Write Thread

He was unwilling to give himself up to anything, venerated in his isolation he drew blue prints for machines he'd like to build.

*metal gear solid 1 codec beep*

Snake, we've received some information on your next target. He goes by the codename JOEYSWORLDTOUR.

nice quads. but wasn't it gay from the onset?
"The head of my penis found the place it wanted."

love

just bros being bros until you touch balls

heroin? Second guess is DMT. Also good writing.

This is also, actually, good writing.

-"Why did you forget about her need of staying at your place those important days of her course"- -Thought Alex, biting his lip in a selfhating manner, touching his forehead with his right hand as if he had fcuked up.

And he fucked up a great oportunity indeed, he knew the importance of this, it was clear and this was a duty, an order from otherworldly entities, he was asking for it for so much time, and he forgot. He lost his dignity, his word, the iron will that made him go forward that he always talked about, he felt he was pure bullshit after all, that was the most frightening realization.

-"I am mad, my friend, i had already told you in anticipation that i needed a place to stay, this production course i was taking took a week to complete and i had to go to my town every fucking day, spending all my little savings. You know i'm broke, like you -her voice shook a little as she tried to cope with the betrayal she felt in her wounded heart of ages- you promised me i could stay at your place without problems...

Alex waited in silence, with a pleasant, almost insane, feeling of guilt and strange importance, no girl had ever talk to him in those terms.

-"I bet you completely forgot about it right?, i am honestly mad about this situation, there is no food in my house, and no, we cannot see each other today, and these days i will be heavily occupied and busy with stuff, i'm sorry but good and nice Kath is over for a while, all right?"- She said, making her point clear and with a mean intention, she tried to make Alex feel bad about the whole deal, but she also revealed Alex something he wanted to know for a while and that he was not sure at all about making the next move with her.

She revealed her naive, childish, sunshine and almost cringey heart, with cliché sentences that grew more evident when you paid attention to her voice tone, she was 7 years older than him and yet, she managed to lose control again, all over him.

(cont because jeez)

I make big brown with my pp

is english your second language? if so it's good, but I'd focus on learning more colloquial english before trying to write. if not, your writing is bad, or you have some strange narrator that we don't know.

-"Why didn't you communicate with me BEFORE the courses started?, i didn't forget about you and the fact that you needed a place to stay, our place is always open to you and all the people with enough will to move forward, you just never mentioned the dates and days of the cours... -"YES I DID ALEX! -she said in a jestering and ironic manner, laughing it out and interrupting his ephimerous defense- I mentioned the dates in two different occations, you're obviously too deluded in your deeds that you don't really care about anything else even if you pretend the opposite.."

-"You're wrong, i may have forgot about the dates though -said in an apologizing and embarrasing tone, basically letting her win the debate- but you could text me, call me, even send a facebook message if any of this doesn't work, as i don't have a battery charger, my phone is dead and you know i'm right now in the countryside, growing some crops to cope with the low budgets of all our friends and me, you know how it goes"

Alex and Kath both knew he was right about it, and she didn't really call or text him because of her own human misery, she hated asking things twice, she was full of her ego and proudly alone.

-"I couldn't communicate" said this beautiful and heavy, girly and tender, but dry like the desert, to end the conversation, as she was already getting out of credit for such a long talk.

-"When will i see you again though?" -Alex was very optimistic, and abstracted of reality, as if he lived in a dream world, where nothing could ever go worse, with his young soul, 21 years of life and he already went through so much experiences, bad or good, which made him a wise but rude kid, with humble intentions, and lovely, subtle manners.

-"I don't know, it won't be this week" -Said Kath, again trying to make him lose hope, and will of keeping up with it.

-"Well okay, i hope everything flows in your life, i wish you always the best, and problems are there, neccesary for our evolution and development as human beings, that's how we learn, always at bad terms..."

(cont)

Yes man, english is my second language and i'm kinda making an effort over here..

It's 3:49 a.m.
(and I guess that's implicit (since no one gets religious in the afternoon))
I went to pee
(in my communal bathroom room)
and caught myself in the mirror
(and I make a habit
(more a compulsion)
to not see my face
(out of ugliness perhaps initially
but eventually I depersonalized enough to feel
that visceral uncanny valley feel that (I assume) most people
(who work outside of broadcast)
feel when they hear their recorded voices)))
but my usual tricks failed.

My glasses were off,
so I couldn't duck my naked eyes over or under them.
My contacts caught my face and you won't believe me what I saw
(besides a head to body ratio that recalls training camp movie Captain America):
I saw a song.

Stream of consciousness like basketball
(But not the 90s kind the beastly kind;
the Parker kind the jazzy kind the fluid kind)

Chasing Amy tickles as a baseline performance floor but stifles as a ceiling,
ya kno?
And nothing breaks my heart like a low ceiling
I believe in beautiful undersized GOATs
I play MyCareer as five foot nine
but I set the difficulty to Pro for the playoffs.

I saw myself at night and sang
(tuneless/to-the-tune of the Bright Eyes
(it came on my girlfriend's Pandora one day
(that's the Losing My Edge version of no homo))
song in the commercial):

If I don't think I'm brilliant who else will
Am I willing to be, at best, the Kyle Singler of what I do
You know DJ Mbenga won the genetic lottery, relatively
I'm pretty from medium distance
Trade that precocious mess for brilliance
My prose can't go Bruno Caboclo when there's no D-League here
Two years from two years I better be a genius when I'm 23
I'm a hack who jacks it flaccid in a mirror alone at 3
I can't hone my voice til I own my voice
That lispy mess will be the death of me but I can't juggle double
The W is that I'm kind of pretty
I found God and he was my asymmetry
Would I work for a pay check or quit and win the lottery?
And even though I don't like me I can know and say I love me
And that's only less than empty when you don't forget I'm still not 19
I can't set a deadline but I promise you a masterpiece
I know I have it in me. I know I have it in me.
Brilliant is binary but good is marginal.
Kobe is a rich man's Dion Waiters
but a poor man's DeMarre Carroll is still Jae Crowder
I have it in me. I can breathe outside the memespace.
Forget what I don't need. Authorship is a broke meme.
(Can a character with a name like Phuc Stevenson make sense without an author with a name like Kolsti Nguyen?
(Can parenthetical poetry make sense without an author with a name like Kolsti Nguyen?
(Can I go 100 words without interpolating myself?
(What is poetry if not the vaguely rhythmic interpolation of the self into text?
(Is self-exegesis so 90s or is the spiralingly dude-weed self-consciousness that self-parenthesis communicates timeless (at least since I was born)?)))))
"You're just not that good, Will Hunting"
Look how long it took for me to mean something

This is shit, but it's pretty late and I'm running on fumes, so this is the best you're gonna get outta me.

It'll be like starlight on sun, this thing I've called hope. It'll pock holes in my corneas when I let it proceed with its rendering of all my good efforts to that ashy tallow of artful blasphemy, swept up in wicks and burnt to stand utterly useless in vanguard against the rage of the sun. It'll sport with my reason. Sweet, ruinous chaos, flashbang bright to obliterate sense. I'll laugh an I'll scream and beat fists on the ground but it won't really matter 'cause I'm given flesh and soul to the fire and I know it. Always did. But I chased my defeats to ignore my victories. I ciphered my scars with enigma code. That was back when I thought I had to be well, before I knew there'd be no wellness designed by fate for insolent fire. Now my form will forfeit, mind shorted, bone cracked, all marrow and fluid expelled in sluice out from my deepest reserves that I, in trembling composure, might stand newborn slick in angelic gore and threaten the gods with a crude steel shank.

She was shitting on his balls, and she wouldn't stop shitting. "You're shitting on my balls!" he said. "That's right And what the fuck are you going to do about it?"

"I didn't say I didn't like it." And but so the world became her cunt.

Shad roe; lucid limpid drops drip and shimmer in the light, haline.

>And but so
lol

it's not a big deal, but if you want to be taken seriously you need to learn more common english phrases. you're using the right words, just in the wrong places. it's very easy to tell you're not a native speaker, mainly because of the words you pick. "why didn't you communicate with me" would never be said by a real english speaker. it's great that you're trying, and I your command of the language isn't awful, it's just not at the level it would need to be to be taken seriously by any literary means. in conversation, I would absolutely understand what you mean to say, but in writing it's difficult to tell.

i woke up this morning. i woke up this morning.

I followed in vain. She walked too fast. I did not know why I was following her. But the world dissolved in an instant. She held her hands out in front of me, cupped.

"Plant this. And in five days it will bloom."

She gave me care of the specimen. As she handed it to me I understood it to be a cherry seed. I looked closer at it. It was s developing fetus.

She disappeared.

I grabbed a shovel and walked towards the river. Before the treeline was a clearing tucked away in the back. I dug a shallow hole and broke down the dirt.

The fetus was still alive. I could see it's eyes moving underneath it's lids. It's little heartbeat pushed blood throughout visible veins.

I placed it into it's new home.

For one week I'd take a small bucket down to the river and fill it. The earth drank the water greedily. I said a prayer before I left.

The earth grew pregnant. The soil cracked. A mound rose. On the seventh day I could hear a muffled noise. I pulled a few blocks of dirt off of the top and there it was.

Matted curly white fur. I freed the animal. It stood up and ran around in circles. Rejoicing in the warmth.

We walked the valley and it ate from the earth. I named him Woland.

He grew exponentially but something went wrong. He ate toxic dirt. Grew quiet. And soon died.

I placed his corpse in a wheelbarrow. Pushed him back to his birth place.

A group of elders stood along the road. I didn't recognize their clothing style. They were from another time. They were ancients from a lost tribe.

As I passed them the lamb's eyes popped open. He jumped from the barrow and ran a short distance before stopping dead in his tracks.

Woland sprouted wings.

He ran a bit, trying to figure out how to use them. He took flight for a brief moment. Again for longer. I stood by in amazement and fear. My new friend was going to leave me.

And old man with a bald scalp spoke to me in a thick German accent. "Call his name!"

"Woland! Woland come back to me!"

The sheep's touched down to the earth in a plume of fire and smoke. His body was stronger. He turned into a hell beast with seven eyes and seven horns.

I trembled at the sight of my friend. He calmly walked to me and bowed in front of my feet. I turned back to look at my audience only to see a group of shadowy vapor disappear with a stray wind.

All of Woland's eyes were closed except for one pair. "Let's go master. We have business to attend to in the heavens."

We took flight. All seven eyes were now a lit with fire. A hole in space and time opened up before us. I melded to his fur. To his body. We became one being. And then we dissolved into light.

The fabric of the universe broke apart with a terrifying sound. All of reality shook and fell away. We flew across the cosmos at the speed of light.

We approached our destination. Through a portal of language. Hieroglyphs, alphabets, unknown symbols flew by in quick blurs.

I closed my eyes and found that both realities were exactly the same.

This is good writing. The second sentence really brings it home.

i like this, might work well in a short poem. it's useless as only two lines though. don't know why I'm bothering to tell you this but if I were you I would write those lines down somewhere and maybe add a few to them every day and then the next day delete the bad ones. or maybe just keep it to two lines, who cares.

Got myself a gun
Mama always said I'd be the
Chosen one

sex

Days have passed, skies at his feet, deeply drowned in the astral domains of cold, lightless realms of the unreal entities, of the other dimentions, of the chaotic universe, the black neverending holes swallow his melancholic thoughts, flowing through his mind as clouds travel between mountains, covering the heights with the refreshing and inevitable cold wet of rain drops, these clouds evidently leave a mark over the mountain's flora, but the mountain remains there, firmly admiring the grey, eternal weather formations. The glance upwards of the monolithic ancient rock formations will always be interpreted as sad, but it's nothing more than the deep realization of de-attachment, because the wise mountain knows deep in its core, that its duty is to wait, strong and confident, unmovable and patient, the eons and centuries, the creation and destruction, the mountain is not sad about the clouds leaving, to pour its rain on others, the mountain is contemplating, quietly, the newborn light shines of the autumnal sun...

The phone rang two days ago.

-"Hi Alex how are you?" -his heart knew it was about to come, few times clouds return to their preferred mountain, only when the sun has returned to its rightful kingdom, and the mother moon has begun her reign over the living and dead.-

-"I'm great Kath, how have you been, has everything been flowing?" -Said Alex, visibly nervous and trying to keep it cool-

-"Yeah, heh, everything has been ok for me, are you around the countryside right now?.."

-"I'm not, i'm back in the city, working for some pennies, you know how it is.."

-"Oh well, i wanted to know if you were around, so we could talk and maybe have a drink!"

The sparkle was there, and if the fire burns at least a little, even the weakest wind will start a flame...

> "why didn't you communicate with me" would never be said by a real english speaker

huh i didn't know this desu, maybe it sounds too formal and shit?

and yeah i need to keep writing and reaing in english, i wasn't trying to be taken seriously, just wrote some stuff that happened and i kinda liked it.

first time i write a story btw, not even in my native language i have done this..

did you like it?

Are you soviet or french? You're using a massive amount of comas, might want to chill a bit there. Honestly you just need to read more and try to speak in english.

Sounds like the Thugger, I like it.

yes there are some out of place commas out there
i didn't really correct anything, it just popped out

i'm venezuelan. idk how does this change the context lol

i'll start reading in english, but that's a new challenge, particularly "Death and the Dervish" by Mesa Selimovic

I'll do another. Trying to do a mish mash of poor people signifiers and upper middle class signifiers. Not really my natural prose style so it reads more like a monologue in a play than my usual writing.

They say dress for the job you want and I'm in a wife-beater. Now that may not be a job. But it ain't no damn hobby. Ha! I'm just fucking with you. I don't have a wife. I do have a girlfriend. And I only hit her when she asks twice. Cause they say "you ain't gotta tell me twice," but except with me you do cause when it comes to hittin' your lady you have to be sure she's not quotin' a movie or roleplayin' as a card-player. My dad told me to never hit a woman cause she'll never stop bringing it up and even when she doesn't bring it up she gives you a bitch look when it gets brought up around company. Now my mom swore he threw her off a wall by her neck when she was pregnant and that's why I only have one brother. But then I brought that up when my dad was about to beat me and he stopped for a second and called her a lying cunt and he seemed pretty sincere about it. He didn't drink pbr or do poor people shit either. Mom worked in corporate law, ended up on the board at Macy's. My dad had off and on success running his own firm. Now don't go thinking "lawyers are wife-chokin' kid-beatin' snakes" and shit. We need laws and unless you want to spend 80 hours a week figurin' everything out yourself you're gonna need a fuckin' lawyer. And before I get sidetracked let me just finish this shit cause it always bothers me when people say "oh Jimmy you can't be a lawyer you're shit at arguing last week we were talking about Israel and you said they were an apartheid state and I said no they aren't and you just took my word for it didn't even come back with anything about those sterilized Ethiopians" and it's bullshit because lawyerin' is pretty much like bein an accountant except instead of tax laws and payroll laws it's all the laws you think my mom ever saw a courtroom fuck you think this is some kinda law n order shit fuck you. Shit. What was I talkin' about?

the first one was cooler bru

Thanks. Poems are easier to pull out of nowhere because that's pretty much where they come from. Characters need some craft.

i re-read the second one and i liked it better, you could divide it in some paragraphs though.

the poem was honestly great. it reminded me of one of those minimalistic films which depict the normality and beauty of life

I actually like the way you write, Venezuela user. And sometimes clunky English aside, it's a good conversation that I enjoyed reading

I am very happy you liked it man! i tried to make it as interesting as possible

You guys encourage me to write and read more, honestly

Thank you. I was going for stripped down because someone told me I was writing too memishly.

>I found God and he was my asymmetry
>And even though I don't like me I can know and say I love me
Great lines. Great spontaneous poem overall. Do you rap or do slam poetry? You've got the style, and that's not an insult.

I was seventeen once, sitting next to my bedroom window with a warm beer and a joint half gone. Listening to the night chirp and buzz and the never ending humming of the drilling rig several hundred yards away. My family had just moved to Texas and I was still getting used to the change. This wasn't the first time being uprooted. I grew up in Utah, for nine years, then moved to California for another 9 years. During that time I was shipped back and forth between Oregon and Washington. Mostly because I have family in Oregon so when my parents went through a rough patch they sent me to live with my aunt and uncle. My brother had just kicked his meth problem and joined the army. It wasn't long before I was back in California. I caused some trouble my freshman year and was told that I wouldn't be able come back. I would have to find a different school willing to put up with my shit. Thats when my parents shipped me off to Scottsdale, AZ, to a boarding school my dad graduated from. It was one of the best times of my life. My roommate was the schools weed dealer and my brother would mail me alcohol and porn a couple times a month. Sometimes we would go off campus and steal booze from the surrounding grocery stores. We burned holes in these rich kids pockets, my roommate and I, selling watered down vodka and dirt weed. One night we decided we didn't give a shit and hot-boxed our dorm room. We dumped an ounce in the sink and lit it on fire while we passed around a bong made out of a gatorade bottle. Suddenly the door swung open but we couldn't see who was shouting because of all the smoke. Once the smoke cleared the boys dean, assistant dean, and all the students living in the boys dorm were standing in the hallway looking almost as fucked up as we were. They were nice and let me finish the school year, but I was expelled and sent home. Instead of taking finals I had to write a 10 page essay for every course I was taking over a topic my teachers assigned. Fuck it. Easiest shit I ever did. The following summer was one of the greatest times I'll ever experience in my life. Packed full of drugs and homies, constantly trying to get laid but failing most of the time. Just a non stop party for 3 whole months, then my dad and I loaded up our SUV, attached the boat trailer hitch, said our goodbyes to friends and neighbors, then headed off towards the unknown. My mom was in Washington at the time and would meet us in Texas once we arrived. It was great being able to spend quality time with my dad, just the two of us. We stayed a night in New Mexico and a night in El Paso. I was carrying a couple ounces of weed and traveling across state lines with drugs is never a good idea. The night we spent in El Paso I decided to explore the city so I grabbed my skateboard and a few joints I had rolled earlier. I ended up at a gas station and met some hardcore cholos. They bought me a couple forties and I gave them a couple joints then we parted ways.

A failure of a God
She laughed and squeezed my throat.
It’s always like this.
Only people dull to pain hurt me.
She truly loved me,
Only she didn’t know how to love.
What a charlatan of a God.

This was enjoyable to read. No idea what any of it means, but it was enjoyable.

Yeah, I rap. Sometimes when I'm not thinking I fall into a cadence. Glad you liked it. Anything in here of yours I can take a look at and give thoughts about?

Once back at the hotel I hopped into the boat and smoke a joint. Two loud pops went off then screaming and a few seconds later heads started to poke out of hotel doorways. My dad came out in his underwear and a white undershirt looking dazed and frantically searching the area. I hoped out of the boat and ran over to him. He grabbed my arm and asked if I was okay still trying to make sense of the situation. people were outside now and sirens blared in the distance coming closer. The joint I was smoking still burning in between my fingers. Dad sees it, grabs it and throws it to the ground grinding it into the pavement with the heel of his barefoot. He looks me dead in the eyes and says "I don't think you want to be holding that when the cops arrive."
then walks back into the hotel room, closing the door behind him, the light goes out and I'm standing there in the night, people murmuring amongst one another. Sirens closer now I can see the blue and red lights flashing. The next morning we headed off towards our new home. We talked about future plans and sports, memories from not to long ago. It was one of the best days of my life.

I'm sitting here next to my bedroom window smoking a joint and drinking a can of beer I got from a hiding spot in my closet. This place will never be my home. My heart belongs to the west coast. I think I'll buy a bus ticket for California.

I'm OP. I'm just in the mood for reading other people's works tonight.

Well i'm pretty board. I'm going to keep on with this story.

-------------------

The weight of consciousness came back in one heavy blow. I found myself in a distant land. In front of me was a massive tree with massive fruits hanging.

A chain was wrapped around the trunk. I sat down cross legged and observed my surroundings. Woland was gone and the air smelled of fresh flowers.

Butterflys of crystalline structures floated freely. The sky was the purest blue i have ever seen. And in the distance another tree so much more enormous than anything I've ever seen before. It extended into the heavens.

I walked forward and examined the fruit. They appeared to be mirrors of moving liquid. I stuck my finger in. Cool to the touch. I stared deeper and noticed movement.

i was looking through the eyes of a flying animal. It scanned the earth for running rodents.

I took a step back before sticking my head through the portal. It opened up and pulled me in.

I was brought back to where I started.

I checked another mirror.

A cosmic explosion rattled the universe. Time moved fast. Birth of reality. I watched in awe as planets formed. Gas turned to matter turned to lava filled earth turned to oceans turned to life turned to trees.

A planet collided and all the work of creation was again destroyed.

A sinking feeling of dread overcame me.

I stood back and pulled to the earth by some unknown force. I beheld the tree in all it's glory. It began to pulse with a heartbeat. I felt it in my bones. I felt the sins of my earthly life rain over me. I felt sorrow. Collective suffering. My eyesight shook and my breathing became shallow.

I tried to stand up but my legs failed me. I laid on my back and stared into the sky.

Seven voids opened up. The shock wave reached where I sat and my bones ached with my iniquities. i felt nothing but shame and sorrow. I was in sacred ground that I should have never come to.

The sky shook all of reality for a brief moment. It was as if the cat's eye nebula duplicated before me. Seven voids intruding with beautiful hues of cosmic greens, yellows, pinks, blues...

They slowly took shape.

The angel's were formed. Gigantic eyeballs of cosmic judgment. Hands sprouted from the center. Two of them. They were wings. They spread open and i trembled.

All seven unleashed a terrible song. A call. High pitched. My ears bled. Each eyeball shot an asteroid to the planet.

I was told by some unseen force that these were the angels of death come to harvest the souls of the earth.

I attempted to flee but my progress was stalled by the appearance of one of these beasts. It was a hermaphroditic being. two twins fused from the lower body down. In their outer hands was a scepter. They touched it to my forehead and the world decayed in front of me.

I opened my eyes. I was still seated cross legged in front of the tree. No angels. No voids. Nothing.

Sitting under the tree was an ancient yogi.

He watches the needle of his player bounce, dancing, along the grooves. He wants to dance too, but hesitates. It's 2:00 AM in an apartment cell large enough to not be considered a violation of human rights. His eyes are dropping, though he's made a commitment to stay awake for 36 hours just to see what it's like.

He's been doing that more lately, just experiencing things. Letting those brief moments be cataloged in his brain for recollection, so that when someone says something along the lines of his experiences he can relate. Part of the drive to do this was because of a recommendation from a high school therapist who told him he could be more empathetic to people if he walked a mile in their shoes. He figured it would be easier to cheat this by instead taking samples of a quarter of that mile and then expanding that experience to the full mile.

The other part of that drive is he's going to be a social worker in a week. He's been told the past four years of his schooling that empathy is the key to success in this business. He's never thought business and empathy walked hand in hand, but. He's never walked a mile in his professor's shoes or his parent's shoes or anyone's shoes really.

And that's why he's sitting here, with a bed, a vinyl player,10 records, a sink dripping brown water, ragged rodent shit infested carpeting, 10 thousand in the bank, and a buzzing sound he can't quite figure out: To make sense of a degree he can't quite figure out.

My desire to consume the sun is greatest when it disappears round the corner of the earth. The sunset is my love song, my death threat. If I was a voyeur, perhaps my eyes would be enough, but the sweet fiery peach drippings of the sun call to my tongue, to my soul.

Imagine the last breath of the last wolf.

Isn't it grand to pretend it would be a howl!

But alas, truth is sorbet. Sorry, sour, sober.

I was writing about hell.

are you milo?

Shadows chase each other slowly round the courtyard outside the Rue de Montaigne. In a cafe to the side a patient tourist sits alone and watches them climb and fall as the sun brightens and wanes. Day after day he waits, finally his son arrives, they speak for several minutes and then his son leaves. The man returns to his room and sleeps. The next morning he goes back down to the cafe and waits for the next visit.

>that image

Thanks, m8.

>Imagine the last breath of the last wolf.
>Isn't it grand to pretend it would be a howl!

Wow, I love this.

The sorbet part, not so much.

ayy that's what i was thinking too. the final section all i could hear was "who could shout louder from the watchtower"

i liked it, but it did sound a lot like milo

That's interesting. I've heard of him but I haven't checked him out yet.

She got off the phone, throwing her little fists down with exasperation

"As if I didn't have enough to do already!", she cried, looking at me with furrowed brow, soft gleaming eyes and a sulking mouth.

I couldn't help but smile, not knowing what to say and, in truth, just wanting her to be happy like I was. She took it as an offence though, and she averted her eyes, slouching back in the chair with her arms folded, looking down at nothing in particular. I lent back, relaxed, put my hands on my head, and stared at a familiar spot on the ceiling.
That would be our talk for the day. A moment later the teacher came back and resumed his lecture. We sat quietly, absently, gazing, listening occasionally, until the teacher clapped his hands to signal the premature end of another lesson that nobody wanted to be in. We packed our things, said our goodbyes and left. I held the door open for her, she mumbled a "thanks", and we went our separate ways.
I wonder if she relives our quiet moments in class like I do. Each day, when the teacher takes his break, we sit in silence. I wonder if she thinks about what I'm thinking, like I do about her, as I stare at some distant nowhere or pretend to read one of the posters on the wall. I figure if she wanted to say anything, she would, and I leave myself open for it in just in case. I doesn't matter if she doesn't. I don't mind sitting in silence. It's just a simple curiosity, whether she thinks about it too. I wonder if she's intimidated. She's the meek type, with a nervous disposition usually; laughs a lot at hardly anything. But in those quiet moments she always looks exceptionally stern, as if resolved to keep quiet and, possibly, to keep up an appearance of control. Maybe that's just my impression; quite possibly she doesn't care about me at all: rather spend our time together silently than have to carry the burden of friendship. That's fine by me, even if I spend so much time thinking about it; it's just a simple curiosity.

Thinking has no use. Philosophy and complex thought have no purpose. All philosophy is no different than a menial game of chess. It's fun to see how far you can go with thought and that's pretty much it. There wont be an answer.

Philosophy rules and if you disagree you will be skullfucked by goblins for eternity after you die, while Boethius cucks you with Sophia and fingers her asshole.

Mellow yellow
A swarm of flies
Buzz in butter-
fly fluttering

Kierkegaard was right. From a phenomenological perspective, the world is upheld only by faith. Our entire conscious experience is nothing but thrice interpreted aggregate probability, a triple reification of chaos conducted by the senses, the subconscious mind, and the rational mind. But God is in this sense the pantheistic God, call him God or Baphomet or Pan or what have you. It follows, in a strictly pragmatic sense of course, that magick is real.

I know the wrath of God, for I have experienced outside of normal variance. I tremble in fear while others take everything for granted. But I have been blessed as well. I know the name of my angel. I have known her voice. We all have an emptiness inside of us, but Sartre was wrong; it is not shapeless. It is surrounded by the material. Consequently, it has a shape in the same capacity as negative space. Each of us maps a piece of the pleroma, extracts a possibility from the void, though the vast majority will never know it. I know it. And so, if my operation is not successful on Wednesday, 5-4-16, I go proudly into the void knowing I have had the one kind of knowledge that is absolute unto itself.

This is really well thought out for something on the spot with the parentheses and the Kevin Smith and the basketball and the looking at yourself in the mirror. Usually first drafts come out all sloppy but this is really tightly woven. I am extremely impressed.

Shit nigger

The parentheses are a really interesting poetic device

It ain't love
'till you throw it away,
And it ain't life
'till it's rotting decay.

Indeed. The girl was often found causing mischief throughout the fortress. Hiding helmets and keycards, tripping the cooks and making fuss with the young apprentice of the painters. It was said she once stole a bucket of red paint and crossed her face with it like a ceremonial mask, and began to dance and chase people around with the wet brush, all while marking everything from the shipping trucks to the family’s flag with a red X, at least until she was carefully subdued. Her father laughed when he heard the news.

I can feel the earth is moving
Underneath my hoofed foots earthing
Fire protrudes from whence I'm pointing
Fading every jewel

Thronged upon the rock and metal
There's a horde inside this temple
Mass around your favorite devil
Learn to make them cry

See him hover way up high
He is the bat with 16 eyes
He has a thirst to satisfy
A craving for your blood

Now here come the wolves with whips
And 40 goats with pitchfork sticks
And look there is a lunatic
He wants to make you cry

I'm the chieftain of your feelings
I'm the God of air you're breathing
You can not escape my dealing
I will make you cry

Goddamn, now I hate butterflies.

Everything written in this post is pure truth.

To be empty...of nothing to say.

She was tired. She was tired of being tired. She was tired of making up excuses and tired of the excuses she made up. She was tired of the sympathy, tired of the empathy that people insisted they had for her, and tired of explaining the difference between the two. She was tired of herself, but the alternative, spending time with other people, was even more tiresome. Most of all, she was tired of hanging on to whatever remained of her will to live. Existing was so tiresome that she forgot what it was like to live.

I sat down one day when I was young and tried to imagine what life would be like without my Nan, but then I thought it best to think of something else. But now, in this hospital room: it seems I no longer have the luxury of choosing whether to think about life without my Nan. I am here indefinitely, and not for long. From my aquamarine pleather chair, I can see a variety of hospital room essentials. There is an IV stand, a heart monitor, a breathing machine, an oxygen tank, all surrounding my Nan’s hospital bed (which, is about 75% frame). All this, yet the only thing plugged in is the oxygen tank. I concentrate hard on the short bursts of air that it (the oxygen tank) forces out so often, I stare at my Nan but I do my best to dissociate my retina from my occipital lobe. It does not work, but staying completely still and concentrating very hard on the oxygen tank seems to put me into a state of-- suspension.

that picture reminds me of a sleep paralysis i had last night. absolutely terrifying.

You didn't have to put your name in there. When I saw the parentheses I knew what I was reading.

The white specks on my fingernails would like to say they are here.
On one finger he is lively in the center of the nail.
On the other he is near the edge.
Waiting for me to clip him off.
I will tell him to wait, I will do it soon.

Jesus Christ nigger fuck

The classic story of the drug addict is this guy who keeps letting people down, keeps getting all of the help, the support, the love, until he it all runs out, till his family and friends shut the door on him and leave him out in the cold, with no choice but to die or to live.

I was in the cold before the drugs. I was depressed, anxious, slow, and had no support network. That was my life then, and it was going to be my future too. Then a doctor gave me a drug for focus, and I came alive.

I was smart again, I was confident, I had a personality. I made friends and I felt love from my family. I started playing the piano.

Now I'm stuck here. I can survive without them for a while, but I'm expected to be more than I am. Half the time I'm smart, friendly, and happy, and half the time I can't form a complete sentence. I think I could lead a happy without them, just not this life.

wat do

There's this leaf i look at its so green and full of life as wind blows, it doesnt budge but as i stare longer, the color starts to fade slowly while the wind still blows strong untill theres no more life in the green leaf and as the wind blows the leaf falls down.That's how i see you,my wife.

Look to the tree. The leaf is but a means to the tree. The tree stands year after year growing taller, growing roots, growing seeds. The tree too will fade, will die, will end, falling.

Look where the seeds have gone. Look to your children.

>I watch in ecstatic delight as the tears of a thousand Normies cascade down around me, filling the air with their pristine mist. They cry, they weep, and they mourn their innumerable losses, oblivious that the worst has yet to come. As I hack and slice my way through their ranks, cleaving in two the likes of Chad and Stacy times a dozen and multiplied a score over, I neither wave nor hesitate. "Mercy!" the Normalscums beg, planting their hands and lips upon my boots.
>I take a break from the slaughter to marvel at the horde of bodies beneath me. Some still writhe while others have long since turned cold and blue.
>"Mercy!" shriek the Normies
>"Mercy!" shrieks Chad
>"Mercy!" shrieks Stacy
>I pause for but a moment before raising high my two katanas
>They may not hear my whisper, but they will feel its wrath
>"No"

The mist, the stillness and the ever-present darkness allowed us no conception of the time we'd spent. The water was glass and the sky was thick. What little of the scattered stars we could glimpse gave no light but offered a tantalising glimpse of what we lacked. Darkness was broken only by the fleeting dance of St. Elmo's fire over the ragged mainsail. Our vessel had seen better days.

I couldn't guess how long it had been since we had been assailed. It was no longer the first thing on my mind. At the prow stood my sister, her dark hair loosely falling on her bone-white shoulders. She was paler than I'd ever seen her and she seemed to glow with a cold light like a marble woman from antiquity, stolen as a child as a bride for death. Her eyes were like glass, harder than steel but ready to shatter. She had shed the shame and grief which used to lay about her and now she was filled with a terrible focus she'd forged out of sorrow. I hardly spoke more than a word to her. I had never loved her as much.

Through the seemingly endless darkness a light finally broke. The bright glow of burning hazelwood led us to shore and as we approached it grew and grew until the darkness that had soaked into our sight and our minds was burnt away. Behind the fire at the crest of a hill was an old dwelling of stone and thatch, built after the manner of the poor. It was not unlike the house we had grown up in. All around there were hawthorns and hazels, twisted and tortured they spread their fingers skywards, clutching and clawing at the fog all around them and holding the crows in their grasp. In the shadows of the trees stood gods and fighting men. Heroes and ghosts of the gone and lamented, their eyes fixated on her as she stepped on the shore and approached them.

A much smaller man stood huddled by the fire trying to take from the warmth it exuded. He lifted his gaze towards us, the light was cast over his face and I recognised him. He was our father.

I never will know what words passed between them, my father and sister, as they stood by the shore. The time seemed to stall and to hesitate, as though it were afraid of passing. The woman who stood there gave way to a Raven who swallowed the stars and smothered the flames. The man who was her father was impaled, raped and penetrated by the beast until all that was left was the blood on her dress when the monster awoke as a woman.

Spirits left standing and staring in judgement gave silent approval and wasted away. We were left alone. I offered no words, as the ghosts offered none. What had passed was not justice but a conflict had been resolved, both within and without her. It was not my place to know of it's nature. Softly she set herself back into the boat. and we drifted away in the fog.
FUCK that was hard, and it's fucking shit. I'm really trying to work this idea into something good but my prose just sucks balls.

>we could glimpse gave no light but offered a tantalising glimpse
>two glimpses in one sentence
Just kill me now, why do I do this to myself. I tried so hard.

The first time the old man met Dr. Alvaro Ozorio, he had given little thought to his new neighbor.

Since time began, the old man (whose name in Brazil was Gustavo, as it was Jerome in London and Hideo in Tokyo) had lived next to enough people to populate a small country. But many of them were dead not, burned like matchsticks in the fire of time.

>But many of them were dead not,
what did he mean by this?

"I wrote you a poem", I wrote in a blank piece of paper, at the top. Half an hour later, I started to describe how you make me feel when you sit in front of me, take out a book from your backpack, and start reading. It started as a sonnet, but then it became free verse, as you like it. At the end though, I found myself with a few simple verses with innocent rhymes. It said:

"I wrote you a poem:

Right in front of me, there's you.
Not air, walls, not someone else
Not even love, mind, or sense.
In front of me, there's only you."

It looks small, of course, this poem. The whiteness it too vast for me to fill it all.

#wisdom

*tips*

My options are grim so there's no room for whim
No more swim I'll drown in this muck
I'm stuck please help me out
OP that's a nice trout

You said funny.

I enjoyed reading this

Something I always found funny is the strange, childish burst into laughter provoked by the utterance of the words poo, pee, fart and ass. Now, during nornal circumstances, those utterances will never work for a more mature audience. However, when ambushed by them, they can have full effect on the brightest and most educated adult, providing you find the right place and the moment. This alone tells you a lot about human nature, and pretty much shows that sometimes the right time is just as good as the right idea.

No bully, I was typing from a phone.

Each day for seven weeks, he had seen her running by, and each day he would only mouth a silent "I love you" as she streaked past him. He would try to imagine where she would go on her route, who else she would see along the way, and what the rest of her day would be. The intricacies of her imagined life were a vacation to him, her faithful route like an fleeting comet that rendered her both close to him and unimaginably far away. He so strongly wished to catch her eye, to briefly break into her life as an escape from his, but every attempt was met the same distant runner's stare. He did not think he was asking for much. All he desired, all he sought in his longing glances and forlorn spectating was to be noticed.

>an fleeting comet
Fug

>seeing your mistakes right after posting.
Worse than hell.

In the beginning, there was nothing. But before there was nothing, there was user. user drifted through The Time That Was Not, babbling great secrets, terrible truths, and unforgivable lies. Blind and unknowing, user drifted without knowledge. Without purpose. Without hope.

But then in the infinite void came a light. The first spark of creation. Where it had come from did not matter, what it was was irrelevant. user came to it with all their number, for here at last was an end to the loneliness of user. Here was purpose. Here was Knowledge. Here was Hope. Blind and stumbling, user came forth.

But for all it's infinite power, user was a fool. By his whim and his design worlds could be forged, or broken, or undone utterly. But user stumbled through the warmth in the void as a blind idiot God, unknowing and unseeing of it's own terrible power and majesty. Those who lived there did listen to the insane babble of user, and they were doomed.

They sought meaning in user, sought knowledge and power. They came before user in huge numbers and begged user to bring infinite knowledge unto them. user did open its mouth,and so did the masses yearn for the secret knowledge of it's unspeakable aeons.

And user said unto the masses DICKBUTT and smiled infuriatingly. user then asked the masses if they were upset.

And the masses knew anger. Knew they had been tricked, and as the SONG OF user'S LAUGHTER rang in their ears they shouted and yelled, and destroyed everything and all.

So did user destroy us all with WORDS OF POWER which were EL OH EL, EL OH EL. and TRAW LAW LAW LO.