Crit Thread: Vain to post and in depth

I want people to post works to critique.

There is a current poetry crit thread, this is for fiction and nonfiction

No story fragments.

The first post will not be mine, and I'm going to critique every story under 3,000 words in this thread

formatting stuff

put your story in a paste bin with a 2 week deletion time to preserve first publication rights.

Don't post story fragments or erotic fiction. Use of sexuality in stories is good. There is literally nothing I can do to stop you from doing either, just a suggestion because I hate experiencing story fragments

Post the title, the link, and a short about the author or about the piece. Use spoiler tags if it's about the piece. We can have conversations outside of just posting things, crit threads unfortunately become people just posting their work. Talk a little bit as you post.

Other urls found in this thread:

pastebin.com/qsshzDgx
pastebin.com/ZWCMpcuh
pastebin.com/WKPAfunu
pastebin.com/EddBKq8n
pastebin.com/bcWib0Sz
m.youtube.com/watch?v=nOiLvVJJdB0
pastebin.com/vnJJAYFb
pastebin.com/VbzJkX8k
pastebin.com/jvDxdtc8
docs.google.com/document/d/1omSnMOotYclfi2d-BVRTF-hICBA3_0HiMNG1lSWYbBg/edit?usp=sharing
pastebin.com/ZXz3rDHw
pastebin.com/Phw496bh
pastebin.com/raw/rJCTAFmL
docs.google.com/document/d/1Qu-ASdvnf41mZml8eUZUMHf1E0uosHkduqHzRwNoh2M/edit?usp=sharing
pastebin.com/1Ckv0TMT
pastebin.com/q3X4qAwp
pastebin.com/uRcKarHr
twitter.com/SFWRedditImages

Augury
pastebin.com/qsshzDgx
I stopped writing during my psychotic break. This is the first thing I've written since. I'm kinda proud of it

ok, i'll bite. It's 5k words though.
"Toy Soldiers"
pastebin.com/ZWCMpcuh
It's just a juxtaposistion of determinism/fatalism and war. I thought that was an interesting/scary way to look at destiny, so to speak.

short story excerpt

pastebin.com/WKPAfunu

if *everything* you have to say is negative, i probably don't want to hear it

I was weak and bumped with my own story. Will review the stories within the hour

Only read the first paragraph but I liked it, your going to have to make good on that first sentence though; the billiard ball / car simile was nice.

You're

I'm breaking it down into three parts, then beginning, the overall story, and the end.

The beginning feels very much like you're saying "people r Just a game 2 me." It shows your hand as a writer. When I was learning drawing, people always asked "where is the light coming from?" Think of that narrative light within a story. Also, what is jaded landscape? Has the landscape been turned to jade????

>>time, though an illusion
2fedora
Also, don't explain that your metaphors are metaphors. Leave them stark and sharp
Delete onomonopea. Unless the narrator is a writer. Define your narrator. It could be fun to think of who is writing this. Some kind of gonzo journalist like spider. Turn the camera back on him a little. Give us another character, bc u say I. The first line "not important." It'd mean a rewrite, but this needs to be rewritten

I like the narrators voice. Very strong, very opinionated. Maybe that's why I want to see more of him.

There's a soliloquy in the middle "but you have a power like that" which is touching. Well done.

Midnight doesn't fall. It creeps up

>>receeded
2 thesaurus 4 me. This is why you need to define your narrator. Imbedded reporter, do itttt
The way you described them in the beginning, I thought they were clones. Because of how unimportant. Phone at 1% more later

I'll quit harping on about the hypothetical narrator.

i feel like it's hard for you to imagine war. most of the successful war writers have spent some time on a battlefield.

>>more decks of cards and luck
if anansi or harlequin don't show up at the end of this story i'm going to be annoyed at the heavyhandedness. If they do, if there is an actual deity of luck at work here, that's pretty cool and subtle. If you take out the big blinking arrow which says "THE CARDS STAND FOR BEING LUCKY" in the first part i reviewed, i would definitely like this more. remember, subtlety is the new sexy


I think this falls flat for me because it's almost generic. I don't think i could tell you what year this is set in. find the small niggling details of the world you've made and expand them

steping further away from the narrative is bad, especially in a draft like this where we're so narrowly connected to the events of the story. I THINK this story would be improved if it were made specific. what war is it? you try to pretend that it's not important, but if it's not important you should also make it hyper-specific. Year, country, combattants, even down to the type of gun they have. because it was detached from time, i thought it was science fiction at first.


I hated the last paragraph, because you're telling me what to wonder about. I didn't find the captured enemy very compelling, so that's not what the question really is. the last paragraph should strive to answer the question the story opened with, which was "why is this man unimportant," or maybe "why are we being shown this man?"

it was interesting. you have some dope prose, but the lack of specificity and the aimless anger of the narrator were actually distracting. you'll have to tighten the narrative a bit.

>>short story excerpt & no wordcount
lameeeeee but i'll read it anyway. writing as i read
CHILLING opening, but at the same time it has a light sort of detached wryness about it. interested to see where this goes.

with the billiard ball thing, take it out or change it if you don't come back to it later. if you don't have a billiard ball table which is spooky and reminds him of death or cars later, maybe it'd be best to leave out.

btw great entry into the narrators mind, right off the bat i was there with him.

>him
hm. i want to ask you to make the gender clear earlier, but i'm fine with how it is.

ERG

see this is why i didn't want exerpts. You have this STRONG opening, and then it meanders beautifully backwards, but it doesn't loop around to the beginning. That makes me p. angry. do you have more of it? post more!

This is pretty good, it's very readable. It just seems that the grandmother's funeral is just a vehicle for more bird talk. It leaves me wondering what's the deal with all the bird imagery? Are you developing the protagonists character? What does all this have to do with the plot? It's obviously very early in the novel but still there doesn't seem to be any plot or direction except for a guy who likes birds and maybe relates more to them then other people.

also here's my short story it's only about 1/3 finished 2000 words tyvm

that's the whole story. it's not a novel, i'm writing it for a short story slam competition [3 minutes to read something, happens once a year]

also, Another unfinished short story >o< i also wish it were titled
The first line should be the conflict of the story. If the story is about a woman illuminated in the dark, then well done i really like it. also
>>Solomon King
subtle

>turns from a sexy lady to a talking dog
not disturbing

>psyched
i can't tell the setting here again. is this modern day? there's a talking dog and a guy called solomon king. is this the future? fantasy? modern but the guy is a wizard? give me some context

>getting into the talking appliances
this is fun. start with this instead of a naked lady who doesn't seem to be involved in the story
if the author is a white man she will be involved in the story

>dennis evil
worth a chuckle. I want a real sense of him though. "Dapper chap" isn't enough imo.

i like this scene where he asks how it works. makes me think of all those fairy tales.

>>ending in the middle of an exciting part

yeah haha like i even care i thought your story was dumb i didn't even like it. maybe if you clean up the beginning to give us a better sense of place right off the bat got any more?

Thanks. I will think more about the beginning as it seems to be the main point of criticism from everyone who read it today.

I still have about 4000 or so words left, since Solomon must enter the Cube next.

oh are you following the heroic narrative structure? that's struck me as a strange way to write stories.

There's no quest or anything. Just temptation, a fall, and an epiphany followed by a return to relative normalcy.

you don't need to return to normalcy. destroy this guys existence

i'm just assuming that there's a thousand demons inside the box?

No. The Cube is just an appliance that makes life easier. But as life gets easier Solomon's imagination dwindles. His dog stops talking to him, his appliances are all dead, and although he has all the time in the world, he has no inspiration because he's all alone. When the devil comes to visit him the second time, he cajoles Solomon to enter the Cube as the Cube can solve virtually every probably presented to it. Inside the Cube is the exact same world he had left but with all the problems he had faced solved. Mainly the worries with neighbour who he relentlessly has sex with. But as the days go on he feels his imagination dwindle and it becomes difficult for him to enjoy the sex as her image becomes more nebulous and the sex less enthusiastic.

Eventually in his despair he is saved by Munchie but that's the conclusion and I still need to flesh out the middle.

With the "Solomon King" thing, i thought you were going to do something with the ring of solomon... if you're going to have a name that cheesy you absolutely have to use it

>bro tip no1: no one has time to read your shit. So, don't post your shit.

>bro tip no2: if someone read your shit, he is likely so incompetent that his critique does not really make any sense or help improving your shit. Do don't bother posting your shit.

here i'll bump for you.

I liked it better when these threads were "POST LIT GET HIT"

I tend to agree. I thought having a thread shepherd/anonymous dickhead reviewing every post would encourage people to go through and have reviews. Plus, I think it's good for us to have a rolling area where we can post work.

oh, thanks for your critique.

I love these threads because they reinforce my suspicion that I really am better than all of you talentless hacks. The shit people post here is always masturbatory unedited cliche-riddled and 2deep4me to the point of just being "aren't I clever?" stretched to x-thousand words. If you spend more than 30 seconds writing any individual sentence you're probably trying to disguise the fact that you have nothing worthwhile to say but of course nobody here ever points that out or extols the content since the only people these threads attract are worthless shits that get their jollies off pointing out the shortcomings of other people's work (aka me) that only do so because they have no self-worth and in eviscerating other people's work vicariously eviscerates themselves.

Post a short story bold friend

I did specifically write this thread so u could be Vain in it, just post your work. Or write something new and post it

mostly utilitarian prose but it seems like your trying to force something into it which doesn't fit.

Seems like you're writing just for the sake of it

reminds me of sebastian horsley, chill out homie

To me it was like you were trying so hard to get me to want to read on that I didn't want to


btw I only read the first paragraph of each

I haven't posted but m8 you THINK you're better, but suspiciously you haven't posted anything...
Is your novel called 'Defense Mechanisms and Fragile Ego's' haha I'm funny

here's something I shat out in ten minutes (I am self-deprecating to soften the emotional impact of my inevitable public humiliation [I am being meta to distance myself from the entire situation])

pastebin.com/EddBKq8n

Before I even start, know that not everyone is going to like everything you write

>7998527
Good title
I've always liked the parenthetical meme. I'm glad you didn't try to use footnotes, those suck in the online format.

I've said before that reading something which feels like writing as an author pulls me from the story. Pulls me out enough to write this

>hamburgesa

Nice. Phone @ 5%. Initial impression, fun light style

219 word excerpt

pastebin.com/bcWib0Sz

I don't know what you'd call the style since its a mix of prose and psuedo-poetry.

This scene is meant to be a sort of turning point for the child and initialize his transition into a major character and antagonist.

>detridus
is this an awkward discworld reference? it really doesn't work. there's a troll character in discworld called detritus. very distracting.

Whoa that story took a hard right turn. I like everything leading up to it, and then there's that. I say rewrite the ending. you know kevin smith ended clerks by killing the Clerk, because he couldn't figure how he wanted it to end?

that's the sense i'm getting here. you have this great set up, but I feel like you don't quite have a grasp upon what you're conveying so the ending doesn't lead from the beginning. Alternately, if the ending is the point of the story, consider restructuring the opening.

got any more?

This doesn't strike me as prose at all, this is flat out poetry.

Prose poetry is a real thing, and it's where you take the focus on meter and sound and apply it to prose work. Long thick paragraphs of dense imagery. This is a poem. It's also kinda creepy, makes me wonder about the authors sanity ;)

I'm kinda new to the writing game since I laid off of it after high school and only recently tried my hand at poetry. Thanks for the clarification.

>It's also kinda creepy, makes me wonder about the authors sanity ;)
The boy eventually grows up and begins struggling with his sanity and his attraction towards the dying beast. its somewhat symbolic of some weird shit that happened to myself awhile back

Go to a slam poetry event : ^)

m.youtube.com/watch?v=nOiLvVJJdB0

pastebin.com/vnJJAYFb

if you google it it will look plagerized because I posted it online before but I am the original author.

Same Ellen? I hope we find out more about her

Uncanny and eerie. Sorta makes me think of the better parts of TLOTIAT What is the title of the overall piece?

I don't like giving things titles because it feels too self-aggrandizing. I think of everything I write as a fleeting performance. Keeping myself from getting fixated on one thing is what keeps me writing. Every day I experiment with something new and then the next day it goes into the cloud and most of it is never seen again.

I actually have a shitload of this stuff, easily enough for a book, but it changes so much from week to week that it is too inconsistent to be published all together. I still haven't found my "voice" yet but when I do I will probably start working on something so I can start making EZ MOE-NEE and live the luxurious life of the published author that also works nights at a Taco Bell drive-thru.

Raping her heinrich
pastebin.com/VbzJkX8k
Whats wrong with me and these words?

your second sentence doesn't have any verbs you actual retard. try turning on autocorrect in Word and fix those sentence fragments.

The language here is like the ocean. Broadness of styles which l, while individually convincing, convey someone jumping between ideas and topics. Also some really lame spelling mistakes

>>most

Cut out these most. "Most strongest" is the most egregious, but none of them
Make me happy.

When you're doing an unreliable narrator, you need to give us sensory inputs so we know that we live in the same universe as this guy

Is this supposed to be herr?

Posting from /sffg/ since they didn't seem interested:

Brainstorming a novel where most of the world has devolved into basically cavemen via virus, acting mainly on instinct. Said virus was deliberately created by the spirit of Nature, who sees human cognitive thought as a threat, not to its wellbeing but to its dominance over the Earth. The protagonist gets involved with a group that is fighting Nature.

My question is, which makes for a more compelling protagonist in this scenario? One who abhors the brainlessness Nature is trying to force humans back to, and loves the complex? Or one who yearns for the simple life, discomforted and confused by his/her higher functions? This will also decide whether the protagonist joins the anti-Nature team willingly or through force.

Depends on the protagonist. It seems like you're looking big picture stuff, but all novels are inherently personal.

Significantly longer than the others posted here but if you have some time please read it and give your honest-to-goodness feedback

pastebin.com/jvDxdtc8

Thanks

right off the bat, bad opening line.

>>"The grandfather of Husham, a bewhiskered and ancient crone, begot a son and three daughters to a single wife"

is hushem the wrinkled and ancient crone? is his father? were you aware that crone has feminine conotations?

Also, this doesn't say enough about the story. we should be getting setting or conflict, probably conflict with the light tone you take to start. all i'm getting settingwise is "stereotypeland"

i don't like that it feels so "fake," i know it's an affectation, but knowing that it's fiction doesn't help

interesting. confusing ending, i don't think i "Got it." I need more details about the desert generally. setting is super important.

have you ever read "The Mirage?" might be worth picking up

Cute, simple. I like it.

I appreciate your sincere and valid feedback

I can't find the poetry critique thread, can I post this here?

As held
(By caring hands,
By human heat,
By a waking stare,
By the ropes of love)
I fall further.

As caught
(By the permanence of all,
The strength of joy;
By the warmth of skin,
The breath of love)
I am held.

A very rough first try stage adaptation of one of the Tundra books

docs.google.com/document/d/1omSnMOotYclfi2d-BVRTF-hICBA3_0HiMNG1lSWYbBg/edit?usp=sharing

This is well constructed but I just have to ask why

pastebin.com/ZXz3rDHw

Please critique

I thoroughly edited the thing and I'm happier with it. Please give it another read if you have some time because I think the imagery is much richer now

Thanks again

Yawn

>prologue

get out

City gangs with supernatural powers. Cliche?

Not if they use their powers to one-up each other in the drug and car-chopping games

guy who posted poetry? I'm not even giving you a (you). Reading the real human beings work now.

I mean you should probably read worm

I have a few similes that I would like to be critiqued on, if you care to listen then I'll post some

I liked TLOTIAT, but I didn't like this. What do you think that book is about? Also, the formatting did something really silly on my phone. This is barely anything. You also need a Greek chorus to stage TLOTIAT

>fragment
>of a prologue
>with a guy sleeping
>without tone or central conflict established
>vague "in this city" means the impossibility of connection with the setting of the story
>story is a fragment of a prologue
>nothing is resolved

Stay away from my son

>>dear op my work is so lame i wish u would read it please waste time telling me to post it

well now i'm annoyed but i'll totally read it expect latent anger tho

>spume
what a word. are you on thesaurus currently? tends to make writing incomprehensible

I like that you set it in a PLACE! doesn't that feel much better?

the ending sequence is in hypotheticals. are you sure you don't want to phrase it as

OR! have this part be something that a character is saying to an incredulous traveler?

here are 50 haikus

when i reach 300 i will sort them and wrap them in personal essays.

pastebin.com/Phw496bh

p o e t s g e t o u t

seriously, there's a reason why i made a containment thread. i'll review it over there u illiterate shitter

Writing was hard for him like a dyslexic solving a rubrix cube

This goes from bad pun to a great meta joke. Very funny. Here's mine

"He wrote like someone who had never seen a cliche, by only read about them in books."

Thanks, I like yours as well.

It wasn't an adaptation of Tundra I, it was an adaptation of Kolsti's Adventures in the Everglades.

My mistake. I haven't read the tundra books, and didn't catch the actual reference.

Bump

Can anyone else give some critiques on this one? I desperately need some valid opinions.

...

>Humanity have advance in Technology to the point that it almost appears to be magic. With Governments around the world are trying to create a Generation of people with Extrasensory perception or ESP for short. With the Line of Reality and Fantasy now blurred creatures of magic once thought to be mere fiction are using this as a opportunity to try and gain influence.

Would this be a interesting concept for a series?

pastebin.com/raw/rJCTAFmL

Set it in 1971

>1971
Why?

I think it would be difficult to pull it off as "serious" or patrician literature but that could totally be a mildly successful YA series. I know that sounds like an insult on this board but it's not meant to be.

The CIA was researching psychic warriors at the time
Will read in the mornin

The Stargate Project, I thought it started 1978? Plus I don't know. I have two way on how this story could be told

The first being a futuristic cold war between the five great powers. China, France, Russia, the United Kingdom and the United States.

The second being the first except for a few variations. The soviet union never broke up in 1991, the sino-soviet split never happen since Nikita Khrushchev never gave his secret speech, The United States merged with Canada and Mexico to form the North American Federation. Etc Etc

The hippies tried to move the Washington monument in 1969. Why not have them succeed?

YOKO: I am confused
To think about him: he is my father, and I was supposed to
Love him, or to feel sorry for his crimes,
But his image, when it erupts
In my mind only smears and tar it
With the reek of anger and fear, and nothing else.
Rape is one of the masterpieces of violence,
It is what we have learned to expect
Of monsters, but when your own father
Is the one who commits the crime, and at an age
In which he is still your hero,
Your protector ... It is as if your God,
Who you believe have created it you with infinite
Affection now returns only
To harvest your organs, as warm fruits,
To eviscerates you while still alive,
And you, in your blindness, have confused cultivation
With love: that is a wild disappointment,
Visceral frustration! It's almost like
Seeing God crack the heavens, tear up the clouds
To get access to you, your daughter,
But not to embrace you, to comfort you,
But to puncture you with the thorn of a lightning
For several hours, laughing at the torture,
Just like the cruelest boy
Of the village when he finds a poor frog and proceeds
To poke the animal with a toothpick or a splinter.
The angel have soured in a faun.
I use to ruminate, looking at my father:
"I thought that inside of you
There was so much love, so much joy,
So much beauty ... Fool! I was so stupid!
I should have known you were empty,
Or rather, that you were nothing but a dark and fetid cave,
And your soul a fat salamander,
Without awareness, compassion, affection
And attachment, but only blind hunger "

...

Another play from same guy

docs.google.com/document/d/1Qu-ASdvnf41mZml8eUZUMHf1E0uosHkduqHzRwNoh2M/edit?usp=sharing

This needs more work still (toned way down, a new ending), but it feels like it's coming along

pastebin.com/1Ckv0TMT

passage from passing through schizophrenia chapter
When I was young, I thought perhaps of an affliction the world had caused me or rather my existence, the kind of affliction that was adept of a tiny existential crisis. That it was kind of small, as it came and went, in some days and some days not, it was only a kind of kiddish solipsism that flew by when my anxiety grew in public to find out how the depravity made sense. When I grew, it was a solipsism that intensified, that made me wonder if it were true all along, like a fear, if not truly one. That my depravity grew so strong was the fact that drew me there, that when no one was looking, that I was the only one that existed for the sole reason, to be an automaton, a sort of mechanized god of my own world, for no reason, but to assert that if it were the case that it were either real or not, 'their' existences, that it was worthwhile to spend my life in paranoia for that core solipsism or rather, it's opposite. I called it altruism, but in fact that it was paranoia, that it was an ignorant movement and arrogant, non sensical direction in my life, was absolutely true.

So that in fact, when I grew without reason, when my height became taller, year after year, many of those around me grew with a trapped mentality about me, and in fact, the trapping grew with more and more extremity, that they were cornered to ignore the opposite of what I believe when I was younger, that I was the sole existence in this world.

Due to it's absolute pertinence with reality, I went from a sole proprietor of this existence, and I use that synonimously with reality, to a infinitely small thing in this reality with no significance, for some reason. As I delved into this paroxysm, this alternation of extremities and it's sole proprietorship of things, as all businesses alone can fail, had I had the going concern for reality or existence, as I thought it in depression, but not life.

Situations were dire when I existed and exited from normal life, where I was more interested and more active in regular life. The disipation of the medication of my body once again sated my soul, but not my spirit. I went off it again, and noone checked up on me again, for no reason. Because I found no reasons to keep track of me, I had no reason to get up today, but eventually I would need to and repeat my behaviours, a mild grilled cheddar cheese sandwich on a multigrain piece of bread, because my mother had noticed my weight gain and opted for the 'healthy' alternative.

first part, i wrote this the other day, dunno if paragraphs are connected anymore

In one episode versus another, I found my life transient, tumulting, tergiverous. Thus with it, I took my mind on a journey where it didn't belong, to a belief which didn't exist. A sort of exceptionalism, American, or not, or rather, a deminishment of it altogether. Thus, it was stronger, weaker, of a little strength though, most definitely. Because of her, the cigarette, my mind, to personify my most personal features as feminine, I went on into belief most defiantly for a half dozen years. Was I then a Salman Rushdie in hiding or was I in denial? The thing was, I was noone special, but it was definitely a combination of both, that is, hiding denial.

Sure thing, lost can and has costed
More blessings than lesser things
Have witnessed, and a zephyr westward
Can in no word express that interest.
Sunshine gone but my life is still in a zone
and if worse,
then I have already atoned.
Should I begone -- when I have beseeched,
Indeed like a bird to a picked location
Settled derived and decided, what a good pick is and is not?

However thoughtful any moment is, in dereliction, with derision, in a doodle, in dignity, I arise everyday within some timeframe to the sunrise, to the sunset, with no reason, no columns or structure, completely complacent, useless as a productive force, just a person in foibles, featured on my couch, though the day sometimes, through the nights some other days, and otherwise for no reason; for little reasons in my soul, to exist, mend and become, I move to the kitchen as I rise to grab some tea, a melted cheddar sandwich or other fatty food that will grease my dry mouth.

So lackluster is my existence in such continuity, that I withdrew inwardly, believed that I was an introvert for sheerly my depression, and for no other reason. I learned to project that I was so introverted that I was solely strong, an island and not the man on it. And in the cases where I was the man, I found myself with sustenance alone, strong, an anamoly and with didactic strength, an exogenous, sole proprietorship by my mere existence. My days passed on chatrooms, conversation that was had to gloat, to create self thought, to pretend to be strong while I was denigrated on a continuous basis and largely bullied. Thus, in a manner, I was a matter by myself, an avoidance, a denigration, a complacency, a transference and more, a mixture of emotion. In fact, the psychosis was so strong, and it was to be pointless to deny that it was anything else, that is, that it came with fervourant and continuous emotion and crying, a loss of some female, a delusion of some perspective or another, for a reason, that I was exceptionally strong, for another, for myself to represent an unforeseen love, a possible endowment in my existence, to be there, was extremely 'thoughtful'.

When it was so small, I transfigured myself into a dragon inside, a dwelling perception of my self, my kin, my skin, for I had a rash and so inclined, to positively spin it, that I was some animal or something otherwise. Not a cheetah, but something dasdardly, infinite, perceptous to time, yet treasured sacredly, with fear, perhaps a stranger, that it's visage seen was something stronger, wiser, an immortal wisdom to be had, or had in the case that it should be met. That it was infinite in strength matched it's scaley anterior, posterior, it's depth of scale, the silver glimmer, the gossamer, all together shifting, preening, peculiar; perhaps the dragon image was only matched by it's wise arabic heritage and words, though thought to be a european device original, I dreamed of a genie, the most beautiful gold, that scaled it's airs in the desert in a whisking breeze across the sky.

Does Korver have inhumanly white teeth or does he have a weird mouthpiece?

Whoops wrong board

very relatable as someone who distinctly and painfully remembers having clinical depression from an extremely young age/literally as long as can be remembered, if not at all the same. I feel like the fact that my misery led me to an orientation outward that culminated in pretty much the polar opposite of solipsism doesn't change the isolation that having your unprepared mind pulled to such desperate extremes of reason and evaluation at such a young age, especially largely unbeknownst to the world, has on every aspect of the experience of reality and budding embodied subjectivities. And I don't at all mean a reason that you can conflate with enlightenment, or logic, I just mean having everything boil down to such strained and eventually mutilated 'why?'s. So by reason I mean pathetic appeals to the world for sense.
Maybe it's just because it's been my experience of 'where I've ended up' having reached some kind of adulthood, but the notion of "existed and exited" normal life gives it a nice temporal grounding as separate from the development/graducation of the preceding paragraphs. It feels like the first instance of a disorder that takes on some tentative stability, which both carries nicely into the pharmaco aspect of reality with its strange temporality of 'here try this for months until a normal- no matter how abject- is achieved and hey stop now', a linearity frustratingly localized in scope, into the single moment/utterance of a grilled cheese, which seems only important in its specificity in that its equally fragile, tied to impressions and norms of the family. Actually it does this nicely like the medication does, all the sudden your fragilely deformed reality that's is no longer cast against an ambiguous other world of orderly and/or comfortable experience (bc, as you say, it is paranoia, or, for me, I usually call anxiety, not sure if the immense social anxiety I feel is necessarily much difference but thats a gap in my knowledge) but an equally tenuous, fragile, manifold reality of a regime capable of a pharmacopower, of some fleeting manifestation of the institution of family, of technoscience, and, as I would argue, which I think the piece itself speaks to maybe through subject matter alone (including how well it's handled, I liked the piece) (so like as in other than narrative, historical location, etc) the way binaries those regimes of power implode, especially in the body, and then unavoidably in the mind

but I'm high. and I'm not schizophrenic, so I can really never know how to compare.

I don't feel confident enough to post my entire science fiction short story, so here's the epilogue for now
pastebin.com/q3X4qAwp
I'm steamin bc I already noticed an extra "how" early on and this is the version I just turned in as part of a project this afternoon baka

whoa I dont remember typing baka. I don't think I've ever typed baka before. If I typed that because of how much anime I've been watching, then that's really fucked up and kind of freaky. I can imagine me thinking 'baka' there maybe, and I am high, like I said.

sorry for the unnecessary post but that just really threw me off

stooooop please and thank you

shit I googled it and it was was s m h, I apologize. Idk why I even typed that in the first place t b h

bump

pastebin.com/uRcKarHr
Please critique. It's about a journalist who goes to an insane asylum and has his ideals of sanity questioned.