Critique Thread

In a way it had been fate. The Chesapeake was my mother--she fed me, guided me through life, and gave me her blue eyes. I cared for the Bay more than any given aspect of my life at the time. She cared for me, too, I’d like to believe with complete trust. I hoped for the day I died so that my ashes can be scattered across the rolling waves of the bay and return home.
I’m quite protective over this home, too.
When you’re invited to my home by the ways of the river or the guidance of a horse, a gull shall alert me of your arrival--that or the whispers of the grasses. Whatever may happen, I’ll know of your presence. Don’t make too much noise. When you get to my house, you’ll know it’s my house from the distinct green walls that climb the sky to the clouds. Open the yellow doors of grass and you’re in. Listen to the songs of thrush and relax yourself.

On your visit, though, I ask that you to be mindful of the house laws. I didn’t create them, they’ve always been etched into the Bay’s history. They’re learned as soon as you step foot into the bay’s boundaries:

You must accept the insects for what they are and why they are. Yes, that is a bee hovering near your head. In fact, it is a European Honey Bee, an extremely hard worker. It has a family, a job, and a ruler, just like you. It has a home where it returns to day after day on a given basis. It will not harm you if you do not insinuate it, just as yourself. Instead, I recommend you look at it from afar and appreciate its work and its beauty.
There are pests of which the average foreigner to the Bay will dismiss as disgusting, but you must know that this is quite against the natural laws declared by Earth. The Northeastern Tiger Beetle is one that you’ve probably (briefly) encountered, for, I’m almost sure it flew away from you just as quickly as you walked away from it. From the Patuxent River to the Bay, they roam and keep watch over the sand. They hook themselves to the ground and survey a wanderer's feet. It is harder to appreciate a beetle, I must say. Unlike bees, they do not always have a job. They are often wandering the sand and hiding from those who seek them. They reproduce and they die. But then ask yourself: do you not wander at times? Like humans, they take a break from their busy schedules. They take walks, but they prefer the word “crawls. They drink when thirsty--what doesn’t?. They observe their world.
They’re a scientist's dream, and, like any curious man, your eyes may wander and catch the shifting movements of the beetle. When you see the beetle, don’t only appreciate it, honor it. Smile at it to yourself and continue your journey.

>>9495527
Re-post from the end of the last thread.

>All right, /lit/, I'm a dick, here's my shit:

“In distant lands with ever-present clouds lay an egg supported by a tree. Heard, or perhaps felt, for many miles were struggles of the protectorate being in the confines of its shell. Its endeavors toward freedom like a newborn’s tender heartbeat. Should any creature survive the mists and terrors wont to meander the egg’s aura, that creature could regard the translucent nature of the membranous shell. If said creature were to then gaze long enough -- with clarity and focus of mind -- a rare and ancient abscission may rend the world external, veiling the moment of connection between creature and eggnomaly. An icy, cool darkness would baptize them in a calming privacy. The fatal mistake of all such creatures, however, is staring too long at the abyss – for even the Lord Death could not stave folly.”

I'm also a faggot and calling it "Birth of the Altkneht"; tentative subtitle "Purveyor of the Abyss."

>Tear that shit up.
>Yes I know I'm an ultrafgt for eggnomaly. Get.

Yes, I saw the other thread already.

https://pastebin.com/dd29QVb5

Context: Alternate history where Europe (officially and openly) unionizes under the Nazis and the Business Plot works (FDR is killed in a coup).

This is chapter 1, I intend to finish it.

This is my first attempt at a short story/novella, all my other drivel has just been vignettes and more down the lines of poetry/descriptive prose.

>>9495620
I don't know how you get all that context from a hyperlink, but if you want to expand that into a novella you've got your work cut out for you.

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>>9495527

Dark espers of wit and willow corrupt cock's shadow .Truncating my everlasting breath unto a fancy hallow ground, and mud drips from my teeth and I bite into the sand. Death creep into me and let my shit taste like ecstasy in her mouth. Triumph, cold eyes destitute in the mirror, live and let triumphs die like dead closed eyes in a open casket funeral. Mark these words unto my breath, break fourth tireless fancies of the mind in a vain sort of melodrama that I can't care for or give away to your conscious. Fuck, confabulating constructs twixt my dwindling spires of hate. Hate breaths from my breath in the cold morning, it courses through the blue veins of my arms as I choke your child to sleep. I have no remorse for I have succumbed to my own world, a world of beautiful death lay before my eyes, of fantastic golden eclipses in the dusty storm, of breakneck speed tiny flashes of the blade that drive through the nebula of the ego and conspire against you, they destroy your every thought your every motive and you become me, I rule you forever and your soul will wrought in eternal damnation that fasts everlasting on the blood of the malignant. I will starve you. I will damn you to thoughts unknown to man or beast and the horns will grow mighty on the brow ever cursed into a groaning dismay of rotten flesh. Die then, for there will be no satisfaction in life or death and your joints will twitch in yearning, your jaw will clench for release, and the whites of the eye will turn red.

>>9495637
Huh?

>>9495637
Literally what

>>9495589

Without context this passage just reads like it was created to impress with words rather than to impress with poetry or imagery. So on that basis I like the word abscission, impressive. I honestly have no idea what the fuck you are talking about though.

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>>9495532
This type of writing has never been one of my favorite kind anyway.

For minutes I've regarded this posts existence. It's a monument to all the rancid genes and broken chromosomes that rolled into your person.

The possibilities of prose are all there—you can write anything. And you wrote this foul caricature of what, something you read and thought you should imitate?

A man with no soul, no inner convictions, and the integrity of sand and the style of a buttprint left in vinyl.

The /lit/ I remember was absolutely top kek—I couldn't imagine this garbage anywhere except maybe inside the head of a paraplegic who wanted to fuck his live-in nurse but couldn't quite reach the zipper on his jeans.

>>9495589
>>9495643

The problem is both of these is that you just have a mash of words with no connection or pathway for the reader. What are you leading to? Because you as hell aren't putting any actual scenery or emotions in my head.

If you make the reader process so much BLAH and not the pathway you're leading them on then you're wasting time and ruining your book

THE MOST important thing is connection for you two.

>>9495712
why did it anger you so much?

I appreciate the edge and bluntness, though. Could you go a little deeper than just "ew" though

>>9495702
Introduction to a short story based on the intro to Angel's Egg (1985), general Lovecraft-urbating, Berserk's God Hand, and the "Hollow/Human" dichotomy in the D-Souls series.

Tried to open with a gentle, creepy/stilted feel that would lead to the monstrosity in the egg's birth and how it ravaged its world because it didn't know any better.

>>9495714
Always had trouble relating in-mind to others. Great to know it needs more a lot more attention. Not sure if the above explanation of the paragraph does any justice to relatability though.

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>>9495714

I am man. I fill highways with death and metal. I drift to the back of my skull and I fall into the playground concrete. Warmly, my blood flows from my matted scalp into my open hands, and from my hands it drips into the sand. I am demon. The golden eclipses of death shine in my mind. Flashing. Explosive. I am demiurge. Beautiful spots of red in a ocean of yellow, beautiful spots of yellow in a ocean of grey, the grey is no more. Wilted is thy flower, pedals no longer to bloom, the birds have all flown away from the feeder and I look into the mirror again. I see you. Your shaft of flesh will rot on a cross, and the flies will eat you, the flies will pour out your scrotum and I will eat you, I will devour you, every last morsel, even the shit. Confine me, take me to your prison, leave me in a cold dungeon where the lightning strikes past the clouds on a rainy day from my window. Where the shadows flash across my face from the rusty bars, God help me. She was in the back of the car, she was only seven years old, seven sins, seven trumpets, seven years old. Seven. Spirits lay frozen dead on the edge of your bed, mire singe my lashes on that day, a drink of booze will make it go away. A drink of booze. All away. Turn away from the mirror, lest your red eyes burn holes into the glass, melt your image, stab your ego. I will rule you forever and you will rot in eternal cosmos, never escaping from the endless spiral of the maze that is the being of god, god has you trapped in your being and you will find no satisfaction, soulless being I pity you, I spit on you, I fuck you, end now. Extraterrestrial bile will spill on your textured t-shirt, your cubicle will close in on you. I find myself in the sand, I find myself on the concrete, I find myself holding the body of a mutilated child, her face missing, and red eyes peering from a skull. She was only seven.

>>9495702
>>9495714
Still had Angel's Egg open, so I typed up an interpretation (rendition?) of the first three minutes.

Want to know if the inability to relate and lack of context is just my ideas or my writing/expression, if you don't mind.

>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fIhKqaNp4Dc

A man of non-committal expression and odd hair stood next to old machinery. Slung across his shoulder, an ornate cross large enough for a child. The man’s grip on the cross nonchalant but firm. Gusts of wind blew his hair hither and thither with vicious resolve, yet his grip and stature remained stolid. He looked to the reddened skies as a bird, or perhaps fish, soared past. The ground, half-soaked in blood and messier bits resembled a checkerboard. On the lighter spaces, wet earth; the darker spaces... best left to one’s imagination, or lack thereof. The man looked at the mechanisms and devices, turned, and stared.
Skyborne and descending was a large speroid. Its entirety black, with odd, discordial protuberances lending a slight white glare to its posterior. Pssseuuuh, psssseuh, pssseuh, more frequent and less intense bursts of thrust for a touchdown. The man always got a kick of wry amusement from the behemoths -- their many thrusters formed the shape of an orange segment, appearing to him an eternally displeased eyeball. A symbol of “What a drag.” He noted there were now several bits of humour tied to the floating eyes. He should never live to witness two in the same place, else he die laughing.

HROTHGAR: Prosper and feast, my Spear-Danes! The battle is won, and our hearts made gay. Such pelf in my Heorot--may it be split to each and every man. May we rejoice in His honor, exhange our love, and fill our mouths with all divine. May our blades rest and hang our helms low. I ask of no brawls or scops, nor cruel decrees.

CHORUS: With heads high and drinks higher, may we toast to thee, Benevolent King!
Soon, though, wyrd will take it’s revenge on the pyres of this very mountain,
For, souls we’ve slain and words made vain are now hung from a Godly hand.
Our armour glows, like our eyes on the glimmering-shores of battle,
But we must beware of those who prowl and stalk the night for vengeance,
And the green-eyed monster who seeks to slay our lives in this wide hall.

May we dine in peace, with such a generous feast! Abas with these times of fear and resent.
May we set aside our glories and blades alike. Like our banners, we will raise arms together
On this night, may we drink to the sun, eat to ourselves, and love to our God.
May tomorrow bring a new sky o’er our heads and rest to us all.
Let smiles be cast in this room of revel and wine, for all that is made divine.

https://pastebin.com/Y9njXwrf

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Will kids like it?

‘Goldor go get the broom shafts!’
‘Yes mistress,’ I’d say.
‘Goldor those dungeons aren’t going to clean themselves!’
‘Right away mistress,’ I’d say.
‘Goldor, you lazy lout! Get over here and polish my fingernails already!’
‘For your divine eminence, mistress,’ I’d say, before getting the spiked boot for painting one shade of colour too bright, never mind the nail when I couldn’t see a darn thing in this accursed, black tower!
From dusk til dawn, from light til dark, from high to low, everyday, for seven days a week, non-stop, in a dark tower where you couldn’t see so much as a glint of your toenail without tripping over a piece of ancient debris first because she was too uptight about getting some construction work done to disturb her beauty nap... Oh, and ten thousand years of it.
Gron, where did all the days go by?
Are you getting an idea what a Goblin has to go through to please his Mistress of Darkness? You’re not alone. I am spawn number two billion, five hundred and sixty three – but she just calls me “Goldor” for short, and by she I mean our ever-loving Mistress of Darkness, Ursula: the Witch Queen, the Black Anointed One, the Lady of Shadows, the Bringer of Death, the Maiden of Sorrows, the Cow of Despair, and most of all – my mistress - has been so for about twenty thousand years now. My, my does time fly by, I still remember being a fresh-faced spawnling when I first laid eyes on my mother – a beautiful creature; when you looked upon her for the first time you saw the very countenance of doom itself: a cruel smile that thundered the hour of your undoing, raven hair that used to whip the stars into abyssal submission, and glossy black mascara that poured the very sorrows of a thousand souls down cheeks unknowing of pity!
Gron, where did those days go?!
I remember when she had the whole world in a vice grip; kings, matriarchs, dwarflords, and barons all – meagre nothings to the power of her divine mercy to spare their insignificant lives, and I – I was proud to stand beside her then, in those days when she used to destroy kingdoms ten times over for fun. Ravaging their cities, plaguing their crops, burying their dead into mounts of bones - and if she wanted - she could do it all over again… Just right after ten thousand years of sleeping to make up for it.
I would call to Gron, but at this point… well, what’s the point really?
Where is my Lady of Darkness who once besieged the mountains of Takeria? Wrought low the elves of Mooradan? Sundered the iron and steel of the Human Kingdoms of Daine? Where was that Lady of Darkness?! Ursula, who used to tame the Dragons of the North under her command, Ursula, who used to sink the ocean and sky to her whims, Ursula, who used to scale the great pantheons of earth under her beck and call?! That was the Ursula I once knew, and by the strength of my green heart, where oh where can I find that lady again?!

oh well we all just don’t know do we

staring up
telescope rules
you are playing—
woman lives
on highway roadsign,
don’t you tentacle
wrap your consciousness
around
me, blank
as a sunbeam,
drip eternal:
torch fish
knows my brother,
school generator
perpetrator color
in lake tertiary.

a mouse is dropped into a garden
miniature, and around it are two Poindexters in
lab coats and conversation. "the mouse knows
to always head right for the apple
in the center of the maze. it's got a
remarkable ability to remember things and
has good spatial reasoning, like it's second
nature." "is that so?" "yes, and even when
I tell him not to he goes for it anyways. it's like
reverse psychology. I'm convinced that they even understand
sarcasm and wit these days. in any case, they are very much
enthused in the pursuit of the apples." "well
isn't that just great. they, I heard you say?"
"yes," he pushes up his glasses, "they
have been reproducing." the other 'dexter has a look
of mild amusement drawn on her face. "more trouble
than it's worth, isn't it?" the other looks away coolly, "well,
that's not up to us to decide. we are only concerned about
the data
on mice and apples and the pursuit of them.
everything else is secondary." "do you like
dropping mice and mice babies
into garden miniatures?" the look
of amusement is mirrored on the other
and he says, "well,
it's a living."

But as for the majority, a sad and sickly bunch, life is cut out for them. Most the boys know is work, work, work… war if one is unlucky; and Irishmen are a rarity here. Work makes one’s hands dirty, yet not nearly as dirty as war does. Dirt kicked up will make one blind in short time; and army trucks are a regularity here. While uptight men in their Dormeuil suits smoke Cuban cigars and stare out white-frame windows down at the black slums forty stories below, the black slum boys stare up forty stories with naked eyes, smoking Lucky Strikes in their hand-me-down knickers and suspenders. In every sense of the word, they are unique, and in every sense of the word, unexceptional. These are the black slum boys, the toilers and hustlers. They’re young, filthy, and utterly, utterly alone.

>>9495971
http://vocaroo.com/i/s037m631CSze

>>9496013
I like it - especially the part with the looking up and down the forty stories + then the parallel with the hand-me-down + suspenders being down up as well.... it's interesting

think the army truck regularity line is a bit awkward though in terms of meter. the word regularity is just a bit off

Just fuck me up senpai. Also, don't trust my critique.
https://pastebin.com/y3WiGYby

>>9495532
Feels like you hit some weird cross between Shakespearean and Victorian writing and then just fucked it up really badly. I'm confused as to how I'm supposed to feel. Nostalgic for home? Sad because of beetle-death? Everything's in some natural order? You did a lot in such a small time and it just feels incoherent.

>>9495714
Halfway decent, but that pun didn't actually fit at all. Good description depending on what you were going for.

>>9495971
I'm not too great on poetry, but this just feels sort of haphazard. And the bad, formless, "I did this in ten seconds" sort of haphazard.

>>9496000
I liked it the first read, thought it was boring the second. Literally prose with enjambment.

>>9496013
Conflicting. Why are all the black slum boys alone, when you've spent all this time describing people in groups? Alone is a singular term, and to have crowds of people and all these vague generalities described to be hit with "alone"... maybe each of them carries a loneliness instead? It was OK just save for that last bit.

>>9496055
I don't really like the voice of the narrator, it's uninteresting and very self-conscious. maybe that's what you're going for, maybe that's true to you but it makes for a bit of a boring read and that is inexcusable in the literary world.

a guy that's has a thought that starts with "it's almost ironic" is absolutely insufferable and an unruly character for any sort of narrative. I get that you're trying to get some project some sort of strange self-awareness to this guy and present him as a sort of character study with 3 different worlds (waking life, internet, dreams) but man it could be done much better. I would read other people's stuff more like established authors, that's my advice and pay special note to the amount of self-awareness they allot to each character - too much is difficult to write with I'll tell you that

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They left the ongar's villa and descended to Daigar's lower echelon, where the filth dwell in darkness. The white glare of marble sanctums darkened to begrimed wattle and daubs of the poor and teetering cantinas where within wantons flirt and fences lurk.

Henceforth the two would go daily to the cultists' lair via a network of dusty, cobbled alleys and grottos behind the rammed earth edifices. How the crowded streets and the stink of offal and piss did remind Shazarah of Tel'Kor. But more so than in Tel'Kor did they sanctify their higher castes and condemn their lesser as per a cosmic will he never did grasp. He knew not of such poverty in Eros amidst all his studies here. None should meddle with god's intent, it still pains you to see them from thy pulpit of privilege but know it's not of your making but Theirs. Theirs not theirs.

Every alcove he passed loitered beggars or skulking muggers, in every grotto echoed the groans of the starving and cries of babies suckling dry their mothers' withered breasts. And the insane milled in their minds, for the quamites lived there among them. The pommel of Shazarah's dagger provided some comfort as he caressed it beneath his coat

Well I'm goin' out to Denver
See if I can't find
That lovin' Colorado
girl of mine

The promise in her smile
Shames the mountains tall
She bring the sun to shining
Tell the rain to fall

It's been a long time, mama
Since I heard you call my name
And got to see my
Colorado girl again

I'll be there tomorrow
Mama, don't you cry
I got to kiss these lonesome
Texas blues good-bye

I'm goin' out to to Denver
See if I can't find
That lovin' Colorado
girl of mine

>>9495589
>>9495763
Came from the other thread because this was interesting and I expected more
How is the reader supposed to get any of that? It's all obscure garbage or pop culture trash for influences but none of that managed to make it into the writing
Are you dense?

>>9495799
If your a woman don't try to write men until you know one better than your mother. If your a man it sucked. It felt like that scene in Californication when the gay kid tries to write blood and cum and flops. Grind harder.

>>9495801
Saw the embed thumbnail not watching it. You write like a 13yo girl learning to walk after taking a dildo to the uterus. Jesus get out and experience life more.

>>9495830
Stopped at pop culture reference 1
skyrim was a travesty. Your funny if thats cynicism or mockery or dryhumping kind of sarcasm.

>>9495867
Are you retarded or do you hate your parents? Is this an escapist flight of fantasy or just spite and resentment for being told to pick up your stinky socks and wash them

>>9495971
You seem like a self-destructive musician who recently grew out of angsty teen tier writing. If you look back was it mostly whining about a middle or upper class caucasian life in a developed country
Professional parents but they were focused on them and you got no attention so now you do drugs?
>Sorry I'm obviously projecting
>its still your writing thats bad, not my drugs

>>9496000
Deedee wants her journal back dexter

>>9496013
Your transition between work and war is sloppy
Listen to some old vets but actually listen instead of trying to form a response or remember an idea

>>9496031
Needs more confidence

>>9496055
Unlike >>9496108 it didnt seem self conscious to me
The narrator did seem too self aware and explainy, too much tell and not enough show
Emotion rubbed me the wrong way too
An aweful lot of uncertainty with tone/congruence

>>9496173
You coulda had a great setup for cultist lair but you tossed it
>salad without caesar

I aint writin nothin cause I aint got nothin >beside scathing criticisms
>both are on my trophy shelf, next to nothing else

poopoo peepee

>>9495867

>>9496556 here, thanks for the critique :)
How was the writing friend? Where can I improve? That's what I want to know best.
And to awnser you... yes, it is a fantasy. Though nothing on the parent-hating I'm afraid :)

Лeвијaтaн

I.
Hoћy би мope пocтaјaлo ливaдa бeз ијeднe тpaвкe –
To би били пaшњaци пpeкpивeни нeвинoшћy.
Cyдap тaлaca, пocлaних oд пepaјa, cтвapao јe дјeвичaнcкe opхидeјe.
Лeш, дeoкcигeнoвaн, и визaнтcкo нeбo; Mјeceц и мope.

Лeвијaтaн јe изpoниo и зapoниo ocтaвшивши pyјнy мpљy,
Bизaнтcкo нeбo и цapcкo мope; opхидeјe, yкpaдeнe oд вјeтpoвa.

and a translation

Leviathan

I.
At night the sea became a field without leaves of grass --
Those would be pastures covered in innocence.
A crash of waves, sent by fins, created tender orchids.
A corpse, deoxygenated, and Byzantine skies; Moon and sea.

The Leviathan emerged and submerged leaving a rouge stain.
A Byzantine sky and imperial sea; orchids, stolen by winds.


It's still incomplete.

>>9496590
Whoops, got the id mixed, sorry!

>>9496590
You ever see the video of the russian guy...

>Where hes so frustrated
>He takes the two most offensive words he can think of
>And combines them
>On two separate occasions in the same video

He came up with niggerfaggot and niggerjew
>i cant tell if your the former or the latter son
>but for you climbing jacob's ladder is a sin
>let it sink in
>literature.exe

>>9496612
So I'm going to gout on a limb and say it was bad...?

>>9496618
No son its your attitude thats bad
>coming from a kikelord on the innerwebz
>o lordy this gud Fe(e)

Not being facetious either

Find a library, find some kids willing to listen at the library, read to them, ask for feedback.

You will succeed with insanity or persistence or both

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OK, this is a first chapter from my erotica that's being published soon on amazon. I'd like your honest opinions about it!

It's called Sinning Sisters and it's a story about a romance of young adults from different social environments.

https://pastebin.com/dBwcF2Yw

>>9496764
Holy fucking shit dude

>>9496764
meh fucking dik

>>9496556
>skyrim reference
Are you retarded? Where

>>9495720
How 2 go deep on a layer of grime?

Or maybe it's good? But if yr good, you'd know it's good—it's almost like ye could tell huzz.

>>9495867
Still shitposting goblins? Also, if the last posts are any hint, you haven't mastered English grammar (or haven't reviewed your own work).

And no, the tiny children will not like it, it's about
goblins and it's in broken English.

>>9496764
I would say "I teased her it was probably her uncle" :). Because what other group would it be.
Also I got a hard on so I guess it works.

>>9496764
VERY nice

>>9496764
LMAO I lost it at the penis part. Great characters, very meticulous I'd say. You have a great potential and I'm looking forward to reading the whole story!

I suddenly dropped by underwear and immediately pulled it up again; she could see my 7 inch erect cock for a second. ‘’Did you just?” She asked. “What? What are you talking about” I asked with an innocent voice and a guilty smirk. Suddenly the dominant side in me awakened and I told her to strip. She hesitated until I strictly said; “Now, slut!” She was blushing so red and seemed suddenly so submissive. She has quite big boobs, size D, and a glorious ass, unlike her smaller sister. I told her to submit to me and she had no idea what to do. She awkwardly looked at me.. “From now on you call me Master, understood?” “Okay” I suddenly pulled her hair, ‘’Okay, who?”; “Okay, Master.” “Good girl” I said. “Turn around and show me your ass.”
“How come you are suddenly being so submissive, Masiha?”
“Uhhh, because I like to be uhhh put in my place” She said while blushing.
“I like you, Masiha, from now on you are my sex slave and you’ll do anything I tell you to”
“Okay”
“Okay, WHO?!”
“Okay, Master”
“Are you enjoying this?”
“Maybe” she giggled.
I walked towards her pussy and felt how wet she was
“Certainly” I replied
I ordered the Muslim slut to suck my cock and she slowly got my dick out, stared at it for a second, even smelled it and put it in her mouth. This was clearly her first blowjob, which I didn’t mind. After a few minutes I told her to stop, I didn’t want to cum just yet.
“Why are you cheating on your boyfriend, Masiha?”
She seemed surprised, like she totally forgot about him and said she didn’t know.
“Think harder, Masiha, why are you betraying your lover??”
“Because I’m a uhhh slut?” She started blushing and looking at the ground
“Exactly, you are a naughty slut and I think you need to be punished, don’t you think?”
“Yes, Master”
I sat on her bed and told her to bend over on my lap. “I’m going to spank you 5 times, I want you to count them”. The first time I didn’t spank hard. “One” she said. After doing 3 more she forgot to say four. I pulled her hair and said I will have to start over. This time they were much harder, her ass was already red. For the last one I used all my strength and she cried ‘’Five” out in pain. It was so loud it probably woke up Aida. We suddenly realized we forgot about her and I told her to check on her. She went downstairs and told Aida that I left long ago but didn’t want to wake her up. Aida went to bed and Masiha came back.
She whispered “I told her you left”
I said it’s getting late and that I better go. She looked disappointed and suddenly seemed to have an idea.
“You can’t leave, the hall is noisy, you would wake Aida up, besides my parents can come home any second, they really really can’t see you.”
“I guess I’ll be sleeping over then, by the way, how is your ass?”
“It still hurts a little, Master” She giggled.
“You haven’t thanked me for the punishment yet, slut”
“Sorry Master, thank you Master, I really deserved that”
“Good girl”

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critique my shit fags

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>>9497009

>>9496764
I think you're getting a lot of positive responses due to the Muslim angle. It's passable writing. Not bad, but a long way from being anything more than standard erotica.

>>9497012
Trying too hard whilst uninspired.

>>9497015
is this some sort of next level meta shitposting? Those replies were obviously ironic, if you can't discern that then you gotta fucking sort yourself out my man

>>9497021
generalizing whilst gay

>>9497031
If you say so.

>>9495532
I only read the first two sentences, and I'm already bored to death. Reads like a stale desert, and there is no flow. Also looks like genre crap

>>9496958

Actually this guys been refining this story for a while in crit threads.Ever since last year, I've seen it crop up now and again

I've got a start here that I can't get to go anywhere useful, so if someone thinks they can use it, take it.

I slip like sand between your ampersands
and and you stutter once
I'll clutter twice as much

>>9497227
Goblin poster, stop samefagging

>>9497571

there were 3 goblin stories in the last crit thread and I didn't write any of them so idk what you're talking about

>>9496941
>HROTHGAR
>literally one of the most important places in the game
>if not the most important place
>highest place in-game humanoids are living
>main campaign/quest cannot be completed without travelling there several times

Nigger you are the weakest link, your writing aint even chain in the fence

>fuck the Danish

>>9497699
It's based on Beowulf

How much more autistic can you get.

>>9497571
I'm the author of your post, buddy. Leave that guy alone. Check my id if you must.

She read Dostoevsky
In carnivore carriage.
Sound could not disparage
her; disrupt her
nor her solitude rupture.
Such eyes! Flashing eyes!
What truth therein lies?
Why flap so, why flit so?
A candle in the window.
Does a glance melt like butter
Raskolnikov's axe?
Can she read through the fat and blubber,
So viscous, so crass?

It's wasted on her
Like life on the dying.
I live like I'm dying,
Fixated on her

Feet. Cart me away with her
ere I'm forced to repeat
a nostos so bitter:
No Penelope sweet.
Ammonia soaked pillow
In her place,I will greet.
She read Dostoevsky
Like a carnivore meat.

Here comes the avocadolooking man
with his cunt face bringing bottles of beer
in the middle of the street
son of avocadolooking man
he thinks he's more, he think he's more
because he shits and barks and scrapes and eats
inside his shitloft full of cans and pipes
and he likes to write, the cunt!
he wants to be ALLEN GINSBERG - what a shitface!
and f5 f5 f5 until down and he can't even manage to
<anonimouse son, yor brodderfound a JOB
what are you duin'>
he starts to turn green
like a kekkin frog green
and ignores the desperate sunlight
the sad greenlite in his <I>s
like a frog green <I>s
<I>s, <I>s
staring at the whiteboard
(<whiteboi how can ya even compeeete>
SHUTUPNIGGER
SHUTUP)
Brekkek Kekkek Kekkek Kekkek!!
(he wants to be joyss the cunt)

And he drinks the beer he write his mosterpiece
"Why did u leave me Claire? pt. 1
chapter 1
1.1.1.1.
How I felt that night!"
and this is his life: can you image it?
considerate se questo è un uomo!
He sleeps thinking about Claire
he's a small boy
he build a small world

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>>9496999
kek'd und check'd

>>9498047
If you wrote it in under 3 minutes it's fine

This is MY piece of experimental a-poetry, you will not understand it. At the end I will write the mandatory bibliography to get at least an hint of what we're talking about here.

"THE sun is bright
sunsunsunsunsuns[1]
AAAAAAAAH MAI FAIR LAAAAAAAAAAAD
(THE[2])

°°°°the fact that (alone,alone,alone,blalone

water down (water) ^papesatan^
water

-----------------------the sun - why don't you
mabellemabellemabellemabelle

MARIE?[3]

teh
sun
isbrig
th [4]
(water down) ---- -- ----------
-------------[5] ---- -- -- - . Zang Tumb[6]?
and.

IIIIKNOWAHTITMEEEEEANSSS TOBEQUEEEER<==== (this a-verse must be sung[7])"

[1] "Essays in Honour of Ama Ata Aidoo at 70: A Reader in African Cultural Studies" by Ama Ata Aidoo; ed. by Anne V. Adams
[2] "Angry White Men: American Masculinity at the End of an Era" by Michael Kimmel (2014)
[3] "Intercultural theory, postcolonial theory, and semiotics: The road not (yet) taken" by Marvin Carlson (2008)
[4] "Function and sign, the semiotics of architecture; A componential analysis of the architectural sign /column/" by Umberto Eco (1980)
[5] "From Concrete to Visual Poetry" by Klaus Peter Dencker (2000)
[6] "Words and Images: The Semiotics of Futurism and Surrealism" by Clara Elizabeth Orban (1990)
[7] "Gregorian Chants and Intersectionality: Trying a Metastructuralist Reduction" by Johanna Ali Brown (2017)

>>9496764
If you don't kill yourself over how bad it is then you should kill yourself over not feeling any shame exploiting the FORBIDDEN MUSLIM LOVE IN TIMES OF SCIENCE PLUS SEX scheme just to get published.

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>>9498216
bait

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didn't really get feedback on this, so I haven't changed anything

>>9498216
10/10

>>9498097
2 months in the making

>>9498423
Retard

I’m lying here on my back in the damp grass just outside the rear end of the house. Grace left me for Edinburgh a few hours ago now. There’s a slight breeze this evening. Every so often the breeze erupts into a semi-gale for a short while. And in those moments I can hear and feel the whole world around me shift violently; the branches and trunks of the trees that line this little patch of back-garden lawn that I’m lying on creaking and squeaking as they’re bent under the strain of this wind, creating a kind of static chorus of leaves sliding against each other, debris colliding in an overture of little snaps and tap-tap-taps, distant howls of some tall and thin protuberance protesting, and the not-so-melodic notes of the wind chime that Christina has hung up by the back door.
In these moments of spontaneous meteorological excitement, engulfed by the chaotic symphonies of conflicting matter, that sticky black weight feeling at the base of my guts swells exponentially and almost escapes out my throat. But where its progression seems to be barred by something. Probably my seemingly unbreakable abhorrence to throwing up. But really it feels more like a terrible scream that would tare my larynx apart if it had the chance to escape. And so I lie paralysed by the fear of this ever-encroaching terror who’s source seems to come from somewhere deep within me.
My eyes are locked upwards, staring into the shapeless abyss of an overcast sky. It’s like someone has stolen the sun and taken away all definition of the clouds, and left only a perfect wash of single-tone cold-grey-violate. And my sickness is only increased as I struggle to find some small detail to focus on. But there’s nothing up there; just light, brilliant and horrible in this dying afternoon, diffracted and pouring in from all angles, turning the whole world into a flat grey purgatory in which I cannot think or move or turn away from.

>>9498787
>Grace left me for Edinburgh a few hours ago now.
I assume you mean
>Grace left for Edinburgh a few hours ago now.
unless Grace dumped you in order to have a romantic relationship with Edinburgh.

>>9498834
She left you to go to Edinburgh, she didn't leave you for Edinburgh, unless she's having a romantic relationship with it. I'll grant that it's grammatically the same but the phrase has common connotations and reads strangely.

>>9498795
no, as is implied, she did leave me in order to have a romantic relationship with Edinburgh

>>9498845
sorry

>>9498849
Then I think you should make it more explicit that she's going to have sex with Edinburgh, perhaps introduce her parents to it as her fiancé, because it sounds like a mistake as it is.

The froth of boreas’s verglass
Swept I, the lone wanderer, from height
The lamina had undergone the chemistry
And perforated by my tuffs I held ground

Yet I stood high in these alps of glass
To see the snow that had begun to pour,
And I breathed in the full white clouds
With flakes of snow hanging from my chops.

So I whistled an echoed from my pursed lips
So that my canine companions could be saved.
I stand here on the glazed grey of this mountain
Self proclaimed as the new Master of the Hunt.

There are now no snowmen in this village of glass.
There remains a man and his dogs, now guilty guards
Of this forsaken ridge of what was once Nature’s bridge--
I am that man, he who shatters glass.

>>9498860
the relationship is of a symbolic nature, in the novella i'm writing at the moment, grace leaves our home of Blebo Craigs in order to whore herself to 1000 men within the city Edinburgh

Critique the shit out of this poem that is the summerary of all my failed relationships

This is a story of all lovers of the past.

In the beginning was the maiden of north-west.
The memory of her has become vague, but her smile is still the best.
Then came the one who held my hand at dawn,
but as soon as the sun arose our love turned into a boring yawn.
Thirdly it was at a party that we met.
She stuck her tongue down my throat until I broke into a sweat.
Some time of dryness passed me by.
The more satisfied I felt, when she finally took me by the hand.
Sadly time ran out and we had to say goodbye.
Still I loved every night we spent.
Saddened by our departure I focused on studying to pay the rent.
However my love for women could not be restraint.
Soon the gods above send me a present.
She was wisest of all, and I loved her accent.
With her months passed into days, I dont know where the time went.
But all good things will come to end.
My heart felt an incredible torment.
What did I do to deserve such a cruel event?
In desperation my mind was again intent,
on studying to understand what love ment.
In this journey I met a delightful madam.
Though it stayed at friendship, I could not be her Adam.
In between the previous and the next.
There is always her, the one I still adore.
I worship her and bow at her feet every day.
But her majesty is an illusory folklore.
So what is there for me to say?
Of course love does not work with a whore.
So on the matter of the next I can not say more.
Then came the one of the forbidden love.
But I did not want to risk my life and she was got rid of.
Momentarily I was seduced by her scent.
But the newest lover did not give me consent.
With head hanging low I left in discontent.
My next object of desire, was she who had passion like fire.
But I must admit this was not love.
Only my precious essence did she require
Now writing this my heart longs for new eyes to get lost in.
I want to surrender to her beauty, and let love finally win.

>>9498787
Kind of confusing what happened before the events of this writing.

>>9497009
>>9497012
It's too... consistent? Every paragraph seems to be the same length, and really just describes something in allot of unnecessary detail. You need more action and dialogue to shake things up.


Really need critique on this:

Gili parried Nero's sword swing with her spear, then quickly moved in for a counter-attack, landing a blow to the old man's sternum. Had they been fighting for real, she would have gone for the kill with a jab to the throat. Instead, the old mentor of her's simply got the wind knocked out of him.

"Very good." He coughed out, recovering from the blow. Nero was said to have been an unparelleled warrior in his youth, but Gili only ever knew him as the patient old man from the palace, who prefered slow walks through the garden over battles out in the jungle. She often wondered why he was chosen as her mentor, as patience was not a big theme of her personal quest.

"Did I hit you a little too hard, old man?" She teased. Nero laughed.

"You'd best be counting your blessings that this blade is blunted." He ran his fingers along the edge of the training blade. "Or else that pretty little finger of yours would've been sliced clean off."

Gili smiled. She'd known Nero since the very begining. Since the day the Speakers came to her house and dragged her away from her parents. She was only seven when it happened, and she'd go on to spend the next ten years of her life training within the palace walls with the other Chosen.

"It wouldn't be the worst thing." A voice beamed from above them. Cyrus's voice, the man responsible for overseeing the Chosen, of which Gili was the most important to him. "Training with a real sword, that is." He stood on the balcony above their training center, watching with disdainful, impatient eyes.

"Aye, perhaps for another day." Nero bargained, sheathing his training sword. He was Cyrus's cousin by blood, but clearly held disdain for the man.

>>9498955
Pretty good. Personally I think stories about "chosen" people are clichè, but whatever floats your boat.

>>9498955
Grace ingests datura seeds and in the trip delirium she becomes convinced that god wishes for her to become a hermaphrodite and that the only way for her to achieve this is by fucking 1000 men in the city of Edinburgh

>>9495620
https://pastebin.com/dd29QVb5

I still haven't gotten critique and that was yesterday.

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>>9499572
Take it from huzz, there's nothing like a bunch of crap thrown together. Well except the quiet enveloping darkness of boredom, & gotta send thx for that. Yeah, we get it, Hitler. Edgy. Parody. Wow.

Preposition Ratio: 10.21 %

Zombie Nouns:
'impression', 'religion', 'fiction', 'nation', 'explanation', 'celebration', 'conversation', 'passion', 'vacation', 'position', 'publicity', 'community', 'relativity'

Leeches:
'friendly', 'fully', 'promptly', 'nearly', 'truly', 'patiently', 'actually', 'only', 'probably', 'apparently', 'early', 'initially', 'softly', 'absently', 'nightly', 'needlessly', 'really', 'unruly', 'naturally', 'unusually', 'slightly', 'finally', 'overly', 'merely', 'similarly', 'instantly', 'Immediately', 'literally', 'sarcastically', 'strangely', 'postmaturely'

Lexical Diversity: 29.38 %

Content Carrying Words: 61.26 %

Personal Vocab Diversity: 44.41 %

Longest Word: 'Schellingstrasse'

>>9499618
I've been seeing this format of post a lot, what site do you get this from?

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>>9499625
It's a script I made.

Preposition ratio: [prepositions / total words] (10% or less is ideal, makes reading more dynamic)

Zombie Nouns = nominalization = verbs turned into nouns

Adverbs leech the verve out of verbs

Lex Diversity = different words / total words (doesn't really mean anything)

Content Carrying words = (nouns, verbs, adj)/total words

PV Div = (Words - Most Common Words) / total words

Longest Word = usually something worth getting rid of

>>9499639
autism

Also what's huzz?

>>9499649
>on /lit/
>haven't read pynchon

%|

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Life is but a prolonged swim in some collective afterbirth.

Being is repulsive and over-real, an ocean of organ taste.

To know and to be known, experience is a fluid exchanged mouth to mouth.

Foundering adrift amidst our own broth we are listing and lapping,

Sensory sewage secreted and sampled, eyes shut and orifices full,

Sinking and swimming, gullets brimming with the unspeakable.

Sensation is itself a thing vulgar, to share in the stew, to taste you,

Gruesome goop, gruesome group, all I come to rue, naught to know but that undue,

A common yoke these unclean masses, choking, intolerable, and interminable,

Death ever adds to the soup, our world one big vaginal vichyssoise,

Gross.

>>9499666
what the fuck did I just read

>>9499678
>fucking fuck fucking fucker fuck fuck
Nope

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>>9499686
boohoo he said a swear. guess what? NIGGER FUCK CUNT SHIT ASS BITCH KIKE. get used to it fag.

>>9499700
Really?
It gets old and loses strength if you say the word in every single line.
Also, this scene is particularly boring.
Just one paragraph and kill the guy, Jesus. There's no need for all that "fuckity fucking fucker I hate you".

>>9499708
more like some people swear and are angry and it's part of the character and story. he's killing a disabled guy, he's gotta be fucked up in the head to some degree. The inner dialogue illustrates that. crying about swears is for children and fags.

>>9499740
Just suck it up and write better next time.
And if you're not the guy, then I assume you're just retarded because you're missing the point.
pro-tip: I don't give a shit about swearing, and you sound like a 15 year old for thinking I do.

>>9499765
lol your just mad cause i called you out on your cliched critique bullshit and you know it.

I have been in a room full of mirrors.
My life is reflective of these clear pale walls
And they white wash my skin over
Setose hairs turn white and glass smiles
I open my mouth to see color
There is none.
the red is white
And the white is now dead.
I’ve become clear now in this room
I see myself on the glass surface
A tear shatters the glass
I am clear.

>>9499686
desu the dumbest criticism of writing is too much swearing. ever heard of the banned books list? there's a reason authors get edgy, its to draw attention.

>>9499792
I'm not criticizing too much swearing. I'm criticizing that he uses the word "fuck" way too much and the redundancy of the scene.

>>9499809
you've honestly never been anywhere ghetto have you. Saying fuck/nigga every other word is common place.

>>9499792
honestly kinda agree, I've heard it wayyyyy too many times.

>>9499819
The ghetto is filled with scum. Do you like reading something that came from the ghetto?

>>9499847
You're only digging yourself in deeper mate. let it go.

>>9499895
He's someone else.
Also, nah. We're on the right.

>>9499902
lol so you agree with him then? any literature about the ghetto or from the ghetto is bad, you only read books about rich white kids who go to college to get their accounting degree and then get married and have 2 kids and work till their 65 and then retire and play golf. sounds fun

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>>9499847

My lungs breathe thin air
My eyes do not focus
Or focus all at once
My palms secrete salty sweat
Do they see?
They're watching
They're judging
I am not like them

>>9499919
This is my first post in this thread. It's stupid and boring to say fuck in some form every other sentence. You can depict the "ghetto" without doing that.

orpheus mindwater

sleep advertised
on my eyelids
in the night—
raindrop pentagon
and flowerstorm pick-
up, painted highways
break down the chlorine,
nasal insulation
for all the dreamchaser
children, you let god
insist upon you
he brought you
down the river
where he handed you over
to big television dramas—
i’ve been a loud coconut—
drink me daringly darling
freezeframe disco
you fallopian bullet—
your quotidian
cups are excised,
like the mango—
liquidate me stupid
you giant psychedelic
pig, you got it in you
like a waffle that flies
into Japan—
airwaves are always
on, for the big allure,
steer the snare
like orpheus mindwater
into the definition of
the sweet vanilla sunrise.

Alone.
In the grand sense of the word.
Not to be without a friend,
Or a lover;
But to know.
Know, that the world has forsaken You. Only you.
To know, that
No matter what you ever do, say, think, or enact:
The world has forsaken you.
For you were born forsaken,
In a world of unloving hive mind.
To know, that
You are only you, forever;
The past was only You, and so will the future;
For You are all that ever existed,
And with the passing of You,
Goes away the world, and everything in it; Away With You.
That is,
Being Alone.
For if you weren't alone, the world would be.
For You are the beholder of the eyes of your world.

People come and people go,
Yet he remains in woe.
For his thoughts and dealings
Stab right through your fragile feelings.
For his imposing mannerisms,
and scandalous thorns,
Stab right through your nimble norms.
Stabbed and opened, you see
What will be.
For your blind eyes,
They do see.
But you refuse to open them.
And rightly so, for all can't handle,
The light upon the opened eye.
So he is chosen, by the path of solitude.
For reluctant enlightenment is a sin.
The overman then accepts his falsely fate,
A lone leader, a treasonous trait.
And people come and people go,
Yet he remains in woe.

>>9500348
if u want to ryme use some actual format dude and also this sounds pseudo philisophical i don't understand the meaning of this poem

A finger in the ass is the universal sign of dominance. Every sigil trigemestrine relates to this fact. The eye of Horus? It is a spinchter. And what of the Ankh? A rectal crucifix. The rose? A prolapsed anus. Thusly,the phrase sub rosa has a double meaning. To be underneath the anus fingered is to be a witness to power. This was understood most certainly by Henry Galeston,right honorable brother of the Columbine Knighthood R.C.. This truth,however,was denied to his earthly progeny.

>>9499666
This would almost be good or at least funny if it meant something.

Start to a short story. It's nearly 2/3 of the way complete.

https://pastebin.com/FDFHKmmX

>>9499666
What a cute girl

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The priest of the Great Worm

“Behold the Worm that devours time.”
Incense burns, cymbals chime
“This great Worm the eons will fret”,
said the man crowned with aigrette

“By his mouth the seasons change”,
orated the priest, old and strange
“Now bow before the unseeing Ophidian”,
harangued the priest, the tall Grafnodilian

But not one of the hearers bent their knee
Each of them dismissed the cleric’s plea
Oh, they laughed, though this greatly riled him
All the other patients of the mental asylum

>>9501199
>Grafnodilian
I don't think you're supposed to invent words just to fit your rhyme scheme.

Clayton Memorial Hospital, being a gate to heaven and hell, was a the center of the town. A shambled lodge peeked from behind the building with boards too far brown to recover. The neighboring houses, with whatever loose dignity they had, tried their best to ignore the shack; the more the home crumbled, the taller the gates grew.
Nobody knew the previous tenant. Air--if you could call it that--whistled through the bones of the shack in a soft manner. I noticed the holes in the roof and made my way to the kitchen, a pile of pots and pans that were, to my surprise, quite neatly stacked. The floor was not damp.

>>9501202
Says who? The man thought he was from Grafnodilia.

She was upset by their making fun of him because she felt him to be an extension of herself, not because she loved him - and she didn't respect him either - but because he had become lodged, through time and habit, into her life. Involuntarily, she had invited him into her life, first as an accent, as a distraction, until unconsciously, he had become the dull, ugly center. There was no one in the world that she despised more than this man, in those moments when he tried, and failed, to land a quip; she felt revulsion heap inside her, wrench from her stomach, into her throat, and her eyes, like burning cinders, would concentrate their hateful points on him. And so when they insulted him, she saw thrust before her eyes the enormity of her wasted life, concentrated in the figure of this ridiculous man who had become attached to her like a leech.

>>9501220
No, just no. AABB is trite in that form too.

>>9501261
Okay. How should I improve, then?

>>9498955
Clear cut writing, I like it. Cliches kinda throw you for a loop though. Teasing a guy because he's old, or parents being offed the story via tragic past are all pretty out there. Still, good writing I think. 3/5

Here' mine. I didn't really care.
Rip 'n Tear brothers, I know I sure do.

I was never born special. You wouldn’t be able to pick me out from a crowd if you could. And if you could you’d say “Wow, that was a waste of time,” and walk away, probably mistaking me for that other dream girl walking past by.
Don’t worry, I get it often. My hair looks so plain, and so boringly brunette, you couldn’t tell if you were walking right next to a giant rug, or a bear in a school girl’s uniform. But I guess if you’re still reading this far and haven’t turned the page that you might just have another thing coming.
Name’s Erie, don’t wear it out, but don’t worry – I figured you wouldn’t.
Still reading? Wow, you must really be bored to have gotten this far and not picked up the other, better book beside this one, or perhaps read that other book – you know the one – that would’ve been just as long, but just as exciting, as this book was never meant to be.
Won’t let up, will you? Fine, well if you’re so persistent. Let’s begin my totally-not-interesting story about melodrama, puberty, and an inconsistency to stop sucking. Good, let’s begin.
It all started on a snowy October night. Winter’s pale face wasn’t pretty this early in the year. No snowy wonderland, no great festive season; just cold, cold wind, cold face, and a cold night under the blankets, and even then it was pretty cold.

>>9497710
Why are you asking that when you're on 4chan?

>>9501547
hwæt

>>9501270
read more poetry.
The idea behind it is kind of nice I'll give you that.

>>9501199
>“This great Worm the eons will fret”,
>said the man crowned with aigrette
cringe

>>9501283
I'm not sure who the speaker is. Is it a teenage girl? The "you're not going to bother reading this" thing got old after the second time in your depiction of his characters hair makes him or her sounds like a sideshow freak, not a near invisible person Also, if you're protagonist is so unremarkable why write about her? You probably have something somewhat unique in mind, you should hint at it. If you are really writing about teenage girl, that description of snowy autumn night is a little too floury.

I'll post the story I'd like critique in another post replying to this one.

I had a high quality plastic girlfriend shipped
from Thailand last week
her name was Caroline
she said she would love me forever
but the box said it was a month long
warranty
and after a month she stopped giving
me back rubs and seemed
distracted when we watched movies on Netflix
after I came home from work

so I tried to return her
except they didn’t take returns
so I put a page up on craigslist
and a piano teacher from
Kent bought her for 38 dollars
and a bass guitar he hadn’t been using,
that had a missing E string.

a week later I saw pictures of her and the piano teacher
on facebook. They were holding hands at a waterpark
and feeding each other bites of a chocolate covered corndog.
I felt jealous and drank to excess:
1. a handle of gin I
stole from a house party of
old friends I hadn’t spoken to in months
2. a plastic bottle of extended release Nyquil
3. a cup of rat poison under the sink
I drove to the piano teacher’s house at 3AM and
climbed over the fence into his backyard
and tried to open the glass sliding door into
his kitchen but it was locked
so I walked back around to the front and kicked
the door open.
It took three kicks.
Caroline was watching TV in the living room
and I walked to the TV and turned it off
and pulled out a knife and held it to her neck
I said
“The chicken has come home to roost”
and
“You were supposed to love me forever,”
and Caroline wanted to stand up
but I stood menacingly over her with my knife
so she sat there and her eyes darted around
like goldfish in a plastic bag
when the piano teacher (whose name is Sebastian, sorry,
forgot to mention)
walked into the room in only a bathrobe
with his flaccid dick peering out from a bush
of wiry pubic hair like a curious worm
I got mad and with a surgical stroke
I unmembered Sebastian and then pointed
to the phallus on the floor lying
in a pool of the blood that used to be in it
and said
“the circle is complete,”

I was peaking on the rat poison at this point and couldn’t
speak straight so the two of them only heard me
saying things like
“Chicken fuck” and “fuck fuck,” but I knew what I was
talking about.
Love is not love which admits impediments like
a fucking piano teacher buying you off craigslist,
or a month long warranty.
If you really love someone, you can’t be bought.
But I bought her? I am fucked. I don’t know.
I know that I like fucking and killing, in movies
generally but also in real life when I can manage it.

The piano teacher sued me and put a restraining
order on me and I had to pay for the operation
to put his dick back on, but it was a good weekend. 10/10
would do it again.

>>9502549
I finished this draft weeks ago and I'm not sure it needs to be done to it.

Before everyone knew her, Nyen Cat lived on Earth. She didn't have friends and didn't know her family. She lived alone in a ditch, underneath a suburban shed and everyone in town thought she was a stinky hobo. The other cats were very mean and bullied her.

Ceiling Cat saw this and said to himself "This is terrible, I should do something." He asked Hello Cat, the goddess of merchandising, to make a friend for Nyen Cat but she did not listen. She was to busy making dolls and keychains to notice or care. "I'll have to do it myself" Ceiling Cat said to himself. He asked Postal Cat, the unstable messenger of the gods, for help. "I will help you" Postal Cat said "but you must pay shipping and handling, or else!" Ceiling Cat agreed and received a magic pumpkin that he enchanted with Divine Magic and placed it inside a box. Ceiling Cat then paid for the shipping and handling, which was a whole can of tuna.

The next day Nyen Cat found a big box in front of her shed. At first she thought there was a mistake because no one liked her enough to send her a present but her name was clearly printed on it and the return address was from none other than the all-seeing Ceiling Cat. At first Nyen Cat thought it was an elaborate and cruel prank, "but who would impersonate the Gods?" Nyen Cat thought to herself and decided to open the box. As soon as she cut the packing tape, a cat with a pumpkin head burst out of the box sending a mess packing peanuts everywhere. "My name is Jack O' Cat." it said "let's be friends!"

Nyen Cat and Jack O' Cat played together every day. On some days Jack O' Cat's box was a submarine exploring the seafloor. (It was very fun until the first time it rained.) They chased each other through a neighbor's garden on sunny days and found a napping spot that had been claimed by other cats. Best of all, Jack O' Cat would chase away the bullies. Nyen Cat was finally happy and she wished these good times would never end.

However, she woke one day to find herself alone again. She looked all around the shed but only found a pumpkin that kind of looked like Jack O' Cat, but it wasn't him. Nyen Cat searched everywhere for her friend. She looked under the shed. She looked through the garden and even along the tracks where she found Monorail Cat. "Monorail Cat" Nyen Cat said "I can't find my friend!" Monorail Cat took her up into the sky to see Ceiling Cat.

"Ceiling Cat, Ceiling Cat" Nyan Cat cried, "I can't find my friend." Ceiling Cat knew the magic on the enchanted pumpkin wore off but he couldn't tell her the truth. "Jack O' Cat is lost in space" Ceiling Cat told her. He gave Nyen Cat a Pop Tart costume and said "as long as you wear this and think happy thoughts you can fly through space and look for your friend." Nyen Cat put on the costume and flew off past the Moon singing a happy song.

On some nights you can see her leaving a rainbow across the night sky.

Not a piece but how do you get good at creating your own ideas?
I'm really happy with my writing when i'm given a prompt or writing an essay but I'm bad at coming up with original or novel ideas. Whenever I try to create something from scratch I become vaguely aware that i'm being influenced by specific things I've read before

please help, this novella is killing me

I take the cat. It’s a beautiful thing really. I hold its rear in the cup of my hand and press it's body against my chest like a baby, its head pivots to look up at me. There’s something there in its eyes. What is this animal trying to say to me? It’s trying to communicate in some way, I can feel it there within their gaze. It just doesn’t have the language, yet. We continue to stare into each other’s eyes. We begin to establish a sort of connection. A deep understanding of each other and our own personal impressions; this is really the only way that I can truly experience myself, through this cat. My experience of her is an experience of her experiencing me; an examination; a reflection of what it must be like experience myself; but through this cat. I begin to get closer to myself; at once there I am, stripped, de-gloved and naked without my skin. A tiny little being in a mass of black void. Oh how sickening it is, so weightless, air static; but filled with nothing. Too close I decide and cut the eye contact. There’s nothing really going on in its head anyway. It doesn’t think all that much honestly, I shouldn’t let myself get so carried away with Susan’s house animals.
I begin to drift away, my distraction still wavering; Susan has not stopped talking about ______. But then, back with the cat, I notice its face and the fur that covers it. It’s so silky and perfect. All it needs to do I lick itself for fucks sake and it’s beautiful. It has it so easy, I wish I could be like this cat. I become so consumed by jealousy and hate for the cat. All I can feel is a burning desire to squeeze it until it squeals and breaks within my arms. I place the cat back on the floor where I found it, it gives me a look that can only be taken for pity and wonders off back to its little pillow in the corner of the room.

>>9499639
Is there some way we can make our own scripts? Or can you post somewhere?

>>9495720
,though. -though?

Thought you know the style of a child, hark.

>>9502643
well what do you want to say with your writing?
should you really be writing at all if the novel doesn't burst out from within you?

as with most forms of art (that aren't for industry), you can't (or rather shouldn't) create anything genuine or brilliant if you just want to do it because you like the idea of being a writer, poet, painter etc.
it needs to come from a place of necessity; you couldn't live without creating art

look into yourself and ask "why do i want to write in the first place?"

>>9503210
>why do i want to write in the first place
because it is better than doing nothing, and I've little else to do.
I don't want to say anything in particular but rather pass the time and perhaps earn some vague sense of accomplishment. A shiny sticker that reads "did something today other than my job" planted onto my mind.

Is that a bad/conceited reason?

I stand on the edge
I stand against the sun
I stand to lose myself again
Again to see my dawn

I stand on the edge
The edge of dawn to come
Return anew like a god to crave
Crave to be reborn

First verse to edgy?

>>9503243
no not conceited at all I think, it's better than most individuals reasons for wanting to create art

write about your present and past, keep a journal if nothing else

put yourself in the mind of a traveller, who is he? where is he? what is around him? where if he going? what will he find there? and why is he going there? the traveller can be simply you or as abstract as you like, ask yourself questions

a fun little exercise i like to do is to go out to some public space, find a place to sit and look at the people about me, maybe focusing on one of them and apply all those questions and begin to form their story

Interior of the mind, when living in a form of semi-lucidity in an ethereal dream, static vision, visual snow, brain fog, lost, lost, lost, break against the shore of the human soul with the consciousness of understanding, undertaking what can only be seen as drunkness, drunk on the idea of a greater idea built upon another idea.

I said to him, it's ideology dude, maybe because I don't know what in the fuck I'm even talking about but that's okay, I was high anyway and when you're high on the idea of an idea it's because you're lost in the technobabble realm of human understanding, when you're connected worldwide but all you do is jack off, smoke a joint and browse some memes.

I was reading Plato but the brain fog set in so I messaged him and said senpai sort me that 10, but he didn't reply so I drank and drank and drank and she didn't know but it's okay she's busy and I'm busy trying to make busy with the busy bees lost in a busy world, it's post-modernism man, no one's got time for anyone and there's no love, cold, marketed, consumed, throw it away, buy another plastic bag of Ishtar's own fucking pubes it doesn't matter.

All worship your techno-Gods at the rain temple when all is lost, the interior is cool and welcoming, not warm, cold, a winter's morning, fresh dew nestling and caressing the beard in an uncomfortable but familiar way, pray for rain, acid rain, acid in the brain, acid in the name, no fame but shovelling cocaine.

>>9496056
literal masterpiece

>>9498941
bumping for critique
>>9501203
cliché
>>9501250
Nice. Liked reading that.
>>9503246
Yes too edgy.

>>9503246
too edgy

I’d been eating an apple a day;
I’d peel the green skin and toss cores,
I’d bob for said apples in days gay,
And climb the boughs of fructus fruit
But one day came walking a guest,
And said to me with voice stooped,
“An apple a day keeps harm away,
But sir, please come–look this way!”
Upon the hill and around my farm
The trees were bare to my alarm!

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>>9500004
I agree and disagree, you could depict the ghetto life without it, but if you want to try to hit some realism and you're writing about somewhere like flint Michigan or Detroit or downtown Chicago then having a character swear excessively isn't bad writing. It's kind of the authors choice as well, there a plenty of good books that have characters who say fuck a lot.

Arpeggios reminiscent of bygone eras scale up and down our ears. Sirens ominously ring out into the black of night. The city is alive. Four million different stories interconnect within the ring bahn. Hearts will collide and desperately seek solace admist the grey smog of industry. Metropolis of Europe. Oh hear it now.
A slender girl in black beckons me to come closer. I wade through the risen crowd toward her. She speaks in hushed tones, a cigarette held nonchalantly in her hand.
'Do you like the party?'

Time was I would look back
catch a glimmer of the sun
filtered through a canopy
of green and woeless fun

There used to be ruin,
but even that is gone
The memories so faint now,
I think my day is done

Time was I would think back
and dream of all that was
I'd caress each crumbling brick
and every speck of dust

For where I used to wander
in hallways of the past
I now thread barren wasteland
were no man's tracks can last

My memories of childhood
are like stories told to me
For I can not remember
what it felt to climb a tree

Time was I would linger
as tomorrow held no hope
But yesterday, too, is quiet
and no one throws a rope

Everything feels hollow
Every stick and stone a prop
And if I were to prick them
I'm certain they would pop

I lustfully gaze into the eye of the beholder
Who spits back at me a poison
Which festers and Grows
Becoming so powerful that it turns me to ash.
Can you blame me though?
I’m only human after all

No matter how much weight i try to lift
I don’t become stronger
My bones start to crack and break
Then I can’t lift anymore
Can you blame me though?
I’m only human after all

I think love is for the simple minded
A comedy of errors
It breaks us without warning
Kicks us in the mud and spits in our face
But we crawl back begging for more
You make me dumb and i love it
Can you blame me though?
I’m only human after all.

>>9496013
good

>>9498941
pretty atrociously written

but interesting stories nonetheless, and good luck in your searches :)

Maudlin no more, Ms. Merrirose set aside her habitual venery, her rosés, and her incarnadine wines that had begun to stain and sag her precociously youthless under-eyes, then rose to common decency with the equipoise of an annuated lush. I thought it a waste that so vain a vixen would deign to turn her luscious tail to a modest, thigh-binding skirt. Gone, my meretricious whore! was my internal lament tuned to the percussion of French silverware against china.

She sat across the table from me, every bit of her face as naked as her expression was amateurly masked. Her features were intolerable in plainness without the accent of rouge or the art veiling her sallow eyelids, and a worse injustice to her once debonair beauty was the lie of her smile. She was grinning the ribbon of wet teeth that I had had her wrap around me to quiet her voluble melancholy as we sheltered from the rain some Godless Sunday. The Ms. Merrirose I knew had been a morose creature whose lust for life made her long achingly for death.

Her father, a tall but untenably hairless man blind for his wealth and intellect, did not seem to perceive her act as anything other than a remarkable and miraculous transformation that was nevertheless all that could be expected from the dewy-eyed, educated child-woman. From the head of the table, he was proudly taking his guests by the eyes and ferrying them over with forceful looks at the mead-haired mademoiselle. Yes, this is how a girl still in the throes of adolescence should look and behave—sex, drugs, and the debauchery of desirability had no place in her or her (female) coevals.

Why, you need only look at her fatter and even plainer sister to know that she would never tarnish her vermeil purity with the naughtiness Ms. Merrirose the Younger (my ripely cynical Julianne) nightly had engaged in. Such sister was seated next to me, her hand in mine. Under her nearly transparent eyelashes she was adoringly consuming the hair and the flesh of my profile with greed and gluttony, but certainly no sin as wicked as lust, she had responsibly informed me through our courtship. I caught the Younger’s eye and discretely pinched the Elder’s (my dear, sweet Stacy’s) thigh and she glowered redly with a lip-deep frown of pleasure. I winked at the girl across the table, but she, like an ugly doll, sat dead, tight mouth stitched to bear the pinks of her gums.

The only handsome woman of the room was the mother, Rosemary Merrirose, who seemed to have married to claim her husband’s name, for he was far less impressive than she. She was immersed in shallow, horizontal conversation with men and women who are not worth describing (I believe them to have been wealthy pets of Mr. Merrirose, effeminate yet successful business executive), her elegant and subtly expressive fingers captivating all without touching one. And readers, I was captivated by this enchanting matriarch. I was enamored of, lustful for, and in love with Stacy’s mom.

>>9504037
I disagree, I think it's perfect.

>>9504240
Bad.

>>9503970
Too clever.

>>9503887
Too stupid.

>>9503790
Unexciting.

>>9503732
Too edgy.

>>9503484
Low energy critique.

>>9503334
Too smart for its own good.

>>9503246
Paragon of clarity.

>>9502661
Solid.

>>9502560
Memey.

>>9502553
>>9502553
>>9502553
Just

In and out of detox I go, trying to write a series of thank you poems for my significant other. How can I improve my poetry, /lit/?


I wonder if it's from the wayward alleys
Or the calming purple sea?
I wonder if it's from the broken mirror sky
Or the abandoned broken port?
I wonder if it's from the killer's back
Or his foaming smoking gun?
I wonder if it's from the dead ones’ eye
Or their softly spoken words?

Found among cults and deep lakes
From which dull creatures wander by

Found in the wet hidey holes
Making love with a big chrome gun

Found where I hid in shade
And whence you came I never knew

Yet in all the dreams be it asleep or not
When two thousand seven bad thoughts
All stir in a revived mind at once:

It is a such a mystery
more than deep waters,
Broken sky and bad intentions
In my town that never stops the chase
How in you I find a saviour
Against the thousands

How you jump from dream to dream
From real to real
Teaching new methods to the soul

I float through the city,
Exactly two feet off the ground
Above black spots of gum
Enough to hit my head on every door frame

Two feet off the floor
My: neck snaps every train ride
Hair gets caught in chandeliers
Crotch gets headbutted

There’s gold in my ribs and soup in my valves,
Lungs filled with warm friendly tar.
Seven inches below that
Are pipes filled with human shit.

There sits He on His throne of bone
And guts of those who dared
To try authority of crowns
And cloaks of conquers bared
Like stingers sharp as swords of shell
That dance against a land
Where giants stride through skies up high
Against His own command.
Twelve days have passed since He has stood—
Stress pecks Him like a bird
To move His forces forward now,
Yet there He sits unstirred.
What if His move leads to checkmate?
What if He mates Himself?
Doubts plague His brain like pesticides,
So sits He on His shelf
Decorated by those before.
His mouth hatches to hatch
A scheme, but He is far too late:
Polistes dies.

>>9498941

Cool stuff. The only thing I can think of is that I'm under the impression that the rhymes don't belong in there. Maybe experiment without and see if you like it?

>>9505590
Wrong.

>>9505879
No.

>>9498941
Structure: bad. Big ass block of text. Separate that shit, hombre

Beyond that it's just not good in general. You ever hear the words "Show don't tell" in the context of writing a story? That advice goes triple for poetry. There's almost no imagery. You're just telling me what you think these women are like and what they do and what you do.

It's fucking boring to read. I get that the narrative of your life is really interesting to you, but you're gonna have to put WAY more effort into your writing if you want me to even start to give a shit about your lady problems. Because, and here's a dirty little secret, there are about 4 billion poems that talk about the same shit. If you want yours to stand out, you need to have something the others don't.

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mine:
his broadsword plunged past the breastplate
of the Imago Rin, releasing the Summoner's curse
body stiffening before the staggering forth,
her hands grasping the blade's edges

pitch black shroud evaporating from armor
now a shimmering gold hauberk over a yellow-white fielddress
Hero halted,
gaze immovable from the Regalian soldierwear

eyes meet the pained stare of his counterpart
dirty blonde hair now a sickening strawberry mix
plastered to her forehead

with a shudder Hero's blade dismissed
catching collasping figure of his Princess
her armor further disapating at his touch
thin, regal dress flowing over
the lithe, royal body embedded in his memories

Hero held her a moment
thundering of his heart attempting to compensate for
the shallowness of his beloved's
and with the midnight wind's murmur
she was gone

>>9495532
You seem like a kindhearted old woman who would beat the shit outta me with a wooden spoon or poison my oatmeal

After the palpitations, sometimes my body stops. It happens after the panic, the paroxysm, the meters walking in circle in the room; After hours scrutinizing the horizon closed by the walls, looking for a way out like a humped animal. My body stops but before it didn't know where to stay, it felt the spate and the tremendous thrill of occupying space, of simply being there. And at this moment I float and I feel the fear slipping off my cheeks and my muscles disintegrating. I notice the waves behind my back. My eyes tear, no longer stiffened by the pressure of anguish. Perhaps this is how the smothered horses feel.
When it happens, comes back the memory of Chiara keeping my head up and putting it on her legs, playing with my hair and smiling. "Birds grow weary of flying, like people of walking."
When it's all over, I hope to feel this way.

>>9506881
pure pretentious drivel. Try saying something.
>>9506697
super generic
>>9505802
I like the idea and the last verse, but it feels incomplete. Also My: neck is kind of ridiculous, hope its a typo. You seem creative though.

>>9503732
This is fun, the rhyme scheme needs fixed in the first half though but that's just me.

Here's mine:

For the first time in a long time, people began to discover magic again. At first, it was like the air was a different color or thickness or something. Slowly, normalcy was transformed into oddity, which soon enough came to rest like fog trapped beneath the tunneled trees of wide suburban avenues. Things began to stir in dark alleys, under ivy, and out of crawl spaces. The night became somehow less lonely alone, and teemed with ancient mystery. Birds began to hatch elaborate schemes for the relocation of a large bag of birdseed from under one old woman’s awning to an undisclosed location, perhaps deep in the forest or in the attic of the old abandoned warehouse (which was rumored to be the meeting place of some form of demonic cult). People danced wildly in the streets, as if possessed by ancient ancestors from unknown lands. All parties were planned in accordance with the alignment of the stars, sun, and moon—with constellations used to determine theme, location, what brand of beer to buy. Smoke offerings to deities long (and still) asleep began to drift skyward, and even the busiest of businessmen covertly wore crystal pennants under their suits. My neighbor purchased several geese, named them, raised them in their backyard, explained to them that they must be eaten, then sang them Celtic songs while snapping their necks. I received a tupperware container filled with a delightful goose-noodle-soup, which possessed extraordinary healing properties. Anyway, it was a strange time.

But then this stirring or whatever began to coalesce into something more imminent, and wholly out of our control. Besides the ever-growing number of paranormal encounters reported by acquaintances, shop-keepers etc., I myself began to notice some very concrete changes myself. Once on my morning commute (a mile’s walk through my old neighborhood of professors, students, charlatans, and hippies) I saw nine cats gathered in a wide circle, apparently in silent conference. The clocks in my home began to run at different rates, even my phone skipped or repeated whole minutes, sometimes reporting “TODAY” as the weekday. While I am neither punctual or particularly invested in the doings of cats, it became increasingly hard to ignore the mounting supernatural crisis.

That was about when my best friend got fucked by a ghost.

>>9504020
Wrong.

>>9499666
>Life is but a prolonged swim in some collective afterbirth.
I'm going to steal that.

Postcard from Tanzania


Tonight the wind turned harsh
For the first time in months.
My neighbor told me in broken English
To close the shutters to my room:
The sky is not forgiving.

All I've seen so far is dust;
The sun scorched its mark on everything.
The land, the water, even the animals
Bear its scars

The soil is cracked
Like a wrinkled face aging in the sun.
The lakes have run dry,
And the animals spend their days
Searching for puddles.
Even our well is down
To the point of no running water.
Bucket baths and bottled water
Are my only refuge.

For this reason,
The locals welcome the rain.
They sing to the beat of drums,
Filling the ominous gaps of silence
That come with such a storm.

Sonnet:

O stately boughs, who’ve shed thine leafy fleece
Sunken canopy, laden upon Earth,
As craquelure glacier; glassy sheets, sinking firth
Ebbs to the dark sea floor alone, in peace.
Too ebbs the sky: azure, then gloom from east
And distant torches flood the sunlight’s dearth
Emblazoned night, pale glow on mountains inert
Snow sank softly, fluttering silent elegies

Winter pastoral, thou lyrics embossed!
Return thee to halcyon days I’ve lost
Circular is nature yet linear is life.
O, what sorrowful disquiet this strife!
To rise as dost sun or bloom in Spring’s start,
Is to belie death – his unbeating heart

>>9509335
lol why are you writing like this

>>9509338
>what is the poetic canon

>>9495527
The first two chapters of a novel/la I'm working on.

https://pastebin.com/6xDvnyTg

Just rambling at 12am

Imagine a lamb lost in the forest, this lamb has long lost trail of its shepherd just as its shepherd lost trail of him, what does this mean to the lamb, lost, scared and naked in the woods? A big deal I tell you, if that little lamb doesn't makes up for its mistakes and gets to miraculously find some way home before any predator gets to him first he is dead, so he has this objective of finding a way to its shepherd. But what does this mean to the shepherd? He may be mildly scared too or just stranged. Where is his little lamb? Why would he get lost? "He has no reasons to get lost," would think the shpherd. And you could interpretate this as morality itself, the set of thoughts that you develop for each situation, the shepherd doesn't think "Oh, poor lamb, I'm so sad for him" before he thinks "where could my lamb be" and for good reason, it would be illogical to develop thoughts that way, you could say dangerous, but that is what morality is, the immediate reaction for each situation based on previous knowledge, that is why morality has to be subjective, you can't control the thoughts of two people at the same time to act in the same exact way at the same exact situation, I mean, you may predict how could those people interact with a situation because of a set of norms they would have probably learned before if they lived in the same kind of culture/society as you, think about it, you aren't a chimp.

If they lived in the same kind of culture/society as you, think about it, you aren't a if I extend my hand a little below my pectoral with a smile and a greeting tone you know you have to greet me in order to close the deal, to go on as the rules say, and to give you another example, you that are reading this, at the top left corner you see a little indication that, if you want to leave, you may move your finger towards the little simbol and leave this text, you know it because you've done it before and you probably continue doing so. So that is morality, and that is also the problem I experience so mush with religion, because religion is a compilation of metaphors and histories trying to form this set of objective morality, and first, there should be no problem with rules that dictate why you should be a good person, to have a correct morality, but religion often forgets this and rather strives to tackle bad people instead of trying to make them good, "if you lie, you go to hell." "If you don't repent and follow this set of rules, you also go to hell, but not only that, you are also marginalized because you are already a bad person, just take cristhianity as an example, you have Jesus, the son of God, the archetype of the perfect men, because he is, in fact, the perfect men, and religion says "here you have, here is this guy which you own him your life and you have to be like him, or else you'll suffer for all eternity" which isn't really what they meant to say, what they meant as "suffer for all eternity" is that your actions convey to great pain to other people even after your death, but if you do good, those other people may live better lives and the kids those people have may also have a good life because of you, and that would be the representation of heaven, an eternal state of well being existing within your community. But you have this figure of Jesus, man, I'll tell you that cristhianity doesn't get its point across unless you are actually aware of what they are trying to tell you, and when you get you may not be satisfied, like me, because an ignorant person may only grab the "you have to be like Jesus" part only and stick with it until he gets tired and says "well, why do I have to be like Jesus, how can you even ask me such a thing, he wasn't even human, he was the son of god for fucks sake"

>>9509686
>you aren't a if I extend
wut

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>This is just a project and is not revised, literally just written 8 hours ago in a comatose state.

And then that person marginalises itself from religion and loses its moral focus, which is one of the reasons western culture is suffering this waves of atheism and agnostism like never before, because in this society nobody like to take things for granted, they like things fast, at them and as they like it or else they don't want it, so obviously they question religion and set it apart of their lives. And you may ask "well, you already said morality is subjective, then who need religion?" And there is the problem, what conveys with not properly adjusting your moral compass, because without religion you can do anything, who is somebody to stop you? And that is dangerous, a very dangerous thought, if you set yourself to the belief that your actions doesn't have consequences then you are wrong, and you'll live your entire life with people regreting ever knowing you and you with a deep hate towards everything that doesn't go the way you wanted to.

So this is my premature point of view towards morality and its complex ramifications, is no easy subject, and I'm yet to find an answer to if religion is what is failing to people or is people failing to religion and what would that mean to everyone.

>>9509692
I copied and pasted wrong, is te end of last paragraph. I apologize.

>Began writing this a few weeks now, the beginning is the only part that is revised to the best of my abilities (which is shit). Don't know what to make of it.


Avice labored in the field, sweat gathering at her brow, in her hands, she held onto a spade which was rooted to the ground. Keeping the spade upright, she held the handle with both her hands and pushed the blade into the ground using her right foot. She levered the blade by lowering the handle, bent her knees and slid one hand down the handle then lifted the soil on the blade.

>>9509701
Apologises are for the weak

>>9510054
We know how a shovel works, you don't need to tell your reader how to use a fucking shovel.

>Began writing this a few weeks now
Post more then. This can't be all you have. If it took you a few weeks to write some instructions on how a shovel operates, there are larger problems here than stylization.

>>9509676
>Just rambling at 12am
Then why would anyone care to edit your pseudo philosophy

>>9509311
I feel like I just watched National Geographic at 240p

One day, at the office, I brought leftovers for lunch. I microwaved them, added salt and pepper, and took them to the cafeteria, which was empty. I opened the tupperware and remembered a warning, posted on every wall on the office.

"DANGER: There is an employee on this floor with a SEVERE allergy to FISH and SHELLFISH".

The pasta I brought had shrimp and mussels. Should I throw out the food? The coworker might smell it if they passed by the communal trash bin. Do shrimp and mussels even count as shellfish? Certainly, shrimp has an exoskeleton and mussels have a shell, but they certainly aren't fish. I resolved to eat as fast as I could and wash out the container. As employees came out for their lunch break and filled in the tables around me, I could only think "stay away from me or you might die!", which made me feel powerful in an odd way. As I passed through the halls with the empty container I imagined each coworker turning blue in the face and collapsing from an anaphylactic shock. I washed out the container and decided to end my break early. The pasta was delicious.

>>9510875
>Autistic man brings pasta to work

You've got some type errors too.

>>9510839
Not asking for edits, just critique. I'm thinking on going about this as soon as I get home, some opinions are welcome.

>>9510839
Also, I wouldn't categorize it as philosophy, but rather some right-leaning sociology.

>>9510951
>>9510961
Okay. Why would anyone care to critique your lazy armchair sociology you just decided was correct at 12am.

First passage after the introduction of this story.

1: The Boy With Turquoise Eyes

______________________________

Deep in the Bhagni Jungles of the Lesser Meliphroties Peninsula, while under the shade of a wild-grass roof, a black skinned woman screams in agony while birthing a child. Three other dark skinned shamanas, each nude as the birthing woman, chant and dance softly and bow and pray lightly around the persevering mother-to-be. Dedicated to the birthing ritual, the room is large--containing enough space to occupy the women as well as a raised platform which supports the mother, itself decorated by ritualistic effigies and symbolic materials. Lush illumination fading between dark and lighter hues of blue breathes into the room from a black stone bearing a clear gem at its central crest as it rests on small, intricately carved metallic legs.

During periods where the birth mother would not be in agony, the shamanas chanted prayer quietly as they bowed low and out of sight. Light spilling from the stone then mimics the colors of late sunset over the Waters Llocn in these gentler times of rest. As the mother back and forth shifts from agony to brief rest, not always does the stone emit the same colors, nor do the women perform the same dances nor recite the same prayers. Deep pulsing red occasionally bleeds over the seance after a longer rest, as the mother begins contractions again, to entice her primal agony -her drive. At these times, the accompanying women dance with intensity while their chants growl loud wild and hypnotic. And still at times, after intense agony, the stone would crown the room a royal and rich purple that flared in synchronization with her breathing and the ceremonial shamana's.

For nine enduring hours the birth mother strives under waves of agony at the front of her congregation. For nine hours do the women dance and chant and pray and breath loudly, softly, violently, quietly. For nine hours will the stone cast mystic and nostalgic colors tuned to the rhythms of the birth crew's ritual--until finally quiet reigns over a conquered queenly mother. Her green eyes distant and glassy, while her son's eyes, turquoise and intense, stare calmly into the colorful strange world about them.

Faint whimpers rise from the dear child as one of the mother's shamanas carefully cuts him free and cleans the fluids from him using furs, before bringing him into the nook of her breast and arm. The other women soon too surround the pair as the stone ripples turquoise, orange and black across the quiet walls. Together the women lean over the child in gentle prayer as the colors roiling draw his oceanic eyes, and calm, inquisitive whimpers.

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>>9511791
>The Boy With Turquoise Eyes

-Public Service Announcement from Your Local Friendly Tax Collector-

That magical world they told you about
was wearing a mask all along.
It’s ugly underneath,
and it’ll bite your throat like a hungry dog,
if it gets the slightest chance.

That’s right, there’s not a single unicorn,
treasure chest,
or castle in the sky.

It’s just cement roads,
faulty streetlights,
and the inherent suffering
that all living things share.

It was all a lie.
Jesus and the easter bunny,
all of it was a fairy tale,
or at least gross exaggeration of the truth.

But now you must join in the elaborate charade.
You must look upon the rotting foundations beneath the world, all that you hold dear,
take its weight upon your shoulders,
and do it with a smile,
while you tell children the very same lies
that blinded you.

The skies may darken with ash,
and the rivers may run dry.
But even so,
you mustn't forget
to pay your taxes.

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Scribbled on the back of a neatly folded patch-bay diagram was his farewell note. The ink had smeared where sweaty hands pressed upon the paper, but the hurried message was still legible. It read:

Words don’t exist for the type of life event and spiritual aftermath I want to describe. If there were a word for it, it would be something akin to Awakening but without the sweet anonymity of a budding consciousness. I am no longer I. It’s not sure it ever was.
Don’t come looking for me!
A lie is a terrible thing and the truth is worse
Don’t come looking for it!

>>9511088
>Critique thread

>>9512806
Sorry I just think that expecting anyone to put effort into critiquing something you've admittedly spent little to no time editing or cleaning yourself is pretty lame, compadre.

But thats just my opinion!

Do you guys do scripts?

Reposting from /tv/

Ok, I'm a shitty writer, but I had an assignment to write a comedy short film. So here it is.

Please give it a read, and tear it to pieces. It has shitty jokes and virtually no talent behind it, but it might get shot in a couple of weeks, if I make it good enough.

http://imgur.com/a/vYML6

>tfw screwed up over there and used a McKayla Maroney photo to start the thread, insta derailing.

>>9512928

your opinion fucking sucks, friend.

>>9512928

Nobody wants syntax and grammar critiques from anonymous losers on the internet, Jesus christ lol.

They just want a raw reaction to their idea, however fleshed out it may be.

I mean fuck my shit, have you ever looked at this shitty website? Who the fuck is coming here for technical critques, I wanna know what sort of sweatpants monster feels they're gonna find peer review on 4chan

Jesus fuck lololol

>>9498285
reads like a child wrote it I think

read it out loud man

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>>9511791
its so bad I'm pissed.
>>9509592
>The wrinkled old man's face blinked out into blackness

I don't know what this means so I stopped reading. I like the amount of content in it so far. But you need more content, and less noise.
>>9508003
>more fantashit
KID!
>>9504240
put down the thesaurus

>>9503790
you are a selfish man! you think that your readers will all be dumber than you, so you want to trick them into holding you up on a sedan and parading you around the country. that's not how it works man. your heart has to be overflowing with passionate love for your reader, you have to bow and scrape before them and you can't cynically think you can show off your own greatness by putting up lazy lightshows for them. FOR SHAME!


>>9503334
meaningless

>>9502661
if this is all you have of your "novella" you're nuts. It approaches an idea in a weirdly childlike way but it doesn't get there. And it's not even three paragraphs, man!

>>9502560
Bro I like this shit, no lie. I seriously do. I would read way more. There is a kind of purity in this writing that just makes it glow. It reminds me of why I come into these threads.

A kind of childlike imaginativeness that works to conceal something a lot deeper. There's structure, there's story, there's meaning! I mean sure your writing style is a bit childlike but it fits the tone here. All I feel for this is deep affection. Please write more (to answer your question)! Does Nyen Cat find her friend? I wanna know!

Anyway hit me up if you don't actually continue it, cause I want to.

>>9501133
this ain't for me

>>9499678
communicate!

>>9499666

ur parents paid for your college; somebody loves you, don't become bitter and exult in evilness, that's a bad road (kid)

>>9499639
>he's against adverbs

kid....?


>>9497009
>>9497012
gay & boring. could be taste, but I got a feeling you write like eeeverybody ELSE...

>>9495799
if you knew what blood was you wouldn't like it so much...

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>>9513664
Anyway if anyone feels a natural sense of hatred for my dashed off, unfair critiques, you can revenge yourselves on me by critiquing my own piece (in progress) here:

https://pastebin.com/raw/qKxV0DQe

TITLE: "My Friend the Folky Explanation"

>>9495527
It would hit hard, and hit soon. The gentry, the big winners and high riders, the low men with tall hats, they circulated the rumors in their own circles. Slum-born whispers creeped into the ballrooms and the anterooms of distinction like a virus, and up glass-paneled high-rises where they drew the right kind of attention. Men of more venerable distinction got word and tried to push it out with bare hands through thin air. Viruses were not like men, for they stuck to the flesh, and only then were the men and their will solvent and immovable.

>>9513664

Legitimate critiques. Underrated poster.

>>9513671
>https://pastebin.com/raw/qKxV0DQe

>It was as if they had only come to the restaurant to try the wine, or maybe they had some secret grudge against the management, and the restaurant being out of the wine meant much more than the wine was popular or the manager had forgotten to order it

After re-reading this a couple times i understand what you're saying and what you're saying is col, but that wording sucks lol.

>The cup of their endurance of indignity

Again, what you're saying is cool, but the wording needs to be refined. If it's a cup of something, don't make the something of another something, y'know? lol. I dunno.

>What the hell do you mean, the last straw? It’s just a bottle of wine, there are tons of reasons why they might be out of it.”

You're dialoguing your narrative a little too hard here. Would the character really say "there are tons of reasons why they might be out of it?"


Overall I like this, anon. I haven't read the whole thing yet but it looks pretty kewl

>>9513988

I keep reading that first line as "I would hit it hard, and soon."

I would prefer if you started with that, and then went from there

This is a shitpost, but it's also completely honest.

>>9513988

Also

>t. Mann

>>9513664
>>9514309

This post chain is the official the reason why I will never enter a crit thread again. Good riddance.

Message to everyone here: stop asking 20 year old weeaboos to critique your work. Unless it appeals to their degeneracy in someway
>bro, I like this. It's childlike imaginative-ness working to conceal something a lot deeper.

Wow, no shit: "Tom, what is 'Every fucking thing written to appeal to children ever'"

Great critique Jimbo.

Then a few of the others, who put effort into a genuine story based on reality, they get shit on by people like you because they don't immediately state the obvious or arrive to a point since they're excerpts. Yeah, a lot of the posts here do suck and are childish, but I see people shit on good work and finally it's hit me that there really are only a few people who sometimes enter these threads who actually do have an idea on what they're critiquing.

Have fun reading your story about cats while adults try and conceptualize the real world for other adults.

>inb4 I'm somewhat he shit on.

No, those crits and their affirmation just blew my fucking mind.

Seriously people. Stop wasting your time in these threads and write. There are better people you can have look at your work rather then honest yet ignorant people over the internet.

And no offense to the cat story guy. It's not that it's bad, but it's really not as stand out as that guy made it, don't kid yourself. These are the same people who thought that tiger poem was great. Great.

The tiger poem isn't great.

>>9514595
>Wow, no shit: "Tom, what is 'Every fucking thing written to appeal to children ever'"

You mean alex you dumb shit lol

>>9514629
No, I meant Tom. If I had meant Alex, I would have said Alex.

But I'm the dumb one.

>yikes

>>9514595

see>>9513041

>>9514634

I know you consciously meant tom, because, again, you're a dumb shit, but you sub-consciously meant alex, asin alex trebek, as in the the host of the show who's format you're using when you pretend to give an answer in the form of a question.


Beggin' ya to kys
I mean I'm on on my knees you dense motherfucker lol

>>9514652
No, I just meant the guy stating it was talking as if on a game show. I was neither thinking of Jeopardy nor Alex. So if it was similar, them deal with it. You're just looking past the point.

>>9514638
I'm not arguing against that. I'm saying that this populous is fucking so particular that the only time you're going to get a positive reaction is if it resounds with a NEET who's influence outside of an anonymous board is less than his anonymity.

Also, yes, I do enjoy grammar and syntax critiques, and so should everyone, because poor structure often causes a piece to seem uninteresting and boring because it's a shit read. Even if it has a good idea. A critique should encompass it all, highlight structure and form as well as content. But you just get lazy faggot kids tossing out lazier reads and the laziest crits so they can feel satisfied in their contribution before posting their work.

>>9514698

Fair enough, I didn't really look at what you were responding to. Maybe you're a pretty smart anon desu

>>9514698
>But you just get lazy faggot kids tossing out lazier reads and the laziest crits so they can feel satisfied in their contribution before posting their work.

Shit that's exactly what I'm looking for when I come here, man. I want the laziest, most stream of conciousness shitposting. I literally disregard any other type of critique on here. That's why that underrated poster is underrated.

>>9514708
>>9514720

inb4 my intentionally obvious samefagging is called out by the hardy fags or whatever

>>9514720
>I want the laziest, most stream of conciousness shitposting.

No. You think you do. But you don't realize who you're having do that for you. Stream of consciousness shit posting that accepts a post does not attribute it's greatness. You can be clever and shit post, but it doesn't mean you're average enough to represent the average reader. Shit posters like that sit at a realm inbetween smart and average and are so utterly unreliable in anything they say because it resembles articulation when it's just ejaculation.

If you want them best crits, look for the people who either, one, say they aren't certain in their critique, or the one's who give grammar and story/plot/character crits with much detail. Those represent the people who are going to give you the best advice catered to either the average reader or the avid reader. Not the autist inbetween trying to fit in somewhere.

>>9514743

>No. You think you do. But you don't realize who you're having do that for you.
How about you not tell me what I want or don't want, friend. I'll reach through the internet and open-hand slap you so hard.

>Stream of consciousness shit posting that accepts a post does not attribute it's greatness

I...some-what agree, but honestly I only pay attention to the negative reviews on here, which are the over-whelming majority of course

>...average enough to represent the average reader

lol you assume I care about the average reader that's cute

>Shit posters like that sit at a realm inbetween smart and average and are so utterly unreliable in anything they say because it resembles articulation when it's just ejaculation.

Agreed.


>if you want them best crits, look for the people who ... aren't certain in their critique

Truth desu

>or the one's who give grammar and story/plot/character crits with much detail

This is extremely hit or miss. Legitimate, refined, subtle shitposting is one of the funnest forms of shitposting.

I mean, I realize I said I really benefit from shitpost reviews, but allow me to clarify: they need to be obvious shitpost reviews.

I can be gullible.

>Not the autist inbetween trying to fit in somewhere.

But that's who wrote it, so that's who I want to read it......

I'm wading out past the edge of the last real memory I'll ever have. Uncle Curtis standing on the absurd bit of sidewalk behind his cabin. Six yards away, the scrub pines I called "the boonies" because I'd never seen a real forest. He's waving me off and my bike is picking up speed as I take the curving gravel road down, past blue tarps and concrete retaining walls. Old cars, tree stumps, a very old telegraph pylon. At the bottom, there's a long straight road with marshy plains on either side, like the painting of egrets in my uncle's study. I won't make it. The shallows are ending. I see a gnarled, black locust limb, a large dead thing fallen across the road, and I'm not sure if it's a dog. I can't stop. A branch whips back past my front wheel and catches. I'm yanked forward. I smell dirt and just before my head hits, I hover inverted in glittering, sparking space, an inch above the ground. All the rest is under the ocean.

>>9514800

I'm wading out past the edge of the last real memory I'll ever have. Uncle Curtis standing on the absurd bit of sidewalk behind his cabin. Six yards away, the scrub pines I called "the boonies" because I'd never seen a real forest. He's waving me off and my bike is picking up speed as I take the curving gravel road down, past blue tarps and concrete retaining walls. Old cars, tree stumps, a very old telegraph pylon. At the bottom, there's a long straight road with marshy plains on either side, like the painting of egrets in my uncle's study. I won't make it. The shallows are ending. I see a gnarled, black locust limb, a large dead thing fallen across the road, and I'm not sure if it's a dog. I can't stop.


This is fucking perfect. don't describe the burial. Keep it spiritual.

>>9514807

meant to greentext the quote, oh well.

>>9514810
he's actually getting one hell of a brain injury that precludes him from forming new memories that aren't implausible confabulated horseshit- think korsakoff's

this, of course, ruins it

>>9514815

But that's just for the scholars 100 years from now, right?

>>9514857
>but Picnic at Hanging Rock doesn't NEED a new chapter!
we'll just see about that

>>9514815

read it again with the new knowledge. I still say chop it after "I can't stop"

>>9514863

>turns out atticus finch is sick of all these damn ni-

don't do it anon

The human face is a truly disgusting example of evolution. Large pink lips are peeled back to reveal pieces of exposed, sharpened bone that are coated with a blend of water and acid that breaks down food and bacteria. The tongue sits in a pool of this saliva and humans subconsciously coat their bones with it. Their eyes are hideous, too: veined pools that constantly flit and jitter in place, with several internal layers of the eyeball growing and shrinking to adjust to different amounts of light. Internal muscles are visible on either side of the eye and these eyes are shielded by a film that is constantly reapplied over the eye by a piece of muscle and skin.

Charleton is my brother, who has a strong body and life, and I am his sibling, who have a smear of reeking menses and placenta. He is, and I'm not, but I'm not bitter. Since- then, I suppose, when he was five and I was six months early, dead fruit on a fouled umbilicus- I've had time, a little time, to think. I'm the younger brother, which means that he'd be beholden to protect me, had I lived. So, I watch over him. I don't think I'm bound to the leftovers, half on the floor of a Macy's balcony and the rest in a hospital waste tank. Like an ordinary ghost, I mean. A ghost was a person. I wasn't.
I can do a few things. To make people uncomfortable, focusing on them; to dim lights, cool the air a degree or two and more if the room's small, interact with Liquid Crystal Displays, Organic LEDs, Surface-Conduction Electron-Emission Monitors, and other things that sound stupid when what's talking about them is- what I am. I can operate a keyboard, with effort and many mistakes. As far as I know, there are no churning and invisible armies fingering phones while their owners are away. I am, in fact, the only one of my kind I know. Let me tell you about my brother. God, he's almost killed himself so many times. A car wreck, a brutal stagger down a frozen staircase in January hauling a sack of crushed rock salt for the front walk, a line-drive straight to the skull with a falling bird feeder. If I had a name, I would want it to be Darwin.

>>9515101

I don't know if this is good or bad. If it's dialogue or the mental thoughts of a character it's pretty neat. Like, if its some mi

other wise it's just sorta pseudo-intelligent garbage

>ewww, humans are animals, grosss

>>9515145
>another excerpt from my "what if stewie was miscarried" family guy fanfic
The problem was, the asshole was looking right at me. People shouldn't be able to do that. A long drag off his coffee, his asshole jowly face slurping at it, stubble and fat. So, he sees me. I try moving behind a planter, popping up and checking him out. He's looking at the Penny-Pincher classifieds. He glances at me, goes back to reading. It's definite: his eyes are following. Good. Maybe the asshole can tell me what I look like.
My brother is approaching the escalator with arms full of smoked cheese and liver pate. If he pitches forward, I'll have to strain myself and force him back- hard, but I've done it- and if he falls back, he'll bruise his ass, which is not my remit. The asshole, though: what if he follows us? He's not getting up, but I have the sinking suspicion that he can see me through the walls. I'm not going to lead this weird fucking anomaly back to my family.
So, I put my trust in my brother to at least not throw himself down the stairs or wreck the car on the five-block trip back to the house, break away (hoping that I haven't shown the asshole who I'm with), and approach the coffee-house window.

When I open my eyes, purple light is flooding my room. I get out of my bed and raise the blinds. The city outside the window is still shrouded in the remnant of the night. Some lit windows of the buildings shine in the gloom. I hear the sounds of cars. A distant siren of a police car.

I get into the bathroom without turning the lights on. I only see my silhouette in the quasi-darkness. The average height for a 14-year-old boy. Two hands holding the rim of the washbasin. Two arms upright. Head slightly turned downward.

I hear nothing in the direction of my mother's room. I normally refrain from nearing that realm of the apartment, but the lack of human presence comforts me. I carefully approach the door of her room. I listen in. Nothing. I am a good listener and our apartment has good soundproofing. I hear no breathing. There is no one inside. The bitch is in some dude’s place somewhere in the city, as always.

I plop down on the sofa and turn on the television set. Colors and sounds pervade my consciousness. I respond to none. I just love that they kill the quiet in me, the unbearable silence that haunts me.

The sun rises and oust the gloom from the city. Everything loses the purple hue like stonewashed jeans. I get up and wear my school uniform except for the tie, because it feels like it's strangling me all the time. I'll wear it in front of the school building. Then lose it again once I'm past Mr. Keenan.

I check my hair in the elevator mirror. The elevator stops at the 27th floor and a man in suit carrying a briefcase gets in. He eyes me briefly then loses his attention in his smartphone's screen. I see it all in the mirror.

#

I cross a few blocks through the forest of buildings reflecting the morning sunlight, before reaching my school. One of few things I don't hate about my mother is that she bought this apartment so close to the school. She definitely intended it to benefit herself, who works in this neighborhood too. But I do benefit from it. I don't have to endure the hellish morning commute in this city. The rat-ridden subway, bedbug-ridden buses. But rats and bedbugs are okay. Their biggest problem is that, they are human-ridden.

A few early arrivers in the same uniform as me emerge from the subway exit in front of the school building. I pass the gigantic revolving door with a few of them.

Damn, I forgot to put on the tie. I hurriedly take the tie out of my pocket and accidently elbows a girl next me.

"Watch it!" She snaps. Her navy-blue eyes are full of irritation.

"Sorry." I say.

"You don't sound like you're sorry at all." She snaps and walks away with her friend. Her brown hair bobs up and down to her irritated gait.

I see the girl and her friend approaching the scanner as I tie my tie. Mr. Keenan says hello to them but they ignore him. They scan their cards and pass the turnstile.

Geez, I didn't even elbow that hard. She acted like I'm a plagued corpse or something.

>>9515762

I approach Mr. Keenan. He's a middle-aged man with a salt-and-pepper beard. He's the gatekeeper of the school.

"Hello, Jamie!" He greets me.

"How are you, Mr. Keenan?" I respond cheerfully, partly because I'm feeling sorry that he's just been ignored by two bitches.

"Fine as a pineapple, thank you! You didn't lose your tie today. Sound work, kiddo." He winks.

"Yeah. It's a miracle."

#

As I wait for the elevator, all I think is that people give too much shit about what other people should or shouldn't wear. Unfortunately, all that social justice and entailing shit-storm haven't reached this marble-floored lobby of Lucas Lefèvre School, yet. As a result, my tie is strangling me yet again today. Technically it isn't strangling me. It's just there. But I feel like it's going to come alive and strangle me to death at any moment. And that almost counts as real strangling. It's probably all in my head, but help me anyway, Tumblr.

I wonder what will happen if I impale my ears with coin-sized piercings and wear ripped jeans and all the other delinquent accessories and try to pass the turnstile.

Mr. Keenan might taser me. They might expell me. I wonder what my mother will do to me if I'm expelled. She will dispose of me at the very moment it becomes legal.

I sit in an empty classroom. It's still more than an hour before the class starts. I have secured my usual seat next to the window. Morning chill emanates from the glass. A few birds dive toward the ground then soar to the sky again.

Here comes another day.

#

When I wake up, I'm soaked in cold sweat. It's still dark. I raise the blinds and see the full moon glowing between buildings.

I turn on the lights. Pale, fluorescent light illuminates the kitchen and living room. No curtains are set on the floor-to-ceiling windows of the living room. Through the glass, I see the lit windows of the building facing ours. If there's someone in there, they will be able to see me. Me in my soaked T-shirt and trunks. But I'm too thirsty to go draw the curtains. I drink straight from the tap. Cold, chlorined water numbs my mouth and throat and quenches my thirst.

I get into the bathroom. I don't turn on the lights. The light from the kitchen reflected off the wall is enough for me to see myself in the mirror.

------------
English is not my first language.

>>9512931
>
Pls help

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>>9495527
A project I whipped up on a whim that re-imagines Arsene Lupin as a collegiate card counter

>>9514595
I am the guy you're criticizing. I think you're right. I was being especially lazy last night, and I'm afraid I was very unfair on a lot of critiques. I apologize.

I have a very short attention span, and I would actually probably lambast even many works that've been accepted into the canon, so I think you're right in making the judgment that I'm not a worthwhile source to listen to when it comes to these matters.

In my minor defense, I will say that there are a few times when I put in an "exit door" of my own personal taste. In the future I will make that door much wider! Probably to the extent that I keep my mouth shut altogether.

Again, I sincerely apologize. I think part of what annoyed you is that doing bad critiques is committing the crime of slander. It's the worst thing language allows you to do. So to all whom I slandered (with false praise as well as with false censure):

>>9511791
>>9509592
>>9508003
>>9504240
>>9503790
>>9503334
>>9502661
>>9502560
>>9501133
>>9499678
>>9499666
>>9497009
>>9495799

I sincerely apologize. Please (unironically) forgive me.

>>9516021
its cool man dont beat yourself up, the beefs in this thread are more entertaining than anything anyone wrote (self included)

So I'm dude up here! >>9505802

I've added more:

I float through the city,
Exactly two feet off the ground
Above black spots of gum
Enough to hit my head on every door frame

Two feet off the floor
My neck snaps every train ride
Hair gets caught in chandeliers
Crotch gets headbutted

There’s gold in my ribs and soup in my valves,
Lungs filled with warm friendly tar.
Seven inches below that
Are pipes filled with human shit.

If you split me down the middle though,
I’m not quite sure exactly what you’d see.
You might crack my bones, drain my veins
And find glitter and silver, or salt and iron.

When I’m called into some stone building to pay
For the tar and cum and bloodshot eyes I’ve found
They’ll pull my skin back and count the debris
In my tubes and ropes

My catalog of minerals and fluids will be laid bare
Things naked eyes have never laid eyes on.
Parties and bad nights and cozy mornings spread on a table
Salt will leak down my face and stern looks will steal theirs.

>>9514595
Angry loser. SAD!

Please go.

All the faggots in this thread try way too hard and actually end up writing like shit.

Try writing something people actually want to read, you fucking autists.

I wrote this one about you autists. Enjoy.

The room held a consistent, incandescent glow. From the doorway one could see that there was a path dug through the trash from the bed to the bathroom. The rest of the room was covered in a layer of garbage; cheetos bags, doritos bags, anything that was salty or left a powdery residue on your fingers had been eaten here. Throughout the garbage were various delivery items; old moldy pizza, few week old leftover chinese food.
To anyone else, the stench would have been unbearable. To Patty, it smelled like home. Light from the dimmed laptop screen she had propped up on her folds reflected off her mostly naked pale body, giving the room a sickly glaze to fit its sickly inhabitants.

you are the illegal panda bowling in a sideways grocery store

my brother:
den in,
cover the lamp
with ultimate gristle
as you do
as you do,
and find me a pure
succor
in this whirlwind
of salt.

my dear one!
turn not into
heralding indices
where you find
his mark
and my mark
embracing nails
for future pellucid
knights! turn like a square
until you see horizon
showers and shroom-bug
comforts. remind me to send
you blankets
and incense.

brown-eyed
mortal beauty
your excuses
crepitate in my heart
like the dwindle fire
in a sand-ocean night
you are proud
of our air molecules
like one is proud
of soldiers.

>>9516021
No, I'm the who flipped.

Don't apologize, do your thing man.
I'm just saying it from my view, and speaking to those who write here and think they're bad because they tried and some kid who never reads anything like they're trying to write said they were bad. And your post just ended up being a good example of it.

It was really a way for me to tell myself to stop giving a shit about crits on here and just write. Then take my writing to someplace reliable and reputable. Because I write for people and work and I know I'm good at. But for work I write essays and excerpts. I want to write novels and read them and practice them. I show my writing to my peers and they enjoy it.

But I'm home and whip something and bring it here, it's 'shit'. To test this I took the last thing I ever posted in a crit thread that was said to be shit to another worker who does write novels in his free time and he said it was good and had potential with where it was headed.

So it shows that you shouldn't rely on this place to get your crits.

That was my point.

>>9516021
>>9516673

Now kiss

uncooked spaghetti

Splatter John wakes up his two mimes by touching ice cubes to their necks, the same time. They’re going to find The Vincent Den and eat a lot of quesadillas. Ummm sorry folks we’re experiencing some sort of interruption——:::::y’know I was sitting there munching my uncooked spaghetti and he starts confessing all these THINGS to me, like that time in college an octopus started. . . evil fruit tasers stuck on the cops belt. mad bark taster going to summer camp under no sky. cruel pillows surface from Jane’s underwears. uhm-hum. The mimes had oranges in their pockets for hurling at windows—gush!: nore sparkle to it! And Captain Lipsnarl exited his home for a message to the gang: “shoot stupider shrimp.” Thanks Captain Lipsnarl! On the road John got caught in his own footstep and looped over itself I am really sorry about the birdsound by the way, I tried to avoid this kind of situation, but there’s really nothing I can do at this point. Quack-fart! I would cover you in peaches just to make a blush a little. Mister Splatter, did you enjoy the portabello girls? Mister Splatter please remember how much work we put into designing this simulation so do something besides running off with some cheesecake and beer to Mexican swimland for a change. I am asking you to delete my soul. I will become an empty piece of flesh, like I was before you laid your eyes on me. You make even the sidewalks come alive! Did you hear that tap-water nightmare? Claimed fifty-two diffident ones. The two mimes created a passageway that led them straight to Belgium and they forgot all about quesadillas while cathedraling. You like a party going on in your basement. You kiss Jim with the first thing you see. Climb aboard moody fumes of osage oranges burning on the rooftops of infinity’s dormitory. Dance like a fiery pear swallowing liquid money. Dance like a foodstamp seduction in the abandoned mall of heaven.

>>9517085
Dance like Splatter John when the his two mimes painted him Crest River and he jumped in the painting for a splash becoming musical to the purr of the water. Impure wallabies transport health food to healthy moms. Lander darling got kink-shamed into a fresh set of Friends. Have you tried the broiled eyelid? Someone has to monkey up! Cough on these runway girls. Sailors of the rose collect nothing at all in the city of newborn onions. The big bang happened in your elementary school. The big bang happened in St. Elmo’s fire. The big bang happened in that sandwich you ate on top of The Gateway Arch. I would drink your tulip water. Screamin’ mean Sassafrass Jones that’s one turned up pumpkin! Honeybear my toes are flowering like Laputa’s bloom-lift. Grifter abandon me in a soft manner. My bowl is tight around the milk. I’m doing this because I want to. Your eyereds stun me twice and your brand-bending hair allows me entrance to the scented temple of “I am the Storm.” Splatter John and the two mimes discover a game, whereupon playing you turn into chocolate moonglow for a night or two.

>>9517085
>>9517091
http://vocaroo.com/i/s1SbmfCz54gK

>>9512404

These should be the spoken word lyrics to an experimental jazz backdrop, which ends in in a thrumming cymbal beat that repeats five times.

Mine-

There is no art in the state of me—
there is only there is, there is, there is.
I must wrench the mad mutterings undermind
into agreeable shapes that then may
be balanced, posed, set before you all.
Unrefined, they would repel you, bore you,
you would wince at their piteous shape—
a child not meant to live.

There is no stir in the heart of me.
No true envy. No true anger,
though animal hatred’s haze
does blot out the deepest crevices
over which I wander. No true sadness,
anymore, but imitation tastes,
after which I stumble, hungry.

I hammer strings of then, now, until,
into ugly things, but not so ugly
as to be other, as they were.
Familiar reduction, refrain.
To please you- please, you, watch.
There is no art in the state of me.

>>9514560
As in Thomas Mann? Does that mean it's derivative?

this gentle suicide is property of el paso, texas corp.

waking from dreams
about princesses
in vaporwave afterlives
drinking my watered down
iced tea
from the nightstand
sounds like a mad
ninja-turtle outside,
forgive me,
we’ve had crazy rains.

gentle reminder.

>There is no statute law of the kingdom bids you be a poet against your will, or the first quarter. If it come, in a year or two, it is well. The common rhymers pour forth verses, such as they are, extempore, but there never comes from them one sense worth the life of a day.

>>9517567

I just see an obvious influence, not trying to say you're ripping him off, friend.

what does /lit/ think of my Rubick (from Dota 2) fanfic?

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1hLrXoh0GdOXJ3R3sbt9cfM0fxinyajzsGp10RCewGZY/edit?usp=sharing

Mother said Riley went to a magical place inside a glass of water. 'Yesterday he was at dinner but today he is not,' the boy said. Today he's some place else--a water world, swimming--maybe with a girl.

Jackson stepped into his boots. Two weeks had passed since his brother's death. You get two weeks off for that sort of thing. Then it's back to school, kid.

>>9515244
Wasn't trying to be a pseud, not a comment on humanity or anything. More like how a Mr Bean-esque character might view people.

The camera lens dilates and refocuses. In five hours, the police will watch a recording of Jacob Cowen reaching through the broken glass to open his door.

What i have so far
>11yo lives in a small town with her adopted parents
>The town gets raided by a race of matriarchal orcs that pillages and murder humans
>Kidnap young boys for the priestess. Only male that haven't reach maturity can mate with selected female orcs
>11yo house is raided by one of the captain orc. Adopted mom protects son but gets ridicule and rekt by captain, promising that she will enjoy breaking her son.
>When the boy is about the get taken, adopted mom takes a knife and slashes the orcs groin
>Orc is downed . She was one of the few fertile orcs. She won't be able to bear children and will be considered as a disgrace by her tribe.
>Hero mom sets the boy free as she tells him to run to the cricket.
>As the boy runs, he glances back just to see Orc captain grawing on moms neck
>Boy freezes as he gazes that both woman are out of combat
>Near him, a group of orcs are axing the father of a family. Another kid is being bagged while het adult sister gets suffocated
>Boy snaps and runs anywhere runs to the mountains instead near the river
>Bunch of orcs try to catch up to him. He enters a cave only he can enter and goes deep enough its completely dark
>He goes out feeling pain from hunger. He can't tell how long he is being in the cave
>At the distance, he can see the fire raising way up high to the direction of his town
>Goes back to his town finding the imperial guards burning every house and taking anything valuable
>The fire is filled with corpses and blood. He didn't saw any orc in those bodies.
>Listens at the guards plotting a sceme covering the orc attack, saying it was group of bears that that they couldn't have defeated
>Boy passes out of hunger in a bush
>He wakes up with a light bandage on his shoulder and shackle into a stake on the ground
>Some fruits on a basket beside him
>Captain orc appears behind him, big scar across the her eye all the way below her lip. One arm broken and limping on her good leg, supporting herself on a wood pole

>>9519012

this isn't fucking anything, it's a weak ass hentai premise if anything ? The fact you have the nerve to parade this chunk of shit before us is insulting. Write something if you want crit.

>>9519046
c'mon it wasn't that bad.

>>9519046
>The fact you have the nerve to parade this chunk of shit before us is insulting
Ha. I like you. You are funny.
I don't have any english version though. I never get any reply when I use spanish but well, might as well start working on a english transcript.

File: IMG_0041.jpg (2MB, 2510x3819px) Image search: [Google]

2MB, 2510x3819px

I got a new journal and decided to start writing a dream I had into a story.

>shit handwriting
>pls no bully

>>9519064
Eres catalán?

>>9519201
I coulnd't understand shit and i am gonna blame this one on you.
Are you gonna write your dreams as soon as you wake up? I used to do that for a year during 2013. Filled like 100 pages of dreams and decided to stop because I had trouble getting back to sleep after 5-10 minutes of writing.
Haven't read my dream journal even once. I am somewhat afraid to read it again.

Route 317 saw fewer drivers than typical that winter; for although road conditions had been reasonably tolerable, and although it still made for the quickest highway between Fairbanks and the contiguous U.S., a series of strange and dark rumors had seized the truckers who once constituted its regular traffic. Frank Whitcomb, the source of perhaps the most menacing of these tales, hotly swore after his last haul to never set foot or wheel on the 317 again. But then Frank, a paranoid type, had long been marked by a proclivity to superstition and various outlandish sentiments… Certain temperaments, received wisdom suggests, are ill-suited to the monotonous seclusion of long haul trucking—if studied excessively, the blank and seemingly infinite void of rushing asphalt can excite bizarre images in susceptible minds, and a number of Frank’s co-workers were quick to intimate that the man’s crack-up had been several years overdue. Others, however, were not so convinced. Frank’s story, which has since become a late night legend among drivers, inwardly alarmed its older and less derisive listeners. After all, there was an undeniably eerie aspect about Route 317, that lonesome spread of road which extends hundreds of miles across the unsettled Yukon. Better to risk a late check-in and take a detour around it via Dockery City, they figured.

>>9516021
Sorry again, this is the same poster, my last message contained a typo, I meant to say "I'm a faggot who got rekt in an online argument and then tried to make it look like I didn't as a joke to cover my ass." lol this guy is so cool for a 12 year old tho #madrespect