Write what's on your mind

>copy pasta

Well I say it cause the comment is so ridiculous and over the top even blundering-ly stupid in its over the top manner and when it gets to ayn rand it all unfolds and you start laughing.

after blacking out twice last week i told myself i wasn't gonna drink for a month

guess what im doing right now

:^(

my memory is such shit i'm trying to write about an important event in my life and all i remember is a summary, what a shitshow.

i set a goal for myself, but i don't know how that will work out.

im not sure what im doing with my life, it makes stress like no other thing, all i see is people going somewhere, focused on something, and im there just observing, i know this is a cliche but i guess it fits into that category for a reason.
i really want to know what happens after death, when i tried LSD i was hoping it will show something like it but the only conclusion i got was that psychedelic experiences are probably what started the idea of heaven in humanity, is all just an hallucination, a pretty cool one.
my eyes are really tired of watching a screen all the time, today i didnt read any books, it has been one of the lasiest day of my life. i hate being lazy, but im too lazy to do anything about it.
im really forcing this, OP, you catched me on one of those moments of peace where there really isnt much going in my head, but is better this way, the other option is thinking about suicide, failure, tfw no gf and all that crap.
i've been quite obbsesed with the same girl for like 3 years now and im pretty tired of it.
i wish someday i just completly lose my mind and i get into some mental health institution so i can spend most of my time painting or something pretty.
waking up is the worst part of the day, the best is by far that moment between being awake and falling sleep, idk if theres a name for that, my imagination just goes sky rockets, is like i get to paint my ideal reallity and it feels fucking nice. the other night i was thinking about writting a book, and i had it all in my head, after i wake up i didnt remember any of it, but during the night my creativity was full working. sorry for my bad english.

I've heard that there are people who don't have an inner monologue but I always thought that was bullshit. huh.

so what's are your guys' mental landscape like? What's going on in there most the time? How's your level of focus interacting with objects and people?

>so what's are your guys' mental landscape like?

i don't know how to answer that, what does yours?

>What's going on in there most the time?

awareness of sounds. mostly just processing sensory information.

>How's your level of focus interacting with objects and people?

i have an easy time focusing.

Man my mental landscape is just me constantly droning on and on. The imagery comes with the concepts I'm thinking of but I wouldnt exactly call it detailed. My biggest struggle as a writer is being descriptive to my satisfaction. I can relay thoughts and portray emotions clearly but I can't describe an in depth setting for shit.

hm. I guess you're what one would expect a person to be like. that's pretty cool

Idk. It's big and there's other people. not in like a schizophrenia sort of way, just an organized perspectives sort of way.
I don't have a lot of control over what goes on in there(I can't imagine a single block of color over my mind's eye, a car driving in a straight line, rarely maintain a singular line of thought etc.) more so with coffee, less so with alcohol. I guess that's where the internal dialogue comes from.
My focus is shit.

>I can't imagine a single block of color over my mind's eye, a car driving in a straight line,

the fuck

A girl I used to talk to said it was a mental exercise, imagining a single color in your head. I can't do it.

I also couldn't imagine a car just driving ever since I was a kid. Sometimes I can now, but it used to crash all the time, take off flying, tip onto its nose, weird shit.

>A girl I used to talk to said it was a mental exercise, imagining a single color in your head. I can't do it.

yeah that's what im surprised at. it's like the easiest thing in the word.

Sometimes when I imagine an object it will start rotating uncontrollably. I need to focus to get it to stop, it used to be worse when I was younger.
You really wonder about free will if we can't even control the images in our heads.

2016 has not been a good mental health year but whatever

my mind is blank right now, i have nothing in it... the only interesting event for today it was a hour and a half ago when i returned from my lunch break and had to pass a bridge over seven bands of railroad, i looked from the bridge to one side, and the road, which usually has some cars standing there, was empty. i have a mild depression and here i felt a strong pang of it, it's silly but i felt that rail cars betrayed me... i clenched a small bag of cookies which i was bringing to my office and it passed

depression is so pleb, everybody and their mother has it now

i havent had a good mental health year since 2011 i know that feel dog

>tfw they've all been so bad that any year which isn't overtly terrible qualities as relatively good

yea that's my perspective and the most recent i can list is 2011

me too, down to the same year

this decade has been a piece of shit, i hope i forget all of it

Same actually. I turned 18 in 2011 so while I enjoyed being young and free and shit, I was only happy in like a shortsighted myopic suburban way at the time

Just trying to keep leveling up I guess

Got accepted to the best comparative literature program in my country. S T O K E D.

I turned to literature as a way to escape my inability to socialize romantically. After almost two years, the literature I now have under my belt, combined with the social and physical growth I experienced in the meantime, has started to increasingly expose me to romantic interest from girls around my age (23) to the point of being approached and flirted with them, if only to my bewilderment.

I'm conflicted between continuing to devote most of my free time to literature, and trying to pursue what would be my first "relationship." I have fallen flat in every earlier attempt to date girls, while literature has consistently felt responsive to me, and I have never once regretted the time spent on it. Combining that consideration with the fact that my yet-newfound ease around girls is largely rooted in the belief that I will never pursue them romantically, and so have no need to be nervous, I'm inclined towards a somewhat sadistic, if not merely defeated, decision to remain alone in spite of mounting confusion that I'm single from the girls I befriend.

Is this a real decision to be made, or is this a last-ditch attempt to hide my autism? Is romance really so rewarding that it's worth the time and money I could otherwise spend on books? Is it worth trying to get a girlfriend and have sex at this point?

Framing your interest in lit as mutually exclusive with pursuing a romantic/social life is absurd.

And yes it's worth it. I've been in miserable breakup after miserable breakup since I was a teenager and it was all worth it, probably moreso than the time I spent studying.

Sorry, but my mind's in German.

What if a crazy psychopath kidnapped me and two girls? He would chain me to Saw-style machine that would kill me in a gruesome way when a timer ran out of time. The two girls would be in the room with me, but they wouldn't be chained to any machine, but the door to the room would be locked. A voice would tell us through loudspeakers the rules of the game: one of them has to give a blowjob until I orgasm before time runs out, or otherwise my limbs will be torn off by the machine while the girls are forced to behold and hear this bloody horror. If I cum, the psychopath observing through cameras will open my shackles; the door will open whether I cum or not when the timer has ran out of seconds, and the girls - and me, if I'm alive - are free to go.

Now, here's the thing I think about: how would the girls in the room decide who would do the deed? I doubt they would let me die, as it would haunt them for the rest of their lives to let me die, so either of them would have to do the old sucky sucky. How would the girl living next door and that one girl I went to high school with, but never really talked with make the decision? What about my estranged childhood friend and the girl from my gym? My friend's little sister and a girl who has a crush on me? Some girls I've never met? The possibilities are endless, really.

It's a shame a experiment like this can't be conducted. It would be most interesting from a psychological point of view.

not really, they'd just try to figure out who had more experience or let you pick

Arabic:

Limatha afaalo hatha. Limatha lam aqtilo hali qabla an traja-a emmi il al-bayt. Qd qala abbi qbl mawtihi inani mootamyiz. Qala innani wahad fil miyya.

lakén al-an, mish aam aamol shi bi hayati. Kol ma afaaluhu howa al-akil w 3am jeebo.

Ayre bi hal hayat bi ayre.

I'm soon 25, I only ever had a gf when I was 16 for 6months, never cared since then. I dedicated my free time at first for video games , which actually helped me improve my critical thinking and problem solving skills, later on mostly watched anime and then turned to literature, philosophy, history and other related fields but I never had a formal education in them. Now I have a mediocre office job surrounded by mostly idiots , this may seem narcissistic but whatever, I solve their problems literally in seconds not because I'm so smart but because it's like they never had to think about anything in their life.
I feel like I have no idea where to move on, I have no interest in having a normal corporate career but I feel like I have so many things I want to say or write that I need years to organize it, even if most if it shit. I even thought about going back to the uni to learn about literature and philosophy but I'm not sure if it's worth it since I mostly have been studying the same things in my free time thanks to the Internet, so I would only get a paper and maybe get a related job but I have no idea if I would enjoy that more than the current one which is easy, provides enough money and most of my work time is about thinking what I want to write.
Also I have no idea if I should write in my own language or English, I don't have the proficiency in English yet for sure but there are a lot of words that I struggle to express in my native tongue since I always learned from the Internet from English sources. Also sometimes I get the urge to fuck a girl and just suppress it since I feel like it would be a waste of my time to court her etc just for sex.

You seem like an interesting person.

Is there anything more fulfilling than literature?

I kind of wonder what happened to all the romantics and byronic heroes.
Did that type of person just go extinct? Did their ideals just merge into something else that simply made them obsolete? Or are they hiding in plain sight behind the desks of their 9-5 office jobs?

Anyone else here feels to be an intelectual fraud? Everyone that gets to know me thinks I'm intelligent, but I feel so insignificant compared to great people it makes me feel dumb.

I guess the average person is so ignorant you can't stop being overrated in intelligence?

Being detached is so fucking good ı wanna tell others about it, but ı'm afraid they will either not understand what ı'm trying to tell them or they will only be hurt by the knowledge--luckily ı'm already detached so ı can just wait until they show the necessary signs.

What great people? Who is it specifically?

Veeky Forums please answer me the following

am i dong wrong if i stop reading a book i'm not really enjoying which i think it's really tedious and honestly not that good?

i have a lot of other shit i want to read and i just think i'm kinda losing my time here

For example, I wrote a short tale yesterday; after finishing it I took a cup of coffee and went to read a chapter of Brothers Karamazov. Dostoevsky's prose, plot construction and philosophical density were so good my story seemed like a child's attempt to write.

Both are extremely common among writers. Studies show an insane majority of writers feel like fakes or frauds

Also, as a writer it sucks, because you've read good prose, you know what that is, so you can actually see when yours is not. Even after getting published, pros talk about how weak their finished product is compared to what it was in their head

On the one hand it's good to set a high bar for yourself, but I wouldn't get too upset about not matching up to Dostoevsky

Nah, nothing wrong with that though shitposters will tell you otherwise

What do you mean by "detached?"

That's a good feeling. Imagine if you could write master pieces just like that, the world would be a lot more boring. Plus, now you know your writing and what you would want your writing to be differ--find out what it is they differ in and work from there. Don't use the Greats™ as a goal, but as a starting point. See how to learn from them and what they didn't get so good.

I'm going to have to self publish, huh? And only my brothers at /lit will buy my books

1/2
It's our 20th High School reunion, and we are all close to 50 years old, on account of

our entire class being kidnapped our junior year by rogue marketers.

As far as kidnapping, and slavery goes, it could have been worse. There was no sex, or
overt torture involved. Between us students, sure, but the marketing men just wanted to film
us painting butter on raw turkeys. For ten years. It was an odd ten years, but what it did help
us with was with our goals.
We were all close to 30 years old by the time we got back to school and graduated.
The clock was ticking. No time for slacking. No backpacking through Europe, spending a year
playing video games through a haze of weed smoke, no fucking around with mediocre jobs
while waiting for our true calling.
This was a blessing in some ways, but also would come around to bite us in the ass.
Many of us, like Steve Glades, became wildly successful. He's the guy who started implanting
into the stumps of amputee victims. You know, horses with horns coming out of their heads,
with the rainbow hair? He went from sketching that stuff in notebooks, to becoming a master
at genetic engineering, and now all those people you see walking around with, or in the case
of foot amputees, on, real live miniature unicorns.
Others of us became rocket psychologists, corn generals, clown sweaters, and all
around captains of imagination. We did well. But so did the weird kid. Billy Eyedis. He
conquered the world. And true to his word, or the words really, it was quite the verbal
manifesto of super villain hate, he was here to make us all pay. While we were busy with our
own goals and plans, Billy became a world wrestler. He literally wrestled worlds. After
defeating some planets in other star systems, to ply his trade, build his chops, he had come
back here and wrestled Earth into submission.
"Hey guys. I'm back. And you are all going to pay."

2/2

I guess someone should ask, so I do. "Billy, not to stoke this hate or anything, and
don't take this the wrong way, but why had you wanted to make us all pay? I remember you
went on that long drawn out tirade back when we were painting turkeys with butter, but, well.
No one really paid attention to you much. No offense"
"Fool! Ignore this!", Billy says, as he pulls a burglar from his bookbag.
The burglar promptly starts robbing us, one by one. But unlike a standard robber, he
takes very specific amounts from us. He takes $47 from Gladys Turrington, having to actually
make change from his own pocket. Others are a few dollars short, and are forced at gunpoint
to sign IOUs, notarized by the burglar's accountant, who he had kept in his own bookbag.
He even had one of those credit card swipey machine things, so he could rob those of us who
shunned carrying cash.
Billy smiled. "All those years. You ignored me! Thought you were better than me! But I
kept a record of every wrong. And I wrote down those wrongs, and fixed a price. I knew you
would all pay one day for your transgressions. And now ", and he said a bunch of other stuff.
Not sure really, he was kind of droning on. We all politely waited for him to finish, and then
grabbed our paintbrushes and flew home.
We would paint turkeys one more time.

do you think that everyone should aspire to 'great things' or is that reserved for a few people?

is the behavior of great people delusional or am i just depressed or scared and trying to find a way to undermine their behavior and normalize my own?

yes, but for their lot.

for example, janitors should strive for great floors, and windows. you should strive to make the best fries at mcdonalds, have the cleanest store. writers should strive to make the greatest books that they can, etc

What is great sub specie aeternitatis?

It's a complicated emotion. Or rather more than an emotion it's the understandment of what ı consider to be me is a limited, conditional, yet irreplaceable, part of the universe, one for which time is not a separate aspect of reality but an inherent one. So basically it's all a bunch of patterns, even "myself". My body is not separate, my mind is not separate, and this feeling of remembrance is much like a movie, which doesn't exist alone in the screen, the projector, the film, the light waves or the viewer, but as a relationship between all of them for a set period of time. I've been wondering how it is that ı am me and not someone else--that is, why is it that these things have come together in this time and place into this particular form, and waht would happen after ı die. But, well... the question bothers me less as the days go by. There doesn't seem to be a particular thing that feels beside my remembrance of feeling. Like there's no... organ that is necessary for the perception of these thoughts, and they are just thoughts. This has caused my desire to live, although not in a desparate or sentimental way. It seems the only answer is to let my being be, all of it. There don't seem to be any more struggles.

*This has caused me to question my desire to live
woops

Is that Anthony Bourdain?

The fact that you're looking for women as an external source of happiness/validation means that you're already setting yourself up for failure. Yes, relationships can be extremely rewarding and will most definitely help you grow as a person, but only if done with the right person. If you think you have to give up reading, it tells me two things:

1) You're willing to give up something that makes you happy because you're desperate.

2) You think it's either your job to make the chick happy or her job to make you happy. Both of those are completely wrong and lay the foundation for a co-dependent relationship.

Ideally, a relationship is something where both parties can grow together as people. Don't put yourself down, everyone is worthy of feeling loved. The problem is that books, movies, and tv shows have conditioned us to believe in a type of love that doesn't exist in reality. In the end it's like Schopenhauer said, love is just nature's way of fucking humanity over. Still, it's a real phenomenon, so refusing to partake in it will only make you suffer. Denying reality will only make things worse.

Most guys I've seen who say sex is overrated are usually guys who aren't getting enough or who already get enough, but have forgotten what its like to have a dry spill. Both types usually end up eating their words eventually, because sex is just that good. Your body is literally made for it, of course it's great. Well, good sex, that is. The best analogy I've heard is that sex is like pizza. When it's good, it's really fucking good. When it's bad... well you still eat it 'cause it's pizza.

friend killed themselves and needed to turn to a creative output but it ended up being music instead of poetry/writing

sorry guys

Emo.

okay, but (for example) what made Nelson realize he was a sailor, and not just a deck swabber, but a captain? it seemed destined for him from birth

i don't feel like i have an ultimate destiny. can i simply not see what's ahead of me or do i just not have one at all?

what about people who fall short? how are you supposed to reconcile spending your life chasing a goal and never reaching it? was it their destiny? did they not try hard enough?

Obviously not (1) since I'm reluctant to leave the thing that has consistently made me happy (literature) for the thing which still draws me in, but has always made me miserable (romance).

I don't think I'm looking for external validation; in fact it seems more like I'm trying to avoid it and stick with books. I don't understand how it's possible to NOT compromise one's literary (or other) hobbies when in a relationship as compared with being alone; considering that I'm already too broke to buy all the books I need when I need them, and already use all my free time reading, how would reading not suffer when spending more time and money on something else?

I won't pretend that sex is overrated; I just don't know if it's worth the effort for me. I'm sure it would be a blast, but it seems unlikely to be so great as to be worth spending so much time and money to MAYBE have sex.

I'm not disagreeing with you, but this sounds totally absurd. Why would miserable breakups be better than just being with yourself?

Didn't want to make a new thread about this, and didn't find a better one to post this in
Please rate and share your thoughts on this short piece i've written

He didn't move other than to draw his breath. He intended to hold on for as long as he possibly could, as a final test of strength. With his back against a great rock, he couldn't see the sun, making it very difficult to judge how much time had passed since he first fell. But by the shadow of this rock, he had judged that more than an hour had gone by. However, even more time passed. Breath growing heavy, he couldn't even muster the strength to judge time anymore. He could see a faint darkness growing in the outer corners of his eyes, and the only clear thoughts he had were his family. His daughter, whose life had come to be right in front of his own eyes, lain into his hands. His wife, the best woman any mortal man could ever wish for. He would fight the greatest armies even in this condition if only to taste her sweet cooking one final time. Or, to lay with her. Have her on her back, arms tightly around him, breathing into his ear. Faint breath, darkness growing.
And with the image of his wife and daughter held in his mind he let go.

projecting this hard lol

mild case of aphantasia?

>but the problem I have is discipline
But that's the whole point of discipline. It's not very fun. You just do it. You force yourself whether you like it or not. Try it with simple shit at first and then gradually force yourself to do more and more difficult or unpleasant things. You'll get it down. Start with waking up earlier than usual and going to exercise. It's hell to motivate yourself to do, but it builds willpower like nothing else. Also, exercise is good for a lot of things other than just being physically healthy.

Yes every time people say something about you you don't like it's projection.

I need to learn to program so I can do something mildly illegal and end up getting arrested and having it blown way out of proportion by the media. That way the feds will bail me out and offer me a comfy government job where I get to sit looking at memes all day while I pretend to hack things.

I enjoyed this

If there was an actual plot around this and not pure surrealism I'd buy a copy.

I feel this pretty frequently. Part of it comes from having only physically met about three people who I think were intellectually smarter than me (if you consider MI theory to be valid at all, then sure, I've met quite a few with higher atypical intelligences). That sets the bar high: I don't know many people better than me at this, so I should be good at it. Then I go and see people who have achieved much greater things than myself, and I get that same feeling of insignificance. Recently I've decided to try to stop complaining about it to myself and start working towards my ideal. I guess it helps a bit. I've learned a shitload of math and started in on computer science. Wrote about 6k words in a novel. I didn't really like it. Too influenced by Infinite Jest. It's kind of hard to read an 1100-page novel and then start writing and not have your writing be influenced by that novel.

domani ho un malnato esame di stato, la vile matematica, la materia che più mi ripugna tra tutte le materie non vedo l'ora di fuggire da questa bolgia che diobastardo lo scientifico dir che non fa per me non è abbastanza ringrazio solo di aver avuto un dio sceso in terre che mi ha fatto scoprire l'amor per la letteratura e per questo non potrò mai dimenticarlo ora mi accorgo che questo orpello autistico che altri non è la mia base conoscitiva non è altro che un rifugio dove fuggire dalla follia del mondo e dal sistema degli sciocchi chiamare letteratura una sciennza della interpretazione è il male assoluto letteratura non serve a nessuno un po' come diceva mi sembra il grasson cicero tuttavia è la cosa più vicina a un completamento di me stesso un affinare la mia persona. sarò pure un fallito ma almeno avrò una seguito una libera ricerca individuale!

Your lack of a feeling of an ultimate destiny is why you don't have an ultimate destiny. Tbh you need to buy into a lot of spooks to get that

I still wish but I wish I wouldn't. At least it's not with the same urgency and frequency as back then. I have made some steps forward after all: I no longer feel the need to make a name for myself, to approach people who interest me, to desire women who attract me, and most importantly, to form opinions, to make observations compulsively. But most of all, I no longer believe I should be writing. Shaking off the survival instinct and making myself stop lying like weak people do was hard work and took many years, but now, god willing, I will be forever quiet and completely invulnerable to the perturbances of life. To admit to yourself the truth that your station is life was predestined, that your life is not yours to shape but follows from your genetic history, that only each generation's randomly predetermined elite have the license to think, write, enjoy themselves and be fully human like queen bees in a hive of drones, for these insights it was worth to endure all the suffering. Now I devote myself to joyously awaiting death, seamlessly tracking my decay, and snuffing out these last whiffs of entitlement and hormones which made me write this post in the first place. I was never human, just like the most of you. Only the elite is ever sentient, the rest are doomed to wallow in the mid. Death will save me in the end!

...

Test

What does outer space smell like?

I am going to see that man today, I don't know exactly what I will say, but it will be for an hour. How can I make it worth my time and his? Everything is better than before I might suggest, but I don't know if the drugs are working and that's because I don't know how the drugs work.

If this becomes spotty I don't know what I will do

Throughout my life, I had two strengths that kept me going: artwork and story-writing. I spent years keeping at those crafts, dreaming of making a name for myself. As time went on, however, my passion and skill faded. I believe the decline started around early high school. Drawing was the first to go, then my writing. My naturally weak wrists grew more painful (especially through extended computer use), to the point a few minutes of pencil work is enough to cause aches and frustration. My mind is so full of nonsense I can barely keep on task. My "stories" became nothing but scatters of disconnected scenes with repetitive descriptions, repetitive themes, repetitive word structure. I did manage to write some nice essays and stories-- the rare times I wasn't too anxious to finish or turn them in --which my teacher highly approved. She claimed I was arguably the best writer in her several years of teaching. That statement warmed my heart somewhat, though at the same time I figured that wasn't saying much given most students' apathy for literature. Either that or she knew I was in a ditch and wanted to perk me up a tad.

I did have story ideas, though. Oh boy, did I have ideas. But sitting in front of a word processor and structuring them into a proper narrative was now as complex as rocket science for my overactive mind. All I could do was stare at the blank document imagining all the scenes I cobbled together. But even that began to slow.

I'm now a socially incompetent 21 year old. I neither got a job nor went to college. I waited a couple years to move out on a clean slate but that all blew up in my face and sent me back home with my tail between my legs. My talents are gone. Everything I set my life up for has slipped away with little trace. My brain is worn down into an anxiety-riddled mound of sludge. I don't know what to do or who I am anymore. All I can do is whine about how I'm a useless sack of shit. Yet, like the delusional fool I am, I still dare to call myself a writer.

I hate being a wage slave.

The income is nice. But it's not worth it at all.

Fuck.

I really like computers

nice projection

Nice projection.