall must be total and without reference"="His ascent will be betrayed to gravity" and "CRACK"="CATCH"). Personally I think that the sort of thing Pynchon did had to be done, but having done it, there's no need for more. But I don't think some jackass on the internet will convince you of that so I'll say keep going champ.

[Anonymous No.5907090]

>>5906940

This is interesting.

Yeah, I am 9/10 done with my first read through of GR (as seem to be quite a few posters on here at the moment, which I am attributing to some kind of weird /lit/ equivalent to menstrual synchronization), and so I won't argue the well-taken point that Pynchon is in there all over the place.
I had not actually gotten to the "Ascent" section of the book, but from what I read after a quick google search of the quotes you used and a cursory glance at the text, I can certainly see the similarities...which I think is weird.
Anyway, thanks for the thoughts.

[Anonymous No.5907110]

So I recognize the girl in OP's image.

About a year or two ago I was on omegle and one of my interests was some kind of movie like blue valentine or some /lit/ shit, and we met, and we liked each other, ended up trading pictures.

Anyways, I'm ugly and she stopped texting back after a while.

Thanks for bringing it all back OP. If it's you I want you to know you're a cunt and go fuck yourself and have a shit christmas.

[Anonymous No.5907263]

The Rage In Our Hearts


Rage against the creator
Rage against our weaknesses
Rage against fate itself
Rage against the ever-approaching nothingness
Rage against any one who would cross out path by chance

The Mad Dog trained restlessly at the Holy Land of Swords
Going insane when confronted by her own weakness
Wake up Charles! There are no dreams in this world, you must live with despair!
Allowing yourself to rage to allow yourself to live

[Anonymous No.5907300]

>>5891115
Oh the last page of your novel you should have a whole page of just closing parentheses to end a whole chapter.

[Anonymous No.5907305]

>>5907263
on a second look I think the second-last line is unnecessary and doesn't fit, I just wanted to put that somewhere

[Anonymous No.5907400]

Walked through the park with my boy-pet Tommy on a sunny day when little Tommy (naked as he was) picked up the odor of a girl-pet nearby lying in front of a pet-store playing with herself and licking her armpits now and then.

Quite painful it was to me the rush my tommy boy had for he tripped with himself after a few steps and hit his erection with a rock which lied in his way. He started crying, my sweet Tommy boy, crying and sobbing because the pain on his foot and a slight tear on his penis.

"Do not cry" I whispered gently to Tommy-Tommy, but he didn't listen (bad boys never listen) so a tender scratch I give him to his naked scrotum (good advice by his prudent med because, you hygiene first always remember!) which seemed to silence the cries and reduce them to a not very loud gasp, not very annoying and a good-boy behaviour. Good boy Tommy takes pain like a man. An advice of the vet said I cannot strain myself so now and then I apply harsh (but tender and lovely) discipline to my lovely pet in order to not be an annoyance to me.

Took him near the female to they could copulate or he'll may make of our house the white house (haha, I told a joke!) if he doesn't copulate with a female soon (can't blame him since he's an animal and not reason can I expect) but the female didn't even look at him, and licking his nipples and playing with her diamond collar she proceeded to rub her genitals against her daddy (protector for what matters as I am of my Tommy) to get his attention. Her daddy hit her with his heavy tail and a wimp I heard from her, but as mad as I am by femdaddy's behaviour I cannot complain since no longer after she played with my Tommy and made him quite happy.

The ending is not happy, not too soon but the very same day she went away by her own will leaving my good Tommy boy very sad and lonely. My good Tommy boy, take what you get! You can't trust reason to animals, not matter how smart they may be!.

[Anonymous No.5907611]

>>5902919

Can I get some criticism of this? I really am not sure if my poetic language is any good. Dont know if it is normal to feel so many doubts about your own capacities. Is it normal to love and hate your work at the same time?

Also: dont mind my english - I am not using anything to correct my speling (and I am really bad at English grammar).

Thanks.

[Anonymous No.5907772]

>>5907611
Obsessing over strange metaphors and vivid utterances?

Maybe bland is the way to go.

It goes like this: One and two, buckle my shoe. Three and four, suckle on a whore.

[Anonymous No.5907778]

You can just scribble on a wall. MY diary right here, check out this scribbling:

Christmas din din? Christmas festivities? Sharing of trinkets?

I shall take no part if its in this home.

Im a creep.

Im a weirdo. What the hell Am I doing here? I dont belong here.

[Anonymous No.5907786]

>>5907611
The noblest goal is to be natural, or as the children say, done on purpose. No tiddle taddles or fairy tails. Straight from the heart.

Cavemen dont write poetry.

[Anonymous No.5907811]

>>5907611
There not a list of words; no gradesheet to pore over and memorize. Its not like it has to contain 75% fancy.

[« Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ » !mxvabIoSIE No.5907919]

Their evening reading ritual found Se'a a little drowsy. When she snapped her head back awake, bringing Lu's nose out of her own reading, Se'a took a moment to look around into space with a puzzled look on her face. "What's the matter?" sniffed Lu amused. "I just had a flash-waking dream" explained Se'a, trying to recall all the details. "I saw three ceramic ornately designed cups, one bigger than the next. In the smallest I could ... see/sense, -in the way one recalls a memorable book in an instant, not every line or scene, just a perception.- I could sense this writing or sentiment, and it was all well and good, but then I naturally had to follow up with a look inside the second mid sized cup, and there was this long counter to the first cup. It seemed to refute it's points so overwhelmingly. ... So... modern thought versus antique, maybe?" Lu could only shrug. "So naturally my thoughts shifted focus to the largest cup," Se'a enthused, "fully expecting some onslaught of writing and counter-counter arguments. But I was surprised to find it seemingly empty. But at the 'bottom' I found a short sentence of such simplicity, completely dismissing the other two. But like the others I couldn't actually read it. This all happened rather fast of course." Lu nodded "I wonder what they represented."
Lu asked "What are you reading, babe?"
"Borges"
"There's your problem"

[Anonymous No.5908320]

>>5906104
Thanks! I hope you wake up smiling each day. I will consider what you suggested.

[Anonymous No.5908390]

done here for now. im a carrtoon

[Anonymous No.5908433]

>>5907263
Would anyone kindly critique this?

[Anonymous No.5908899]

>>5907263
>>5908433
The language is not poetic and the meaning is suspect. Study prosody and think longer about what you feel you have to say.

[Anonymous No.5908916]

>>5908899
Cont
These could also be of help.

http://www.carrothers.com/rilke_main.htm
https://ebooks.adelaide.edu.au/l/longinus/on_the_sublime/

[Anonymous No.5910045]

>>5907110
you just reminded me of that girl i was supposed to meet at disneyland you fuck

[Anonymous No.5910240]

Here's a very short story I have to offer. How is the writing: interesting or not? Are the jokes funny or bland? Is the ironic homo effective or not? Thanks a lot, and a late merry christmas!

http://pastebin.com/ZEhrYKP9

[Anonymous No.5910250]

>>5890630
Lobster

The sky inspects the
earth
as the sun glosses
toward the next horizon
next dawn

The skies are like battered lobsters
as the tide recedes

It is an african flute surely

and now my dad comes
to deliver my medicine
he asks me if I called anyone
I say I haven't touched the phone in months
he picks up your craft:
a bluegreen crucifix
(the colors of mourning)
with inscription
'the time jesus died
on the cross'
says my mints look like my SSRI's
starbucks aftercoffee
and yes the sky waits expectantly
and yes red colonies are revealed
bright as any daydream
human as any cornfield

[Anonymous No.5910261]

>>5890630
Two songs I wrote a while ago. Started writing poetry after finding my prose unsatisfactory. This in turn shifted to lyric poems/songs as I began listening to Leonard Cohen, Elvis Costello, John Darnielle and Mark Cozelek with a jealousy that Billy Collins referred to as the only reason why people create art. Well.
Song

Here I simmer
In God's lite

my thought spread out like
tablecloth

Here I gesture
in the nite
A blade of hair
detaches itself

Im alone and things are starting to quiver
and
shimmer

when night falls the songs they
Lose conviction
friction
precision

Michael Frayn
Winter's pain

rest easy on my wooden eyes

coruscate me
demonstrate me

read my story to the one inside

Im alone and ?things?
are starting to answer
when I
question

When night slides forth the intervals
lose their distance
for instance
like pistons

swallow a few lights
as I remember I was
caught up in all these doorframes
as I remember I was
filled with the fire of something nice

spread out on the tablecothes
can you read my signals

I'm alone and the wind is starting to gather

Red Song

I was a sailor on fire sea
the sun blinded me
I was a genius on fire sea
nothing there to see

I threw out a line
into the flames
I crossed the sequence
turned the page

I dream and weep and wake and smoke
the light of day around my throat

[Anonymous No.5910270]

>>5910250
I don't know enough about poetry to offer any learned criticism of this, but your rhythm seems erratic at times. For instance, in
>to deliver
>he asks me
you include "to" and "me", which don't convey much in meaning but mess up the smoothness of your rhythm; yet in
>with inscription
you omit a similar "the". I don't know whether it's better to include or to omit, but either way it's inconsistent right now.

Also here:
>'the time jesus died
>on the cross'
I see no reason for the enjambment considering "on the cross" is not the focus on the sentence in full and does not deserve any special emphasis

In addition, while your images are nice they aren't concrete, especially the African flute.

I did like the first stanza, though, as well as
>starbucks aftercoffee
and the final four lines.

Still, take my criticism with a pinch of salt.

[Anonymous No.5910333]

>>5907772
>>5907786
>>5907811

What do you mean? Too exaggerated? An excess of metaphors? If that is your message I think you really picked up one of the central problems of my writing: an exaggeration that disgusts the reader.

But if you can refine your criticism, make it more simple and understandable, I would be grateful. I still dont know if I am any good or not.

[Anonymous No.5910446]

I don't really consider this a reflection of my writing but I think it's amusing story that someone might enjoy. I'm not really looking for critiques, so please, berate me for this post:

The monkey looked back at the life he was leaving behind. The assembly of apes was blossoming with activity and reminded the monkey of all the qualities of his past life; the chaos of the biggest male taking whatever he wanted, the hierarchy of constant procreation, the absurd mixture of freedom and violence. He would miss the comfort of his group life but he had the unmistakable impression that his place was of larger magnitude. Something else entirely. He knew himself to be something greater that this rabble.

After several days of wandering alone he came across a tribe of hairless apes. They were very different from the others. They offered him food whenever he asked and he did not need to repay them. He did not want for shelter. Relaxation was an abundant resource.

One day the hairless apes tried to show the monkey how to help them build but he did not care for the work. When they tried to show him how to add and subtract, he knew the task to be purposeless. They tried to reason with him using meaningless sounds. He would hear none of it. When the monkey would not share his food they scorned him. When the monkey tried to take a lover they attacked him and forced him out.

Where he once was excited about the prospect of living with the hairless monkeys, he know knew them for the fools they were. He ambled into the forest down his higher path.

[Anonymous No.5910453]

>>5899938
Original writer here -

You actually point out some good ways of saving words - I'm trying to resist the urge to use words like 'hackneyed' which give the game away that I actually *hate* early jazz.

[summer time !trap0OylHY No.5910474]

>>5902919
>>5910333
You should consider slowing down a bit at some point with all the fluff. I liked the symbolism and the description, but its so constant that it ends up feeling needless and capricious instead of being an integral part of what you're saying.

I'd like to be able to comment on your word use but I don't read portuguese.

[Anonymous No.5910484]

>>5904863
p-por favor
i even added a qt

[Anonymous No.5910502]

Bit ban, cryptophile.
"She put the data in her dog."
Better luck next time.

[Anonymous No.5910514]

>>5900046
¿Sigues ahí?

[Anonymous No.5910522]

If one were only an Indian, instantly alert, and on a racing horse, leaning against the wind, kept on quivering jerkily over the quivering ground, until one shed one’s spurs, for there needed no spurs, threw away the reins, for there needed no reins, and hardly saw that the land before one was smoothly shorn heath when horse’s neck and head would be already gone.

[Anonymous No.5910532]

Here's mine.(Spanish)

http://pastebin.com/NGBi7i1p

[summer time !trap0OylHY No.5910539]

>>5910514
Si. Igual es /lit/ así que el hilo iba a seguir estando hasta que volviera.

[Anonymous No.5910548]

>>5910522
I think you could improve your flow with the following grammatical changes:

If you were only an Indian, instantly alert, on a racing horse, leaning against the wind, kept on quivering jerkily over the quivering ground until you shed your spurs (for there is no need for spurs), threw away the reins (for there is no need for reins), and could see that the land ahead was smoothly shorn heath when horse’s neck and head would be already gone.

I don't really like using "one" to mean "someone". It makes it sound like a committee wrote your sentences. I liked the metaphor, though.

[Anonymous No.5910630]

I want to learn more about proper form, structure and all that. Right now I kind of write thoughts with sporadic enjambs and call it poetry because it is too short to be prose. Anyway, here is one such example:


Who is to say the lover’s mantra
Excludes itself from coiling around any
Other tongue? Who is to say it is not a
Parasite puppeteering itself as the fabricated
Spokesman for some different emotion, some deeper
And more twisted emotion, yet an honest and thatched
Flame working its way through the system, and if you only
Allowed it sanctuary among your open palm it would transcend
Into an energy beyond tangible recognition? And who is to say
A kiss is a bonding agent between two living fabrics? Who is
To say it is anything more than a gradual warmth upon flesh, an
Unguarded mouth willing and vacant for any other passion flat
And broke on the corner of fifth and Tremont? Any other night
Love lies in the corner scattered across crimped pieces of paper
And vagabond scriptures, stained invisible save for the shadow burrowed
As a thin reminder in the morning when I recall the moment of climax, now
The pathetic joke and a thrown away pleasure. It used to be a temporary
Loneliness, rehearsal for the eventual return of the one I loved, it used to mean
More than release. And who is to say it still isn’t?
Who is to say it isn’t chemical reactions and instinct?
Words and orchestrated movements through darkness and sin?
Who is to say it is not controllable?
I am, at this moment, it is me.

[Anonymous No.5910645]

>>5910446
I-It's shit?

Prose is clear but clumsy, and the shifts in story from primacy to sophistication and back again aren't extreme enough for the irony to be funny.

And, yeah, uh, it's shit.

[Anonymous No.5910656]

>>5910484
If the original is Spanish why bother posting it in English unless you intend it to be bilingually published? It's not as if critique on anything other than plot will transfer back across the languages.

Just so you know I'm only saying this on principle. I don't understand Spanish.

[Anonymous No.5910683]

Bathed in moonlight, the mountains shone blue. Beauty etiolates in the light of the sun but survives in the veil of darkness, Hafez thought while holding Paiam. What a cruel civilisation that makes this disgusting violation of logic possible.
In nature a sapphire crown on the horizon was wrought. In Tehran, there are only gray and brown rooftops to be found, if you can dive through the nests of antennas, satellite dishes and wires and chords.Hafez had often pondered why things always were so far removed from what the Earth gave them.
Allah did not make a forest of mosques, he made wooden, leafy forests. Waterfalls, volcanoes, clouds, stars, light, fire... also evolution and beautiful women with long hair, soft curves, and large breasts. Before this night he would have cursed his peers and parents, but now he had Paiam.
The condescending closed eyelid of a moon didn't make him feel anger any longer, but guilt. Hafez had sinned, and finally understood the pleasure of it.

[Anonymous No.5910724]

>>5910656
>unless you intend it to be bilingually published?
yes, eventually

I think bilingually. obviously, i wouldnt write a bilingual book (or maybe...) but yeah, it helps me keep a fresh perspective on the work so i dont get mentally blocked.

[Anonymous No.5910825]

>>5904863
>>5910724
Your scene doesn't cover a lot of content, but the stalker-like nature of the narrator and the catness of the girl are fairly intriguing. I'd read on based on those two points alone.

Moving on to style, it's great for the most part but your casual speech, such as your conjunctions and slangy register like
>I can almost swear
>I proceed to collect my stuff
>Jesus Christ.
they don't mesh too well into the overall more civilised language of the rest of the piece. The conjunctions are more me being picky than an actual flaw, but if nothing else you really need to fix
>collect my stuff

Another thing: it looks better if you end speech with commas - like "I took too long," I think to myself - rather than if you end with full stops the way you do here.

And hmm
>The joy of watching her dance engulfs me
I'm not sure engulf is the right word here. It lacks the tension of the narrator at this point. But it's your choice in the end.

Otherwise, this was a fun, interesting piece. You didn't need to post qts to have it read.

[Anonymous No.5910934]

Me again with the jazz article:

Comments on tone would be appreciated, I'm not sure if the conclusion sounds too wanky.

This is precisely why free jazz matters. Its harmonic experimentation, provocative satire and ruthless tone function as ‘Freedom, by any means necessary’ set to music. When we see past the false glamour of jazz’s infancy, the sheer necessity of the movement becomes obvious. Deliberately progressive, with an urgency to innovate that no other musical genre has matched, free jazz either advances or it stagnates. It looks forward so that it need never look back.
‘[Jazz is] the only area on the American scene where the black man has been free to create. And he has mastered it. He has shown that he can come up with something that nobody ever thought of…’
(Malcolm X, having revised his views on jazz, 1964)

[Anonymous No.5911204]

>>5910825
Thanks for the feedback, it feels good to know it isn't boring, shit I can take, but not boring. I got other girls/women on my mind that he can fantasize over the curse of his day, not sure if I should make it a one-girl thing...

Special thanks about the language tips tho, I really have to polish my translating skills.

qts are a nice plus either way

[« Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ » !mxvabIoSIE No.5911379]

Well, I see others doing it and I'm certainly not above it.

What do you think of this short piece of mine? >>5907919

[Anonymous No.5911394]

>>5911379
I expelled breath at the end when I read it last night. GJ.

sorry if that's not in-depth

[kitty !kitty/EnNg No.5911401]

>>5911379
>Se'a

pronounced as sequotea? ' shouldn't be silent! :3

[« Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ » !mxvabIoSIE No.5911502]

>>5911394
A good sort of exhale?

>>5911401
Her name is Chelsea. As little girls Luise, Lu, named her "Sea" but people corrected her. "Sea is one syllable" etc. So in her letters to Chelsea, she just started spelling it with the apostrophe.
I may have other trivial little tales on them worth writing out. I Donno.

[Anonymous No.5911505]

>>5911502
One of laffter.

[Anonymous No.5911518]

He expelled a plethora of indiscernible drivel on his keyboard because he was too lazy to think of something meaningful to write and is too lazy to even go back and fix his errors. He strongly suspects what he types will be trash and that no one will even bother to give him a critique. It is so pointless because he is not even typing what he is truly capable of, and now he tries to make himself feel good by thinking so. He is too lazy to even make paragraphs, not that it will even matter. He only hopes that eventually he will be able to get his mind turning and be able to start his real writing again. But he suspect all he's going to do is sit in front of his glowing trash-box and shoot short-thought nonsense all night.

What a fool.

[« Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ » !mxvabIoSIE No.5911820]

>>5911505
Ah, good.

>>5911518

The narrow shaft was only momentarily lit when the torch came tumbling down, sparking and fluttering as it crashed along the sides. It carried on, leaving its smoke in the pitch and silence. Moments later a heavy chain and manacle scraped and clattered down the pit.

[Anonymous No.5911839]

>>5907919

Sorry, man. Much of this comes across as pretty vapid and obvious.
Don't try to force meaning onto your characters, make real people and let your message manifest through them.

[Anonymous No.5911952]

Here it is:

Today was yesterday, and yawns
are tomorrow's children.
Horrid are the knights in armor
when they ransack the party.
Enough of people of enough,
make no sense just bluff.
Since no means yes, don't bow behest
Fresno the yes/no, Mr. Dick Contra,
clown of the classiest circus:
"'the most mostest Sherpa
didn't come here to hurt us,"
said insecure security guard Mike.
And "Stop," said the goPhone in limbo
all while the billboard continued.
Half of the staff was withered thin,
the rest of the crest was in sin.
But–butt–hip flex pot hoarders cry
when the slimmest jim alive won't die.
This isn't a wrap in Christmas,
this is non–cents in the clearest.
St. Everest mounted a billy-goat
while stack-row-pins slowed notes.
Blank is a page drenched in 'blank,'
so no I'm writing on a white skank.

[Anonymous No.5911960]

>>5911952

*now–on the last line.

[« Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ » !mxvabIoSIE No.5911964]

>>5911839
It actually happened to me in just this way. I had no Luise to say any of it to till I wrote it down.
What was in these cups? Just vague and never to be formed ideas. Like the scent of flowers in dreams.
I was reading Borges.

[Anonymous No.5911965]

A short one:

Desolate arenas occupy fertile
land.
Taut ropes wrap around godless
hands.
The field proffers a single dried
peonie
that shouts to the crowd, "please
pee on me!"

[Anonymous No.5911981]

>>5890630
is dat van hecke?

[Anonymous No.5912054]

>>5896479
Highly underrated post

[Anonymous No.5912233]

I've read a lot of 18th century stuff recently and I like the period but people from that period are insufferable. This is me writing about how insufferable these people are.

http://pastebin.com/3ccuk3Ud

[Anonymous No.5912245]

>>5912054
It's pasta

[Anonymous No.5912465]

Colossal clouds carry on
With the wind
Below, the people, places, and things
Make no impression
Those I don’t want to see
Come into my periphery
Individuals I miss
Are elsewhere entirely
Maybe they’re chasing clouds
So far away, so fast
They could come back tomorrow
While here I stand with cupped hands
In the solar shadow
Yearning for rain

[Anonymous No.5912472]

>>5911965
I like the structure here, though the last line ruins it for me
Maybe I'm just not in a humorous mood

[Anonymous No.5912826]

DURING AND AFTER LUNCH

Jonathan, or Mr. Allen sat uncomfortably on top of the thin back rest of the red bench deep in the park; he didn't want to be comfortable. He held an umbrella against the drizzle that fogged the park around him, in which the park's abundant tree line, skeletal in this season, took on an unusual fuzziness. His wrist ached from holding the umbrella. He looked into the tree line. He had been looking into the tree line for the previous ten minutes of his lunch break. He remembered walking home from school on the last day, about the last time somebody called out, "Jonny!" Jonathan, or Mr. Allen withdrew a cool silver flask from inside his coat, and tilted it drastically, his face and neck stiff. He was watching a point in the trees. "Jonny!" Elizabeth had called, excited, her voice as bright, crackling once, twice, young, like the light coruscating on the seaside below the hill above their small seaside town. He had turned to see her running, her pleated school uniform skirt leaping up, his heart leaping in his chest at the slight sight of her thigh. Mr. Allen cleared the rough whiskey from his throat with a rough noise, and licked his lips. In the fog, on the red bench, the startlingly red bench, in the quiet deep of the park, Mr. Allen, coming out of his memory, felt as if he had wandered out of the earth. He sat there a long time, and then got up. He walked through the fog, through the trees line, into the trees, past the trees, into the sounds of the cars, the colors of the street. He went back to the store. He went through side entrance, in an alleyway, a big green door marked STAFF he had to fumble with a key to open. He put on his apron in the back room. He went out of the back room and stood in his place behind the bar.
A pretty woman came in; she was blonde, fair, in her thirties, in an buttoned anorak coat, red, very red. He said, "Hello," to the pretty woman in the very red anorak. She said nothing back, and flickered a polite smile at him. She leaned against the bar. She stood leaning against the bar. She was looking at the rows of bottles behind him. "Martini," she said, not looking, and then listed with a voice a little louder, a little more precise, than one would use in conversation, "Bombay Sapphire, dry, twist." and he made it. She put a ten dollar bill, folded lengthwise, on the bar, and he took it. She drank it in two swift gulps.

[Anonymous No.5912834]

zip zappin, it's happenin'
kickin' poetry on my boatery
lick my own ass so you know it's me

[Anonymous No.5912918]

Yo! Mastery of flattery
got magic beans from the haberdashery
doop doop skip skip scattery
timebase, run the battery
more dumb jokes than the daddery

[Anonymous No.5912937]

'I'm feeling optimistic, but that's about it.'

[Anonymous No.5912941]

Alright, here's some rough prose I'm thinking about cleaning up and making into something longer. I was trying to do something interesting with memory. Tell me what you think.


In a lone dwelling cast in the shadow of earliest morning, grasping and gripping its way up the central stairwell was a scent. It drifted invisibly, between the cracked banisters and the rough-cut steps, across the landing, the creaky floors, under the bolted door, and choked the solitary bedroom with its inescapable odor. Laid on the room’s central, scarcely-padded wrought-iron cot, a young man awoke in sudden panic.
His mind was filled with essence. In the back of his nostrils, he felt the impression of salt-water spray, wind, and sky cut with equal parts brilliant sunshine and funerary overcast. There were the faintest whiffs of faces, outlines more than memories, as well as the pungent pastels of colorful birds, flowers, fruits. For a second he felt the sketch of a voice mingle with the other tones, but it was gone as soon as it came.
No use trying to get back to sleep. The man brought himself up, out of the bed and to the window which faced the soon-rising sun. As the first rays shot out over the horizon, he saw the painted silhouette of a northeastern wilderness which stretched to the horizon and far past it. With the cresting of the sun over the treeline, the scent surrounding him took on a new overtone.

Time. Not much time, but still an immensity, even in its relative smallness. His lifetime’s worth, perhaps.

While the man stood stock-still in the window’s frame, his eyes grew bright as the miles and miles and years and years of trees before him were colored by cold new sunlight.

[Anonymous No.5912944]

*in le fred durst voice*

I'm the joker! I'll no scope ya!
Put my desert eagle back in the holster!
Vagina! I'm gonna dine ya!
Iller than ebola and I ain't even tryin' 'ta!

[Anonymous No.5912945]

>>5912941

Damn, formatting fucked up. The section after the guy wakes up is supposed to be a new paragraph.

[Anonymous No.5912958]

>>5912944
simply epic.

[Anonymous No.5912962]

>>5912958
Quit samefagging.

[Anonymous No.5912966]

>>5912941
"what you think" is pretty vague when you're asking for critique, anon.

It works. Your sentences are a little overloaded with imagery but maybe that's just the effect you're going for. I'd cut down on some of the detail in the longer sentences though. The content is too abstract to really stand alone but as you say you're going to expand it; as long as you root it in solid context/plot it should be fine.

>miles and miles and years and years of trees
this is a little hyperbolic

>sketch of a voice
this is nice

>grasping and gripping its way up the central stairwell was a scent
"a scent" is too threadbare in tension and descriptiveness to match up to the detail before. It's basically an anticlimax of detail. Replace "a scent" with something stronger.

>Laid on the room's central, scarcely-padded wrought-iron cot
It's not often that you see people being laid out on a bed. Just making sure you aren't mixing up lie/lay like a lot of people do.

[Anonymous No.5912976]

>>5910240
A-Anyone? It's only a five-minute read, I promise.

[Anonymous No.5913209]

>>5912233
This was a bad 12am description of what I wrote. This is a letter I'm writing as an 18th century historian suffering probably from some form of dementia to his son.

[Anonymous No.5913377]

We took the long drive to Lemon Grove from farther North and West. By my count not a single lemon tree, yet fitting. It was a sour and dilapidated yellow. Great trunks of concrete held branching overpasses, their thick fingers reaching North, South, the coast. It might have been imagination, but the buildings seemed husks of themselves. The thick rind of a fruit, too early plucked and sweetly devoured.

My mother told me this was once an up-and-coming spot; her and my father used to go to the thin-aisled bookstores, literature stacked so high it wobbled, leaned, towered over, and enveloped with the dry smell of aged paper and glue; the aisles ever shifting, a breathing maze of warmth and understanding. Now, like a child star aged too soon, or a balding young man, it had decayed directly from youth to disuse and irrelevance. Many people tell me they used to live here.

[romancero gitano !trap0OylHY No.5913399]

>>5912976
>>5910240
It reads as if you had a couple ideas you really wanted to work out but didn't have the interest to complete the space between them. A lot of things should and could be expanded, it needs more characterization so we understand the tone of the lines or a heavier context to make the important items stand out a bit less. Right now it reminded me of cheap child versions of longer novels where you get the general idea but it's rushed and it lacks the author's presence.
You could consider fixating a clearer narrating position. If you want to remain above it all try to remove the insight on the lord's feelings and develop more how things look and what actions they take, but you could also keep it quite similar while taking the detective focalization. It's up to you, of course.

[romancero gitano !trap0OylHY No.5913416]

>>5913399
Now I'm worrying that fixating doesn't mean what I wanted it to mean. I meant something as "chosing a focalization and sticking to it" with all the expansion it brings since you'd mark easy to notice information boundaries, making it easier to move around instead of trying to chose line to line what you're trying to let the reader know.
Hope that makes a clearer sense.

[Anonymous No.5913477]

>>5913399
>>5913416
I really appreciate you giving feedback to my piece, but I don't understand what you're saying. Do you mean that there isn't a clear sense of story or character to my piece? And by fixation/focalization do you mean that I shouldn't digress into random details, like the prime minister or the mints?

And, well, it was really meant to be a comedy piece, so if you don't mind I'd like to know whether you found it funny or not. Was it?

[romancero gitano !trap0OylHY No.5913521]

>>5913477
It has a too clear story for what you were making, so the smart or joking or playful parts stand out too much, it's too watered down but at the same time too evident. It might work better if you slow down the rhythm a bit, or if you go in the opposite directio and step up the absurd. Either way it feels too much like a middle ground right now.

Focalization "refers to the perspective through which a narrative is presented." In other words, the reader will know as much as your focalization point. You can have a third person narration and we only know as much as a single character does, or we know everything that's going on anywhere, or whatever. In your case you switch from a certain character's perspective to another depending on the scene. I was just suggesting that you could consider to give us only the Lord focus, and set all the events from his perspective from spying to reading the news, or maybe the detective, and let us know snippets of his plan.

Also, the inside pocket thing could have another repetition. It's usually said that repeating something once feels like a mistake while repeating it four times feels like an abuse.

I got the comedy intention, not so much the effect.

[Anonymous No.5913582]

>>5913521
>step up the absurd
>the inside pocket thing could have another repetition
>I got the comedy intention, not the effect

Thank you very much. I'll do my best to improve based on this.

[Anonymous No.5913594]

>>5898538
I'd take out
>but where did the backlash begin?

Mostly that's personal preference, but to me it reads like a grade 9 essay, I just can't stand questions like that in writing. Sounds unprofessional and amateurish.

[Anonymous No.5913622]

>>5913477
>http://pastebin.com/ZEhrYKP9

Your story is stuffed with cliche phrases. Cutting them or altering them would make your writing a lot more interesting. Comedy isn't a license to write shoddily, nor are conventionally minded characters. Here's a few:
>in case he met
>gazed into her eyes
>dramatic entry
>he was a busy man
>it's going to be real pleasure
>soul on his conscious at the gates

Your sentences are also pretty clumsy. Muddled. One early instance:

>The detective lifted her up into a sitting position, taking care to put his arm around her shoulders, and reached with the same arm into his breast pocket to offer her the handkerchief he always carried in case he met this situation.

Starting with "the detective lifts her up" is confusing. From what? The scene hasn't been established properly. Should be, "red on the floor, beside which the maid was fainted..." If he lifts her, he by definition lifts her up. "Into the sitting position" is just clunky. This could easily be phrased with much more economy. It's also unclear how he's doing this, where he is. Does he squat? Kneel? And he's also withdrawing a handkerchief while he's lifting her with an arm around her? This requires a third arm, or an exceptionally long one. It would be much easier and clearer to say "The detective was kneeling beside her. As she roused, he lifted her. He reached into his breast pocket and drew his kerchief and handed it to her."

Because I'm never quite sure, exactly, what's going on, I'm not really getting struck by the punch lines. When I do get them, your clumsy constructions botch them.

>...he was due right then for a late lunch with the prime minister, who refused to see guests at occasions other than lunches and thus needed the constant attention of his team of dietitians

"Occasions other than lunches" is actually funny. It satires a certain attitude effectively. But you keep going past the punch line into the next clause, and this whole clause is odd. Why would dietitians attend a man constantly lunching? This is better suited for another sentence. Pause after the joke lands, elaborate the joke. "Because of this habit, and the expanding of his waistcoats is entailed, he was attended at luncheons by a team of dietitians."

There is also a general paucity of sensory detail. I don't render the scene clearly.

[Anonymous No.5913680]

>>5898538

>from these conditions
Which conditions?
>When we talk about free Jazz...
Revision of the tired old "what we talk about when we talk about x;" revise.
>But where did the backlash begin?
Where and when. Was it really a "backlash?" Or was it a reaction? There's a lot of weight on this word, it characterizes everything that's going to follow.
>Accounts...few standards
This is good.
>a few standards
What is a standard?
>simple chord pattern
What is a simple chord pattern?
>well-known melodies
What are well known melodies?

Answering these questions with a description and/or references to examples would help make things concrete. Things are too vague.

>from this consensus
Revise this to reflect your answers to the Q's above. It's vague.

>Based around different scales....
What are scales?
>...by a tranquil unpredictability
This is good.
>Each musician has the freedom to roam within different modes

Roaming within different modes is meaningless to me. I don't know any modes. What are the modes?

>rather than trying to cram new ideas into their allotted solo before the song structure forces them back to formula

This is good, but what is an idea in the context of music? Also this needs to be contrasting against something. Answering the above Q's fixes that.

>From here...Coltrane released....Live preformances

You start earlier with a reference to the music scene as a whole. Maybe place Coltrane and these other artists within the music scene to show how free jazz is situated in the culture, how it's changing?

>Coltrane could improvise on just two cords for as long as he wished

Cite a particularly astonishing two chord improvisation and say how long it is. Adds a lot of color.

>Dervish, lilting, joyous....almost never stated.
This is good.

>A third of the audience may have...
Make this active. A third of the audience walked out, but despite this...

>quote
Good ending.

You, generally, assume people know too much.

[Anonymous No.5913681]

>>5913622
Thanks for the critique on cliche I hadn't even realised I'd written cliches in and on muddled sentences. The "reaching into breast pocket" thing was supposed to indicate that his arm was absurdly long, but clearly the syntax wasn't clear enough to make it funny.

And I didn't find "occasions other than lunches" funny when I first wrote it, although now I can see how it would be. I'll fix my punchlines.

Thanks a lot.

[Anonymous No.5913707]

>>5913681
I think you are writing cliches in instinctively to make the people absurdly conventional, which is a typical trope in the British comedy that you're drawing from, but doing that takes an extreme degree of control. The device is called "free indirect discourse." The key to using it is making the material that isn't in the people's minds very good, and also gently nudging the cliches so they are entertaining instead of enervating.

You need to work hard on your sentence structure. I was helped a lot by a Teaching Company lecture series called "Building Great Sentences: Exploring the Writer's Craft" and the suggested reading that comes in the PDF with it. Remember that your punctuation is how a reader moves through your jokes. Go watch some of your favorite stand-up, and then transcribe it. See if you can get the punctuation to match the timing.

[romancero gitano !trap0OylHY No.5913759]

>>5913622
>Because I'm never quite sure, exactly, what's going on, I'm not really getting struck by the punch lines.
This is a pretty good point. I also found both ideas fighting over the sentence funny (only lunch meetings + needing dietians to survive the constant lunching) and it would had worked better as two different jokes.

>There is also a general paucity of sensory detail. I don't render the scene clearly.
This is a great way of putting what I was struggling to explain, it needs more construction around the things you know you want to tell.