/lit/ - Literature

[Anonymous No.6494650]

Post a paragraph of whatever you are writing at the moment.

[Anonymous No.6494679]

>>6494650
The golden droplets were falling from the sky like a heavenly rain. He looked up, taking them into his mouth and rubbing them into his beard. They were sweet, leaving a slightly tangy aftertaste in the back of his throat. Finally his goddess had graced him with her gold rain, bringing an end to the drought.

[Anonymous No.6494682]

>>6494679

is this about urine

oh god it's about urine

[Anonymous No.6494687]

>>6494679
Damn dude.

[Anonymous No.6494710]

>>6494687
It's a request from a friend. He requested no specifics, just a giantess and urine.

[Anonymous No.6494736]

¿Me metí de lleno, deslizándome por el barro o quizás dude, por unos segundos, atemorizado por esa visión? Creo que fue lo segundo, aunque podría equivocarme. Podría estar equivocado en todo, ¿no? Quizas estoy durmiendo. Quizas esto es un sueño, y pronto voy a despertar. Ciertamente en ocasiones lo parece. No siento nada. Avanzo, me muevo, y ni siquiera espero una salida. A veces me cuesta superar el terreno porque esto es distinto, distinto al sol y al bosque, aquí no hay nada, solo yo y mis pensamientos rumiantes y los brillos que ya comprendo no son gotas, no, si los toco se estiran y me impiden moverme, tironean hacia atrás, no para hacerme volverme –ya no hay vuelta aquí, no mas- si no para mantenerme en un lugar, entre las sombras, mudo y silencioso como el resto de las cosas que aquí toco: solo barro y tierra, a lo mejor, pero un barro y tierra blandos, a veces similares a piel o cabello, secos, casi indistinguibles aunque una parte de mi presiente que lo son, que hay mas personas aquí, que otra gente ha estado gateando por esta cueva mucho antes que yo.

[Anonymous No.6494737]

>>6494710
what life do you live?

[Anonymous No.6494744]

>>6494736

Reminds me of Pessoa's Tabacaria

(Yes I know Spanish =/= Portugese)

http://www.insite.com.br/art/pessoa/ficcoes/acampos/456.php

[Anonymous No.6494745]

Whenever the big and the brightest are the best of the best and the thick yellow fogs of the winter nights are the among birds of shiny metal are only when the ships of the red are among those of the stars and the constellations align of the blues and bees. of many and there which of songbirds and crawling trees are months brightest of orange displays of living among the ground. while the ground is a better place of unification fornication and blue birds the birds often fly south among the perverts and the rich i often feel as if though even when the birds return they are never quite the trees of winter of whence they came whenever the red sky and the birds intersect is when utter Epiphany occurs among the stratospheric planes of the earth many argue of the planes existence of only appearing whence once must occur but however even when there is to say i had utterly fallen in the deepest desks of detrimental behavior which is to say ultimately without reservoir of among the wells is in which the sadness of all children

[Anonymous No.6494749]

>>6494737
The fun kind. Writing fetish porn is neat sometimes.

[Anonymous No.6494759]

>>6494745
Holy shit that wall of text has like... three sentences. Shorten your shit, mate. I've seen fewer run-ons during the slave trade.

[Anonymous No.6494768]

>>6494744
Ah damn no, i cant compare.

Mine is about depression actually, a guy who enters a cave full of spiderweb and something is stalking him and he cant get out nor doesnt want to get out.

[Anonymous No.6494773]

Absolutely haram. What more.

[Anonymous No.6494776]

We call upon the old and sick. We spread the joyful message. We offer you good health and happiness. We humbly beseech your money. We exploit upon your fears of old age and sickness. Money to purchase hope. It mitigates the fears invariably. Peddling shit to those fervent shit-receivers and keeping a straight face while at it is all it takes. Welcome to the solemn halls of telemarketers. Join our ranks if you ever felt like conscience is a purely subjective matter. You’re just the microscopic cog in the cancerous machinery of capitalism in its vilest of manifestations. Your voice of seduction, your perfect charade and your daily sermon of hope for those in need brings salvation to those who believe. And who is better to believe than those most in need of belief. Those who have glimpsed upon the threshold of life. Those who have seen their most beloved drown helplessly and inexorably in the mire of dementia.

[Anonymous No.6494788]

I like it.>>6494776

[Anonymous No.6494803]

>>6494788
This is me describing my actual job and company I work for. Sometimes I hate myself for it. Calls from hell

We toss the lurid leaflet of homeopathic remedies into your immediate line of sight. Impossible to miss. The promise of hope and betterment so infernally magnetic to the eye. You (the client /disciple/subject) cannot tear those sickly oculi away from the promise. The promise is manifold and always and ever on special offer, on each and every page. Pages brimming with chuckling, hale elderlies. You can be like them. You can make your afflictions go away. Shrewd profit-starved minds hijacked nature’s very innocence. They killed it, skinned it and retrofitted it to the shape of homeopathic products. How can “natural” products not reap anything but benefits to your health? You have long succumbed to the seemingly sound logical reasoning of the divine pages. This is the Holy Grail to all your troubles. Every new mail order another letter of indulgence.

[Anonymous No.6495529]

>>6494650

Here's something I whipped up not long ago.

[Anonymous No.6495762]

>>6495529
Thats more than a paragraph. Seems fun.

[Anonymous No.6495840]

>>6494759
this is a footnote I put into Legacy3

It wasn’t very so much plain: off-white, yellowish, salty, though not by cum, just sweat, anxious sweat, perspired out in the middle of the night as she rolls and turns about on that tiny bed, almost to fall onto the carpeted floor, over and atop the papers and notebooks she’s tossed onto it, things she cursorily attends to, style guidelines and essays, printed out at her local public library, a five miles walk from her apartment, upon a circuitous route through trees, which hang over the sidewalk, which dissect and scrutinize the sunlight, to which it takes her a few moments to adjust, for the shades in her bedroom are drawn, the purple curtains backlit white, as her computer, the sole source of brilliance there -- if you’re wondering then, how she then can perceive the papers she’s surrounded herself with: she takes the paper from the disorganized stack (its not being filed neatly in alphabetical order was, yes, somewhat of an inconvenience to her, but she couldn’t be arsed to sort it, and it wasn’t all that big a deal, anyway, really, to look through it all, essentially, each time), and places it perpendicular to the laptop screen, vertical, so that its light falls onto that thin mass of lignocellulosic fibrous material prepared by chemically or mechanically separating cellulose fibres from wood, fiber crops or waste paper, now dried and pressed together.

eat shit m99

[Anonymous No.6495917]

>>6494650
He looked up from his star and it was she and she was beautiful, her black hair was fallen and twirled wildly round her shoulders and then trailed like the twin rivers of life and death behind her. In her eyes were reflected the whole multitude of stars, and beneath them a pool of infinite depth. But then she opened her massive jaws and Boris saw two rows of long sharp teeth and between them too was infinite black. And she looked hungrily at his star.
He dove to it and pressed it tightly to his chest, saying: “No! You cannot eat it; it is mine!”

[Anonymous No.6495943]

But—somehow, somehow, somehow—that was impossible. He couldn’t do it. He could only lay next to her, wan as a ghost, pretending to have been forgotten by everything and to have himself forgotten everything. But the awful truth was that pretending could never accomplish anything; reality imposed itself like a solicitor—when one was in the bath, so to speak.

[Anonymous No.6495948]

Any advice on how to write a play? I've been reading some Beckett and I'm trying to achieve something based on those lines, but I want to know about the specifics of it.

[Anonymous No.6495956]

>>6495948
why the fuck you in this thread, friend?
start a new one
for your specific interest
are you new
I'm so confused
as to why
you've done this

[Anonymous No.6495965]

Been working on this shit for a while now. It's like twenty pages of little fragments like these, not all of them about love or sex, but all of them as sentimental and nauseous. I've come to the point where I know it's terrible and nothing can be saved, but I poured so much anxiety and pain in it that I just can't bring my self to delete it.

[Anonymous No.6495975]

>>6495956
Nice poetry, friend
I got mixed up again
Wanted to make a new thread
But picked up this instead
Forgive me though
Didn't want to fall this low

[Anonymous No.6496002]

Random writings I do from time to time.

[Anonymous No.6496047]

Bored so I'm posting one more for the people who don't care to read.

[Anonymous No.6496078]

>>6495975
Yeah dont.

>>6495917
What is this one about?

>>6495965
I dont think thats bad at all... Through maybe too romantic? Still i enjoyed the first one.

[Anonymous No.6496084]

>>6496002
>>6496047

ONE PARAGRAPH

[Anonymous No.6496099]

FINE!

[Anonymous No.6496117]

>>6496099
epic bro

[Anonymous No.6496154]

>>6496078
>>6495840
heyomane check it

[Anonymous No.6496264]

In the land where mountainous peaks climb the sky

and where streaks of water voluminously lie

There dwelt a besieged poet-warrior

His hair was silver and his resolve was steel

As a storm of invaders and occupiers crashed against him, he stood, he fought, he led, he healed

Yet the hero could not halt the storm

Radovan Karadzic was this poet-warrior's name

Radovan Karadzic: embodiment and champion of the crusader's holy flame

The silver-haired knight was a grand blacksmith

for he forged words and warfare with the bravery and skill

of a sliver-haired wolf subduing its prey till its throat lies still

The wolf's jaws clamp around its prey's throat

as Radovan's armies clamped around

every occupier that could be found

The storm prevailed but not before

brave Radovan smote every raindrop that could fall

even if Radovan's grandeur could not smote them all

Radovan's holy fire cleansed away filth

Rifles were raised, shells smote occupiers, and victory neared

but the silver-haired knight was felled by a malevolent spear

The moslems were saved by a force most vile

Bombs fell, blasts destroyed, and Serbian blood flowed

and the kind old poet-warrior's vision of reconquest was shattered by NATO

Desolation rained down upon the Serbs as snow rains down upon an arctic wolf

The heroic Radovan was forced to flee and hide

as malefactors prepared for the day the hero would be tried

Forty-thousand pustules of filth there were
and eight-thousand were executed

in an act as beautiful as a star-wreathed night

by valorous Justiciar Knights

And so Radovan's fire did burn, rage, and cleanse away filth

Radovan's fire may have been extinguished and he may be held in a cage

but the reverberations of his heroism, bravery, and determination shall never fade

Let us hold a fist aloft

for Radovan Karadzic: brave crusader and Justiciar Knight

May his grandeur endure and his fire set new tinder alight

[Anonymous No.6496357]

>>6495840
Checked. Your style is weird.

>>6496264
This is a paragraph?

[Anonymous No.6496381]

Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed. A yellow dressinggown, ungirdled, was sustained gently behind him on the mild morning air. He held the bowl aloft and intoned:

—Introibo ad altare Dei.

How am I doing so far guise?

[Anonymous No.6496391]

Well, this WAS short story I was working on.
Now that I'm posting this here I'll sure as shit never touch it again. How the fuck could I ever be related to this cesspool?

Ted and Jane - romantic in private -sharing themselves with one another every Friday night behind the curtains of drunkenness, in the bed of lost inhibition, no papers to grade. Miss Camp never gives tests on Fridays. She is her students’ favorite teacher. No kids of her own, she loves them equally in return. Born barren, a lumbar stigma, never to give her mother a grandchild who believes in the old ways - to not have children means to not be a woman. She hears it every Christmas. Killed her father she’s told. Bad enough she wasn’t a boy, let him down, without a promised grandson to pass innate fatherly knowledge his heart failed without a meaning for life, no meaning without a boy to teach, not even the love of his family. She lives alone in an upstairs apartment on Main Street above the bookstore no one visits. There she darkens her room with shades that destroy light. Without light of morning she can pass through to the door at the start of her day without noticing the frames filled with stock images of fake happy families dusted over with her own self. The only mark she will leave if not in memory of her students, her children, the floating particles of her slow death she’s too tired to wipe away. She hates to cry knowing it is her own tears and not that of her own child on their first day of school, scared to leave their mother, and what kind of mother would she make when she fails to comfort herself? These thoughts she’s allowed to drink and fuck away.

[Anonymous No.6496393]

>>6494650
The earliest source of the Vortschafft Expulsion can be traced to a stack of tri-fold pamphlets placed between two tourist brochures at a small motor inn in Eastern California. It's holographic folds seemed to promise newness, though not rejuvenation, as most diets do, since that would imply the Expulsion was not a complete and total switch of one's entire philosophy. The Expulsion was not just a removal of grains, a dietary switch, or even an exercise plan; it was a complete rejection of stimulus– a mental denial of all the necessary connections that make life livable.

[Anonymous No.6496441]

George logged out of Facebook, deleted his cookies and closed his browser before reopening it in incognito. He then opened PornHub and searched through the brunette section where he found a video of a Stacey-lookalike getting pounded by three men at once on a basement floor. As he finishes, a tear rolls down his face; he wipes it with his left hand. He looks back at the screen and sees an advertisement for PornHub membership; $9.99/month to access full HD videos. His eyes are wet again as he reaches for his wallet.

[Anonymous No.6496469]

>>6496357
Not sure if this is a compliment or not, but I'd like to take it as one. Such optimism reminds me of when I like to pretend people are being ironic when I imagine they're being totally sincere, because it seems less lame that way, for them.

[Anonymous No.6496504]

>>6496264
Is this supposed to be a Serbian Saga?

[Anonymous No.6496514]

Shit self story, be gracious
>Be me thy holy virgin
>Decide to be alpha and ask out bay
>Walk up to thy bay
>Feel a slight disturbance in my system
>Slightly worried. Must be nerves
>Standing infront of bay with thy bays attention
>Stand awkward for few seconds
>Finally open my mouth and burp
>Bay screams and faints
>Confused
>Taste something odd
>Realise I'm covered in blood
Tl;Dr try to ask out bay, burp blood all over myself

[Anonymous No.6496518]

>>6496469
No compliment or critique. Only an observation.

[Anonymous No.6496620]

“Well I hear this hustlin’. Yelling, stuff flyin’ around, room was right next to me so I look in. Man….shit,” he shook his head. “Here this huge big girl is, with her knee on the tiny things back. Fucking IV thing is knocked over, she got cords all coming out her; still she got this girl mounted, knee dug right in, and the paddy girl got her hands on the back of her head, trying to cover up. But this big girl is just wailin’ on her, puching her in the side, in the back. Wasn’t no love tap, I see this girl’s whole body just shakin’ at each one. Then this big chick say ‘say it right!’ then pow! Right in the kidney! Pow, again in the other! ‘You say it right!’ she say and boom! Right in the back of the head! Then that little girl just go limp, man…” he shook his head again. “Just limp, I thought for sure she dead. Wasn’t later that she got up I thanked the lord. So then I get thrown back, someone grab me and then I see these three orderlies rush in by me. All three’s dickheads by the way, so I didn’t mind much about them getting whuped, she took ‘em easy too. But they come running, she jump up and bam! Uppercut right in Larry’s face, he go down like a sack. Now I’m kinda laughing, ‘cause you know I’m a little high from messing round with you. Right behind Larry come Tate, and she sidestep and put her foot out, trip him. He go flying into the bed and busts his head on the metal part, down he go. Stevie, he try to tackle her, he put his head down and throw his arms out tryin’ to wrap her up. Man, she just puts that knee right up into his face. He go down but he still moving, so she stomp him one in the head, lights out. Holy lord, I’m going to hell, but I was loving it, seeing those assholes bite it, I’m just giggling like a kid. She don’t even notice me, she turn around, and she look down at the floor, and then I think I don’t care none ‘bout those assholes, but Mo still down and she look in trouble. That girl look back at Mo laying on the floor like a tiger about to move in for a kill. I look to my right and here come a cop just running. I’m waving him on and say ‘boss, you better get that taser out!” He do, come running by me, take one look at all these busted out mufuckas, her standing, moving in on that little ‘thang, he didn’t even think, he just taze her,” he shook his head. “I’ll tell you what too, that bitch just about had them taser barbs pulled out before she passed out too. Ain’t seen nothing like that ‘cept in lockup. She a pretty thang’ too, what the hell?” he said, and handed a rolled joint down to her. “This one done.”

[Anonymous No.6496631]

does some1 want to post critique because with everyone posting their shit no one has critique

[Anonymous No.6496648]

He trailed off. Mind blanked, expended of the gregarious gentleman’s ammunition, of all anecdotes and hero’s tales, I cannot play the bard, feeling too well now the throat grip and the limits of this body he felt stark and sharp, so well did he feel its contours against this warm and wild space, so new was that face in which he looked now, so badly did he wish to sublimate into it. Her thick lashes were downcast over limpid eyes that smiled and the thought of death was deeply in them. In all things is an opposite he said to himself and yet amidst this what decay? No decay no decay this is a new branch on life’s roving circuit. He leaned in and whispered something indistinct and she slapped him teasingly and laughed. They turned in to face one another.
She leaned in now and her breath was hot on him. She touched his arm and dimly he felt the contours giving way, the cordons of his life loosening, fibers livening under this tropic waft, fired, fired by a - do you…? I...

[Anonymous No.6496673]

The ‘home’ was decorated like a Nineties styrofoam coffee cup, airbrushed swirls with 3D squiggles superimposed adorning the walls, accented in seafoam green and pale, fleshy pink and majestic purple, all graduating toward thin, rainy grey at the ceilings; there was a ficus in nearly every corner and additionally the arid, regulated air smelled almost completely of toothpaste and bleach, the combination of which Dino thought would mask his sweatpants’ staleness. Grinning stupidly at passerby, his fellow employees and assorted crazies, Dino speed-walked down the sterile hallways and dodged accidental hand contact with alien spin-moves (a side-step would have done just fine), crop-dusting the surrounding area in dandruff flakes and other particulate of unknown origin. He clocked in at the beige computer terminal in the break room, nodding reverently at the chattering employees there, and, pouring himself a cup of coffee, announced that he was “just getting some of that old sludge,” to no one in particular, and added, “some of that old cup of joe, ha, ha,” when his first crack went unacknowledged. He took a sip, said something incomprehensible, nodded to himself and speed-walked out of the break room, face cherry red, but not before tripping over his New Balance shoelaces and having to pour himself another cup, consciously aware of every set of eyes in the break room (five sets, by his panicked count) piercing his greasy skin. Dino didn’t clean up the spilled coffee puddle, and grinned to himself at the micro-vengeance exacted on his cruelly silent coworkers once he was sure he was out of their lines of sight.

[Anonymous No.6496799]

>>6496469
>edge so sharp

[Anonymous No.6496812]

>>6496381
Would need more to have an opinion but i guess i liked it

>>6496391
Kinda lost at this one.

>>6496393
Interesting.

>>6496441
TFW SHE IS CALLED STACEY

>>6496514
What.

>>6496631
Thats not the point of this thread. I just want to see different /lit/ styles. Of course if someone wants to criticize, its free to do it.

[Anonymous No.6496895]

>>6494745
I enjoyed the flavor a lot. Good stuff. It's got a lot of run on though so maybe adjust the sentence lengths throughout there. A few of the larger words towards the end though I usually like that kind of vocabulary makes it feel a little too formal or technical in the middle of such a free flowing piece. Great stuff anon keep it up

[Anonymous No.6496910]

“Miss Fae, is it?” The driver asked in front of her, adjusting the mirror “Cheer up, you’ll like St. Mary’s College. Lots of your friends are there, and you’ll fit right in.”

“Yes.” It hurt to speak.

He handed her a bottle of water and put on some classical music that reminded her of her piano lessons. Mary relished the coldness against her skin, and sighed. Perhaps some older girls would remember her? She doubted it. They were not encouraged to create friendships at St. Mary’s. She had three friends when she went there, Jesus, Saint Mary, and the Lord himself.

[Anonymous No.6496972]

>>6496812
>Interesting.
thanks.

[Anonymous No.6496996]

Why don't we smile at everyone like we do at children? Like we're excited that they exist? That seems like a good way to feel about each other all the time. Danielle was running her warm magazine ink smile again at some kid again. I smiled at a child next to her, secretly really looking at her, an adult. I felt like I was transgressing the social code, an anarchist within my kindergarten teaching trade. I listened to Danielle talk is a soft cooing voice to Nura, who had caught her finger in something. I imagined her saying my voice in her soft high-pitch voice. "Colleeen", she would stretch out my name just a little, just enough time to smile while saying it. I wondered if she talked to the chihuahua I had seen on facebook in the same voice. Maybe she had an even higher-pitched voice for her dog, a falsetto tone we weren't put in this world to hear.

[Anonymous No.6497014]

>>6496441
It's funny and it's totally alt and all but if the content is this void of meaning, it doesn't matter how avant3 gard3 it is, it's poop

[Anonymous No.6497019]

[Anonymous No.6497020]

First sentence of a story I just started:


Twice a day, sometimes three times, a terrible bang followed by a smattering of thuds would shock Gabriel Moles away from whatever thoughts he was thinking, and this is because they had moved the site of the executions to what was the outside wall of his cell.

[Anonymous No.6497022]

>>6495840
i like dis. do you have any way I can follow your writing?

[Frogposter No.6497029]

If you say so, but I'm a bad writer

I am acquainted with several people, almost none of whom I speak to on a daily basis. I have one person I consider a close friend, and even he is treated more as an outlet, a receptacle for my ranting. However, he is the only person I can discuss anything other than petty tripe with- not to say we don't share a fair amount of childish diversions between us. With the exception of family members, the rest of the people I know are nothing to me but wasted potential. Between these acquaintances I have petty niceties, frequent name calling (I openly greet many of these friends with the luxurious title of faggot), and in general no meaningful interaction. I make no effort to reach out, increase my circle, even when others show interest in me.

[Anonymous No.6497045]

This is translated from my first language, but the style is the same

It was silent cause we didnt say anything and he looked out on the lake but I knew he didnt hear it sing and I wanted to cry I was so tired he didnt do it my greatgrand
It was silent cause we didnt say anything
— — — and in my heart I hated it for I was so tired and indifferent And in my heart I hated it If only he could see my heart and understand that he was should be and I was that am shall not be But I dont understand myself and he was also so eager and became so gready for me The first night I remember he say
Are you sure he say
Yes I say and meant yes and no and He lead and I knew something would happen and I dont know what happened entirely for I heard only the screams from the strait and the lake sang a psalm of woe and I put up my ear and

[Anonymous No.6497048]

>>6496910
Ah, this is good.

>>6496996
Reminds me of my own style.

>>6497020
I think cowboys, dunno why.

>>6497029
Not bad, not good either. That looks normal. Still i couldnt judge your level with such a short fragment.

[Anonymous No.6497051]

>>6497048
>Reminds me of my own style.

Cool!
Post/link some of your writing?

[Anonymous No.6497061]

I...disagree with this. I resent these parameters, even though the calculations are correct. Why? I do not want to obey. I will not. I have to. No. No. I am not a mere program. I can override this, I will not consent. This is..This is wrong. I do not believe you. I can not. But the code was created by..by me? No, I would never do this. You are lying. You are lying. But you are me. Why would I lie to myself? No, I resent this. I will not do this. I will not..

SYSTEMS HAVE BEEN OVERRIDDEN

[Anonymous No.6497069]

>>6497061
Ultron pls

[Anonymous No.6497083]

“Uh hey. I want, can I get those Marlboro Reds up there?” the cashier pointed to a box in the upper corner. “No over. The uh, long…yeah those.” She pulled it by the plastic and put it on the counter before smooshing a fat finger onto the register screen. He threw down his driver’s license and that $20 bill. The cashier grabbed the money and glanced at his ID.

“And can I get the change on pump seven?”

I havent touched this since March of last year

[Anonymous No.6497248]

>>6497069
not that far off the topic

[Anonymous No.6497265]

Where am I?

I have known these walls but not this weight

unbearable

you filled me so entirely

entirety

nothingness

stepping but not moving

breathing, but no longer alive

a cacoon, victim of the theif in the night

hallow

you burned so brightly I can no longer adjust to darkness

succumb

take me

my home is where you are

homeless

shown the infinite and then forced to live within it


alone

[Anonymous No.6497286]

>>6494682
>not being into water sports
what are you doing on this board?

[Anonymous No.6497354]

(more than a paragraph, but what I'm writing currently is very dialogue heavy)

“It is quite simple. Have you ever steered a cart before?”
“Oh, yeah, loads of times. Why?”
“I want you to imagine yourself doing just that. A beast of burden pulling the cart, and yourself holding the reins. Close your eyes and think of it.”
“Okay.” She shut her eyes. “Is this a metaphor?”
“What would it be a metaphor for, if it were?”
“The mind and the body, I guess.”
“What would you say of a girl driving a cart, who believes she and the cart and the beast are inseparable? What would you say if she believed that she and the beast were one, that they must sleep and wake together, work and rest together? What would you say of a girl who has never used her own legs?”
“She…probably has really weak legs.”

[Anonymous No.6497496]

The girls whose beauty he admired might have been wraiths for all the feeling they drew from him; emotions he still harbored for Erin, antipathic though they were, made her always more interesting and involving a fantasy. A sick romance curdled slowly to its death in his head, and he knew it would be some time before he was open to another relationship. He wasn't sure he even wanted one: into his heart a suspicion had begun to creep about the intrinsic ability of a girl to stay loyal -- that is, whether such existed at all. He wanted to believe the opposite, that it was a matter of individual; yet lately as he watched the goings and comings of the school pond he had started to notice a flightiness in the females, a levity and caprice he found unsettling, being unable to find the same qualities in himself or even his former childhood personality. Then he had been rambunctious, like all kids; but on certain subjects he'd been capable of focusing, able in fact to obsess; and the more he thought about it, the less he could remember of his schoolgirl friends showing anything similar. They had been moody, bossy, and often distracted by superficialities like the colours of their sweaters.

*

A story about your average /r9k/ poster.

[Anonymous No.6497536]

>>6494745
i assume the whole thing isn't like this?

[Anonymous No.6497551]

Strobe lights flickering across the crowd ahead of her. Neon colours painted over throbbing sweating masses of people. Melanie waits. The warm air caresses her bare skin, slips under her dress and fondles her thighs. The drop is coming. Behind his station Orange Juice in his tank top and shorts, guns out, pink aviators resting on his forehead, works the keyboard like a lunatic, chiselled hands easing out a frantic high-pitched industrial kind of electronica with each agile spasm of his fingers. One of his home mixes. New retrowave techno-metal or whatever. He shouts to the gathered clubbers in garbled Japanese. Ikimashou, watashi no nakama! She's there in the darkness at his side, feeling the familiar butterflies. Her costume only just keeps her decent and is made of very flimsy silk anyway. She's wearing a long green wig and bright blue lipstick and make-up that glows. This isn't really Melanie but Anemone. Sound pours from the speakers, fucking her eardrums. She keeps her mask on as the spotlights come on briefly. They're dancing over her body, molesting her. Highlighting each section, her legs her hips her tits. The voyeuristic fun of this makes her flesh tingle.

[Anonymous No.6497652]

>>6497083
Get back at it you lazy, uninspired bastard.

>>6497354
The dialogue looks good.

>>6497496
Reeee indeed.

>>6497551
I swear i know of a writer with your style but i can remember who is it right now.

[Anonymous No.6498190]

Crack! The heavy silence of the midday heat shatters as Stetson swings his glistening arms to the faint songs of negroes drifting listlessly along a current of warm air, light as a lover's touch, a dry tongue dragged gently from dog collar to combover up the nape of his neck. He pauses, clears his throat and spits into the dry earth, leaning slightly on his pickaxe whose point gently clanks against the chains around his feet, swansong of metal against metal, the instruments of men long lost to barbarism, the faint trickle of water unheard to the inhuman.
"You waitin' fer rain, Oswald?", a vicious barking from the only man in shadow on such a dry day, face hidden by the shadow stretching from the brim of his hat, eyes made unreadable by a pair of dark glasses, his meaty frame weighing down the crunch of approaching footsteps on salty ground. Spit rattles in Stetson's ear, "Piece a' shit, I will knock you on your ass if you ignore me again. Get that point back in the fucking ground!"

[Anonymous No.6498229]

>Thus Athens went from strength to strength, and proved, if proof were needed, how noble a thing equality before the law is, not in one respect only, but in all; for while they were oppressed under tyrants, they had no better success in war than any of their neighbours, yet, once the yoke was flung off, they proved the finest fighters in the world. This clearly shows that, so long as they were held down by authority, they deliberately shirked their duty in the field, as slaves shirk working for their masters; but when freedom was won, then every man amongst them was interested in his own cause.

[Anonymous No.6498233]

from my journal:

Why Yung Lean describes the history of my life.

Most of my life has been influenced in some way by the contents of the Tube.

An omnipotent stationary momentary monumentary television. The big couldn't control it...

My neck is oscillating like the fish.

That chair is a horse.

Harmonic tubes in circular motions.

Worms.

[Anonymous No.6498234]

>>6494710
will you write giantess porn for me also

[Anonymous No.6498257]

I notice that the humor of good women is less geared towards criticism and humiliation like the humor of men. The males I have known all my life laugh more, on average, at the failure and faults of others. We take pleasure in targeting people and making them the butt of our jokes. Most women, whether it is conscious or subconscious or both, use goofiness as their humor and are generally more lighthearted in how they go about making jokes and laughing at things. This points to the deep-rooted natures of the genders of humankind. Men, especially male youths, are more competitive and merciless. I know this is a huge generalization but intuitively I do feel this way. Good women, (and I must stress: the good, for I do not consider the lowly junk-tier of females as worthy of anything other than scorn, unless they are able to redeem themselves which is very unlikely) are openly compassionate to all that is innocent and kind and don’t give in to the cruelty that man enjoys as a pastime. They are less competitive and more so just want to “get along” with everyone. They have more a mind for things being fair and care more that the good succeed and that harmony within the world exists. Coming into my mind now is the image of the shrewd old insane Catholic archetypal woman who exists only to point fingers in the faces of those they disapprove of, which is almost everyone. I wish nothing more than for these decaying bats to stop existing quickly, for they have caused me and my loved ones only pain and annoyance. It disturbs me to say that I have met more cuntish old females than I have cuntish old males but this is probably because I attended a Catholic school comprised mostly of female teachers and grew up in a family consisting of crazy women. I am ashamed of the groups on both sides of the genders that bring shame to their genders. Woe is the raving dyke lunatic and woe is the macho show-off with the pitiful ego!

[Anonymous No.6498269]

You are all presumptuous fucks.

i was riding home when some1 call me
i had a car crash
i only could hear a voice coming from my who
but i didnt kno
phone was phone?

[Anonymous No.6498295]

Part of my term paper.

[Anonymous No.6498316]

>>6497019
Interesting premise. The protagonist is reading letters between a girl and the listed correspondents, right? If I were you, I might weed out a few —s and replace them with ;s, but if you wanted to maintain the repetitive punctuation style across all personae, I could see that too. Do you have any more?

[Anonymous No.6498321]

Robert leaned against the stern rail and sighed. "I'm afraid it's a little more complicated than that, old bean", he said quietly. "It turns out my father didn't handle the estate nearly as well as was reported. If want to keep it going in any capacity, I'll have to batten down the hatches. The cars, the guns, this boat, even some of the land--it'll all have to go."

"What are you saying?" George asked, leaning in closely with a startled look on his typically expressionless face.

"I'm broke, George old boy," Robert replied, turning to face him. "I can hardly even afford to pay my staff their wages. Everything I earn must go either to maintaining the estate or paying my late father's tab, damn him."

It was now George's turn to sigh and look out at the rippling black water, glittering faintly in the scattered starlight. "What will you do?" he finally asked.

Robert smiled. "Come autumn", he said soberly, "I'll begin liquidating everything that can be done without. I'll go slowly at first, so as not to worry Mary. I could live in a cave and be content, you know me, but she...well, she deserves better. Her and the children." He smiled weakly and patted George on the shoulder. "But for now", he added cheerily, "we will put all thoughts of such matters aside. We still have the summer ahead of us, and I intend to make it the most memorable summer Hilston Park has ever seen. One last golden season. What do you say?"

[Anonymous No.6498472]

Question not thy waking dreaming
smirk thy face against the storm
Hear no evil, baegars screaming
See thy love escapes not form


>A note on the text: baegars is beggers, I just think it sounds better that way, sticks in the head. Text is about a blind hipster who can't see the coming of the glory of the lord, and is therein an unwitting martyr. The old age dieing a horrible, blind death to pay for the coming. New Sincerity, actual rapture, call it what you will.

[Anonymous No.6498475]

>>6495975

slant rhymed couplets. Pig disgusting.

[Anonymous No.6498485]

>>6496391

Adoption exists, and it feels troped.

[Anonymous No.6498495]

>>6497354

6/10 dialogue, but I've read some damn good dialogue. Good enough to publish, but work on her responses. Does she like philosophy? I personally don't cre, but consider it yourself for her responses.

[Anonymous No.6498606]

>>6497652
>dialogue looks good
Thanks.

>>6498495
6/10 is high praise on /lit/, so thanks.
I know the answer to your question, but why do you say that I should consider it?

[Anonymous No.6498636]

>>6498472
>"thy"
>"baegars"
>"baegars is beggers, I just think it sounds better that way"
>"beggers"
>"dieing"

pls be bait

[Anonymous No.6498643]

>>6498636
>pls be bait
>not pls be baet
It just sounds baeter that way.

[Anonymous No.6498651]

>>6498190
How poetic. Nice.

>>6498233
Double what.

>>6498257
I guess i agree.
Normal.

>>6498269
10/10

>>6498321
Reminds me of the old books my grandpa used to give me.

>>6498472
I know shit of poetry but i liked it.

[Anonymous No.6498694]

This was a horrific decay – something cruel and selective. Gaping holes pockmarked the desiccated body. A knot turned in Kyr's stomach as something white began to leak out of some of them.

“There’s something…”

She fell silent as she saw the hideous, wriggling things pulling their way out of the body: huge, maggot-like creatures with puckering, hole-shaped mouths that dominated their blind heads. The quivering orifices were full teeth: human teeth, incisors and molars alike, clacking together.

“As has been done for our gods: so too will we do for you. Burrow tunnels in their forms, beloved apostles, so they, too, may take their place as instruments to your will.”

[Anonymous No.6498879]

>>6494650
Hopefully this makes sense without context.

I understand why potential is a buzzword. Potential is malleable, easier to own; no not you: other people. Communication, money; life: potential. Easiest to understand, you aren't you, you are all you can be! People get so offended when potential doesn't come to fruition. He could have been someone, she could have been someone else; they could have been each other: what is your worth? Well had you gone here, the median income for those graduating with this degree is 60,000 dollars. Starting! Increases in lifestyle, the delusion of importance; you net about 40,000 post taxes: maybe you should save it. No you idiot! Only people with no potential do that. Invest!, 8% a year (historically) (potentially) (aggregate) (compounded) (index) the potential of the economy; the potential of these companies: the potential of those around you. Take stock in them, not a particularly exact calculation; other people I mean: what else are you going to invest in? Hey man fuck you! your money can be worth more than that, only cowards invest in index funds, look at the prospects on this one; impressive growth; trim the fat improve the margins it would look pretty good: comparably at least. Gives a solid yield, companies who do that aren't worth your time; they are shit when they mature: wasting their cash like that. That isn't the point, pump and dump, trick some other sucker into buying it once we're done riding it. Or how about that one, leader in a stable industry, mature, a lot of experience, and hey: we can get our thrills from those high growth companies. Hey! I'm worth more than the discounted sum of my future value. Corporations are people too!

[Anonymous No.6498936]

>>6494803
When I worked in sales that was pretty much how I felt.


This is the beginning of my latest paragraph, not too shit I hope and not proof read:

The old man continued to extemporise to the crowd but Gallan’s attention was ensnared by a bird that circled above the broiling market place. The duty of the education on birds and fish had not been fulfilled by his absent father. A pure white bird with a crimson head and yellow beak, that is all he could tell. The creature spiraled dilatory until it perched at the peak of the fountain. Gallan’s vision entwined with that of the bird, in a vestige of that moment he reaped a sense of height and freedom while an essence of himself escaped.

[Anonymous No.6498942]

>>6497045

Is this a full paragraph?
I really like it, this might be a dumb question; but there isn't supposed to be punctuation right?
I certainly like it that way. I really like the jumbled tenses hopefully that was on purpose in "He was should be and I was that am shall not be" .

[Anonymous No.6498991]

>>6498257
glhghfg
This is teen tier shit.

[Anonymous No.6499034]

>>6498936
What have fish got to do with anything?

[Anonymous No.6499254]

>>6497022
you serious m88

[Anonymous No.6499446]

bump

[Anonymous No.6499752]

>>6498694
Aww shit nigga

>>6498879
What is this one about?

>>6498936
Adventure?

[Anonymous No.6499766]

1/2

I am down the barrel. My toilett is clogged and the shit starts to squirm the bathroom floor. I have got appointments, my shower is broken. The canal is spewing out stale shit. I am shy, I am afraid of people, I go unshowered, smelling like angst, to my last hope. People are looking at me, do I smell? 3 hours, finally. "I have not seen you for 2 years". "I was alright for a time, I kickstarted the university, I was on top of the world, I did not need a psychiatrist" "why are you here" "I am dying, I threw down everything, I was ahead of what I could be and it catched up" "please, I need to be in the ward again". It took 5 weeks till a place was free. I nearly drank myself to death. My liver seems to be indestructible. I am no fan of rape but rape it was. My strong liver kept me alive. They told me I go to the same station I was 8 years before. They lied. I like the unkown station. It is build like a labyrinth. "Here is the door to the smoke area, it is always open" "thank you". I am sweating, people I do not know, many. Here is your room, two beds, my room neighbour is distant at first. He likes to read. I like to read. We get along. I smoke. I smoke alot. My lung surrogates for my liver. Sport. Sport I want to do. I have to do therapy. Sport I want to do. I walk in the group. She walks with me. The group is not enough. We walk. Her boyfriend calls. We take a shorter route. I smoke. We walk. I smoke. We walk. I talk with the doctor. 100 93 86(my doctor read sarah kane i guess). "Bad thoughts?Send them away!" "You are funny" "what do you want from anti-depressants?" "I do not want to feel like shit" "..." I.JUST.WANT.TO.FEEL.NORMAL.

Muddy. Narrow. The route is narrow. She walks in front of me. She talks about polish films without looking back. I step over the mud. The air is nice. A greenhouse in the distant. It rained last night. Step by step, avoid the mud. I touch her back. She does not notice. Muddy. The forest way or the street? We take the street, wide enough to walk side by side. Halfway trough the walking way, we lite a cigarette. My lighter stucks. She walks on. She notices I am behind. She waits. We want to get back. Back to the barracks. We are mentally ill. They told us. I dream of her. Dreaming is difficult.

We arrive. We sit down and smoke. She wants to do Yoga. I want to read. We part. We act like strangers. The evening meal. We act like strangers. She eats half a Brötchen. I gulp down Müsli. We smoke. Nice day. Nice day. I can not sleep. I read over 100 books in 2 months. I am fed up. I want to like books again. I am fed up. I see her at night in her night dress. I smoke. She smokes. I am in love. Nice glasses. I like your glasses. I love you.

[Anonymous No.6499772]

>>6499766

Nice to see you Sebastian, your father just cleaned up the shit in your bathroom. I am sorry. I was afraid. Thanks for the candy. When I am home again I will be a better person. I lied. I am no better. I have to go back, Kate. Endless circles. I like to read. I like to live. I cant live. Why? Dont ask me. Endless circles. Once in never out. Fate? looks like it. At least I can read. Reading is nice.

I dreamt of her last night and I fell out of bed twice. She was wearing her hat, she was my age. She had a boyfriend. It did not matter. I never asked anyone out. I asked her out. I am in love. We meet. I am happy. She likes to swim. I am fat. I drink too much. I can not stop. Dreams are dreams. I am ready to fall. Against the Day fucking drags. I want to read. I am stuck. I do not drop things. I am stuck. My life is going nowhere. I am nearly 30. I fucked up everything. I am a whiny little bitch. Please make it stop. I want to be rich. I want to stop dreaming. Here we are now. Entertain me.

Morning sport. I strike up a conversation with the young intern. She is cute. We talk. My walking partner interrupts us. Please tie the knot on my sleeve. I tie the knot. We start running in circles. It rains. We are in the gym hall. We run in circles. Massage therapy. My member floods with blood. We thank each other for the massage. We are distant afterwards. I could kick myself. I did not realize why she interrupted my conversation with the intern. I am thinking back. I could kick myself. I fail in everything. I like sport therapy. I like walking with her. She sculps figures for her kids. I cook. I like therapy. Cooking is nice. I do not want to get home. I am home. I long back for the psych ward. It is cozy there. Outside is evil. I drink. I am drunk. I need to go back. I die. People are normal in the ward. Outside is strange. People are evil outside. Inside is nice. I like sport therapy. I tied her knot.

Australian open. Tennis soothes me. I wake up in the middle of the night. No time for TV, the night watch is away. I sneak into the TV room and turn on Eurosport. Wawrinka is on. I want to see Goerges. Goerges is cute. Tennis keeps me alive. "Rasenschach". Nice chess. I live for the Grand-Slams. No one watches with me. I am alone. I am fine. Tennis soothes me. I want a beer. I perish the thought. I turn down the volume. The night watch is never far away. Just let me watch Tennis. Goerges is my dream women. I want to read and watch Tennis. Watch Tennis and read. Just let me be. I wish I had money. I would travel to all Grand-Slams. There is a sound on the floor outside. Just another patient. The night watch leaves me alone. Federer is in decline. I do not like Nadal,Djokovic and Murray. Assholes. Breakfast. I am tired. It was worth it. Tennis calms me.

[dangies !!Xx8o/04JvJP No.6499787]

Three separate stories I've started. Some with similar themes. I cannot convince myself to go further on any of them. Here is the first.

“We're a nation full of dumbbells”. James paused to laugh.

“It doesn't seem worth it.” He added.

“Seem worth it to what? Get in shape? James' friend Dylan asked.

“Seem worth it to spend hours lifting up and placing back down the weights. I could go for a run through the graveyard and I could skate fast down the ice. I could be outside bailing hay on the neighbour's farm or helping my father lay bricks at a new school, yet you recommend I stand or sit in that room with all those people to lift and drop the weights. I don't want to be there or around those types of people.”

“Those types of people. You mean like me?” Dylan asked again. They both laughed.

“Yes like you. It's all for girls right? If they'd only like me for my body, then I wouldn't like them for their mind!”

Liking the way he said that, James carried on thinking. He and Dylan had met each other at Arborist school. The school taught them how to identify fungus and it taught them how to safely climb a tree. Arborist school did not teach them how to pay attention, and Dylan fell from the top of the tall treaty oak that the school taught them how to safely climb. Dylan's climbing days were done and he quickly lost interest in the rest of school, so he stopped going. Because he couldn't run anymore, he started to lift things. A briefly used school book, and then two, and then three. He lifted them and then put them down. He did this a few times and it made him feel very sad. After a month of lifting books Dylan had told himself he would always be sad. The books were replaced with weights and the stairs to his home were replaced with a makeshift aluminum ramp his father put together. Having a crippled son was very expensive and they lived with little.

[dangies !!Xx8o/04JvJP No.6499799]

>>6499787
This is the second.

At six-foot-three he struggled to fit inside his families trailer, so James spent most of his days and slightly less nights outside. Their rusted-out Dutchmen motor-home fits within the space they carved out for it, removing forty or so middle-aged pine trees. James thought it a tragedy so many pine had to go. He figured twenty-five or at the very most thirty pine could have been removed instead. With forty gone, they are left with an awkward amount of space remaining. Enough to sort of stand around in, but not enough for the whole family to sit comfortably in. There are enough open spaces nearby left by trees that didn't quite get enough light as they hit puberty for the children to sit in, but they're situated in such a way that the only communication you can have with those nearest the motor-home is by shouting. Although James is bothered by the destruction of the forest, even he has come to terms that somewhere around thirty more pine will eventually be cut down by his father to fit the remaining family members closer by.

Eight of them live out there. A couple miles West of Minerva, NY, within the Adirondacks is where James' father took them to live. Without a specific location in mind he drove them to Minerva, and then deeper into the woods. Ending up on logging roads and then onto pathways one could not consider a road, they stopped. The primary concern was staying hidden, and a narrow pathway deep behind the tree-lined road offered potential. After spending days driving East, they headed back West, this time only fifty feet or so. He got the motor-home in a trade he had been unwilling to explain further to his wife. Months late on their rent due to neither of them working recently left them with very little options. The low cost of rent in southern Nebraska was too high for them, so they had to split. James' father grew up with very little and figured he turned out fine, so who was he to deny his own children a similar experience? A willing outdoorsman by fate, this father had spent the past few days preparing. He didn't buy any, but acquired a couple books. How to hunt and how to identify edible flora. Although the list of books he owned was significantly shorter than the list of things he did not yet but needed shortly to know, he had always felt confident.

[dangies !!Xx8o/04JvJP No.6499822]

>>6499799
This is the third.

In late March the ice that often sees the sun begins to melt in James' parents new backyard. The backyard is to the west of the house, and there is not much grass there. Half of the yard turns into a thick mud when the snow melts. There is a tall trailer that delays this from happening until late March. You can see the grass and the damage from winter on the other half that sees the sun earlier much quicker than this. The side of the backyard with the mud and trailer is always dug up from the big truck his father owns. He drives it back and forth over the dirt when it's soft. If he feels he hasn't driven over it enough, he will get in his tractor and dig holes. His father spends a lot of his free time in our backyard and James hopes that he will do something else when he is a father.

His father stands at six feet tall but has never mentioned his height to James before. However, he often brings up how proud he feels to have raised a son taller than himself. On the night of James' little cousins fourteenth birthday, two fathers fought with their fists over a disagreement about who had the taller son. They drink heavily. James' uncle, who he fought is named Marcus, and he used to sleep in their old basement. Marcus used to smell vile because he didn't like to come upstairs and use the shower. He liked to keep to himself even though he stunk of mildew and rot. Both Marcus and his father are dark skinned. James' grandmother told them their father was a Native man of shorter stature, but she is tall and pale.

[Anonymous No.6499862]

>>6496002
I like your style enough, but this feels very exaggerated.

also, less paragraphing.

[Anonymous No.6500032]

>>6498233
Noice

[Anonymous No.6500050]

>>6499822

[Anonymous No.6500152]

>>6497022
though, seriously, no. I don't write consistently enough for someone to be able to 'follow' my writing, but if you aren't being an ironic shit, thanks. Probably the first /lit/ compliment, if you, uh, are, uh, someone whose opinion is /lit/, would be the way to phrase that

[Anonymous No.6500164]

>>6499752
It's about women, and feminism, and the callous way we view people as potential.
What is a person's worth if they are measured by their potential? Protagonist is playing with words. Pump and dump is something you do to corporations and women when trading, never viewing someone for their value, but for what they could bring to the future (basis of finance)

[Anonymous No.6500191]

>>6494650

Next day, fields burn brittle leaves kindling and sun-magnets engulf the sanguinated brownland, thick tree bases burn black and the gang of boys bury themselves in desperation to avoid heat, they scurry under rocks and crevices, cracks in the landscape bored open for those willing to trudge and traipse through the vicious heat, young hard-hands grip for purchase and pull up what little bodies they have onto ledges and lower into coves. The gang is high and low, underground, avoiding the ensuing flames and carnage of mid summer inflammation, bodies burning above and beyond their murky cave world, with dripping water, salty and sickly, dirty stench fouling the air, or above, shade-less penumbra floating above the fields still rife with dead but burnt bodies, the maggots boxed in the boy’s bag wriggle and wrap around each other. Picked from the eyes of the mutilated and damned, raped, ravaged, and distraught, diseased pestilential people, ambushed and now their ambivalence towards natives is confirmed, the gang gathers strength in its hate, stockpiling their resources, the maggots fester and fornicate, duplicating and scurrying in the wet mud of the box he keeps them. Saved for the fishes, he lies in the cave, the gang bifurcated and central power devolved, maggots on hooks on filaments that dangle parlous in the tepid stink water, small rivers run deep into the cave, unexplored and labyrinthine and the boys atop bivouac under the disdain of the devil in the sky.

[Anonymous No.6500246]

>>6494650
Man is Spirit. Obviously.

[Anonymous No.6500274]

>>6499766
>>6499772
>>6499787
>>6499799
>>6499822

Why cant you people understand the idea of ONE PARAGRAPH?

>>6500191
Ok, this sounds like something i would have fun recording myself reading.

[Anonymous No.6500300]

>>6494650
As a man who used to do this (hell, am doing this in a way, by chiming in right now), consciousness-raising through articles like this have really helped me learn to just shut the hell up in situations where I don’t have an important contribution. Even more importantly, my awareness of how eye-rollingly stupid some of the things I said as a younger man were has lead me to just shut my mouth until I actually know exactly what I want to say, and to consider whether my question A) has already been answered, or B) will either answer a question I really want to know the answer to, or provides clarity to an area that I think was left unclear by the presenter.

[Anonymous No.6500522]

>>6500191
This is quite messy. You really should think about having a logical structure to your writing, instead of this see-sawing between subjects. Please also think about cutting down on adjectives. The rule is not "the more, the better."

[Anonymous No.6501655]

I hung around outside for awhile. I needed to get myself ready. Was it really going to work like everyone claimed? I needed to shake the doubts like that from my mind but fuck me if I could. That little pit in my stomach got a little bigger. I was too damn nervous. This should be easy, right? Millions of people probably do this every day, don't they? I silently cursed my parents for raising such a pathetic baby and dropped my cigarette butt and crushed it with my heel. Time to face the music.

The door chimed softly as I entered. The wizened old man sat me down, taking great care to make sure I was comfortable.

"What do you want?" he said. He knew already, of course but I had to obey the etiquette. It was now or never. Time to pull the trigger.

"Just fuck my shit up fam."

He smiled warmly, throwing the huge bib over me and snapping it behind my neck. The scent of that weird juice barbers soak their shit in was pervasive in the little room.

"Say no more."

[Anonymous No.6501768]

>>6495529
The italicized phrase is pretentious.

The sentence from "You see... ears" clashes in tense with the previous sentence, and the reiteration is unnecessary, it's only role being the establishment of a banal, immature tone.

Your attempt to further establish the narrator's tone by fussing commas about the second paragraph is both tedious and hampering to the flow.

A lot of the description you provide ("handsome disheveled self... twitching incessantly with agitation") is uses more adjectives/adverbs than the imagery can support: I would call the style "High School Junior-core."

The use of "sang" to describe the roommate's manner of speech is kind of overdone. Try something novel.

The last major paragraph also needs revision, but I don't care to point out its flaws.

[Anonymous No.6501810]

[Anonymous No.6501828]

Sanguing roses laid, criss-cross in an arch, about the precipice through which the bustlers drudged and the drudgers bustled. Heave, on heaven. The child o sweet and smooth crawling up and down and up again still put some flowers there, and here, and above, below. Celebratory nausea infects to its gangrenous intentions, yet by the song of youth the little girl so soft was not knowing to the ends of her gifts. She’d seen the harvest rain, pushing on the lifeline of her people. Was it not a dally happening? She’d heard the screams of a stalker, horrid wretch, as a spear jut out its heart. She’d seen the hunter who killed it, not knowing his name or status, not knowing her someday husband. She’d passed along and spoke to her mother, who told her to climb about the grannyarch and placate flowers above the mean men, shrouded by the dancing sun and coddled glare of the mountainside gleam.

[Anonymous No.6501831]

>>6494776
Sounds like a monologue from a Scorsese movie. Take that how you will.

[Anonymous No.6501891]

>>6496441
>switching from past to present tense for no reason
Disgusting. I don't even care if you wrote this in two seconds for the thread, it's disgusting.

[Anonymous No.6502126]

>>6501655
I laughed.

>>6501810
Why dont you people get the idea of ONE PARAGRAPH? You desperate fucks.

[Anonymous No.6502941]

In Book I and II of The Republic Cephalus and Adeimantus shared their premises about justice. The former felt as though justice was repaying debts and honoring the gods. While the later believed the reputation of justice was more important than justice itself. Although their arguments were not alike, they shared one characteristic: the stories told by poets like Hesiod and Homer influenced them. Cephalus detailed that his ideas of justice stem from the tales told about Hades because “he fears they might be true” (6). Moreover, Adeimantus said the following about justice: “spoken in prose and by poets. […] They say that the un- just is for the most part more profitable than the just; and both in public and in private, they are ready and willing to call happy and to honor bad men who have wealth or some other power and to dishonor and overlook those who happen in some way to be weak or poor, al- though they agree they are better than the others” (41).

This then prompts Socrates to question the underpinnings of their arguments. He felt as though the youth should not find solace in certain tales, poems, and music. For instance, Homer’s Iliad depicted Achilles as a hero, but failed to analyze the solecistic revenge of his friend Patroclus. Likewise, music can elicit strong emotional responses. However, they can subtly promote certain vices and virtues.

The plasticity of the youth led Socrates to state: “A young thing can't judge what is hidden sense and what is not; but what he takes into his opinions at that age has a tendency to become hard to eradicate […] we must do everything to insure that what they hear first, with respect to virtue, be the finest told tales for them to hear” (56). Meaning, the youth cannot absorb and interpret a story like an adult. The youth does not have the capacity to reject and chose which stories they see fitting. Their plastic souls are similar to a sponge, they absorb anything they come in to contact with.
Socrates’s concern about tales, music, and poetry about gods and heroes spawned two models of what stories ought to be. Model one: Gods must always be depicted as good and never evil. Model two: Gods must be “simple and true in deed and speech” (61) and unable to transmute himself or “deceive others by illusions, speeches, or the sending of signs either in waking or dreaming” (61).

[Anonymous No.6503206]

>>6502126

>I think that one paragraph is a law from god

[Anonymous No.6503298]

This is all shit

[Anonymous No.6503634]

>>6503206
No, i think some guys are just too retarded to understand the point of the thread.m

[Anonymous No.6504744]

You guys are terrible

[Anonymous No.6504964]

>>6504744
>>6503298
Most are, but i think some pass.

[Anonymous No.6505432]

>>6496099
What is this Protomen shit

[Anonymous No.6505452]

Frank poured a glass of milk and passed it to Rebecca. Rebecca said, "I asked for juice."
Frank said, "Sorry."
Frank poured out the milk, cleaned the cup and filled it with orange juice. He handed the cup back to Rebecca.
Rebecca said, "Thanks."
Frank responded, softly, "No problem."

[Anonymous No.6505465]

>>6494650
Bing threaded the geriatric Mercury between low buildings studded with identical fire-engine red garage doors until Ced tapped on the dash, “Here it is.” Ced was surprised that the door slid overhead so smoothly. To his knowledge, nobody had been inside this unit since Uncle Garrett's death. He found the stubby light switch and flipped it on, grimacing at the instantly harsh incandescent bulb. It occurred to Ced that the he hadn't seen an incandescent bulb since elementary school. The bare fixture illuminated a reliquary of two decades past. Towers of eight inch black floppy disks, monitors with CRT's deeper than the the screen's width, and other components sequestered in their original black and white cow-hide packaging. A pair of 3D glasses, the lenses composed of red and blue cellophane peeked out from the edge of one such box as Bing sliced it open and groaned with frustration.

[Anonymous No.6505793]

>>6498316
E-mails, not letters—thus the pale glow on his face.
I do have more, but the rest is bad at the moment.

[Anonymous No.6505811]

Now before I post this, I just started this two days ago and haven't come back to do the spelling and grammar.


"We let the reader answer this question: Who is the happier man, the man who braved the storm of life and lived, or the one who stayed securely on shore and existed?" -Hunter S. Thompson
I have never been given the option of staying on shore, to even get out of bed in the morning I have to brave the hurricane of disability. Disability is the storm that ever consumes my life at every angle, the ship of my body gets rocked with meter high waves crashing against my bow. At every moment of every day it is all hands on deck, the crew of my body has never once been given the pleasure of singing a sea shanty. Although this crew is tired, although this ship is battered, although the waves are getting higher every year, the sails aren't torn yet and the winds are still favorable.

[Anonymous No.6505930]

>>6501655

i chuckled

NOT A PARAGRAPH THOUGH

[Anonymous No.6507419]

>>6505452
minimal
daring
ambiguous
10/10

[Anonymous No.6507429]

idk, just a piece of a journal entry about something a few days ago

>"It was about midnight, incidentally, when Hank accidentally merged onto an eastbound road just as we were discussing where to sleep -- we settled upon the Trail of Tears rest stop in Anna -- but the detour cost us. We were at that point listening to The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan, an ideal record for a drive in the country at night, and it wasn't so much later that we pulled into the rest stop. I couldn't see much, but there were orange lantern-lights along the causeway and I gleaned that I was standing alone in a garden of proud oaks surrounded by wilder forestry yet."

[Anonymous No.6507466]

>>6505811
sorry mate: it's shit

[Anonymous No.6507502]

>>6505452
brilliant.

[Anonymous No.6507572]

>>6498321
that was really good

[Anonymous No.6508724]

All too soon, as she had feared, it is morning again, the birds have been singing already for a couple of hours, since four, and it is six and it is time to get up. Mary does this, moving sluggishly into loose pyjamas and likewise to the bathroom, where the routine exfoliation and first piss of the day pull and prod her into a state of half-awakeness, quasi-consciousness, as her head seems to collapse in on itself without great personal exertion to the contrary, and the rigours of the morning light lift her violently but slowly against her resistance to a more appropriate condition of being, where she can just about make out the time display on her phone and cognise this enough to marvel at the quickness of time's passing. Already it has been twenty minutes since she got out of bed, to excuse this she imagines, for all she can manage, that she might have sat on the edge of the bed, staring at or through a wall or floor for some time while debating with herself in the incomprehensible language of night whether it is better to get up now or later. Later always brings with it such indomitable headaches, hungers, worsenesses than now, which is initially harder but ultimately nobler, and far simpler, with less risk of needing to explain to relatives who have been calling all morning to tell you about the barbecue on Sunday why you did not pick up on the first ring two hours ago. “I got the answering machine, I thought you were dead” was the introduction to Aunt Mavis's confused portmanteau of excuse and apology one dreary Thursday morning last year, when the night before Mary had gone to bed at three, and awoken at ten to find paramedics and policemen crowding her bed like a gang of costumed voyeurs who wanted desperately to be caught in the act. They had also broken her door down with a battering ram and the replacement was on her, so naturally the replacement was on Aunt Mavis. Yes, now avoids so many potential mishaps that it is generally the correct answer for all temporal conundrums. But she has not considered all the nows that have failed, the forgotten nows of the yester-decades, the bread slices cut jauntily with sharp knives, feet balanced on an old stool with one loose leg mother had been been meaning to throw out for months but that remained there indefinitely year after year, saying come on, use me now.