No Fear

I wake up with an aching body though I am but 22 winters old. I'm not horny, but I still masturbate and read meaningless shit on my phone for an hour until I can finally muster the strength to rise from my crusty bed. I stumble to the battle station, put on some right-wing podcast. It's not very interesting, but it's better than listening to the humming of my broken refrigerator. It's already half past nine, I'm behind schedule. I need to eat so I can lift so I can get home so I can go to work. The brownish batch of protein slop on the kitchen counter doesn't look very appetizing, but looks can be deceiving. I eat, have a cup of coffee and put a bag of snus under my lip. I still feel like a zombie, barely awake and with sore joints, but I really need to leave now. I hope I don't see any Afghans on the way to the gym, that always ruins my good mood.

>>9231460
i really feel like I can relate to this

I don't really like the way this is written. There's something too casual and fractured about they way it flows. That may be intentional in relaying something about the narrator to us, but it's slightly juvenile and lacks rhythm and poetry. It's also hard to know what to make of it out of context. Hopefully that doesn't dishearten you too much, keep on writing!


Here's an extract from my newest work:
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1ztVEmAbJiTy4vMlcUMNHZ60ruV3iihNlUvKfXFk2JzA/edit?usp=sharing

Emo stopped being cool roughly 12 years ago pham

Life is polar and war is spring. The shells fall as heavy rain. The gun-smoke flows like torrents of wind. Mountains looming overhead grow shorter each passing as their crimson peaks thaw. Rivers form--dividing. Trenches for mollusk and crawfish. Where children play with skeletons. Drink the water; ignore the bite of iron. Dread the days until winter returns. Then pray for spring again.


>>9231537
This is fairly cluttered. A lot of unnecessary thoughts and descriptions that don't really aid towards the character or the imagery. Not very compelling, even if relateable, it's not something I would continue reading if I knew there was more. But there are a few personality quips, such as the snus and the prejudice against the Afghani's, which help ground the character a little more as real. But the phrases about a crusty bed, a battle station, protein slop, the "so I, so I, so I" sentence are just cluttered or not needed. When talk about a right-wing podcast, name a specific person. It'll help strengthen it's "boring nature" by comparing someone to the refrigerator. And while on that topic, comparing the podcast to the refrigerator hum states enough on its own that the podcast is not interesting to the character without needing to specifically state so.

>>9232719
Stop using anaphora so fucking much. Its pretentious and feels less like a piece a prose and more like a laundry list of things that happened

>>9232799
>Pretentious
I can take criticism but that word is basically just subjective and has lost all meaning. You don't like my use of a device so therefore the writing is pretentious. I personally think it gives the writing an economy and flow, but if you have got a criticism of the writing ground it in something more tangible than your personal idea of pretentiousness (which I assume is a warped definition based on your use of the word). I'll add that the extract is Joyce inspired, who made great use of the device

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>>9232836
Next time dont ask for criticism if you're just going to throw a bitch fit upon receiving one

>>9232836
Joyce was also massively intelligent, scholarly, well regarded, and wove scores of meaning into his writing style.
Saying the style was inspired by Joyce says nothing. His style without his level of ingenuity is just rambling. Every critique has a level bias and a level of truth. Take whatever from it, and try again.

There is nothing but darkness. We are lucky to have stars in our view but past the local neighbor group of our galaxy, there is nothing in sight. The closest neighbor is impossible to reach. However we are continually scanning the region and hopefully in the next few hundred years we develop a way to launch our probes out of the local group to get improvd our scans. For now we must evacuate all of the outer colonies and inform the magistrate immediately. The Great Dust will eventually consume us.

>>9231460
There is an interesting paradox in the way you start this story and the way it ends up, high-brow and low-brow, I think you could condense the high-brow, by describing things more regularly. Especially in your first sentence. If there were a word to describe what your first sentence is saying what would that word be? I think this piece lacks vulnerability overall. I'd encourage you in this way to disarm yourself of what you think good writing is and let the piece show what it wants to show.

>>9231537
I can relate to this, but the piece could benefit from making indirect relationships. Where the other pieces in this thread obfuscate too much, you share too much. Remember your writing as a voice and specific character, what can you tell us about this character that I can relate with emotionally and not just factually. Tone down your POV a bit, show us the world, don't tell us your life. Borrow endlessly from history of whatever interests you, to do so.
>>9232719
I love the vivid description but the first sentence is weak, as it tries to introduce first a character and then a setting but doesn't fulfill either introduction. I guess that would work if the piece needed to be obfuscated, but as a reader I'd like for things to be clearer (whatever that means, relatable? Idk) to me so I can engage my intelligence whatever way reading allows me to do so.
Same thing as >>9231460
>>9232764
These are interesting sentences on their own, I would drop or condense the first sentence into the second, and follow through with the rest. The best way to make them seem less fractured and pop more is by showing the reader who is talking.

>>9232956
This hooked me, but I lost interest again before getting to the good part at the end. 2nd sentence suffers from a bit of redundancy and could tell us more about who is talking.

>>9232956
The first part was good but it felt like the sentences devolved (?) as it went on and added too much information right away. It could be reinforced by adding/describing more emotions of the narrator.

http://pastebin.com/8EtnEPtv

heres mine. It isn't complete yet though so feedback would be great.

>>9232956
A good opening for a first draft. It seems like you're kind of brainstorming here.
I really like the line:
>We are lucky to have stars in our view...

>>9233099
Anon, I want to help you here, and I'll say this as gently as possible. There are many, many cliches here. Writing about depressed teenagers contemplating suicide and being lonely is boring. Personally, I would scrap this and call it practice, but if you're going to stick with it, I would add something to make it more interesting to people beyond their teens.

>>9231460
Reposting my erotica for some feedback about sexiness. Tell me if you got a boner or if it's sexy at all please:
http://pastebin.com/HBJgx63z

>>9232836
>I personally think
In the literary world, what you think about your own writing doesn't mean shit. I don't care if you personally think that you're David Foster Wallace, pal.

>>9233307
Hmmm, I wanted the tone to be depressing but the character himself be not depressed but apathetic to his own situation. I'm trying to have it conclude on a happier note though. Thanks for the feedback!

>>9233307
Also, I did want it to relate to teens as it was my target audience. I understand that the story is cliche but what about on how I wrote it? Is the writing awkward, was it okay, or was it just complete shit?

>>9231460
I really hate your first two sentences. The sun's midday rays aren't known for throbbing painfully, so the image doesn't really tell me anything. And the second sentence is just really full of itself. If you want to say something like that, you should ease into it instead of starting your story with it, imo. The only other thing I really didn't like is "size-too-small v-neck tee" which just seems like a cliche at this point.

Not too bad overall, though.

>>9233423
Is that a joke? The only thing that matters is your own opinion. If writer's spent there lives worrying about what everyone else thought we wouldn't have any of the amazing literature that we have

>>9233554
Let's look at some of the lines here.
>Clouds slowly roll over the city in the afternoon, enclosing around like a grey bag suffocating it.
>The threat of rain
>...get an extra earful from his mom...
>...as if time slowed down to an almost complete stop.
>A flash of lightning followed by thunder snaps Jamie out of his mental stupor.
>...melody coming from his heart. It drowned out everything - his problems, his worries, his future.
>In that moment it was just him and his dance, the now rather than the eventual.
I think most of us would consider these lines to be extremely cliche. Try to edit cliches out of your work and you'll improve. Keep practicing, anon.

>>9233605
>The only thing that matters is your own opinion
Then why did you post your dogshit here?

>>9233605
>The only thing that matters is your own opinion.
Then don't become angry when people tell you that your work needs improvement.

>>9233618
Because I'm human and I like being praised. I like criticism too if it is constructive but ultimately it's only my own belief that is of use, whether other's shape that or not is dependent on the things they say and how they say them.

>>9233620
I'm fine with criticism if it's any good. Bad criticism ruins good writers, which I am not professing to be, but it can ruin bad writers and mediocre writers too.

>>9233581
I agree with you. Although that first sentence makes sense to me, I'm Australian , the second I did feel was cluttered and awkward when I wrote it; same goes for the tee. But I was drunk when I wrote it and I thought: fuck it, I'll preserve it as is.

>>9233099
There are problems will literally every sentence. My favourite is
>His parents took him out to dinner - nothing fancy, which was fine.

>>9233610
Alright, thank you!

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A brief dream sequence I am working on:
A flower unfolds and blooms in the darkest part of the room. It’s white plume holds and extends a boom of excellent light. An outline of blue moves about the room as the bud fluxes like a rising sun. With its’ flushes it lightens the field of view and soon everything is blindingly bright. Swallowed in gold the eyes resign and let go.
He turns about in a field of green; the flowing breeze moves it. Getting up on his knees, brushing himself off on his jeans, he sees this girl rushing through the field. A dog is running after her and the child is laughing—such happiness it is bringing up in him, more than he could confess. The girl has run up to him and looks for his caress. He picks her up and blows air in her face.
‘No! Bad daddy!’ She yells hitting him in the chest. He smells her hair—it smells of straw.
‘Godfrey!’
He turns and looks up to the place wherefrom the voice came. There she stands—tall in a posture of grace, at the base of the home they had made. With the child in his arms he walks up with their dog by his side, in its mouth a yellow tennis ball. A comforting heat blankets the breeze. The closer he comes to her the closer he is to ease, the closer his heart is to peace.
‘Where have you been my brave knight?’ On her cheek he pressed a kiss. She takes him in her arms, and kisses him on the head before she says, ‘Isn’t it time to wake up now?’

Godfrey woke up in a fearing state, with sweat and flame he breathed to regain himself. It’s just a dream, he tells himself, it’s just a dream.

>>9231460
I don't know if it is because what i have been reading recently but this instantly made me think of a protagonist who understanding the nihilistic meaningless words feels the need to 'play along' with the decadent sexualised meaninglessness in the pursuit of some real meaning.
I do not like the fact however, that in my mind the characters are black.

>>9233818
World* not words

>>9232719
>. Yes; the winter was unravelling now; it railed upon the houses, upon the pavements and cobbles, upon the brims of hats and hairs of heads and toes of shoes; it railed too upon the swerving shores, and upon the sea, where it fought the fierce waves and stung them with a frosty bitter bite.
I liked this bit.

after that i feel like you are describing something but i can't tell what it is. and then the protagonist is walking on the street.
>Let me understand you

>>9233818
Well, rest easy knowing this protag is blue.

>>9231460
I agree with the other poster here. Your first sentences suck. Other than that, your story is okay

>>9233777
Not bad. Just a few sentences seem a bit off
>He turns about in a field of green; the flowing breeze moves it
Just think you'd be better off with something like 'moved by the flowing breeze'

Also with the girl calling him 'my brave Knight.' I know it's a dream but comes off awkward.

Here's a poem I wrote, draft title is 'Parramatta Road'

Cry, drag a voice from
Thine ancient face
Formed from careless
Cracks, crashes, and dents.

For how many aeons
Hast thou borne sick man
Sick woman, sick beast,
Upon thy worn back?

What payment for thee?
What payment but pain
Suffering and the dim,
Sweet stars that kiss thee?

Thou art scarred
From cars and trucks and riots.
Let thy anguish reach the night
So the moon may weep for thee.

(The antiquated language is supposed to be in contrast to the subject, but I'm not sure it works)

>>9234950
I like it, although I think the grandiose language coupled with the subject matter is dichotomous, although in style it does hearken back to the classic language of Australian poetry.

>>9234987
Cheers! Yeah I'm not sure, I like it but, as I said, I don't know how well it eotksm

>>9235450
* Works.

>>9234950
Thanks for feedback man. I agree with brave knight. Just using it until I figure something better to say.

>>9234950
It's good. Modern day Shelley

>>9235450
>>9235454
>eotksm
>works
kek

>>9235865
Thanks!

>>9235910
Never write on a phone...

>>9234950
Pleasurable read, mate.

>Wrote this today. I will post the English version (that I translated myself) and then the original, in Portuguese.

>Lullaby of Rust, the Owl

Ho, ho, ho! Do not fear, ho!
Do not fear, little baby, ho!
I will keep your sweet dreams safe,
Ho, Ho! I will be your little angel.

I am Rust, the owl,
The guardian of the forest,
Since I have my nest in the night
No monsters dare to party.

See these carnivorous fairies,
My eyes, my sparkling beasts:
Evil ghosts do greatly fear
Those two golden panthers.

Ho, ho, ho! Do not fear, ho!
Do not fear, little baby, ho!

Dragon with saliva of lava;
Atrocious wolf, the gray death;
Black orchids, bats;
Grouchy bear and wild boar;

Nine-tailed fox;
Rats; elfish monkeys;
Slugs; toads; salamanders;
Frogs that sweat toxins;

Snakes with ruin for teeth;
Hairy tarantulas:
Do not fear them, baby, sleep,
Sleep the sweet sleep of the Buddhas.

I will keep your sweet dreams safe,
Ho, Ho! I will be your little angel.

I am king when after the sun drowns,
I am lord of the animals,
I watch over the black forests,
So do not cry anymore.

Ho, ho, ho! Do not fear, ho!
Do not fear, little baby, ho!
I will keep your sweet dreams safe,
Ho, Ho! I will be your little angel.


>Canção de ninar de Ferrugem, a Coruja

Ru, ru, ru! Não tema, ru!
Não tema, bebezinho, ru!
Eu vou guardar seu soninho,
Ru, Ru! Serei seu anjinho.

Sou Ferrugem, a coruja,
O guardião da floresta,
Por ter na noite o meu ninho
Os monstros não fazem festa.

Veja estas fadas carnívoras,
Meus olhos, faiscantes feras:
Fantasmas malvados temem
Essas douradas panteras.

Ru, ru, ru! Não tema, ru!
Não tema, bebezinho, ru!

Dragão com baba de lava;
Lobo atroz, a morte cinza;
Orquídeas negras, morcegos;
Urso e javali ranzinza;

Raposa de nove caudas;
Ratos; Macacos traquinas;
Lesmas; sapos; salamandras;
Rãs suadas com toxinas;

Cobras com ruína por dentes;
Tarântulas cabeludas:
Não os tema, bebê, durma,
Durma o doce sono dos Budas.

Eu vou guardar seu soninho,
Ru, Ru! Serei seu anjinho.

Sou rei quando o sol se afoga,
Sou senhor dos animais,
Eu vigio os bosques negros,
Sendo assim, não chore mais.

Ru, ru, ru! Não tema, ru!
Não tema, bebezinho, ru!
Eu vou guardar seu soninho,
Ru, Ru! Serei seu anjinho.

>>9231460

bump

>>9233099
your grammar sucks. you use passive voice too.

not gonna touch the content but read strunk and white you gotta practice for a minute

They stayed there for several hours practicing. By the end of the session, Terry was consistently able to stand up on his longboard for several seconds before falling into the water. He discovered that he loved to surf. He loved the ocean. It seemed to be endless in its size and potential for ferocity. He felt inconsequential in comparison to the depth and timelessness of the sea water. Terry felt the first breath one takes after rising to the surface had some sort of redeeming quality on his soul. He was not religious, but being bucked off of a surfboard and falling head-first into the ocean; having it fill every imperceptible, perforated valley on his porous body was like a genuine religious experience. He tried to communicate all of this to his surfing instructor and she laughed and nodded, as if she had been born with this knowledge.

This feels wrong, like the voice I'm writing doesn't match up with the story. I wonder why I've gotten so much worse at this

It seems the most important choices you make in life never really feel like choices when they're given to you. Years after some hunchbacked old nursemaid found a silver nugget in her river-washed laundry, I was given a choice with two wrong answers and only one that would let me walk away from it. I could either die as a red man, or live as a white one.

Enough about that old ultimatum. It may sound like it has a wild story behind it, but I would one day learn that it was the intermission in something a whole mess grander. Let me tell you the story of how I first met Grandmother Stormcloud.

If you had seen my mother and I as we crept through the wild woods that day, I can't help but imagine most would think she had taken me. My mother was an imposing woman, though talk had it she only became that way for my sake. She was tall, with broad shoulders and dark eyes. Her hair was a rope of black silk and she had skin the color of Mississippi clay.

The gash-headed little boy clinging onto her deerskins wasn't much bigger than a sack of flour, and come to think of it he was probably the same color too. I never knew my father, and that was probably a mercy. I wouldn't have much liked to meet him, and he certainly wouldn't have much liked to meet me.

We walked softly on the loam and grass, stopping ever so often to pick some smokewood or devil's club. She was looking for goldenrod, milkweed and clovers. Where those flowers grew there were plenty of bees, and with them came honey. We spotted a bushel of butter-yellow by a brook's lapping edge, and soon after a sharp ear could hear the buzzing of a small hive. It wasn't hard to find them, huddled in gutted trunk of a long dead cedar. I watched as my mother bow-lit some gathered twigs, and when the smoke came it followed her orders.

>>9238616
You say "Terry" one time too many there. Try to avoid re-using proper nouns when possible

>>9238663
This is a very good excerpt. From what you included here, I don't feel the same way you do about the voice you're writing with.

Other than that, it is intriguing. You have a good, rhythmic, cliche-free prose.

>>9236797
Thanks!

>>9237025
It would sound more like an owl if it said "hoo" instead of "ho"

>>9239796

You are right. I did not know exactly how to make the onomatopoeia.

I think I will change even the original. "Ruu!" in the place of "Ru!"

Ayyyy lmao

He’d left his coffee on the bench but never returned, so I continued my fixed gaze towards the second platform. A swarthy older man came towards the bench. He moved ever so slowly, placed his wrinkled bottom on the coffee. I looked, he did not move. Perhaps he meant it. Old men and their fetishes.

>>9238616
This reads very clean. Are you a women?

>>9240048
It's has to be a woman

Help me out anons
http://pastebin.com/2Eg4iucw

>>9240048
>>9240066
No, I am a male. I am also the same anon who posted this: >>9233307
http://pastebin.com/HBJgx63z

This paragraph about the surfing instructor is part of a larger, transvestite erotica piece that I am writing. I am trying to get into selling erotica on Amazon for a few shekels.

Thanks for the compliment though.

>>9240069
I had a critique ready for the first part then it switched to animals, then jazz and i gave up. I did enjoy reading it, I usually never finish reading most the stuff here.

>>9240069
Damn this is good. What the fuck am i reading?

>>9240069
This is really decent, breh. Pastebin sucks for reading, but that was a creative story.

Hey! I criticized. Tear my shitty story up, senpai.
http://pastebin.com/VgtBwHYT

>>9240069
It starts out really nice, and then it sorta degenerates, then picks back up again.

It's good, you just seem a little fast paced in your conversations, as well as a host of grammar and spelling errors I'm sure anyone with some time to look it over thoroughly would help you out with. The description can get tiring, but it is consistent.

I also like the "skip over the cliche bit" bits.

>>9231460
The juxtaposition between the scenery and then shift into degeneracy is neat, but otherwise, it's sorta forced.

"I am old as the universe" seems sorta awkwardly placed. Think of something else, who has ever thought "I am as old as the universe" in a club without actually being as old as the universe?
And then the tonal shift towards the end feels badly executed. Maybe elucidate on his feelings more. Does he feel emasculated? Is this just everyday? If so, how/why does he feel sad about it?

>>9240692
2emo4me

>>9240692
This story reeks of sad teenagerism, anon. What are you trying to communicate here?

I'm still sitting here looking at her hand just bleeding on the table. It doesn't even make any sense that its still bleeding, it was removed two or three hours ago. Nevertheless, its bleeding still. It kind of feels like watching the ocean at night by the shore. It actually doesn't feel anything like that at all, which is a much better description of how all this feels. It feels like nothing that's going on right now makes any sense, and that I've lost the ability to make sense. Why am I here watching this bleeding female hand? Oh wait it stopped bleeding, was it something I said? No, I haven't said anything in two or three hours. Was it something I thought? Don't be ridiculous, a dismembered hand doesn't know your thoughts. My own hand knows what its own brain is thinking though. Its 9:01, and I've ignored my alarm for a full minute. It always feels weird to snap yourself back into the real world after a twisted dream. Those annoying seasonal allergies have arrived and they get my nose stuffed up really bad. So, I had my arm kind of draped vertically across my face so I could sleep and let gravity pull my nasal passage open. This put my arm to sleep, and I couldn't feel my hand. No notifications whatsoever, just a blank phone that says 9:02 now. Its pretty nice that I can wake up for work at 9:00 though. Most people I know have to get up at 7 or 6. Its also a little fucking ridiculous that I still have work after cutting my bosses hand off yesterday.

(1/2)

I wonder if anyone will find me out here. The great trees living in these woods make it difficult to walk through. The canopy overhead blocks even the brightest ray of sunshine from poking through. I find it peaceful though. I’m all alone out here. I hear nothing but the sound of breath. It’s so quiet even the gentle pounding of my heart can be heard. Every couple minutes a breeze passes through causing the leaves to whistle a soft hum. Other than that there is nothing but peace. The forest forest floor below me feels as if it's a soft cushion, like sitting on your mother's lap during a weekend car ride. Mother died years ago. A tear traces down my cheek. Would I be here now if she were still alive? I could not tell. Perhaps her loving arms would be wrapped around me like the arms of the forest do now. Maybe not.

I think back a few month. To another distant memory of happiness. Warm tea flows out of the spout of a pot just pulled from the stove into a grey cup. Specks of broken leaves float about, performing a mysterious dance for me. After the leaves hypnotize me they take their well deserved slumber at the bottom of my cup. My eyes turn to her. My mind now can only make out the spectral figure of what was once her beauty. My eyes traced the mystique before me. The curvature of her leg. A light dress draped over her bending body. She moves and a smile grows on my face. The radiance of her eyes meet mine. We lay frozen there locked in each other’s gaze. A moment passes and I lower my eyes to her lips. Two light pink lips rest pursed in a smile. Open windows invite a breeze to slip a single lock of her dark hair out of place. Back and forth. Back and forth. Her hand rises to lay the strand back in place. I sip some tea. The warmth travels down into my soul. As I stand up I push my chair in. My light steps take me towards her.

>>9243859
(2/2)

I open my lungs to a deep breath. The rush of air allows a flashes of sunlight to touch my face. I gaze upwards in awe of the kaleidoscope of green above me. I let the breath out of my lungs. I bend towards my satchel lying besides me, and extend my reach towards it. Dragging it along the dirt I place it onto my lap and unfasten the ties keeping my tools secure. A knife. A bandana. A canteen. Some food. A flask. I pull the flask out and place the bag to my side. I rigid twist removes the cap and exposes the contents inside. I raise the flask to its proper place on my lips. The sting of rye greets my tongue and journeys down my throat. I can feel its warmth travel down my core to its final resting place. Another breath. Another memory.

Pa’s great hand sits upon my shoulder. I feel safe. He tells me times from long ago when he was a boy chasing indians through the corn fields, and shooting bandits with a twig. the oak tree that resided in front of his house. Great limbs stretched out wide over the lawn. A rope dangled down the most sturdy branch. It was fastened to a tire. Uncle Pete and him would spend hours swinging on that rope. Their dreams would bounce between each other. A pretty little wife to make them pancakes in the morning. A house with a big yard to play ball in with their boys and girls. A big barn to keep all of their cowboy horses. An old bloodhound to sit on the porch. His eternal gaze would guard its beloved owners. Pa’s hand ushers me through the door of his car. I am still too small to sit up front. I watch Pa, as a simple man watches in awe of a great king, march around the car and take his throne in the front seat. With the turn of a key the roar of the engine starts. We ride off.

>>9243347
You do good at making the narrator unable to make sense out of the situation, because of how confusion the first couple sentences are. I think it'd be better for the narrator to keep with the confusing thoughts rather than to just blurting out that the situation doesn't make sense I'd say that its better for the narrator to say it in dialogue.

>>9240297
>>9240667
>>9240292
Thank you, these made my day
>>9240692
I've been working on editing recently and polishing it up. I had a lot of doubts about it being any good, which kept me away from it for a while

>>9244271
I don't have any critique, but I also really liked it. The designs are very cute.

It feels better than before, so I'm going to bet /lit/ is going to hate this

She coaxed the smoke out of leaves and nettles, and at her call and gesture it flowed over the beehive in a river of ash and breath. The bees dropped, asleep but alive, and with a small knife she cut away a small wedge of wax and comb.

“Does that feel better,” I recall her asking as she brushing the hair from my eyes and smeared the cut on my forehead with herbs and honey. I could only dab at my head and lick my fingers in response. She smiled sadly took my hand, guiding me deeper and deeper into the belly of the wild woods until we reached a copse the sun avoided. It was mid day, and the fireflies shone in the night sky.

“Don't touch them,” my mother warned me, and like a fool boy I did and felt my finger jerk and burn. In the years since I have heard men who think themselves learned call them “ball lightning” or other something of the sort. I think it's a good name, if a simple one, but I don't expect much from men who can't catch their own dinner.

“You won't do that again, will you?” I shook my head and she took my other hand. “Be careful. We have come to another world today, and not everything is what it looks like. Can you guess why we're here?”

“Grandmother Stormcloud?” Even as a boy I had known her story. All the children of our tribe did, although I was hardly a part of it. The story goes that long ago when the world way young, Coyote came upon her flying high and carefree and decided to play a nasty trick. He plucked a stone from the river and tossed it at her, knocking her upside down in a poof of feathers. As far as tricks go, it was not a particularly creative one.

Spying humans below in the woods, Grandmother Stormcloud believed they were responsible, and in anger she blotted out the sun with her black feathers to create clouds and spit down from the clouds on them to make rain. The humans were frightened and cold, and the dirt became mud beneath their feet, causing them to slip and fall ever time they took a step.

Coyote laughed at his clever trick and his voice filled the woods, becoming thunder. When she heard it, mother Stormcloud realized she had been tricked, and felt pity for the humans who had become the butt of the joke. To warm them up and dry the mud, Grandmother Stormcloud sent down a bolt of lightning and with it lit the first fire for humans to use as they pleased.

>>9243859
>>9243874
two things

your prose is good in some places, but at least early on it's too tranquil and makes light of some of the more emotional parts.

second, that second paragraph has some pretty oedipal suggestiveness. If that's his mother you might want to find a different way to describe her. If it's someone else, make it more clear

enjoy my exotic experimental writing

Ahh. See the Aardvark and Aardwolf. The Aaronic aba I am cloaked in shall heed aback the souls of the abacterial. For bacteria is good. It sets me abaft to my studies. Like the aardvark and the aardwolf, I see the abalones. They do not abandon me. No, no they keep me company. We are soicius. Abas with the human race. Abase the pride of every living human, abash confidence. Carefully abate the pain of realization, form an abatis with your own beliefs, or if you’re rather dangerous, fancy an abatoir for the nonbelievers. Allow yourself to picture this: an abaxial office. You are stripped from any kind of religious abbacy or abbatial configurations. You have burned every abbe, every abbess, every abbey and every abbot. Abbreviate your confusions, now. Abdicate your doubts that this happened. For, I swear to you, it had to of. You no longer need imgaine it. Feel your abdomen--you’re still human. I could abduct every limb of your body and you could not suffer any longer. You’re stripped of religious dogma, now. No more beatific abduction. Lay abed and think to yourself. The abelian aberrants you have experienced, you see, will be a destiny. I abet your choices--I shall exalt them! Take heed your abeyance from life and socialization. Take no abstinence to your social chains. You will be granted your own abigail to help you with your own ability: abnitio. Look around. Look at the abiogenesis. Abiogenic, abiological Earth is what we were destined to create. Abject your own abjection. Proceed to abjuration. Ablate your senses and open your eyes. Passion ablaze, able you mind. You are an able-bodied person. You can make abloom your own roots. Do not abnegate that statement. You CAN bloom roots, and you will. You need to work backwards in life. You’re abnormal. Take aboard this dimension. Take the chance of abode. Hear the machine aboil, it will abolish your woes. History repeats itself. . . Welcome to the new abolition movement. Abominable acts will no longer thrive. Aboral to my mouth are these words. They stand still in the air, they don’t quite diffuse. They linger. Speak the aboriginal tongue, hello to ancestors and nostalgia. Abortifacients cure abortions, but what cures you? You seem about only young. About face to your dreams are more. Look above. Above all, we will be. Aboveboard from this horrid public. Me and you can start ab ovo. Abrading the skin crawled a slug, leaving a trail of liquid on her leg. “We can allow for abreaction. There is still time. Speak to me.”
She climbed out of the chair slowly. “I will say I am not quite abreast with today. My life’s been abridged by disease. My memory must have been left abroach. I’ve not been abroad from this land. Abrogate my questions. Kill them.”


456 more pages just like this.

>>9244932
Enjoyed it. I have no idea what it's about, but it was interesting.

>>9244924
i liked it

File: 220px-Nietzsche1882.jpg (14KB, 220x294px) Image search: [Google]

14KB, 220x294px

My will is what becomes.

Good luck criticizing me.

>>9244932
Is it bad I want to buy this

what the hell is it
i like it