Describe this picture in your finest writing

Crouching behind the bench, watching the walkers shuffling from the church, or castle, or whatever it was. I couldn't be sure. I was just a tourist here.
Snow began to accumulate on my head like a priestly skull-cap, melting and dripping down to roll across across my ears along my neck and into my shirt, chilling my chest with short lived pinpricks. Should've worn a scarf. Would've, if I owned a scarf. Shouldn't be sitting here next to a bench in the middle of winter, in some foreign country, not a penny in my pocket. Why? I was here on the off chance that I might catch a glimpse of you. But the city gave me nothing. No misleading reflections in windows, girl shaped swirls in the marble, footprints that might've been yours. Just rats in the sewers and pickpockets in the alleyways.
What a waste of goddamn time.

It’s a fucking castle you stupid fucking niggers. God your purple prose is execrable, if I read most of the passages in this thread in a book I’d stop reading

There it was. A castle. By the gods.

How about you give it a try, then.

Chuckled. Thanks user.

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The snow looked like clouds that fell out of the sky; and the clouds in the sky looked like snow stuck up in the sky.

I wrote all of these posts

all of them being shitposts.

Try.

Can you elaborate? I'm interested in exactly what you mean by that. But thanks user.

Her butthole looked like blooming a flower, every fart a new birth as beautiful as Creation, as fragrant as lavender, as raphsodical as an orchestra..! Every flex of her spinchter more lovely than the last, my excitement could only grow.

They are approaching now a lengthy brick improvisation, a Victorian paraphrase of what once, long ago, resulted in Gothic cathedrals—but which, in its own time, arose not from any need to climb through the fashioning of suitable confusions toward any apical God, but more in a derangement of aim, a doubt as to the God’s actual locus (or, in some, as to its very existence), out of a cruel network of sensuous moments that could not be transcended and so bent the intentions of the builders not on any zenith, but back to fright, to simple escape, in whatever direction, from what the industrial smoke, street excrement, windowless warrens, shrugging leather forests of drive belts, flowing and patient shadow states of the rats and flies, were saying about the chances for mercy that year.

>a imposing
>an imposing
Descendants of peasants goggle in the foreground of an oppressive stone fortress. Rendered impotent by time. That's a mound of salt you should take.

Damn good stuff guys! Hope I don't even have to say that you should never be afraid to just write whatever you feel without hesitation, but I will anyway.

Lol I chuckled

I approached the cuck shed with due caution after the Queen reprimanded me for not prepping the Court bull, as I could not be sure the Matriarchate had not ordered an attempt on my life for disavowing her constitution, indeed the whole Queendom's Constitution, an act of high treason.

thanks man

I really appreciate it

Appreciate the praise user. Shocked, thought mine was pretty bad.

My feet are cold and Anne is making me take another picture of her. I brought the camera along this morning knowing that she would want to take pictures in front of the castle, but didn't think she wanted her Facebook page to cover the entire grounds. She's wearing a hat and looks beautiful in the snow. It's covering up the crazy tangle of hair she didn't have time to fix this morning because we got into another argument over how I couldn't keep it hard while we were having sex anymore. Every picture of that castle, with it's elegant arches, meticulous carvings, hundreds of years of history and hundred years of tourism, posited in front of it Anne with her covered tangled mess. My feet are really cold, I think I've been sweating in my socks from all the labor. I don't want to be here anymore and I think I will leave Anne right here in the snow if she makes me take another picture. I think that will give me the courage, just one straw of injustice to push me away, to give me an excuse to go away, to tell her something other than "I just don't feel anything when I'm with you anymore." I hate you, Anne, and I don't even have a reason to.

Of course of course!!! Even if it's bad who care?! It doesn't hurt anyone, why even be here if not to just be yourself

HAHHA HEHEHE
me LUISE
ahaha HEEE HEEE
we were free as geese!!
AHHAHA
we pranced in the falling fleece
hee hee!!!
the steps mocked our freedom with the limitation of its muffled sound

wooo lets get warm and leave this freeze!!

we tottled off to a new hostle and made off like bunnies through the night
hehe :)))

I unironically like this.

Something inwardly monstrous, rising to the height of a child's fist (a network of interrogation rooms? a plywood facade?), viewed between the thin lines of a cracked screen. A crushing banality lifted for the moment from the flow of crushing banalities - no impression (other than the snow, always the snow) remains in the room in the minutes following its disappearance, the last bracing wafts of a cat's fart.

HUHRRY PUHTTUH

Tolstoyesque

Me too. I want to imitate it

Big white castle type deal

Holden is that you?

The castle acts as though it should illicit a response.

user, please write a book of poems like these so I can buy it. Or at least give this one a name so I can save it.

too many fucken words. Didn't read
"no misleading reflections in the mirror" I liked that. The rest was shit, the ones that go "aww i miss the girl" are stupid
too repetitive, have some prose brother. It was good otherwise

I agree 100%. I'm just refreshing, waiting for this man

you mean the place where they have those square burgers

Free with luise is the title

I wrote another in this thread i dont feel like doing more

Dammit you motherfucker! I'm gonna save it and tear the hell of it for inspiration though. Thanks user

C O M F Y

OK since only two posters in this thread seem to be serious, I will also try to be serious

A castle, the color of pale ivory, and slightly darker than the snow fluttering and blanketing the streets, rose elegantly ahead. Two bastions flanked the gateway while a watchtower loomed farther, nestled inside the walls but visible to distant eyes. Heavy clouds hugged the sky, depriving the windows from any reflection. Most were dark, even the front oriel, except for several along the right side which seemed to be papered. A large, iron-black emblem was mounted near the top of the polygonal entrance, but I was too far to read its label accurately.

Thanks dude ive been writing since novemeber

I wrote this one to

because im reading this on Veeky Forums i immediately tihnk it's gay and cheesy but if i was reading it in a book by some author ive heard of i'd probably think it was good

This is actually good user

Cloud imagery is spot on, rest is meh

You can do better

Did you just time-travel here from the 1800s? Or are you just autistic? You know that cameras exist now, right? In any case, this is supremely pompous and boring.

It really is good. The haphazard-ness complements the gaiety. Makes me think of a young, cheerful girl and her lover.
Just really good. Bright yellow and warm, very pleasant.
Thanks user. Its really good. I might print and frame it sometime.
One last question. Is Luise a girl's name, and is it pronounced like "Louise"?
This one is nice as well. Has a lot of half rhymes I like to see in prose. Keep writing, I like what I see.

ITT: purple prose

>"no misleading reflections in the mirror" I liked that. The rest was shit, the ones that go "aww i miss the girl" are stupid
Appreciate the criticism user. Was it shit just because of the "I miss the girl" aspect or just shit in general?
Frankly my first thought was some dude sitting on the ground next to a bench in the snow and I wasn't sure where to go from there.

Ugly castle. Looks like it was made for a jew.

It was a castle much like any other, I can't be arsed to describe it.

The castle shined of a particular fake gayness.

The sky above the castle was overcast, the gray clouds nearly touched but resisted, leaving dark gaps like veins in the firmament. On the bridge over the river was a white bench coated in a soft layer of pure snow, where Margaret once sat, before she offed herself.

A testament to gaud.

It was a shitpost but I put some effort into it at the end, hence the pick up, I'm sorry it was repetitive. I'll try harder next time, and to be perfectly honest, unless I try to insert descriptive vocabulary, that's how I think. Using text lexicon, extremely depressing

There was a stone castle behind the bench and the bench was covered in snow.

Contemptible

Fuckin 12/10

I like it.

You’re wrong

His eyes fixed on the castle, he went on, paying no attention to anything else. But as he came closer he thought the castle disappointing; after all, it was only a poor kind of collection of cottages assembled into a little town, and distinguished only by the fact that, while it might all be built of stone, the paint had flaked off long ago, and the stone itself seemed to be crumbling away. He thought fleetingly of his own home town, which was hardly inferior to this castle. If he had come here only to see the place, he would have made a long journey for nothing much, and he would have done better to revisit the old home that he hadn’t seen for so long. In his mind, he compared the church tower of his childhood home with the tower up above. The former, tapering into a spire and coming down to a broad, red-tiled roof, was certainly an earthly building—what else can we build?—but it had been erected for a higher purpose than these huddled, low-built houses and made a clearer statement than the dull, workaday world of this place did. The tower up here—the only visible one—now turned out to belong to a dwelling, perhaps the main part of the castle. It was a simple, round building, partly covered with ivy, and it had small windows, now shining in the sun—there was something crazed about the sight—and was built into the shape of a balcony at the top, with insecure, irregular battlements, crumbling as if drawn by an anxious or careless child as they stood out, zigzag fashion, against the blue sky. It was as if some melancholy inhabitant of the place, who should really have stayed locked up in the most remote room in the house, had broken through the roof and was standing erect to show himself to the world.

shit.

Like everyone else on this board, you didn’t even read it before you formed your opinion on the text.

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The Bible Version: They gathered around a place called "The Castle." The sky was clear of snow from the 7th hour until the 10th hour.

Thomas cried out, "Why, why, why has my flight been cursed by the snow delay?"

The others looked at Thomas as though he were mad and said to Thomas's wife, "do not allow your husband to complain out-loud like a child, for eventually the public will tire of his social flaws."

Thomas's girlfriend did not respond, and instead they kept walking until they faded back into the caste, just as they had came, they had left also.

a ridiculous conclusion to come to.

Zeus's semen rained from above and onto the heads of five tourists. The bench I had once warmed with my sweaty anus is now freezing due to the weather. My 10 billion dollar mansion still looks classy as always in the background. Wait a minute, what the fuck are those five tourists doing on my fucking property! FUCK!

based pynchonposting

did he take that from pynchon? i was vaguely impressed now i'm just upset

Ah. It was something no one had ever seen before. A bench completely encrusted in frost and ice. Nothing else seemed to matter.

Light snow fell softly onto the old cobblestone road and benches that lined it, forming a thin carpet that grew in no hurry. A castle as white as the snow yet untouched by it hid the winter sun as it skimmed across the horizon, its ramparts butting into the sky, nearly invisible against the blanket of white clouds. Utter stillness reigned; not even wind dared to disturb the descent of the snowflakes.

Boring. You tell me a bit about the guy, mostly about the castle, but its all just boring.

Kek

Fake. The fake castle looked made of cardboard, snow was uneasy, clouds didn't clump, people were tourists, not people, snow was out of place, clouds wouldn't sweep, people were watching, not being, I was being given a tour of my body on the wrought ire bench.

The only ones I would read more of, and of these I prefer the second.
Bonus points for last line.
This one is particularly shit. Don't write like this. Your first wasn't very good either. Try something else.

Is that really what it's the picture? I could've sworn it was somewhere in Britain.

oh God is there really nothing there? Nothing there, there in that chest of mine and in the mind that finds such a sight as this! Paths, perfect, bridge and well-cut stone all under snow. Cleanest snows of this fair season, where all of life is stripped and reduced to it's cleanest scarcity. With light reaffirmed by snow's white. I stand before another man's dream made manifest! An intelligent man, an architect of good skill and of fine eye to have drawn out these shapes that good stone-cutters in turn have assembled to be this castle now clean with snow and all else so clean about it as well. All except I who see all this effort and all enduring of all motions that trace beyond my own shallow sum. And it means nothing to me. Nothing at all. Though I wish it did. Or perhaps I do not. Ah well, I will retrace my steps through the snow...

In the mountains past the trees, with heavy blocks of stone, there is a place where man once built a mighty tower.

It once stood proud, unshakable, unmoving.

Outside it beasts would prowl, the rains would fall, and winds would howl.
Yet, nothing could vanquish its sturdy power.

For all inside it was a dream. Through cold frozen winters, it’s hearth fires gleamed.

Where great books lined the shelves on all the walls.

Yet, it met it’s match, where all may cower. For in time, it’s final hour, even such structures will meet death’s call.

Flat, as all pictures are.

like my white semen
like my dark castle

DEFRONTE O CASTELO X

Em pedra colossal farpas de neve
Luzindo forte e dispersando os ares;
Alta rocha subindo: altos altares
Eternizando, em arte, a vida breve.

No banco em frente a mão, tremendo, escreve,
Escreve as ébrias comoções dos mares:
Tal inspira o lugar outros lugares,
Pela sua pedra forte e luzir leve.

Divaga a mente... Em volta vão passantes
Tirando a praça ao 'Praças para ver'
De seus cadernos de turistas ocos.

Divaga a mente... Sólidos, constantes
Cria cenários onde possa obter
A alegria que a Forma entrega a poucos.

i argue these writing exercise threads are off-topic, i know a lot of you neets use pipe dreams of being a writer to get you through your mommy's tirades about getting a job, but your fantasies of gainful employment have nothing to do with literature, this is not a writers forum, its a literature board, discuss a book or fuck off

At least these threads occasionally produce interesting content. We've already seen every possible iteration of:
>why was such a fucking hack?
>what did he mean by this?
>I like this book.
>Give me books to confirm my priors.
>Books by ?
>My favorite philosopher is better than all these other philosophers I haven't read, prove me wrong.
There's never going to be a surplus of actual analysis / discussion because this medium best lends itself to inflammatory comments and shitposting.