CRITIQUE THREAD

Total presence breaks on the univocal predication of the exterior absolute the absolute existent (of that of which it is not possible to univocally predicate an outside, while the equivocal predication of the outside of the absolute exterior is possible of that of which the reality so predicated is not the reality, viz., of the dark/of the self, the identity of which is not outside the absolute identity of the outside, which is to say that the equivocal predication of identity is possible of the self-identity which is not identity, while identity is univocally predicated of the limit to the darkness, of the limit of the reality of the self). This is the real exteriority of the absolute outside: the reality of the absolutely unconditioned absolute outside univocally predicated of the dark: the light univocally predicated of the darkness: the shining of the light univocally predicated of the limit of the darkness: actuality univocally predicated of the other of self-identity: existence univocally predicated of the absolutely unconditioned other of the self. The precision of the shining of the light breaking the dark is the other-identity of the light. The precision of the absolutely minimum transcendence of the dark is the light itself/the absolutely unconditioned exteriority of existence for the first time/the absolutely facial identity of existence/the proportion of the new creation sans depth/the light itself ex nihilo: the dark itself univocally identified, i.e., not self-identity identity itself equivocally, not the dark itself equivocally, in “self-alienation,” not “self-identity, itself in self-alienation” “released” in and by “otherness,” and “actual other,” “itself,” not the abysmal inversion of the light, the reality of the darkness equivocally, absolute identity equivocally predicated of the self/selfhood equivocally predicated of the dark (the reality of this darkness the other-self-covering of identity which is the identification person-self).

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lmk what you guys think I guess

>>9355995

Idk what this even is, i'm not a poet in the slightest but did write it

i think there is nothing more beatiful
than passing by a beatiful girl
seeing nought but her smile,eyes and a flutter of hair
the air charged with possibilty , a glint in your mind
you look behind , and see her
and smile
briefly
and then move on
your love perfect and undisturbed

>>9356018
i like the last line

i wish the whole thing had more structure or some kind of meter but thats just because I dont like free verse poetry

>>9356042

thanks, I just wrote it on the spur coming home so maybe when i wake up i'll try to shape it up

Inspired by Whitman, Pound, Hopkins, and Norweigian classical poetry, I have 250 pages of poetry on the adventures and patriotism of america. AKA, will never get published.

This is one:

Mayflower swashed the seins to wake
I astride with aster in ego and hands on stern,
Found the water too deep to swim. My eyes darted.
In Genoa, a new Hermes was dealt
Drawing a scope from the hip
The rufts shook sand as we arrived, water rolling it’s wheels
To the pax they call Asia, country of spices.
With ethereal motives to Parcae
I stepped to steep sands, air thick with delight.
Sands too brown to be of orient descent
Mans too red to be human to be shaped by Elohim
Willowaks thick with sounds,
Dragged I, explorer, into the gloom
Ay! What wonders it was! The trees so strange
To touch with blade the very sticks.
I stepped O’er night and day alike
To reach the pariah folk
And I, with puttees abuckle and pray be done,
Greeted the red-bellied men, who, with great frowns
Stepped back, like crabs to pagan ploys
My white skin clashed and was aglow.
I set my blade down, a musket acock
And I asked the red-bellied relks,
“Who are you, primitive men, see you not of the Orient,
We come wih idyll, no war to seek for God shall peek.”
My petasos down, and fine gown, made a muffled sound
And my feet crunched the ground, as the Native’s looked ‘round
They did not speak the tongue of us, they were primitve creatures
With tusks and voices off-season.
Fire cackled and heads were cast low,
And columbus, with ouvre, stuck a pike into earth,
And declared this the tierra de dios
So we laughed.
We captured a few of the red-bellies
To send forth to Spain and broach the Queen
Of our new land
And of our new peoples.
So we panned God’s lost beings, creatures and gifts,
And we creaked the planks with new nous
“I come humbly, yet we all come brave,
With 72 rafts and noses held to sky
And robes fluttering to ignorant malady,
Let us embark a return with banners high and hopes highest”
I had rooted the festives on, with smiles and grins stretched
And we sang gay songs, with water as our drum:

“To stables red gables, and swift-spun pikes,
we‘ve chartered new lands and people alike
The sun shining bright on our faces of white
With Thalassa carrying the ship with might”


>>9356018
odd phrasing throughout. Try reading it aloud to see what I mean.

>>9356015
Poetry embalming a meaning that would best be for prose. Use more impactful words, everyone knows working sucks

>>9356082
>a meaning that would best be for prose.
Why do you think so?

>>9356110
More room for describing and comparing. Poetry is something that would fall apart with such a commonly-felt thing.

With your tone, mainly, though,

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>>9356119
Thank you.

Do you think this one suffers from the same effect?

The first one I posted was originally meant to be the end of this one.

>>9356146
this seems a lot better. The key is to connect in a unique way, which you seem to have done in this one

Ending just seemed forced. Shouldn't take long to fix. Just a suggestion, though. Don't listen to everything an old man on 4chan says.

>>9356006
I'm not a prose guy
I like philosophy
But this is shit

>>9356159
No, I agree. The ending bugs me too and Ive been playing with it. Thanks for the input.

Currently busy doing HW but when I free up I'll read yours and let you know what I think.

https://synthesis.blog/2017/04/07/the-mask-of-social-media/

Anyone whose read infinite jest share your thoughts

>>9356006
You best be trolling, nigger. This is unintelligible horseshit.

burp

>>9356401
Nice, but a couple things:

Your rhythm could be improved. Try to make the number of syllables and the emphasis consistent.
>but I don't know her all too well
>and shed this tedious spell

Also, you use the word "tedious" twice, and it may have been on purpose, but you may want to try finding a synonym for one of the lines.

That's it! I like it!

>>9356006
Definitely use "univocal" and its derivatives more. Clears up any confusion.

>>9356523
thanks!

yeah the use was intentional but idk if Ill keep that in there

Wrote this yesterday. Still ain't got a title.

Steve was
an empty husk,
or so his girlfriend had said

The word “husk”
particularly
fucked with him.

On the bus back from New York,
more specifically Brooklyn,
his neck hurt, and beer
stained his “Big-Ups” t-shirt

The gig
was alright

He got to meet those other,
more musically experienced empty husks
shared a joint with them, and

as his girlfriend later pointed out
didn’t smile through the whole thing

“You,” she said, “you never do.”
“Do what?” he asked
“Show your teeth,” she said.
“Not even when you eat.”

Passing through Hartford
his eyes glued
to the ruinous buildings,
the word husk crept up
again.

Husk
Letters like the sound
of dry tree bark cracking
on the axe of a lumberjack

After some thinking, Steve realized
he did not remember his girlfriend’s name
Or how he met her
Or if she loved him
Or if he loved at all

They reached South Station
at three in the morning
and he left his bag full of clothes

and some vinyl he’d bought
and his girlfriend of three years
and he walked, aimlessly, until
the night collapsed into morning.

WALK WITH YOU

Why I walk the way I walk
Is because I do
It is me, ah, and you is you
I like the way you walk
Do you like the way I walk?
If so, lets walk under the trees
Let's walk through the fields
Let's walk down the blocks of the city under the moonlight
My favorite walk, is always when you walk with me

He didn’t care at all. He just did whatever, and he made it look so good. That’s why I liked him. That’s why I danced with him, and that’s why I let him put a pill in my mouth. Later, I left with him for my place. Finger at my lips, I let him in.

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>>9357115

>>9357121

Does intimacy make you feel uncomfortable?

>>9357154
Bad, boring, pointless, simplistic, edgy writing makes me uncomfortable.

>>9357154
look babe, if you let him put a pill in your mouth, and you let him bang you then that's your fault

>>9357172

I see you do not write professional literary criticism

>>9357184

1. I am a man and this experience did not happen to me

2. This paragraph doesn't pass judgment on who's to blame

>>9357197
This is a critique thread on 4chan. Professional criticism doesn't factor into the equation. The fact is people judge here based on their opinions about the writing, and in my case, I find yours terrible. Prestige doesn't elevate anything about your opinion.

>>9357197
Well as a critic your work sucks and I agree with >>9357172

what is there to critique? You sound like a tumblr poet who writes sloppy, boring, short poetry. If you looked like you put effort into your writing I would have more to criticize.

>>9357210

This is a critique thread, you're right. It's not a flippant opinion thread. Why don't you offer something more substantial?

I didn't say anything about prestige. I was referring to ability.

>>9357217

If you can't find anything meaningful to say about it that's your problem. There's enough there to talk about the style, the voice, the progression. But if you don't find it interesting well ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

>>9357229
>I went to a club
>Liked a dude
>we fucked and I let him
>???
>poetry

>>9357218
Fine.

For starters, your premise is simplistic and uninteresting. There are elements worth exploiting here: drugs, sexual attraction, self-destruction, regret, hedonism, etc. Yet, you do not expand or even make an interesting scenario out of any of these elements. You simply describe what sounds like a dull explanation for self-destructive behaviour, posed in a teenaged, romanticized way.

Your main character seems like a typical "girl/boy gone bad" without any kind of charm, definite personality, depth or interesting trait. If anything, he/she comes off as flat, predictable and somewhat self-centered. Again, "edgy," attempting to find some kind of meaningful rebellion in inebriated sex with strangers. Had it been presented in a more sophisticated way, it would perhaps be at least a bit compelling.

Your secondary character, "he," is only characterized by how cool the main character seems to consider them. And established as we have that I do not care for the main character, I do not care for the second one either. The fact that his only quality is being cool out of apathy, and that that is considered cool to begin with, indicates an intensely childish understanding of character judgement.

What bothers me most, however, is the condescending tone your writing takes. As if the reader should be intrigued, bewildered, shocked, threatened even by the very common, very played out, barely even described situation at hand. If you gave me something else than a crude popsicle stick skeleton of a narrative, perhaps I would give a shit about what's happening to your characters.

This is the start of a small piece that I was reasonably happy with it.

He could feel it in his stumps again. The hot pain that crept up his palm and extended out into the air where his middle and ring fingers used to be. Folsom let the duffle bag slide from his shoulder and sat in the remains of an old road. He rocked himself back and forth, the gutter his cradle. Folsom sucked at his stump until the pain went away.
He dragged his duffle bag along cracked asphalt until it was at his feet. A small amount of digging around put a bottle of watered-down whiskey in his hands.
If the gutter was his cradle then this was his breast milk, and he sucked at it accordingly.


>>9356190
I'm not sure stating that Leniford is lovely is necessary if you're devoting the next paragraph to showing us that anyway. Maybe that was intentional and I'm an idiot.

Apart from that, while I wasn't particularly engaged by what I read I wasn't put off by it either. I'd read more.

>>9356401

I agree with a lot of what >>9356401 said. Rhythm could be tidied up a little and improved.

I thought the first stanza was pretty good.

>>9357244

*I agreed with what >>9356523 said

>>9357218
>>9357229
Ill rephrase as a good opinion, this is a ok attempt. If you want to get good at poetry read real poets like Frost and Whitman. I know in your life you have been disappointed by the outcome of your short inspiration, but when I say you suck, and someone else says you suck. Then what will the real critics say?

>>9357238

I think some of your criticism depends too heavily on the fact I've only posted a few sentences. It's not really reasonable to expect them to accomplish a lot of what you've suggested they might. It's a simple, straightforward beginning that doesn't try to do too much, while setting itself up to explore those elements and subvert those tropes you pointed out. The character continues to develop

But a lot I agree with and I thank you for putting in the effort

>>9357255

Thanks, but it's not poetry, it's prose. It just has an element of rhythm. To be honest I think that's clear.

I'm only defending my work in order to tease out better feedback. I am aware it is not anything special and I'm open to the idea it's genuinely bad

>>9357281
>and I'm open to the idea it's genuinely bad

There we go

My meditation on the stars is an obligatory duty, indispensable to me for a multitude of reasons. Tonight, I stepped into the royal observatory to gaze at those twinkling lights of heaven illuminating the abyss, once more. It is not hard to ponder under the stars, for there is a peculiar quality of mystery about them that makes even the slowest philistine thoughtful. It makes a man think of his utter insignificance: nothing but a speck in the vast expanse of space. Upon some reflection, man is analogous to a star in a certain light, in that both are miniscule grains of sand along the shores of eternity. But how majestic are the stars, that illuminate this dark infinity? Ah, if only man could shine like that!

Learn only to pause and reflect, if you wish to be wise, o ye ambitious ones. For you will find meaning in the celestial dance of lights then. Your head is bent towards the ground, man, worrying about trivialities. Look up! Look up with the sense of awe and wonder of the innocent child, and interpret this divine message.

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The fresh air jolted the young submariner as he leapt from the black and barnacled boat, across the beaten brow, pausing for a quick salute to the ensign before he hobbled onto shore, still sprouting his new land-legs. The heavy sea bag, far too stuffed and with its lazy green pads, cut into his shoulders as he and his crew moved to muster stations. Allison Rory, along with a handful of others, were submarine riders, and therefor they would be off to the hotel as quick as possible for a swift check in to their command sponsored hotel.
“Chief, mind if I smoke real quick?”
“Not yet. Wait for the hotel—You really want to smoke right now? What’s wrong with you? We just got off deployment and you want to start smoking already.”
A grimacing look coiled within Williams—another rider—down casting his glance in subservience. Fresh air after a long deployment, as Williams described it, made him want to smoke relentlessly. He coveted his pack of sealed cigarettes back into his pocket, and heaved his own heavy bag up and aboard his lanky frame. The rest of the group followed suit and began the long trek down the sun-beaten pier in the country of Singapore. The first bus arrived, swallowed up the sailors, and sent them along the long, prairie roads that surrounded the city. A few of the submariners held up their phones to take pictures of the winding road while many more held them down, texting loved ones that they, once more, arrived at shore.
“I hear you can get Cuban cigars here!”
“Yep.” A different Chief replied, “And there’s a thing called purple-gold if you want to get something nice for your lady friend. Last time I was here I bought this nice little pendant for my daughter and she loved it”
“How much was it, Chief?”
“Not too much. You can afford it”
The bus glided gracefully underneath the concrete overpasses, sliding through narrow turns and headed towards the glittering city. Night had fallen quickly, and the streets were dense with tourists and locals, swapping steps with one another as they headed through brightly lit, perfect glass doorways on designer buildings. Skyscrapers mirrored the last rays of the setting sun, glancing them downwards onto the street and blinding passerby pedestrians. Rounding the last corner, the bus stopped beside a desolate street and opened its doors to a squat looking hotel. This wasn’t the rider’s hotel, but one reserved for the low-ranking seamen who were to share rooms like they shared bunks while underway. The ship’s crew cast jealous glances towards the riders, while the transient crew hailed a pair of taxis, unloaded their once heavy bags with a sigh, and flew off towards the night.

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>>9357429
It was at this next hotel, on this auspicious night, and in the cover of anonymity, that Allison, the once quiet and reserved shipmate of the privileged riders, was to fall madly in love. After his comrades had retired to their rooms and were preparing long-distance calls of proper length to their families back home, Allison made his great escape into the city. His thoughts raced as his feet carried him, for he knew that punishment would be dire should he be caught and reprimanded. Still, the promise of the evening pulled him towards the dazzling lights and bustling sneakers of the Clarke Quay. The great fountain in the center hosed him in surprise, and his camera caught frozen memories of the elevated spirits that festooned the streets, just as the wreathes of colorful bulbs decorated the awnings between restaurants. A live band was playing at a quiet bar on the corner, near the waterfront, drawing Allison to the outermost table, where he ordered a Rum-and-Coke, and sat in pensive silence as he let the lights, people, music, drink, and ambiance cover his soul. He leaned back in his chair, pushing two legs into the air and felt a brush of hair behind him.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to— “
“It’s okay! Don’t worry about it, you’re fine!” a sweet voice chuckled in a hard-to-place accent.
Allison swiftly set down his chair back to proper order and swiveled fast to meet the voice, accidentally tipping his half-empty glass across the table, sending ice chunks sliding across liquored wood, sailing on only to fall into the newly formed puddle on the ground. A flush of red came over his cheeks and he found himself apologizing again to the stranger. She had laughed and met him with kind eyes
“Oh no! Oh no!” cried Allison, dabbing the table with his napkin coaster
“Here, let me help you.”
“Oh you don’t have to, really, I got it”
But the stranger moved impetuously with her own napkin, helping to clear Allison’s blunder from existence. In subtle glances, he noticed her thick, brown hair had dabbed the table like a painter’s brush, and it too was now soaked with the remnants of his drink.
“Miss, your hair!” He pointed
“Oh crap!”
Allison, now sensing that he had caused a bit of a scene, stood up and went to the bartender to get more napkins. When he returned, he handed a wadful of brown paper to his hapless victim and she began to dry her wispy strands of soggy rum-laden hair. She had hazel eyes, Allison noticed. She glanced up and smiled, half-cocked and timid. It melted his heart; it was the kind of smile that makes a man want to cut oceans in half and flatten mountains to dust, if only just to receive such a smile. It spread and threw laugh lines beside her button nose and filled her olive-toned skin with a vibrant hue of life. He felt even more guilty for having been the thorn in her evening, but noticed that she, like him, was alone in the night.

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>>9357432
“You gotta let me buy you a drink, I’m so sorry about all this. I didn’t mean for any of this to, y’know, happen. I swear this isn’t some sort of pick-up line, even though you’re drop dead gorgeous and I don’t know if it’s the alcohol saying that or—” Allison was stammering.
“You need two” She replied
“Two?”
“Yeah. You need two drinks. One for me and one for you” She shot back through curled lips.
“Haha. Alright. You can have whatever you want. I’m so sorry!”
“Really? I might make you regret that.”
“Anything, I promise.”
“Just a beer, then.”
Despite the smile and assurance of her traceably Persian accent, he still felt the uneasiness of having ruined a perfectly good night, especially for her. His heart sunk once more, but not out of shame this time, but out of pure infatuation; the beginnings of a famous crush.
“My name is Roya, by the way.”
“Allison.”
“Isn’t that a girl’s name?”
“You’re only the hundredth person to say that”
“I see.” Her voice trailed as his fought to catch up
“Roya is a really pretty name. What does it mean?”
“You’re only the hundredth person to say that.” She laughed “It means ‘Dream’ in Farsi. I’m Persian”
“Oh? I’ve never met a Persian person before, at least not in person. I saw a movie about it once. Where is that on the map?”
“Silly, it’s not on any map. Persia is where Iran is and all the areas around it”
“Oh. I—I’m not sure I’m supposed to be talking to you then”
She looked quickly at the clumsy fellow, disappointment had turned her once dazzling smile into a tepid frown, and her face sagged away from its once upbeat and gracious countenance. Her head cocked sideways as she softly asked:
“Why is that?”
“I’m—I’m not sure I should tell you”
“You spill your drink, get it in my hair and now you’re playing ‘Mr. Mysterious’. Ha. You’re not very good at this, act, tough guy.”
“Oh, It’s not an act. Honestly. Well. You see, I’m in the military, and they tell us not to talk to strangers, because…”
“Because?”
“Because you might be a spy.”
A half-second paused in the air and clutched to the moment of her half-depressed face, before suddenly pulling her features and her head into a boisterous, slightly-too-loud cackle that filled the streets and brought strangers to a pause, as if they had missed some epic joke and had only heard the punchline.
“You think I am a spy? Oh my God! I’ve never heard that one before! I’ve been called a lot of things in my life, but never in a spy! You have quite the imagination!”
“I’m not sure how to answer all that. I’m sorry if I offended you”
“Offended? Not. At. All! But how am I supposed to prove that I’m not a spy?”
“I really don’t know. I guess I could ask and see if you’re lying or not”
“Go ahead.”
“Are you a spy?”
“No.”

>>9357434
“I honestly can’t tell if someone’s lying or not” he admitted sheepishly.
She laughed and settled into a smile. With one fluid movement, she moved to sit beside him and pulled out her phone. She was close enough that he could smell her perfume, which hinted at green apple orchards, as well as the lingering scent of Coca-Cola. A small part Allison’s heart moved strangely from within his chest, catching and entangling itself within heart strings. He remembered the days in middle-school when Megan, his childhood crush, would sit beside him in class wearing too much of her mother’s perfume. Whenever she had raised her hand, or was otherwise distracted, he would steal a glance from the side and count the freckles on her cheek. Small splotches of brown flecks gathered and sang choruses around her small button nose and bright, crystal blue eyes. She, too, would tie knots in his chest whenever she spoke with that soft, sing-song voice of hers.

>>9357403
too many adjectives, and purple. It feels like you're trying to push your philosophy and images into a person too hard.

>>9357244
i genuinely liked this.

>>9357114
very good rhythm to this. sickly sweet however.

>>9357086
Sounds like a vagabond or a bum or a hippy. Vagabond could be your title.

>>9356018
when you write free verse, try to use the beginning and end words to add emphasis to your points. in this case, on line 4, end it with "possibility", since its the premise of your entire poem. I like the rhythm and rhyme of this as well.

>>9357429
This is beautiful, nice work.

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Morus, Chapter Two

https://williamguppyblog.wordpress.com/category/two/

I'll go through the thread and critique now

>>9356006
Steady on, Lacan old boy.

>>9356015
Novel idea, funny and sad. A tad on the nose, but I suppose that's the point.

>>9356018
A little cheesy, but nice altogether. Obviously not polished but I'd say keep at it.

>>9356082
Poetry from another time. Imaginative, if a little rough around the edges. "Mans too red" should be "Men too red" for example.

>>9356146
I sense a running theme. Good again, but I think you should tighten up the meter.

>>9356190
5/10

>>9356252
I'm always interested in DFW's basically conservative concerns, so I found this interesting. I'd be wary about simply placing the blame at the feet of "Vanity". Of course that's true to a extent, but we should be just as interested in the conditions which arose to create that vanity and what exactly it is we're getting away from when we lose touch with our humanity. Overall I enjoyed it though - good job.

>>9357086
I'm not too much a fan of the Tao Lin hipster detached-from-life literature, but by that token you're doing alright.

>>9357115
Is Skins back on the telly?

>>9357244
Enjoyable, I like your GRITTY style. Not enough here for me to say more.

>>9357403
This made me despise the narrator. If that was the intention, well done. If not, pull the reigns in.

>>9355995

Hope y'all like it.

Aposematism:

Twisting Hellenistically
in sheets that look like a storm-cloud
to me bathed in your stark-glow,
you could strike me dead with one hand.

You exhale and flatten the reeds,
with deep rumble like a lioness.
You leave crop circles, like a hurricane on the earth,
and are the golden apple of the eye.

Dripping from head to toe skin with a potent drug:
the hormone to blame for the sense of the holy.

Maybe like your mothers had all been so narcotic,
to inspire that kind of blind gasping at sin.

The prizefighter and the heiress
Both talented in their way
Both fighting for inheritance
Both entitled to their day
Said the fella 'I've thrown my gloves
And loosed my shoes
Come join me in the ring my friend
Quit these lonesome blues

The lady thought the longest while
And bathed the time in light
She came to the conclusion
That he hadn't won the fight
'Put your gloves back on,' she says
'And steady with your pride
You've dealt the eldest hand my love
But that part of me has died'

I'm a fortune telling concubine
I'm a troubleshot saloon
You're a welterweight companion
And you're light as a balloon
I'd rather chase my options now
And place you in the past
The future's not yet written
Though the die behind me is cast

>>9358851
>5/10

Why? ):

>>9359242

Cons:

I dislike the opening sentence personally. You should show us that Leniford is lovely rather than tell us.

I also think you slightly overuse adjectives. We are told very little by the sky being "colossal"; it is the sky.

The sentence "I would've liked to have been part of such interactions" strikes me as overly formal and clunky.

Pros:

I like the scenario. Of being involved in a lively, joyful town from afar. Very comfy.

I like the rich language of the breakfast, of the air smelling of spices and teas and of the artisans.

I also like the closing sentence. It sets the tone well

So on balance 5, or possibly 6 out of 10. You are capable of making it an 8

>>9359300
Thanks, anon! That really helped.

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There is a house. Cavernous easter egg house, somehow small and familiar. At the far western wing of this place - A structure. A stained-glass tent, made of metal, 20 feet tall, distorted as if seen through a melted mirror. A sheet of Rainbow glass draped over a rod at its apex, pulled taught. No doors or flaps, a lazily winding triangular tunnel that twists around the corner of unfinished space. You stand at the entrance, multi colored biblical shadows diffusing the light on the floor ahead of your feet. Take a step, don’t fear this new place, this place where you can’t see more than a few paces ahead of you for the curve, but where what you can see holds in its rays the pastel echo of the adventure that you were promised all that long time ago, before the pattern formed, before you were resigned. Your pulse is getting faster. You remember, don’t you?

>>9359303
I like it! Only things are:

"In their thoughts that are trivial" sounds awkward. Rephrase.

"To make good impact" is also awkward.

The last line could be changed so the poem has a more impactful end.

>>9359317
Thanks

agree with most of that but I actually thought the last line was impactful

what would make it more impactful?

>>9359311
I saw your thread a few days ago. I really love this piece. You excel at sentence structure and length in creating a paced tone. Honestly, I wouldn't change anything.

>>9359327
Get rid of "in fact" and then adjust to make the line fit the rhythm. "It wouldn't matter" is impactful, but it will be more so as the last words.

>>9359328
Wow, that really means a lot man.
Yeah, I have posted this once before.
I had dream about the scenario I described and I tried to evoke not just the images but the feeling too.

>>9359335
You definitely succeed with the feeling. Fantastic job.

>>9359311
2nd person narrator is usually hard to pull off but you did this really well.

>>9359724
why do I always notice misspelled words, moments after posting?

I wrote most of this out in my head in the shower.
Inspired by Pokey LaFarge:
https://pastebin.com/eVCASFd7

>>9359742
I think its just dandy, but I don't really get the ending, is it some sort of lit joke?

I bought a book to write in to distract from my considerable amount of unfinished work. This is the first poem I've written of my own volition in six years, I don't think I like it:

Look upon this fire I've made
Piled high with wastrel days
Charred skeletons of my lazy lusts
And now my bones are ash and dust
Burnt so too I found my heart
Turned to charcoal in the dark

>>9360047
A little purple, but the imagery is there.
Try to word it a tad more "conversationally".
Mostly the second to last line sticks out as awkward.

Hi, I don't know eritca, especially this vulgar, is allowed here, if its not I do apologieze, just let me know and I'll delete it. Long story short, I've ran out of money to buy wine and tobbaco I need to live the literary lifestyle and need to make $40/week quickly so I knocked up this. This is half of book one, do you think I can make a quick quid of amazon?

"As Ascii leant over the bathroom sink looking into the mirror, he knew he could not turn back even if he wanted to. He felt the cold ceramic touch his smooth flat tummy as he pulled the pink lipstick down from his face and pouted. He had being doing this long enough now that he could tell when he had pulled off a seductive female demeanour. His eyes met his own and he observed his feminine face, cautious for any hints of masculinity, but there were none outside of the margin of error he set himself. Following his golden pigtails that hung down to his shoulders, his eyes came upon his blue tube top. His body responded to his reflection in the only way it could; he felt himself swelling down below, until the tip of his 7 inches met the cold ceramic of the sink. He bit his lower lip as he slowly pushed his hips to let his head rub against it, giving it the stimulation it craved. He couldn’t help but giggle at his body’s naïve assumption that it could procreate with itself. Ascii knew he could play for a bit, but that he couldn’t get too exited. The main course was yet to come, but he could have an appetizer."

>>9360079

"Ascii reached down and wrapped a hand around his needy member, letting out a sigh as set his index finger at the tip, massaging his pre into it for lubrication. Then he pushed his wide hips out and brought his entire groin to the stem of the sink, his thigh high covered legs parallel to it. His fair-sized balls parted slightly as they squashed against the cold cistern, and Ascii began thrusting, rubbing and grinding his entire reproductive area. Ascii didn’t know why, but rubbing his cock on things was his favourite way to masturbate. He usually finished off with his fingers, but he could spend up to half-an-hour in this state of bliss. He enjoyed the thought that his pre and the scent of his cock would remain on the object, there was something simple and animalistic about it. But at the same time, he thought of his glans as more of a giant clit than a male instrument, a ball of sensitivity craving sensation. He looked own at his body: he had done a very good job emulating a female; it was hairless save for some light, fine arm hair and a blonde patch of pubic hair above his dick shaved into a love heart. Keeping pubic is fine, he thought, as it gave some personality to his gentiles. His year-long schedule of an hour’s cardio and squatting with weights had paid off, endowing him with a slim silhouette and an illusion of wide hips, caused by his ample ass. He wasn’t too strict with his diet; after all he needed a bit of fat to pull off a female look. He certainly didn’t want skinny thighs and was willing to sacrifice a little tummy fat for it. But now, as his cock grinded against the cold sink, he was getting close, and not wanting to waste his load, he gave two more slow thrusts and withdrew his cock back beneath his pink skirt.

Ascii wandered over to his bed and slumped down on it. Lying down on his side, he tucked his cock and balls between his legs so it was facing backwards and lifted his legs so his tight asshole was exposed to the air. He liked to lie like this so he could fantasize about someone walking in on him, although it would never happen and if it did he would surely be ashamed."

I know its debasing but desperate times and all that. Do you think people will pay 99p for it?

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>>9360079
>>9360085

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Should I bother trying to get my poetry published in a magazine or should I just make a fucking blog?

These Canadian mags publish the worst free verse and prose poems I've ever seen.

>>9359898
Nothing happens. His wife doesnt want a divorce, he's just worried about nothing.
It may have been a bit unclear, sorry.

>>9360096
>Canadian
Are you black or gay?

>>9360093

Don't judge me, I know its not purple prose, but Max Stirner had his wife I have this. This is only half, if I give it a punchy title and put it on Amazon I can buy tobacco and enough alcohol to get me wasted by Tuesday? Tobacco is £10 and 2 bottle of 3 litre Frosty Jacks is £3.49 (that adds up to $16.70 for Americans)? Please don't judge I just money quick, like right now.

>>9360105
No, but my the fictitious person I submit them as can be.

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Not sure about the title, especially because I took it from IASIP kind of jokingly.

>>9360110
Good man.

>>9360051
>A little purple
>Poetry

Anon, what?

>>9360127
?

>>52616842

>>9357086
I enjoyed reading this one quite a bit.

Stanza 7 is fantastic, the conversation works, and the last line got me in the gut. Stanza 8 I might take out "husk" because the reader knows what "the word crept up/ again" means and Stanza 9 opens with "Husk".

I don't know if the protagonist needs a name, the poem might work without it and it came off as kind of cheesy to me.

In stanza 10 the first line could be removed without lessening impact of anything or hindering comprehension.

Last stanza and especially last line is very good. I'd read more of your stuff

Idi makes eye
contact with the
rats through the wall.

I'm laying on the
floor and she walks
up next to m head
Jumps onto my bed
and finds a better
vantage point from
the back of our
futon

I have a big playlist
of everything I liked
enough to put into a
playlist from 9th grade
12th grade
and onward.

On the floor,
with cat,
a box of wheat thins
seltzer
and that sad thing
as my soundtrack

In the crushed grass,
The expunged clovers,
And the beaten leaves,
Our red velvet lies.

Your locks caress my stomach,
Your tongue my loins.
On my hot breath
The forest hears my cries.

>>9360114
i'm not a huge fan of the tiny/sprawling comparison, the image is really aromantic. framing it as people who fill the space but somehow find room apart on the bed is more interesting imo.

"in the middle" feels completely unnecessary to me. i really love the imagery of churning fabric though.

the entire second verse confuses me, the implication is that their coldness is a result of destroying the declaration of war? that seems inverted, that the declaration would be the person rolling, not that the rolling would be a response to the other tearing up a declaration of war.

title definitely sucks for this poem, "nightcrawler" already has several specific meanings and none of them are the sorts of things you want to be bringing to this poem.

Here's two poems:

======================================

Earth was empty, without color or hue,
Without wondrous views, without things to do.

You painted the sky a gorgeous berry blue,
I rolled out carpets of green grass wet with dew.
You planted heaventrees where pearl-white stars grew,
I tied hammocks to the branches to hold us two.

Children may cry, lovers may lie,
All I know for sure is that one day we die.

But now it’s just you and me and the sky,
So we kick back and watch shapeless clouds roll on by.

======================================

Before the world’s whole shit got this dire,
Before the oceans got drier,
Before elected liars,
Before cigar-smoking folk in formal attire,
Before cities got denser and buildings got higher,
Before dictators found broken people to inspire,
Before we found all the land we could acquire,
Before Napoleon’s best-laid plans went haywire,
Before Gregorian choirs,
Before fiefs, serfs, nobles, sires,
Before Jesus, the Roman Empire,

Nude chimps huddled near campfires,
Storytelling.

======================================

>>9356015
last line made me chuckle. the "then you're good for nothing" line comes off a little too incisive. why make value judgments? are poets supposed to preach?

>>9356401
Second verse is a lot stronger than the second. "and shed this tedious spell" is a really obscure way of saying what you mean which makes me think you're restricted by having to rhyme with line 2's "well." So you can switch up the language of line 2, which right now imo is too plainsong to match the language of the rest of the poem.

>>9357086
I second what >>9358851 and >>9360183 said

>>9360298
thanks for the input. I meant 'in the middle' as contrast to corners in the earlier line, but agree that it is unnecessary.

I think you're also right about the tiny/sprawling thing, but to explain myself it came from this image in my head of like a whole room sized bed where the sleeping lovers would find themselves in distant corners from eachother or laying at odd angles due to the sheer size of the place, but that image is not at the core of the poem I guess.

Second verse is about one waking to find the other far away in the same bed, mostly what I wanted to get at was two people that love eachother being scared shitless in the night thinking that they've ruined their relationship or lost love somehow by something they did or said in sleep but don't remember. I think I can fix it having typed this out.

Lastly, I know the title is shit.

Thanks again

>>9360298
Also I would like the reader to understand that this is two people that are in love, but insecure about the other's love for them. Rolling over in your sleep is seeking physical comfort rather than giving your SO the cold shoulder in this case. The conflict is only in both of their heads. Does it do that? What else could I do?

Here's slightly edited version

Two tiny lovers
(they toss and turn at night)
Receding to ball up in cold cotton corners
like gathering armies
Or to crash together like great waves
in churning whirlpools of warm fabric

Spaces above sleep
and in half woke dreams where
Cold conflicts are invented feverishly—
Her curling away
or his rolling over
Abandoned for things said
accidentally aloud, or
only in dreams?

Only for her to break softly
on his shores
His ships to find warm waters
in her harbors
Cold sheets turned
to sleepless reunions
Never quite remembered
in the morning

In faith of you, my image remains true
Despite the idolatry that sways man,
And when heaven does break, the sky of blue
Shows the fairest of faces you began
While the climb of your eye sits aside twelve
And the clouds sit based, at your feet of gold,
You provide the steps; the heart does dare delve
To hope, yet memory reminds of old:
And tender hearts are scarred by lovely lips
And time’s stain cut deep into memory;
Do starry nights share hope or fall amiss
At the thought of sweet love’s truest beauty?
And if the pious do fall from graces,
Let verse free him, to gaze at heaven’s faces.


Thoughts on this?

>>9357429
Best ITT

>>9360485
same guy as before, i think if you want to sell the image of the expansive, room sized bed, you should lead with that. before, it read as though the bed were sprawling when compared to the tiny lovers, rather than the other way around.

the updated 2nd verse is definitely clearer about the intended meaning, but it's really on the nose now. i think working in the war theme, to tie it to "gathering armies" is probably a good decision, it was just overcomplicated in the original execution imo.

also, "gathering navies" might work better for the oceanic analogy that runs through the poem.

>>9360498
Beautifully written anon, a poem about staying true to the ones you love. The lines that stand out to me are:
>and tender hearts are scarred by lovely lips
>While the climb of your eye sits aside twelve

I think you could make graces and faces singular on the last two lines. I'd encourage you play around with plurality in the poem.

>>9360571
This is me.

Seppuku For Spiders

My headache swirls to find
Adult games to play with,
And I play Seppuku for spiders.

Batteries turn to beatles, bones
Make the heart a moon of skin.
And I play Seppuku for spiders.

Friends scheme acid trips,
Snake oil for a cold,
without help that bridge burns
like red wax.

Haunted by grey eminences
Disguised as wraiths in dust.
Like a bodies edge, my sense of humor,
crawls out the door.

Centipedes converge in centripetal motion.
Their feet duty bound to task,
In the warm dripping caves,
And over cold dead bodies.
They play Seppuku for spiders.

>>9360569
yeah I kinda liked how verse 2 read before, but it didn't really say what I wanted I guess. I'll see what I can do, gonna let it sit for a few days. Thanks for the time

>>9360498
Write a bit more like you're from this age, you're producing nothing by hiding in an older form. I understand you're using the sonnet format, but, with the language you use you might as well be titling it "Cliche."

Maybe lose the capitalized first words on every line, at least until you get into a better, more natural flow. Then, add them again, see if you like it more or less.

"sweet love's truest beauty" is cliche as well, I've read that line a hundred times before. "To gaze," "let verse free him" (try to avoid explicit references to your medium, it's a bit too on the nose) "do starry nights share hope or fall amiss" is trite, and there is no good concrete imagery here to stimulate what you are trying to say. "tender hearts" as well is cliche, and "lovely lips" is a tacky use of alliteration.

Honestly, this is the kind of poem you could break apart for hours, but cliche is the major opponent here. Try to avoid it, because despite it being a bit crap, it's still written very well, and your control of meter isn't something to shake a stick at, whether that was intentional or not.

>>9360498
>in faith of you
Ew. Either in faith to you or With faith or
>In faith, my image remains true, to you.

I would either omit the second line or make it the first line, in which case I wouks change it to "Toward man's idolatry, I stumble. For in faith..."

>does
Was there any ever doubt about heaven breaking? when heaven breaks

>you began
Awkward

Not too fond of the eyes line. Purple.

The rest is fine except for the last two lines. Stay plural or make grace and face singular.

Lesbian lovers along the shores,
Their supple calves catching the tides.
All their fluids intermingle, women, sea, wine.
The moonlight shines against their sides.

In the cities the churches rumble
With harsh shouting deep, loud, and low.
Glass, and metal, and concrete crumble.
The caverns start screaming below.

And along the roads of dirt and sand
The flowers all turn black and wilt.
And the planets in the pitch black sky up above
All burst and their innards are spilt.

>>9360656
I would say give it more time to develop. Feels like a cop out, which is a shame because it's good.

>>9360586
no problem, hope it was helpful, also take my advice with a grain of salt because i'm fairly poorly versed with poetry

>>9360571
>>9360605
>>9360615
Thank you for the feedback guys! This one was difficult for me to write desu; I've been reading a little bit of greek mythologies recently hence the allusions to them. To address some of the things (I am taking them on, I just wanted them explained a little): firstly, cliche was meant to be prominent. I tried to use phrases that spoke of love as this ultimate thing while the foreboding of my understanding flowed through
>>9360605

In faith of you, my image remains true
Despite the idolatry that sways man,

The beginning two sentences create a kinda of paradox, first and foremost, because my faith is in someone (effectively an idol in my eyes) and I'm elevating her to god status, much like other men.

I dont actually mean to use the capitals haha, I write them and it autocorrects, but I enjoy them due to their natural emphasis on a changing of sentence or thought - deffo will have a look into just changing it up a bit.
Sorry if my writing style seems forced or olden desu, I really write like that (I write short stories as if i'm from the 19th century)
Yeah, the "let verse free him..." part wasn't great, i've changed that part now to make it more in keeping with the how the poem begins!
Control of meter is what, sorry? Could you rephrase haha
>>9360615
I chose the words specifically but I can see now how they are forced so thank you! I'll see about the first line, perhaps using something similar to yours or rearranging the poem entirely
That's a really good idea thank you! I was trying to make it (as said before) feel awkward (also with the whole 12 thing being an allusion to hercules 12 challenges, 12 main gods of athens, 12 steps of sobriety - it was meant to show the challenge of staying true)
the heaven breaking was further to go towards the unsureness haha but i see the point
yeah plural may have been a mistake

THANK YOU FOR THE HONESTY

>>9360656
you're fairly close to having a 9-8-9-8 structure to each verse, why do you break it on lines 3 and 11 to have 12 syllables each? if theres no good thematic reason to do that (which it doesnt seem like there is) it seems like a mistake. all you'd have to do is "Their fluids mingle" instead of "All their fluids intermingle" and cut the "up above", both of which would be positive changes from a redundancy standpoint anyway.

>>9360575
so good literally just become a poet i loved this so much

repetition was lush, the personification is great, please write more

>reading some poems I wrote for a Creative Writing course last year

Oh god, I think I just got brain cancer

>>9360720
y-you like it?

>>9360656
I dig the images. This should be longer.

>>9360704
I just like the longer lines and prefer the sounds of the words to be honest, and I feel it creates a break and differentiates the first and final stanzas, which is useful because I plan to put more in between them.

>>9360656
>>9360498
>>9356082
Only 3 on here that have any talent that interested me. Sorry everyone else, where yours were good, I could see these as something just a little different.

>>9360683
Sorry if I was rude.

By meter, I mean constructing lines with certain words that emphasize stress, and also, the lack of stress, to manage how your poem is read, how it flows.

I'm sure you know 'iambic pentameter' - 10 syllables, typically, but really, it's 5 iambs. x (stressed), - (unstressed): x - x - x - x - x -, for example. If you handpick your words based on where their stresses fall, then you can create a line that essentially reads like: xba -buh xba -buh, etc.

But of course, you can change this to give different stresses, and different effects. A 'spondee,' for example is two stressed syllables, "Bobby said": X X - is two stresses and an unstressed word.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Foot_(prosody) will probably explain this better than me.

You handled it well in that poem, but if you're changing words around, keep that in mind in case you mess up a good rhythm.

>>9360565
>>9358734

You are both too kind.

>>9360683
Maybe try to not state she's an idol? Gods were depicted as eight heads tall, for example, the message would be there and less explicit with a more interesting line.

>>9360766
nooooo, not rude at all! I honestly prefer when people are brutal because more often than not, i learn things from it! Oh ok! I didn't know what the "your control of meter isnt something to shake a stick at" haha, im terrible with idioms sometimes
>>9360781
ok, I'll have a look at that cause i wanted to build the idea of her up but maybe its too much? that is rather like me tbqh haha
thanks again guys :)

>>9360683
Keep writing, anon! Don't stop until everyone else around you has called quits, and then write even faster.

>>9360683
Oh okay, I guess I'm not very well versed to recognize the 12 allusion. Good job.

>>9360498

Does anyone think this guy has made his poem far too difficult? Like breaking it down is actually tedious?
Who agrees that he needs to move a little to the present in writing style? Don't et me wrong, man, you're good, a very good writer in fact but you complicate things, like really overcomplicate them and idk why but have a look at it. The 12 thing no one would really get unless they sat down and looked at the poem and were like ooh what does this stand for hm Idk shall we peruse mythology kek

>>9360827
>>9360816
thank you for the feedback, if at a later date you guys are around, i'd love someone to have a little look over something i'm writing for the final project of the year for creative writing

Lifeless I sit in my room, the dim light of the small light bulb illuminating the filth that I have created over the time. Yes, I am a self aware man, a cursed man, cursed by terrible laziness. Like a troglodyte, rotting in the filth of one’s own cave. Oh but it does not interest me. It does not interest me in the slightest, outside the window, a girl, yes, hazel haired, playing in the park, oh my little very own Dolores. She looks up but she can't seem to spot me, she continues to play, her petite little body, yes, to touch her little thighs for a day is all I lust for. I am not a wicked man, Justicia, for you know yourself that love is not a crime. But god would not even allow me my very own day of sodom, no, not even one.

The days pass by, no the days of a deceased man are not wondrous. The girl stopped coming to the park, another joy of mine gone. The joys of the everyday life such as mine are little, nonexistent any sane man would say. The months pass by, no the months of a deceased man are not wondrous.

I have not always spent my life in a trogle, no I was a man with a future. I was not worthy of mention in my schooldays, no I was a good student, no I was not bad student. Raised by my mother alone, yes life was not good, but I had hope. Hope is a wonderful tool, for it helps us to not pay attention to our situation and delude ourselves with unfulfilled futures. A man with hope is a man with future, no this future must not be note worthy, but it is a future nonetheless. The day that I have lost that beautiful hope I have forgotten. You can not accuse a deceased man for forgetting.

When I was a child I held myself back from a lot of things, for the premise that it would make me happy one day in the future. No, happiness has not come, oh but it did come, yes, for all that did the opposite of me. Yes, the false premise of love I was sold as a child, “dream and work and you will be rewarded one day before the day you die”, that was the deal with the devil that I took, yes but I am no Faust.

>>9361260

You use too much retarded aphorisms and you are so obvious in your allusions. It is clear you have not read lolita,nor faust,because you write like shit. You need to read and write more. You spend paragraphs saying nothing. Not that my writing is any better.But you revived the thread to post this trite shit.

He comes up to the stage,wraps a pale bony arm around the base of the stand,and looks in quiet amazement at the entirety of the student teacher population. Despite being thirty something,he has the old man look,the tv stare. "I'm so honored to have you with me today. And I praise God that I get to spend every day with you all." He flicks the wireless mouse in his hand. A slide, bearing a naked cupid flashes on the screen. A nervous laugh erupts in the audience. "I just..." He breathes in heavy through his nostrils. "I just,mm. You know my wife,she used to say,you can-mmm." He laughs,and looks back to the projected image of the gigantic,bulbous cupid. "You know God says to us,to use out gifts,to help others. For me,that's coaching." He flips the slide,this time,there is a simple acronym on the screen. "DWGW. A simple,eh,motto. Do what god wants..." He breathes heavily. The slide flips to a heavily filtered picture of a shirtless man in a toga. "And when I think of God,I think of all you boys. I think of your nude bodies running and jumping underneath oppresive layers of clothing. I think of the holiest most innocent thing,which is just me being your willing slave to your passions.I want to engage your every,uh,boyish desire. When you put your hands in your pants and you,uh-" At this point there are people getting up and either laughing or trying to look away. Principal Reid grows redder in the face."I see you,I see you quiet kids,I see you when you draw. You draw animal people and you reveal to me your sexuality,you want to be free,without limit,without clothing,like animals. Free to,free to,to use a coloquialism,fuck." At this point,no one is laughing.Principal Reid approaches the stage,football players on either side of her. Chadley flicks the mouse,wide eyed and pores pumping. On the screen flashes the image of a prepubescent boy,nude,and below him are the words : "the symposium".

A wheel turns in Cammanaugh,
the file tore to fray.
They kneel for a punishment,
forever and today.
A deal drums out gluttonous,
all sound and good to they.
My keel breaks a harmony,
the Devil looks to say-
a Wheel turns in Cammanaugh.

As veal burns in Wichita
they hunger in Bombay
As moneys printed at the mint
the people have no say
Wisdom speaks of vanity
but there is no price to pay
Ships capsize in the deep blue sea
and Poseidon laughs today
As veal burns in Wichita

In a children’s public science museum, in a room of interactive experiments, a boy who was a member of a fourth grade excursion was bullied quite specifically. His classmates had conspired and determined to prevent him from touching any of the displays.
At first, the class was instructed by their teacher to stay in one group and to accompany the staff member who would guide them. This they did. Boring as this was, the students who belonged to the class’s dominant group turned their attention away from their guide and towards the boy who was the frequent target of their bullying.
The boy, their victim, listened to the guide attentively and interested. He restrained himself from taking notes on the handout which his teacher had given him, for experience had taught him that doing was ammunition to be used by the other students to tease him.
The other students began their sabotage of this boy’s day by staring at him and giggling. In doing so they succeeded in distracting him. The boy saw them giggling, saw them see him, saw their expressions turn threatening.

>>9361383
>>9361374
>>9361333
>>9361260
These are shit because you don't know how to fucking contribute correctly

>>9361406
Then dear master please teach us your refined ways of contribution

>>9361467
he means you need to critique.

>>9361506
Oh ok

>>9361406
Shit post. Try to be less of an uptight faggot.

In a children’s public science museum, in a room of interactive experiments, a boy who was a member of a fourth grade excursion was bullied quite specifically. His classmates had conspired and determined to prevent him from touching any of the displays.
At first, the class was instructed by their teacher to stay in one group and to accompany the staff member who would guide them. This they did. Boring as this was, the students who belonged to the class’s dominant group turned their attention away from their guide and towards the boy who was the frequent target of their bullying.
The boy, their victim, listened to the guide attentively and interested. He restrained himself from taking notes on the handout which his teacher had given him, for experience had taught him that doing was ammunition to be used by the other students to tease him.
The other students began their sabotage of this boy’s day by staring at him and giggling. In doing so they succeeded in distracting him. The boy saw them giggling, saw them see him, saw their expressions turn threatening.

Would any of you like to help me with a couple of poems I have written?

Could give you a small bit of money or something equivalent for your help. Not after anything extreme. Just help editing and a criqtue of a couple of poem. All of them pretty short

>>9361374
It's a pretty simple poem it all aspects. I like it. But I far from love it. I like the theme, but there is nothing else to it. The rhyme scheme is incredibly basic and no meter is used. I like the theme and think you could turn it into something pretty good with some effort

>>9361508
still shit

>>9361695
how small is a small bit?

>>9361964
I've got like 6 poems so far. Flick you enough to buy a case of beer for helping me out or like buy you something you need online. If you help me if with more of my poems I can give you more. It isn't much work, so dont expect much. I'll give you like $10 to have a discussion with me about the concepts, themes and ways I can improve

>>9361991
Like $10/poem

I want to foreword this by stating that whoever was leftover had very little time to make sense of the situation, so by default a lot of our decisions that have led to our current arrangements were made very hastily, to a point of permanence. It happened around the 25th of January last year. Since said date and said event Earth was split into thirds. Not by way of continents or political systems but physically into three separate plains. For the sake of the exercise that is explaining our situation I want you to visualise a golf ball split vertically into even thirds. Plate 2, being the middle plate, which use to inhabit all of Australia, Indonesia, Canada, most of Africa and its respective surrounding waters, was now covered completely in the earths water reserves. Plate/region 1 & 3 were dry and hot to the touch and as a result uninhabitable. As we saw it, it was similar in effect to the way a droplet of water reacts to being dropped on a heated surface, and because this was coming from both sides via plate 1 & 3, the water couldn't settle in one spot so it really had no option but to be a enormous swell of liquid revolving never-endlessly around in an almost pendulum-like motion. If Uranus and Saturn's defining attribute was its encompassing gas ring this was now ours; undefinable by shape but un-ignorable in its presence, a omnipresent spectacle of the natural world; safe to observe from a distance but an instant death if you even so much as came in contact with it .

>>9361997
I'll post the email I just made in a second

>>9362034
I'll shoot you an email. I'll use a personal account so you know I'm not going to dupe you

Irreverent scream reception to man and beastboar. Siren call of my soul, ineffable, evades reconstruction, eternally taunting. Missus falls fast pre-pinpoint in transitory medium, her clothes a stake in the Roman belief system. Search muddies immaculate waters oxidized green from gold. Tragic librarian only when I still finite feel chaos collapsing upon translation. Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent:
empyrean music tendrils reverberate, evoking the same fractal as before it found itself as it will now and then like a loopy hole in the ground got itself good into a hole in the ground for itself good hole up a hill a hole in the ground got itself goooood hole in the ground around town. To laugh is a pitiable preamble for everyone dearest to my aforementioned appreciation (aft and rear) of the periphery thou dost saunter in lieu of the bloke to the left of ye'; oughta mind a fella' (nasty to get waft of an aviator before he's 'ad 'is liftoff formalities). Goredragon, molten kiss, harbinger of abridged flamedeath, cursed master of the living, sacker of Troy (aside from that one time): «Gaëalœ Yæx pröfkatxthus! Undrægon gardön! Unto me!» O holy moly moly moly god I require to run fastly! Hurry! Now! Urging soar fastly fast! Nearest exit (optimized algorithmic analysis component:=oaac; XORinterp/inspir: computation.Fax.x 1&:&bitlyUndergo#) I can hurry now fastly for a slices of solstice (cost_efficient runtime stated...cost_efficient manuscript slated//: AnddisGenet$.govsj Santa Bergif//ha.bit...) Lab so read read like a laser beam been bean but now beam better to be a bean matter most stable but course conversion possible like my--RNN_newsflash: nobody around. ghost town. Lesson on the board: chalk slips away on little snow tips: a small story. Local bookstore: drawn and quartered by dogs longing for fresh chops. Clicky nails click on hardwood clicky click with licky lips sniffy sniff fresh choppys! Hands grapple hands grapple grow fingers fondling umbrellas clashing raindrops keep falling on my hand: umbrella Treaty preamble A1:1: Whereupon the judgements of a formal representative body would feign be most pragmatic... Lapel crease boy spoon boy gave mother an elbow tumbling and got the spittle in return. Hopeful star-baptized epistemic nationalists convey manifesto in flowery prose to be read by frustrated functional parsers. Mountain stream brings waterfall to dream birds.
Anachronism:
And by moonrise heroic Hallax,
earthly warden of thunderstruck knaves,
approached the great tempestuous domain
Of the anathema to be rightly slain
One hundred heads did he see
each merely one of three,
Giving birth to a country;
Eight bishops to providence
Reside in every residence
The print ha lllli pfssprcocd
Mercenary language retrieval of an already known tale. The lavish life of a dune dog tied down looking at the sun. The music keeps playing

>>9356006
this is legendary ahaha. reminds me of the second paragraph of episode 14 of Ulysses

>>9356006
This would be good description of a philosophy major on a very high psychedelic drug dose

>>9361991
if you need further assistance, I'll do it for free; i always am up for helping a writer :)

>>9362399
I'm very interested mate. Would you care to contact me? Just give me an email address

>>9362425
of course, i'm thinking of starting up a website where I offer in depth analysis of people's work but that's just a side project of mine atm

Anyone feel free to send and i'll do my best to analyse/edit/discuss with you about your works

>>9362447
email address [email protected]

>>9356146
Some good quality rhymes in here. I'd like to see more evocative verbs rather than 'jumped/rushed' or more description to make it have an emotional punch

>>9362448
Sent you an email

>>9362484
Assumed you mispelt the email. Spelt ability correctly, i copied the email that failed to deliver please excuse if by copying and pasting it if it came out funny

>>9362500
oh damn, yes! got the email hahah

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>>9362469
>>9356146
Added some more commentary

>>9356190
>Lovely
>Odd
>Colossal
>Joyous
Replace or remove these adjectives

>>9362558
agree; cut back on everything that doesn't need to be there; >>9356190
whatever you write, you should be looking to edit it down to around 85% of the original text size

>>9356190
The second part is fantastic and the first part is pretty garbage. It might just be me, but stylistically the entire first half just doesn't appeal.

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If I’d encountered all that I supposed
On evening which new spring beheld, forlorn,
A troubled jewel that she scarcely rose,
Do I pray to the sea foam that does form?
For pleasanter verses spoken were not,
The law, fulfilled, sworn by untutored youth,
And last season's grasp did finally stop
As tender eyes did not make me uncouth;
While memory may cease in winter’s cruel self,
And bequeath fools with letters from heaven,
The fairest creatures may decrease in wealth
Misunderstanding what no one fathoms.
Defects lie above, yet fresh spring suffice
When grace in the soul does fall into vice.


Ok, /lit/ so i've written this, with heavy drawings on greek mythology and the bible; i'd like you to be as honest as possible, and perhaps tell me if I have any talent in writing? Kinda subjective, I know but i'd actually appreciate if anyone could tell me or whether I'm merely trying too hard at something I'm rather average at

>>9362577
stylistically they are completely different so i dont blame you, i agree - the first is sophomore level whereas the end reaches senior due to being appealing

>>9356006
i can do predictive text too

>>9356401
For a poem about writing on beauty, it sure wasn't evocative. If you're actually going for the 'bucket list' approach, give it some rhyme, acknowledge the detachment

>>9360103
I figured it mihgt be something like that, but the ending feels a bit unclear. No need to apologize, I really did like it, its just that the minute man threw me off, did the main character see the envelope and while overthinking it did she pull the minuteman out?

>>9357086
This is nice and consistant stylistically which you can't say for many of the texts itt. I'm not a big fan of the tent paragraph, imo it's too obvious and cliche. show don't tell maybe?

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Story of a NEET

Part one:
https://williamguppyblog.wordpress.com/category/one/

Part two:
https://williamguppyblog.wordpress.com/category/two/

>>9362522
thanks for the feedback, appreciate it

and yeah it is a WIP title

>>9362841
>Violet
Why not Virginia?

>>9362968
Too on the nose?

>>9362971
True, although if he notes her name first before describing her, it might be what leads him into thinking of her that way. Depends where you're going with it.
Still very confederacy, still an enjoyable read. If you can finish the whole thing I don't think you need to keep posting it on here, look for an agent.

>>9362945
No problem, good luck

>>9362979
You're right, but I feel I'm in too deep to so fundamentally change it. I'm not really looking for a publisher - this is just practice. I'll take your suggestion though. My problem was having the world legitimise Robert's viewpoint but I suppose if the name precedes it then it works out quite well

>>9362983
wait btw

the swimming with the fishes part, I understood it just to mean dead or murdered (I know its mob terminology but I think its become pretty ubiquitous) so I basically meant they were dead on the inside or rather murdered by their lifestyle, if that makes sense

>>9362739
Ohh I see. So Same the Minuteman is the mascot of UMass Amherst. He didn't notice it at first glance

>>9362997
I'd be interested in having some way to keep tabs on how you're progressing with your writing that doesn't rely on occasional updates from here.

>>9363021
Thanks, anon. If you subscribe to the blog it should send out automatic updates when I post

https://wordpress.com/post/sachagautier.wordpress.com/4

hey, would some people give this a read and tell me what you think?
The brief is genre fiction (i chose gothic) and its obviously not finished but i'm still working on building it

>>9363182
The link doesn't work. It looks like you've linked to the edit page rather than the actual blog

>>9363190
http://wp.me/p8BJN8-4

how about this?

>>9363196
>While the narrative that I am about to pen may appear fictitious, I would urge you, fond reader, not to merely disregard this as a fantasy imagined but perhaps remember the words of a man known sane by his physician; however, I hope God himself played a horrid trick on my eyes for if my story is true, then the terrors that roam in the dusk are vastly more disturbing than anything any of us could envision.
fuck off

>>9363196
The early 19th century prose comes off as a bit affected. You're obviously a fan of Poe and the like, but you should develop your own style where possible. The one you're working with now obsfucates the narrative to a degree. I was barely aware of what was going on and cared too little to try to understand.

Potential here, but you need to work on your style. Also, that thin black text on black background is almost unreadable. I had to highlight paragraphs to read them

>>9363205
why?
never used the website before, dont really know to use it haha; in all honesty i've only read the raven and the black cat by poe, nothing else of his but thank you :)

>>9363219
oops second part of my comment ( >>9363274
) was meant to be for you

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https://pastebin.com/3as9KeeC

I wrote it after a dream I had that was similar to the story, its not too long, pls critique

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This is a short non-con lime, characters are Sakura and Sasuke, but it's pretty AU and you could replace the names without noticing anything.. I'd like some feedback on the feel of it, its around 800 words. Will critique one work you post if you reply, as a way of giving back.

https://pastebin.com/xH2z1jpE

https://pastebin.com/7w25YQZ8
please and thanks, not even 300 words

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Remember those old choose your own adventure books?
I'm learning C++ and i'm gonna use it to make an interactive one of those for fun
Here's the beginning, 1400 words, tell me what I could do better

https://pastebin.com/ippyDvxK

>>9355995

Through fire and ice
Through storms and steel
The Rhine marches on

Germany is burning
Her people ignite the fires
The Rhine marches on

Deserted by her people
Germany will fight forever
The Rhine marches on

Through storms of steel
Through blazes and blizzards
The Rhine will march forever

Set alight by her people
Germany burns
The Rhine will march forever

Germany has always fought
Even when abandoned
The Rhine will march forever


No bully pls

>>9356082
>I have 250 pages of poetry on the adventures and patriotism of america.

Post it.

>>9364033
Pretty good, you could write some sad stuff. I feel like the premise is a bit unoriginal, although the tragedy is well done

>>9365144
Like this. That's a pretty interesting prompt/plot, and it makes me feel like I'd be interested in the characters you've created. I'd like to read something longer if you ever write it.

When the time comes, I go, but do not grasp
tremoring hands, that fail to clasp
The opportunity before me,
And which will no doubt yet again return to me.
In cyclical fashion, I fail,
viewing the world through this imperishable lens of unfulfillment.
A world infested with nobody worth liking,
My cup filled to the brim with a terror that has no face and no form…
Which I must swallow daily.

I have my misfortune brought out to me upon breakfast trays,
By that odious imp of formless malaise.


He does not speak to me.


Whose hands shovel the coal
That keeps this wretched engine turning?

>>9365280
I'm not posting the entire thing. Half of it is written

if you'd want, though, I could post a few other cantos that I have saved on my computer.

I like licking my girl's butthole.

>>9365355
Yeah, I knew that the premise wasn't unique, but I was really just writing it for the ending.

>>9365392
a true man

>>9365144
Good prose, and I didn't expect that to happen. Write more.

>>9365271
kind of lame as poetry but would make neat NSBM lyrics

>>9365357
perfect

>>9365439
Yeah, I was sort of going for a nazi marching theme

>>9363205
Is that all one fucking sentence? Brevity you self indulgent fucks

>>9365052
Any help? Please?

Sex scenes are tough for me to write, and since I am not a native speaker I really need help from a writers perspective.

This is the start: contact made, eye-to-eye across from one end of the hall to the other and distance begins rapidly approaching zero until your vectors cross and it begins then increasing in the negative. You slow your gait, not too much in hope that you'll remain inconspicuous, but still you know there is nothing that can deter the moment of connection, where your course punches through the asymptote and you part ways once again. No evidence of change in her own pace—this is expected, but still triggers in you something like disappointment.
Then she shifts her aimless gaze to you and the ends of her softly-contoured lips upturn and reveal her teeth, the two in front with the small gap in between that you imagine contains all the secrets of the universe.
Something carnal inside you causes you to break out into sweats, but it's not lust it can't be because there's no shame or rabidness but a kind of sublimity found only in the moments where everything that ever was or is or will be comes together and flies right up to your face, right up into the pits of your eye-sockets and says, screams, this—this is right. This is the where the movement of the earth has brought you and here you stand looking out beyond the face of that overwrought nightmarish cloud of nothing for the first time into a face whose smile makes you want to die so that you can pass through the cloud and meet her on the other side and what are you going to do just stand there and look?
“Hi Brian,” she says.
“Hey.”

>>9364033
>https://pastebin.com/3as9KeeC

I feel like more subtlety in certain parts, especially the dialogue and ending, could really bring out the less subtle parts in the beginning and turn this into a really amazing piece, if that makes sense.
>>9365144
>https://pastebin.com/7w25YQZ8

Pretty fucking cool, I think. I feel like some more of that hyper-realistic stuff you've got going on at the end would be really great at the beginning as well, just to round the whole thing out.

i have been trying to improve meter and remove cliches in my writing so here is a poem

//

When you fell, you seemed to tarry
Then thoughts wandered, marking your mind
With colors only you could see
Right before you shed light so free

And then you fell a second time
With no thoughts, no colors, no light
As you focused on the falling
You threw away memories so fine

Though lightning does not paint the sky,
I remember the scalding flash
That was you, an afterimage
So loud I could never forget

THE SHATTERED

It was only five weeks ago we learned
of mama’s emphysema. How she yearned

to put, on the top shelf, my favorite plate,
the one with green trim, from which I did eat,

for thirty-plus years. It, faded by food,
made everything better, just as it should.

There had been a farmboy, sleeping the day,
under a tree, in a field, far away,

with his straw hat cocked. He would never wake.
As mama reached she gasped, started to shake.

The grasp of decades, and their violent pull,
slipped from her fingers, as everything fell.

She wept, as she spoke of, in broken time,
for a long-faded plate, and its green trim.

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>>9365144
The prose is nice. The plot seems interesting. If you have something longer I would read it.

>>9359311
Rather Meh, but overall nice. Perhaps polish it a bit before continuing?

>>9356190
I get the distinct feeling the first Paragraph is different than the second. I don't know anon. Loved the second paragraph but felt rather meh on the first.

>>9356018
This is enough to cause the Diabetes.

Theoretical argumentative essay on the topic of flying cars

Let’s face it people: They’re fucking dangerous.
I don’t wanna run outta oil 300 feet in the air.
I don’t want some drunkard

falling outta the sky,

exploding in my backyard at 3 a.m.,

and taking my shed with ’em.

No sir,
I’ll take a car that drives on dirt.
I’ll take a car that breathes the same air as me.
Because I don’t care how many propellers it has;

no damn car

could be weightless

as a bird.


I mean, who are they kidding?
We weren’t meant to have wings.
We weren’t meant to have gills, or three eyes neither.
Cats hunt rats cause they got claws.

I live

on land

not in sky.

And so it just ain't right.
I couldn’t trust the cars
or the people in ‘em.
And you shouldn’t neither.

>>9365957
Title should be the reckoning

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Descendant of Fomoire,
Husband of Cethlenn;
The demon prince Bálor,
Pride to his countrymen.
Unleash the evil eye, Balor,
Show them what you can;
Fill the hearts, of flowering fear,
In every mortal man.
For it is power that all men want,
Power that all men need;
Finn can only get so far,
Without falling, to his own greed.

>>9356006
be quiet, stroke victim

>>9365364
Sure.

>>9363205
>>9365733
lol what's wrong with it

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>>9366756
I'll hail the DEMON KANG all right.

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Posted this before but haven't gotten much of a response since it's long.

Fantasy/sci-fi/speculative fiction short story with Neolithic era technology. The central premise is "Is ignorance really bliss?", and the story concerns the nature and burdens of knowledge. It's written in a deliberately and deceptively simple style so it is fairly quick reading.

Would appreciate any and all feedback as I'm trying to prepare this for publication.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1GbywSXiPMwKCJhbvrtjUbxERc1vEvWa9hZavxqHNZyA/edit?usp=sharing

how do I tell anons to fuck off when they read my plot summary and dismiss it with only a "too anime" remark

>>9367511
you post it to /a/

>>9367622
but /a/ can't read

>>9367633
just say its a leaked script for attack on titan, for that they'll learn to

>>9367511
How about stop writing garbage?

>>9367657
there is literally nothing wrong with far-out-there plots

As the truck slid over slippery gravel and ground to a halt, I put it in park and ripped out the keys. The cops would take a while, so we had a bit of time to work. There was a bit of silence as we looked between each other and accepted Charlie was dead.
"Watch the road, I'm getting gas."
Bill picked up the shotgun in the backseat as I stepped out and pulled out my wallet. Gun safety was never really our thing, but we were amateurs at all of this anyways.
Sorry, Chuck. It was you or all of us.
Thankfully I picked up some cash before we began all this, so they wouldn't track the bills we got from the bank. Probably. I hope.

Music is in the blood of all
our naive sister of the fall
delights in puddles sun & wind
humming arias that strum the branches
& lifts our budding birds to sing
& molting butterflies to dances
for ballads of flower's revanches.

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>>9356006
Okely dokely, univocally & equivocally!

>>9367670
Yes there is

>>9363010
Yessir

something personal and universal
something blue and something borrowed
the sky'll do for all the above
or perhaps a dying grandfather
or love
scratch that last one
foreign it can be for most
(yodel it yoda)
always catching up with yesterday
spreading butter on dried toast
giving up while giving a toast
and your first daughter's first wedding
which wasn't meant to last
till the death do us part part
and so you choke, knowing she's no longer chaste
and remember, "why should she be"
but back to your dying grandfather
who's 95, 5 short of 5 plus 95,
a 5 cent sentence short of a century,
drops of mist missed bucket—fuck it,
time spared squared, and still scared,
mind clearer than windexed windows,
body frailer than frameless windows,
you watch him from across the Atlantic,
the perfect arch of a patriotic patriarch,
whither sliver by quiver down Styx river,
and let out a welp,
remembering your first daughter's first wedding,
and how much you regret regretting.

The orchid won't grow in the shade,
behind the panes of pains and days;
it won't bloom in a deadening doom,
where for roots there is no room.
How often the botanist concocts
a serum to compensate the locked
potential hidden behind the leaves
hiding what's hidden up his sleeve.
He flirts with the flower shop girl biweekly
always lowering his eyes, exiting meekly
with another world in his arms: an orchid
thinking how to voice his charms, or kid
himself once more that his sunless home
will one day build itself in a day like Rome
forgetting the old adage, and the inevitable
reminding himself his flaws are only congenital
and that sunlight plays not a role
in the life of a star-nosed mole.

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Bitch you can't have this dick for free,
I charge a surplus fee
for you to get wit' me:
it's about $3.50.

pattycake pattycake
ignore me why dontcha
god hates me cuz life sucks
the life right out of my dungarees
and they're nice dungarees
or at least they were when I filled them out
but now theyre shabby like, idk, my soul
because that's what we're really talking about here
it's a metaphor of sorts, a bad one I guess
like everything else I do
from brushing my teeth to being born
i'll probably die afraid and alone
unless it's a plane crash
in which case ill just be afraid
plz don't be a plane crash
that sounds terrifying
and i'm not a fallen star.

Agonizingly slowly, he dug the blade into her soft skin. It was just a slight scratch, enough to make her bleed. He found her pretty when she was covered in blood. Though the pain wasn‘t so great, the fear was. It would be painstakingly easy for him to jam his knife into her flesh, to permanently cripple her. She tried to convince herself that Sasuke wouldn‘t do that. That would be insane.

But as she felt his fingers bask in the blood that poured from her cuts and smear it on her lower lips as lube, she wondered if the man had ever been sane.

Thoughts: is the use of 'pretty' here childish or does it display the innocence/nativity of the narrator?

>>9368768
>>9368793
>>9368811
>>9368884
>>9368901
Pls critique when you post

Please critique my new poem; it stared off somewhat serious and free verse, but descended into this mediocrity quite quickly.

>>9369155
You don't anything about rocks and your poetry isn't even good enough to mediocre.
Read about rocks. Read more poetry. Come back in a year.

>>9369082
fair enough

>>9368321
I think some punctuation could clear some of the ambiguity here up. and I might just have a poor vocabulary, but I had to look up arias and revanches. perhaps for clarity's sake you could substitute for not only less obscure words, but words better fitting to the rhythm of the poem, which leads to my next point: it's a poem more or less about naturalistic musicality, yet the poem itself doesn't read particularly melodically or naturally. the rhymes go 8 8 8 10 8 9 9, which throws the reader off in a way that I don't really see as beneficial for any other aspect of the piece. i'd also like to see a more diverse array of images, as now it only evokes a springtime glance out the window (which isn't necessarily bad)

>>9367675
>slid over slippery
right off the bat we encounter a redundancy: if a surfaces causes something to slide, it's presumably slippery (esp. if we're talking about gravel, which we know offers v. poor vehicular traction).

So, Bill and the narrator are running from the police after a bank robbery (queue Hell or High Water comparison) yet a) they didn't have enough foresight to fill the car with gas, despite being amateurs, b) they somehow know the bills from the bank are marked, evoking the question of how they're going to even use it at all, and c) they somehow lost the cops enough to have time to get gas, despite driving a truck, and the fact that considering charlie is dead, they must have been in hot pursuit.

>>9366756
your terminology alone has alienated you from about 95% of potential readers

>>9369170
>you don't anything about rocks
did I also accidentally 93mb of rar files?

also, I agree, that poem sucks, I realized after rereading it

it's getting delet

>>9368901
In my head digging the blade would end with more than a slight scratch

>>9368811
I like where this is going
When is this thread going to 404
Skip limit reached on pandora
Life is such a bore
I could've said walk the dinosaur
But that would be
Too cliche
4chan aint what it used to be
And op is still a fag
Ill just light another
Cigarette
Because life is such a drag
Reading through these posts
Full of words
We're all trying desperately
To find
Cool colors for our
Paintings
But all that is left is
$3.50

>>9369238
your post reads like a
ding-dong-ditching from some
dude named the grim reaper
in drag—like one does with a fag, or a race
fast and furious now has a fate
elusive as the reclusive
eleventy eleven school kids
ringing around
the rosies (O'donnel, or drunk asian cheeks)
to be honest though, i'd be lying
underneath a picnic table, with yogi
on the hunt for unsuspecting
bear food, till I looked up
asking for the first letter of every line

>>9369297
this is nice

>>9368741
there is objectively not, you fucking redditor

>>9369297
help me
how do you get this good

>>9368741
there is objectively not, you fucking redditor

>>9369522
you gotta read good

An industrial plant is a bit like a large, living organism. It eats and breathes and excretes. It may seem odd that a distinctly man made process like metal smelting should remind me of an organic system.

We begin at the mouth. This is where food is brought to the great beast to be chewed up and broken down for digestion. Trucks arrive bearing loads of scrap batteries bound up with plastic wrap and stacked on pallets. Small batteries are unceremoniously dumped onto a conveyor belt to be fed into the wrecker. A rotating cylinder decorated with iron mallets smash the batteries to bite sized bits of metal and plastic, dumping both into a water tank. The noise is deafening. There is constant motion, as loads of scrap are unloaded and fed into those jaws. Larger, steel encased batteries must be cracked open like walnuts to expose the lead bearing insides. These delicacies must be extracted by hand before they can be fed into those great, iron jaws.

After being masticated, the bits of plastic, metal and acid are dropped into a tank of water. The heavier, metal containing parts sink to the bottom, and are retrieved, and moved on to the next area. This is the batch house, where lead bearings material sits for a few days to digest. While the wrecker was light and full of activity, this are is darker, quieter. There is no natural light, and the arc lamps that hang from the 40 foot ceiling are obscured by a thin pall of smoke. All around are piles of what looks like brown or gray mud or mulch, ten, twenty or even thirty feet high. Though If you picked up a handful, which I do not recommend, you would immediately notice it is far heavier than any soil.

Wisps of steam rise gently from these piles, as residual sulfuric acid reacts to turn oxides into sulfates. The ubiquitous acid has taken a toll on the concrete walls, eating away to expose ribs of rebar beneath. Sharp corners have been worn away to gentle curves, and the whole area takes on the feel of a natural cavern, rather than a man made structure.

Eventually, material is moved out of the warm darkness here into the center of the plant. Now that the food has been digested, it can be used to fuel the main organs. And we come to the furnace. A simple box, lined with refractory brick, and heated by massive jets of burning natural gas will convert oxides and sulfates into metallic lead.

And from the bright, blinding heat, liquid lead is poured into the refinery.

It is cold this night, and the stars fly above us.

Nights like these remind me of others, so many turnings of the moon ago that I could not count them even if I tried, when things were smaller, or perhaps bigger. So I will speak before the clan-fire, as I have not done for a long time, because if I do not now I know that I will never have the chance ever again. It is a speaking which needs much wind, and I am old and have but little. But I will do what I am able. This is a story carved on my very bones.

Listen:

The first time the Mystery-Talker came to our clan, I was still but a child. It was the season of ever-falling snows, and I had not even seen my first summer. The strange creature came out of the west, from where the Long Fingers held sway.

Now even the little ones among you have heard about how we drove those sons of dogs off the good grazing lands for stealing Old Hoof’s women. Well, at first, our speardomos mistook the Mystery-Talker for one of the Fingers come to take some of our womenfolk, as was their right.

But it had been some time since they had invoked that right. The famine had taken many of us, including my sister, and we could not afford to lose any more. So when they saw Mystery-Talker tattooed with the Long Fingers’ mark and wearing a dyed fox fur as was their custom, they hurled spears at it and warned it they would eat it if it came any closer.

But the Mystery-Talker simply laughed. It said that it did not belong to the Long Fingers and would not have taken such ugly women besides.

They asked it from which clan it came, and it answered:

“One which is very far away and whose name you have never heard.”

It stripped its sleeve and showed them its clan mark and even the whooping women could not recognize it. It looked like it was made of sticks.

But the Mystery-Talker had brought a great many gifts. One of them is the clear jade that Falling Rock wears about his neck, as will every Big Man of the Earth Eaters until the mountains fall down.

So it was brought into the village. At that time the Big Man was Laughing Horses. He was a tall man, with large and hairy hands that could squeeze the sun from the sky had he had the will. The Mystery-Talker came before him, and they exchanged kisses and presents. It said that it wanted to stay with our clan for some time.

But Laughing Horses was not certain. If it wanted to stay with our clan, why did it bear the mark of the Long Fingers? In response, the Mystery-Talker took off all its skins. It had tattoos and marks from a great many clans from many corners of the Land all the way to the wide water. It even had the mark of the Gibbering Mudmen who live in caves, abandon the sun, and wear shit instead of skins.

“I am no Long Finger.”

Laughing Horses conferred with his speardomos and whooping women and it was decided that the Mystery-Talker could live among us for a time so long as it did not eat too much.

“I do not eat at all,” it said.

>>9369862
“I do not eat at all,” it said.

We built it a small guest dwelling near the eastern side of the village nearest to the forest. Many were afraid of it at first and secretly (and openly) hoped that it would be devoured by a hungry fox spirit or an elf who lived in the branches. But it slew a great many elves and spirits that came for it. I once spoke to a spirit who said the creature had no essence and that it was not worth going after prey that was all bones and no meat. So after a time the spirits and elves left it and our village be.

Maybe for those of you who never met it, it would be wise to explain why we called it Mystery-Talker.

It came to the clan-fire we built every night while we took our meat and sat with us. At first we did not understand why. It could not eat, after all. It did not sing our songs or dance with us. It merely looked into each of our faces with curious eyes, saying nothing. So we ignored it. The children, like me, hid behind our mothers. It had a strange face, and its eyes glowed in the darkness from time to time. It did not shiver in the cold despite its meager skins. And it was always, ceaselessly, watching.

But that frightened us only in the beginning. After a time, it seemed harmless, like a hound without a master begging for scraps outside the fire’s ring. During the daytime it kept to itself or wandered the village, going from yurt-to-yurt and observing, for a time, the activities of each household.

Once, the Mystery-Talker came to my father’s yurt and asked if it could see how porridge was made. My mother had recently borne her second child, my brother, whose clan-name is no more. She complained that she could not make porridge with a child at her teat, so my father’s sister and I did it. I was young, but I still remember the weight of its eyes on my shoulders as we churned up the pot. Suddenly, I felt afraid, and went and lay my head on my mother’s legs. It simply looked at us with its glowing eyes and seemed to smile softly. I heard it murmur:

>>9369173
As the guy who posted the bank robbers deal, these guys are supposed to be 'we didn't think this through' the group. Chuck got his ass killed by trying to confront the cops instead of fleeing out the back, and no, they didn't gas up.
The speaker was the guy that came up with the idea and has a bunch of misconceptions as to how bank robberies work, but knows that banks will track some of the bills. His plan was to find some 'real' criminals to hand the money off to.
I was actually going to post a followup post highlighting an exchange where the speaker finds out Chuck bought nine boxes of the wrong type of ammunition.
Basically they're idiots driven by desperation.
It was also sort of an on-the-spot thing where I thought, 'hey, this thread is up, let me think up a scene'.
Thanks for the critique, I'll put more thought into it next time.

>>9369522
>>9369671
but seriously, maybe care less? it's like that old Hemingway maxim: write drunk, edit sober. often times our inhibitions and critical preoccupations restrict our voices from flowing freely onto the page, which in turn make for a more forced and contrived product. for instance, that piece, i wrote in less than five minutes, and didn't have a single thought about how others might perceive it or even if i thought it would be good. i just wrote down what came to mind. i think the counterintuitive notion of thinking less can benefit someone's writing, if not simply on a creative level. sculpting and polishing the final piece can come after the initial idea has been consummately conceived

also as i said before, reading (and writing) a lot helps

>>9356082
Pretty good.

Any authors like this?

>>9369942
Okay, fair enough. Yeah, I didn't really get the impression that the scene was embedded within a larger piece, only because there's such limited context and it's a tad too in media res. I don't know if you're planning on expanding it into a short story, rather than just an extended scenic writing exercise, but it's definitely important to iron out any and all logistical issues when writing about something like a bank robbery, because that, before the quality of the prose, is going to be the first thing reader's will criticize, kinda like illogical scenarios in a hard sci-fi book. And the logistical issues that might pop out to the reader might literally be something as minute as, "why would there be gravel next to a gas pump?" While answerable, such conditions definitely require even a cursory explanation. Anyway, hope I've been helpful.

>>9369967
I was considering doing the full story, but not sure how I would research the details of how a bank robbery would actually fall out besides watching movies/documentaries. This was the three men's pooled last thousand or so dollars (or less). As for the gravel bit, the gas station I thought of was something right in the middle of nowhere out on a stretch of road, the sort of place the robbers would know and they hope the cops wouldn't because of how out of the way it was.
The gravel was a way of indicating that this wasn't some (relatively) cleaned-up suburban gas station, this is the gas station in bumfuck nowhere whose air conditioner doesn't work, that sells the shittiest porn rags imaginable, and has hot dogs that have been on the roller two weeks.
Probably should have said it in another way.

Miracles can happen
"what's a miracle?"
Well, life for instance
"how, that happens all the time?"
Well—
"shouldn't miracles by definition be rare?"
Yes, you see, life is rare in the vastness of the cosmos
"ok, but much of life sucks by out standards of life here"
Sucking is such a mortal concept my dear
"but mortality is a prerequisite to life"
That's true, however
"so only the very thing you're calling miraculous can suck"
Step outside your terms, young one
"how? I only have this language to communicate in"
The language of cosmic harmony is also available to—
"what the fuck does that mean?"
It means divinity has a pattern welcome to your apprehension
"how do I apprehend it?"
By killing yourself
"what the fuck, that's not very inspiring"
Just kill yourself you worthless piece of miracle
"don't you mean shit?"
>What is a synonym
"Jesus, even you shitpost?"
>Implying

“So, before the subject finds itself elsewhere: what exactly comes to mind when I say the word ‘success?”

The man in front of me looked as if he was in utter shambles, and in the worst place he had ever been in his life. In simpler terms, he was just the kind of person I was looking for. I stopped chewing on my pen for a second, then bit down on it hard enough to remove the end, it making a CRACK sound as a result. The man flinched.

“W-well… the first thing that comes to mind is being CEO of a big company” the man replied, “a company so well-off that you could mention it to anyone on the street and they would know exactly what you’re talking about.”

“Hmm… I see...” I put the pen back down onto my desk, then slid it over towards the man. “so, you call yourself a failure, right? What kind of business did you own? Well, before… you know…”

“Oh, yeah! A-about that…” he started, stammering his way through only a fragment of a sentence. “the whole business thing is just a cliché mental image that enters my mind when the word ‘success’ is mentioned.

I couldn’t even graduate high school”

In a fit of rage and pity, slammed my hand down on the pen I had pushed to the other side of the desk and threw it at the head of the man in front of me. He drew his arms up to shield himself, the pen feebly bouncing off of his coat sleeves. I then proceeded to withdraw a new pen from the jar of pens on the right side of my desk, using it to scribble down a single note on a piece of paper:

-Complete and utter retard

“So what do you have to say for yourself?” I threw him a bone and a nod. “What do you expect me to do with such a sad human being?”

“Help me” he said, with a pleading tone in his voice. “Please”.

Posting for an acquaintance.
>inb4 pussy posting
Critique your heart out

Show thy cracks O' porcelain mask,
Show the thread beneath your plume,

Which thread seams the tapestry of despair,
For which did the needle of life gone through,

Look back O' porcelain mask,
To the dancing feathers around you,

One third tangoed to fame,
But the blinding light burns their core,

One third waltz like the Viennese to love,
But the dove is a caramel that turns bitter in flame,

One third waltz ever so slowly,
Lullingly, weepingly, try to make itself known.

Don't cry O' porcelain mask,
Don't let the cracks stream further.

Look, look O' porcelain mask,
To the feathers that bonds together,

As they stitched themselves with faux leaves,
That only a fool would wave as normal.

Rejoice O' porcelain mask,
For even if the others cast these feathers,

For their stitched leaves they bond together,
As they indulge in the wine of joy,

Giggling forever, parting never,
Always there for another.


Title: the Porcelain Mask

>>9365271
I think you have an idea going, but it needs to be more developed than this state, this seems like a first or second draft. Try to work on the rhythm and cut some cliches and you'll have it going for you.

>>9370112
I really like this

break it, the kit kat, split it among the herd
of troglodytes called Earthlings or
Terrans tearing a warpath along pieces
of peace betwixt Twix pieces
and snap into it like a factoid cap
drink and snuff up some tobacco
designed for insufflation by the nariz
in France's idea of Niger or Australia
before it had a name or live game
liek Duck Hunter autocorrected to fowl play
before arm's go up for armageddon
sometime in the near future
3 thousand years ahead or sew
after we reap grimly with norMandy and Bill
Clinton, where good and evil are just words
spoken by cousins named Good and Evil
underneath the cracks of morality in sin
where light can only outshine the darkness

>>9368811
THIS DICK
AINT
FREEEEEEEEEEE

>>9371104
/thread

An attempt at Kid's Fantasy here. Watch out, Amatuer writing here.

A story starts at a shooting star. For where else, pray tell, can a story start?
It begins with a wish, and not a particularly good one at that.
‘Give me magic,’ said the young, little girl, naïve unto her last wishing breath; her puny, little heart incapable of understanding the complexities of her ignorant wish.
For magic, you see, is not real.
Never was, never is, never will be.
Until that night of nights; beginning with one simple wish.
Eyrie was her name. And this is the story of how magic came to be.
In a land far away, though not too different from the one outside your bedroom; there were grass, and there were trees, and hills rolling like dough to the roll. A little spot of land called “Baewater” for it was a spot of the bay close to the seas. One side ocean, other side land, and Eyrie was in the middle of it.
She lived in a tower, way up on high, in a little town rickety upon the rocks of the crags. Each rock had a tower, and each tower had a hat of a house, all the more rickety on its battlement side. “Tumbleweed” was the name of this town, and every day the little peoples would come out to fish upon the poles on the little biters lurking beneath the shallows of the rocks.

>>9369951
me

get on with it
pull the lever
sling the rope
slap the pink
spank the drought
touch the beams
dream the seas
can the beats
slam the wheat
back the front
break the back
mull the mill
tear the shore
yank the chin
chain the links
bury the yard
plan the vine
nab the tune
and tie the nought

>>9371385
>Magic doesn't exist
>Makes magic exist using wishes
>wishes are magic
>???

>magic will never be real
>this is how magic became real
>???

UNCHARTED LAND
Away we sail, frail winds we take, we head for lands unknown.
Uncharted kingdoms ahead lay, a place before not shown.
A-guided by dim light and eye, we spy an island far.
We sink a boat and go afloat, the sight is quite bizarre.
The forest covered plain we see, never have we recovered.
This marks for us new era, a new world we discovered.

A LAND A-CURSED BY TIME
In the scene before me, a barren wasteland lay.
Flowers dead, a-filled with dread, a sad sight so to say.
Still I remember yesterday, a-when the green still grew.
So now to spot destructive rot, it makes me rather blue.
Animals once gathered here, they used to frolic free.
Now the stone and scattered bone is all yet here to see.
The noise a-playing magic bliss, has dulled to silent pain.
The river dried, the forest died and animals were slain.
I often came to visit, now I'm met with thoughts a-rotten.
The land I once knew here to be, ancient and forgotten.

File: chapter 2.png (72KB, 1054x742px) Image search: [Google]

72KB, 1054x742px

amateur, make waaay, make waaaay

At dusk, the silhouetted trees bathed in light
Become, in the warm gold sky, refractions of light.

Sunset’s afterglow fades into a prism of everlasting fire,
And is slowly smothered by the darkening air. Failing light

Follows a bird cutting downward across the sky.
It lands in its nest, disappears into darkness. The light

Is dying, always. A feeling of delight in seeing the sun sink
Into cloud; the sublime moment when light becomes light-

ing. As nightfall ripples, deepens, distant opaque starlight
Glimmers. Tomorrow at dawn a young bird will first take flight.
>>9373108
clearly you're trying to write in more of an antiquated style, but the "a-" words are repeated too often. I also think you can improve the rhymes, they are sometimes too simple & can be made more interesting. But do I like the descriptions + imagery, they give a clear sense of desolation.

>>9370112
I liked the conversational tone & the ambiguity of how you switched between using quotation marks or not. The ending was beautifully abrupt, and brought it all together.

Each voice drowns in a choir
gasping for a fresh ear to lend
a sense of fulfillment unwished
and untethered by sinking stones
or buoys bound in roaring waves
of amber gray and ghoulish shrieks
ascending down into a brackish pit
sewn insider our tiny hearts of dust
where schoolyards lie vacant in summer
secretly bearing fields of creepy-crawlies
who find home in the KT boundary below
that bridges neither time nor space
nor the touch between each face
squished together by this human crush
draining the room for our souls to waste
and the air above, so carbon hazed
the lemmings march like inchworms on
a surface cracking at every place
till doom turns nothing into grace
and grace dies away in putrid haste.

>>9373495
nice contrast between light and dark, day and night, death and renewal, fleeting life

>>9372944
Yeah, you have a point there.

The fifth wall crumbles
and god answers, mumbles,
"I'm sick of the light
and order in the night
let's set it ablaze
and let the bovine graze."
The syncopy rises
and the canopy surmises
that way down below
not one should back go.
On your mark, get set
so you needn't worry
later on when you know you will
blaming it on your meagre will
that stands running rather than still
constantly fogged between the sills
striving to clog your unconscious shills
burning down the house, eating pills.

I see it now, I can feel it now, I'm breathing it, living it

Feeling every breath like a precious gift from the heavens above,

Given to me to witness that which I didn't ask for, love

The pressure's on now, I'm getting high now

Off the fumes of your grace...


The more I feel, the less I think,

The deeper the thoughts, the higher the emotion

A life set in motion by simple words

Searching for an answer that's staring me in the eyes,

Thinking out loud to my own demise,

Saying the right things wrong and the wrong things right

Clutching secrets isn't healthy but this breed isn't meant for you to see

Gazing at the sand, your head in my hands, counting the seconds as they pass

You're speaking now, but your words are air, too focused in my stare

Too important to ignore, too thoughtless to listen,

Looking at the fields where I lay as a safe haven from this prison

You don't keep me here, it's my own doing

But I willingly choose to stay in your embrace

It stings like hell, it lights my passions on fire

Pain and pleasure given metaphysical meaning

Don't understand what they meant by the most beautiful form of love

Because it certainly isn't for me

Every day, you bear weight to my thoughts, an undeniable presence in my mind

Looking at the stars together as I weave these thoughts, your thoughtlessness unbeknownst to even you

Pride yourself on confidence in others, but I won't grant you that

Because to tell you all is to tell you to leave

And I could never live with that

>>9373596
I really, really like this. And I can't figure out why.

I just do. I know that doesn't help.

Less of the repetitive rhyme at the end, though.

Is this about /pol/? Lol

>>9374286
Hey thanks

And honestly, I have no idea what it's about

cantaloupe ruins fruit salad
which never actually has dressing
isn't it more like a medley?
probably, but I'm more worried
about my recent diabetes diagnosis
type 1 or 2, maybe 3, dunno
the point is I can no longer
take the cake and eat it too
so I'm relegated to an artificial
sweetener saturated purgatory
where 4 equals 0 and hope
equals a hanging rope loop
calling my name like a lover
forlorn from our fond hearts
distant from the time we bound
one to the other like yang n yin
so I decide to decide to burn
the house down and cheer
in the flames ignited my soul
like suicide bomb boarding pass
to paradise, the land of virgin
piña coladas and getting caught
in the acid rain outside Beijing.

My disability, which has left me a paraplegic, all started with a Lego set.
The day had started out simple enough. I was ten around this time, and my mother took me with her to go shopping. We went to Wal-Mart, and after an hour of shopping, she took me to the toy aisle. There I saw the thing that would ruin my life.
Of course I did not know this, and I asked for it. Surprisingly, she said yes.
I still remember the set. It was a Lego Batman set with Arkham Asylum.
We bought it, and we were on our way.
I took the Lego set, and began to open it in the car.
"Don't do that, Mike," she warned, "Wait until we get home."
But it was too late. The packaging was already ripped. A LEGO brick struck my mother in the eye and she screamed. We swerved out of our lane, and went straight towards a truck. We hit the truck, and our car flipped over around ten times. I was hurting all over, and I groaned. I got out of the car with my mother.
We were hurt pretty bad, but we were fine. For me, I wouldn't be all so fine soon enough.
The next month, I was working in the Lego set. My parents were calling me downstairs, so I got up to go. Suddenly, I stepped on a Lego.
Fiery pain shot up my leg. My bones broke from the impact. I fell down, crying. The doctors said I had paraplegia. Then came the monster.

He paces around the space now, stopping at the window and looking out. I come to his side to join him. It’s as if there are two layers to the view out of it, the icy black reflection of the room, me and Mike looking almost real in the mirror image, but with a holographic quality, kind of spherical and flat simultaneously, not quite three dimensional; and then beyond that, if I focus my eyes in the dark spots like the visible half of my jeans, or Mike's shock of hair, I can see the sky and buildings and the Iche Tower off in the distance to the far left, with its blinking blue light that pulses slowly, the whole thing like an image tuning in behind a layer of static. The sky's a mess. A violent shade of not-quite-purple, streaks of muddy orange and sickly green and night blue all formed together, like when you mixed up different coloured plasticine as a kid until you got a poorly unnatural synthetic uber-colour that hurt your eyes and was completely unusable. There are occasional cracks of lightening, bright fractures that rip through the plasticine sky and illuminate the fringes of the tower blocks. It's hellishly urban in that epic way, the size and scope of the view like some modern-day Turner painting. I focus back on our reflections. We both look tranced out by the scene.
'Crazy weather today.’
‘You can say that again.’ So he does.
'Crazy weather.’ There's a rumble of thunder.

>>9372928
subtle yet brilliant

>>9373344
I was bored.

Fog loomed up in the early morning and the birds, like every day, began their ritual of tweets and chitters. Mary was standing idle and slumped on the backyard porch smoking a cigarette. The light peeked through the leaves of the trees and revealed her pony tailed unkempt blond hair. Curly leftover pieces of flaxen hair split over the edges of her face and beneath her flaxen bangs were a set of half opened jaded eyes.

[I'm a complete novice. Anything helps, sorry for the lack of length]

>>9375283

Ok, I'll bite.

Everything can be compacted. Tweets and chitters are too similar so pick one.

>Fog loomed, and the birds began their daily ritual of chitters. Mary stood slumped on the back porch smoking. Dawn peeked the leaves of the trees.

That's a bit better, but still not perfect. We can already see her "half opened jaded eyes" because she's smoking a fag slumped at dawn. All the stuff about her hair (2xflaxen) is extraneous and shifts the POV: unless you're revealing that the mc is actually someone else watching Mary (up until now it feels like Mary is the main: she sees the fog, is not a fan of the birdsong, etc), then the details of her hair and how she looks are jarring.

But good opening. You've established time, place, one character and mood. Now expand

Found Poetry:

I've read the book.
I still remember what Zorba the Greek talked about.
When I studied the darkroom classes in college,
I had a dream to visit the beautiful islands with my cameras.
I dreamed about Crete, the Cyclades, the Dodecanese, and the Ionian Islands.
I still have several books on Greek Islands.
If I need an utopian dream, I open and read and read.

Is it inadvisable to start a novel, thats going to be essentially a scifi thriller, with no action? Just the conversation that spurs him into the plot?

In this instance it's him realizing he could get out of his wageslave life by making a widget... which will eventually spiral into an entreneurial collision course with international drug smuggling spies. And you know, action and stuff

>>9376580
as long as it spurs him into the plot it should be fine

>>9376617
It spurs him into leaking info to the media to get seed money for his startup, but Im worried its just not super interesting as is? Just write it off as draft 1 woes?

>>9376680
if his start up is the building of an international drug smuggling ring then im sure it'll be interesting; isnt there a movie with justin timberlake about that anyway?

>>9376699
Dunno about timberlake. Mine is dealing with cyberpunk themes and transhumanism too, so Ive got that going for me

everything hurts and nothing matters
the world burns and burns
and everyone drowns
in their own sarcophags full of shit
sycophantically doting on one another
until the host is resolved
and the hoax dissolves
and everything is forgotten
everything good, everything rotten
so time to start SHOPPING

its britney bitch

apples to apples
to oranges and pears
to rapes and reaping
unsewn seeds so sleepy
beneath the earth's
pizza crust on a rainy day
void of the sun, Sunday's sundae,
peachy fun, squeaky clean
childhood is but a dream
a nightmare to some: screams
the icecream man, ol' racy Gacy
killed Tony the Tigger for his lucky
charms because they were great
and because little kids have poor
coordination. My name's Jeremy
and this is Jackass.

Here's the short prologue to my novel

https://pastebin.com/HEw3DCvY

>>9377131

it's terrible and i hate you

never give up, never stop believing in yourself

>>9377212

specifics ?

>>9377131
but seriously, wtf is a "sweet evening." I think 'sweet' is far too subjective of an adjective for it to be uncontextually thrown in the first sentence of your book. And the second sentence, as it is, isn't a full sentence, but an incomplete clause. These are definitely things publishers will notice immediately. Execution is 90% of the game here.

Also, wtf kind of a name is Zawrizcsv

>>9377224

Fair enough of the first two

names based on a real guy

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zawisza_Czarny

>>9377242
just joshin' u about the name, it's a perfectly fine name


Followup critique: i skimmed through what you shared noticed one glaring problem:

you use wayyy too many adjectives and adverbs

it's a super hard habit to break, but just remember, almost every time you use an adj/adv, you're *telling* the reader something qualitative rather than *showing* them. Your first sentence provides a great example: how is the evening sweet? what differentiates a sweet evening from an unsweet one? give us an understanding of what you mean, SHOW us, etc etc

verbs are the engine of a story, always use them when you can (unless it's the passive voice, avoid the passive voice)

hope that helps


Also: if you haven't critiqued anyone else's work, you should

>>9377281

thanks a lot, i'd just wooshed over my head to check for those when writing it.

(Yeah will do)

"asdfasdfasdfasdfasdfasdfasdfasdfasdfasdfasdfasdfasdfasdfadfasafsasdfasdfasdasdfasdfasdfasdfasdfasfasdfasdfasdfasfdasafsdfasdfsfdsafsfdsfadsafsfadfsfasdfasdfafasdfsafdsasdfdsafsfafasdfasfaf,"
he typed.
"Sorry, I meant asshole.
you're an asshole."
Butt his asshole didn't respond,
until later
when he was in class
giving a presentation
on the algorithm of autocorrect,
also known as Know-It-All syndrome
which he, as a complete autist,
had.

>>9377493
holy shit this is amazing

Denizens defiantly defined as creatures resident to a definite dominion display terrifying dismay at a subject imposing on their land; despite desperate hope from the destroyed world of ancestors long forgotten, residents take residence in the residue of irrelevant civilisations to comprehend why it was burnt to the sand.

Immediate acknowledgment of an ecosystem providing a wholly balanced destruction of the world that surrounds, truly describes the fluent depravation of the plague that deformed a nation.

Definitive discussions displaying the genocide of a countries citizens directly downplays the victims of the newest duchy stationed.

Hieron in the house of deities, defying the natural law disputed by no singular entity due to the nature of his victory expresses this ultimately,
16th century war feats are replicated by those 3 centuries later for the wholesale of millions transported as cattle for less worth and value, unfortunately.

>>9377547
D-

>>9377583
is that a proposition or

The average weight of the Indian Elephant is 3500 kilograms, 7716 pounds or 551 stones. If we take this last measure in its literal sense, if we build a mound which is equal to the gravity of this beast--551 stones stacked in a round pile--then we have something of a mountain and the noble stature of creature standing in meters, 2 and three-quarters and in ft, 9 and a tenth, nearly twice the height of an average Indian man and more than twice the height of an average indian child, corroborates our comparison. The impassivity, the patience, the weight and gentle immovable, immutable, unutterable essence of the elephant is only a channel to its deeper construction and symbology. As the whale is a wide ocean made flesh, so the elephant is a mountain with blood and bone.
The taming and breaking of an Indian Elephant is awful. An adult Indian elephant,understands its own magnitude and so, by simple inertia,it will flatly refuse to be yoked. Extreme measures are necessary. A strong cage. A strong fence. A strong rope. The elephant’s feet and neck, his trunk, his torso, will be lashed, the rope will arrest every particulate movement of the body--until there is paralysis. This is not enough. The elephant will not understand nor accept that it has lost mastery over its own body. It will struggle. The tamers will beat him with long sticks and some of them will be barbed and some of them will draw blood. They will scar this elephant, not until he stops resisting--for that is nothing, but until the thought of resistance itself is extinguished. This may go on for many days and the elephant will learn that is no longer wild, it is not its own master.
This process is called “kraal”, meaning, roughly, “crushing”. Crushing of what? The elephant, whatever blood he might spill from the offence of his tamer’s barbs, loses little--his mass is not diminished, he is not smaller for the enslavement. It is his spirit that crushes, the wildness, the understanding that his life is resolutely his own, not merely in the good, the choice, the freedom to seek what he wishes, but also that he will never starve, that his bill of fare is immutable, he is not free to fail, or die. His obedience is purchased at small amount of comfort, but the nevertheless the mountain must bow.

>>9377588
It's your grade for the assignment.

>>9377609
how do i get that plus papi

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>>9375439
oh my goodness thank you so much that's incredibly helpful!

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>>9355995

There is a running
narrative,
through my head,
where He says,
"Life is becoming,
a parody of itself."

Standing in front
of the gas station store,
where He says,
Of itself...
Of itself.

I throw my cigarette
at the pumps.
Hoping they explode,
and this gas station store comes down,
into it's hole,
into it's hole.

I see the clowns
come out,
and now I throw
my balls,
into the wall.
I throw my balls,
into the wall.

We float up
and then come down.
Reality has shown me;
life is a parody,
of itself.

>>9377610
Limit alliteration.
Minimize pleonasm.
Improve structure.
Delete adverbs.
Create substance.
Don't shitpost.

And don't call your professor papi. It's Dr. Anon.

>>9377629
nah but really can you look at one of my normal pieces?

If I’d encountered all that I supposed
On evening which new spring beheld, forlorn,
A troubled jewel that she scarcely rose,
Do I pray to the sea foam that does form?
For pleasanter verses spoken were not,
The law, fulfilled, sworn by untutored youth,
And last season's grasp did finally stop
As tender eyes did not make me uncouth;
While memory may cease in winter’s cruel self,
And bequeath fools with letters from heaven,
The fairest creatures may decrease in wealth
Misunderstanding what no one fathoms.
Defects lie above, yet fresh spring suffice
When grace in the soul does fall into vice.

>>9377627
you misspelled *parity

>>9377636
No, what I wrote is what it is suppose to be.

>>9377649
you misspelt "supposed" :/

>>9377635

firstly, cursory impression, it doesn't really make me *feel* anything

secondly, just because you've written a sonnet doesn't mean you need to emulate shakespeare. We're well into modernity, unless you're writing satirically, you're going to only alienate yourself from your reader's by using such ye olde florid prose. It seems very forced. On top of that—and this may entirely be a fault of my own—but after reading it twice, I didn't get the impression that there's much depth underneath all the purple: it seems more like embroidery. The very first couplet actually confuses: "all that I supposed/on evening which new spring beheld, forlorn" It isn't clear what was being 'supposed' (is it the troubled jewel?), nor does it totally make sense that whatever is being supposed occurs on an evening bearing spring. Other lines feel equally vague, like this one: "As tender eyes did not make me uncouth." Are tender eyes supposed to make one feel uncouth? If not, then why share it? And this one simply doesn't make sense: "And bequeath fools with letters from heaven." You don't bequeath someone *with* something, you just bequeath them something. I get that you need an extra syllable, but you can definitely pick one that actually makes sense.

Anyway, didn't mean to sound harsh if I did. Just being honest. Also, keep in mind, this style of poetry isn't really my cup of tea, so theres that

>>9377684
nah thanks for the critique :) the first stanza is questioning if everyone who is meant to be in my life is already there, the spring/forlorn bit was something that happened this spring making me feel depressed. Sea foam bit is an allusion to aphrodite and questioning if i should pray to find love and to which god

desu thats probably true, my writing is probably more embroidery than anything, need to make it more substantial

troubled jewel was meant to be the heart/love followed by the next line to discuss the heart of the ocean meaning purity

the uncouth bit was saying that even in this person's eyes, i was still who i am (therefore not uncouth) - so further purity being with the person
the letters part was meant to be a reminder of the past hence the letters from heaven, so like memories, but also using the with i felt makes things seem alive still, and that's why i used it; i want the past to remain alive

thank you again for feedback :D

>>9377608
Good voice.
And does my yellowed blood harbor the fear of an unwelcome escape into new viscera, one of rising steam and cool sweat?

I analed her good
she said yes thats good
right there deep in my bum
bury your chunky pork-sword
puncture the innards of my soul
and so I kept slamming away
like a comet shooting for the stars
pummeling away, away, away
boy did I fuck her good in the bum
all her friends told me I did
they all said, you really did, she said so
about me giving her that good dick
anally of course, she's saving herself
for marriage, thus the poophole
loophole, that glorious loophole
the poophole that I stuffed like a thanksgiving turkey
despite it being july, hot damn that ass was sweet
like a honeybaked christmas ham
during july of course, but still, hot ham ass
sweaty and salty and sweet like meat
gave it to her so good she came back for more
of my amazing penis game so strong
yeah i ass fucked her real good
all her friends tell me
everyone talks about it

>>9377932
hey I really like this, subtle satire is always the best. nice job

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my milkshake
is a colloidal lie wrapped up in metaphor,
nothing but allegorical garbage
peddled by feeble faux-deities
drowned in the light of megalomania,
suffocating on praises from mother
echoing still from past to future
like sorrows undealt by fate's hidden hand.
So they come to the yard,
still as zombies dried of blood
begging for just another sip
of my bomb ass pussy.