Write what's on your mind

>tfw no literary gf edition

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I don't know why I keep using a fountain pen to write stuff, and I have no clue why I always come back to it. What is going on? It's certainly not as convenient to write with as the ballpoint, nor is it erasable like a pencil. I guess I may never know why I always come back to the fountain pen.

I wonder why my cum smells like pancake mix. Or does everyone's cum smell like that? This sweater is starting to make me a little sweaty but if I take it off I'll be too cold. I want to tell my girlfriend I love her back but I'm not sure if I do. How do you know when you're in love?

It's 2017 and time to start using computers, friend.

>met qt literary girl
>not going to do anything because I'm an ugly fuck

try no gf ever, pal. get on my fucking level

it's because you're a PSEUD, filthy tripfag

Cheer up, user. Looks isn't everything.

To Anonymous:

Fellow sodomite, sinner amongst the sages, how do you fare?
Are you smiling or frowning? Do you fret? Do you care?
Kinsman (I'm assuming) we've been quite some time, and
Even though I know not ye, you're a true friend of mine.
A scrupulous reader, my fellow in jest,
Nightly you shitpost with all of the best!
Doth thee believe in a god up above?
Gallant, I ask: have you known pure love?
user, o user! I say, things will get better; as
You know, my dear friend, after Winter it's wetter.

Here's something interesting:

A man is driving to work when another driver cuts him off. The man is perfectly safe but clearly had the right of way, the other driver didn't even signal. He sees the driver swerve and cut off another person a few seconds later.

a) The man is furious, "It's because of drivers like that, that there are accidents, how can they let people like that get a license?" he thinks. He begins to brood, the fury poisons the rest of his morning and later in the day he is ashamed and angry at himself for being so affected by something so trivial.

b) The man is furious. He realizes that such an event probably happens to many people. His anger is likewise universal because there 6 billion people on the planet and many cars and events tend duplicate themselves and play out in the same way in different places. Therefore his rage is not a lonely rage. But he decides that the reality of this situation does not suit him, he imagines that the driver is a single mother rushing to get her baby to the hospital because the baby is sick. There is no way of knowing whether this is true (or rather the cost of the knowledge is high enough to suspense disbelief, because this version of the reality is not wholly impossible) yet this version of events dissipates and eventually destroys his rage. The rest of his morning is pleasant, as his mood and the event is soon forgotten.

Now try this. Close your eyes and imagine all the burdens and anxieties which weigh so heavily upon your conscious. The responsibilities and duties that society, family and self, place upon you. The self-doubt and self-critique, perhaps self-loathing and all the uncertainty of your life. Do you feel the physical weight? Now a thing, and let it be what is comfortable to you, God, the Universe, the Dao, the ether, the Buddha, the spirits of your ancestors, the Void, take these weights from you and absolve you of all responsibility.

Physically feel it. Is this what it means to submit and be free?

We are living in an age of mediocrity. The death of intrinsic expressive value began with the pale imitations of post-War deconstructive media; men and women furiously possessed by survivors' guilt and jealousy towards those who had returned from a brush with that most primordial of human experience fueled a zeitgeist of acceptable mimicry; upon which the tinder of a population engorged 24 hours a day 7 days a week 365 days a week with just such easily digestible material was readily placed.

But the greatest trick of all was not in the creation of art that imitates life so readily as to make all life imitate art, but to foster in the population a cultural embarrassment upon exposure to anything more provocative than a crossword puzzle - though such may have always been the intention of the Church and the State since the dawn of time, it took free men and women well of mind and possessed of some modicum of talent to engineer a system by which all skill may be buried. And now, incapable of writing what is true we have come to extol that which merely pretends to be and increasingly that which takes joys in base subversion.

Even should the artist martyr himself for the cleansing of every soul, he would find himself dispossessed of the means by which to do so - removed as we are from any primitive reality upon which art can be projected.

Plato himself did not deem it worthy to consider the lives of those casting images behind the fire.

I quite enjoyed that really

>tfwのlいてらrygf

Delicious wonton. Pop as you sizzle; splish-splash, splish-splash.

>meet qt at book club
>seems to be really into me
>talk every day for a week
>tells me she's not looking for a relationship because she wants to focus on her studys

I don't believe her

my back fucking hurts

Im a wounded beast whimpering in the face of remedy. Worshipping myself i deny it only to curse myself as its taken away but only to fear to forget it. Im my own predator. A cannibal that feasts on its own hopes and dreams. Just to whimper.

aaaaaaaaa

I think I have a date tomorrow

lovely

I think I'm a defective person.

My OCD episodes have been worse than usual lately, I think it's progressing.
During these episodes I've been having intense feelings of wanting to leave my body, I'm so very tired of the tasks I have to carry out to put my mind at ease.
I usually end up in tears, get furiously angry or both happen simultaneously.
I'm worried this might lead to a suicide if it escalate further, I stop thinking rationally when I'm caught in a bad episode.

I haven't masturbated since November and holy fuck I cannot wait to get back to college to get a gf/fuck buddy. That is all that's been on my mind for two weeks.

Looks really are everything for people under 30ish. Don't fall into thinking because you share common interests she will consider you better than chad.
Men have this notion, it is intuitive that you should choose someone based on common interests but that has almost no significance to women. Don't understand it myself but it is what it is.

Is it really that easy? I never went to college.

No, it isn't. If you're posting on the literature board of a Bhutanese shadow puppet stage, it's virtually impossible.

I'm probably gay but even so I haven't met a man or woman who I've felt in love with.

...

I see.

Im a pretty good looking guy though

She walks in the cyberbar, and its denizens' jaws at the sight of her phat ass. It's obnoxiously visible from the front. The light from the neon "Sapporo Beer, try some!" sign glints off of her pitch black, skin tight metasuit.
"Hey boys! Don't you think this vaporwave is a bit... Drab??? "
She reaches into her fanny pack and grabs a cassette and pops it in to the jukebox by the door. Some upbeat drums and pop guitar begin to play. A man close to her at the bar drops his netvisor in surprise. It's Cyndi Lauper's Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.
She pulls out two tec-9s and a ciggie. "It's true, " she says, after lighting up her cigarette. "We just wanna have fun," She pauses, taking a long drag. "And I'm gonna have a lot of fun killing men."
The blasts of the two TECs and the screams hapless men inside are drowned out by the endless rain.

I have no friends and no idea how to make friends, but even better, I'm not sure I want friends.

Good luck dezu.

stop readin dfw

Got a date tomorrow with a girl I've known for 7 years.

She's read excerpts of my novel. Says she was "impressed," "intrigued," and "kinda disturbed."

Like her a lot though. She says she wants a lot of kids and dreams of being a housewife even though she's getting an engineering degree. Told me at coffee that I needed to have a lot of kids to pass on my great genetics.

Feels good, but if I fuck up, it'll feel worse than if she was just some random whore.

Wow this day can't really get worse first I can't even nail my vibrato down for the play and now I can't write. Wishing there were good books on theory or something. At least I'm young and goodlooking for another 3 years, maybe there's still hope. I want to jerk off
I'm going to jerk off

This girl's really cute but she has no libido. Her body's alright but I feel like she wouldn't be comfortable if I told her I wanted to fuck her throat until she has a runny nose. She doesn't have a lot of sexual appeal either desu.

I'm so uncomfortable with the 21st century. I don't want my items to be manufactured in a factory assembly line. I don't want a world depleted of its natural resources, polluted by its apex predator. I don't want to be monitored, and have every second of my life catalogued for someone to read. I don't want to specialize in one area, and be ignorant of everything else around me. I want to know it all! I want to have extensive knowledge of profound depth in every academic field known to man.

I'm tired of living in a technological world, not knowing how technology works. I ask questions, but put no effort towards finding the answers. They won't be able to satisfy me.

I'll die an ignorant man.

Life is cruel sometimes.

here you go mah bludda

> a cultural embarrassment upon exposure to anything more provocative than a crossword puzzle

what is this provocative art which we are embarrassed by? i'd like to see it

post selections from novel user

*gets up and looks in the mirror* i need to kill myself.

had a literary gf user. she worked at a college and her house was stacked with books. her vagoo stank and she was a raging feminist. dumped her.

>tfw living in shitty third-world country
>tfw studying for mundane blue-collar job to keep parents happy
>tfw can't enjoy native degenerate culture
>tfw nobody to discuss proper lit with IRL
>tfw not even filthy pleb grills approach me

I don't even want to emigrate to a western country because of all the disdain you people show

that was sweet

>Write what's on your mind

From my journal:

One thing I read today in Reading Like a Writer was that humans speak, not only to communicate information, but also to make an impression and achieve a goal. How true… and what a great way to approach not only dialogue in literature, but also the narrative of the story, and even everyday conversation. What information are they conveying? What impression are they trying to make? What is their goal? Whoever they happen to be. The book has many such lucid passages.

Another thought that the book has brought up for me is how some people can write so profoundly… I find it almost hard to believe at times the information Francine Prose can glean from certain passages, but even more unbelievable is that an author could write with such genius intent as her analysis would imply.

couplets are fun

thanks for this

>tfw no megane bishoujo gf

thanks. (you)r posts are the first letter of each line.

Good, user. It was suffering with back pain and going through a year of pain meds that brought me out of an all-life video game slump. Since the pain, I've become someone who's bigger (178-195), charismatic, and more well-read (120~ read books in 2016).

> i'd like to see it

youtu.be/cb0zxhw-oD8

Are there less gods present in the Odyssey because the poem is about a single man, whereas in the Iliad there are many gods present because it is about the rage of Achilles, who is half a god?

I have just realized today by a mundane app that my ex partner have moved to Spain. I thought I have no feelings anymore but it's not true. We have nothing in common, why I am feeling this way? Maybe I feel lonely?

Can't decide if I'm not interested in dating or marriage because it's a hassle or because I haven't met the right person.

there are fewer machinations between the Gods in the Odyssey because Odysseus is specifically favored by Athena and the arguments between the gods are pivotal to this. In the Illiad you have the Gods taking their sides independent on any specific character's drama