Write

write

what is on

your mind

A whore

Tell me more

I miss her. Though, I suppose I wouldn't really want her back. Only as to win her back to break her this time. I'm angry at myself, but she takes the brunt of it. She's a manipulator and a liar, she admits it too, but I still stew over this and wish for things to seem as though they once appeared to be. Reality be damned. I just want my dreams. Now it all comes down to this. I blame myself. I blame myself for drinking and laying it all out there, laying it all down in front of her, everything I had known and suspected deep down. It turned out I was right, but I guess it never really feels good to be right. You win an argument, but you lose a piece of yourself, and sometimes someone else in the process. Well, I've been driving myself mad, drinking, though I swore it off. I have no shame. I've been stewing on this, blaming myself. But for what? For being right or finally having the guts and the decency to lay it all out on the line and finally get some honesty from her, and hell even a little honesty to myself about what I was believing to be true. God damn it! I'm done with the truth. I'll never ask another whore for the truth and I'll never lay it all out on the line in front of a whore. I'd rather be naive and ignorant than to be right.

I'm just gonna flat out ask if she wants to fuck

Good idea, friends?

Always.

One blank day later, he settled on "I'll start tomorrow." You waste your life dreaming of a better one.

Let's start today!

The worst that can happen is she says no

I have obsessive castration anxiety thoughts lately

I have intrusive thoughts about castration or damage between the legs. I don't derive pleasure from them, on the contrary I'm disturbed and scared.

>god this music is so fucking loud in this cafe! How annoying.
>and the light is so bright
>and those people: so pretentious. Ugh
>even this expensive coffee isn't actually hot
>people are so fucking annoying
>and my boyfriend this morning! What an idiotic argu_ wait.
>Wait. What the fuck? Why am I feeling so bitchy? I'm usually the one looking on the brightside & being told I'm annoyingly cheerful??
>oh
>oh
>shit, what's the date?
>oh. I guess it's pms

I have work tomorrow, but I don't have any feelings towards it. I sit here on Veeky Forums, I try to figure out what I am thinking so that I can type it out but my mind draws a blank. I can't think of anything interesting so instead I describe my lack of inspiration. I won't bother trying to be verbose in this paragraph because that sounds stupid and I am better than you for typing in a frank manner and maybe if I acknowledge that this is the way I feel, then these feelings won't make me such a bad person, deep down I know I am though, and that we're all trying our hardest.

When I was a kid I was told I could be anything. I wanted to be an astronaut. When I became a youth, I was then told to choose something "practical". After all, tomorrow's astronauts were already learning advanced physics and math at elite private schools in between athletics classes, while my school was only notorious for teens pregnancies and I couldn't even tie a pair of running shoes, but if I wanted to be, I could become a mechanic or a carpenter and carve out a comfortable life for myself.

But my hands were clumsy, and shook when I attempted anything with the slightest degree of delicacy. My eyesight would fail me as soon as I got too close to anything, and it quickly became clear that I was too physically malformed to ever accomplish any success as a tinkerer.

Work harder, I'd be told, but rather than actually motivate me to any sort of substantial action, it only took the joy of idleness I'd had as a child, of sleeping in the sunlight and collecting odd bugs from the nearby river, and transformed it into an unease at the pit of my stomach that turned even the most banal moment of relaxation into an anxious and guilty chore.

So after I graduated highschool, faced with a life of impoverished mediocrity, I decided to try my hand as a plumber. For those who've never plumbed before, it's an extremely boring and unsatisfactory job. What's more, my work constantly left me with a deep feeling, incubated no doubt by years of snide comments on the profession by the future astronauts and lawyers and doctors of the world, of shame and failure, that even when I'd felt I'd overcome it, would always sneak up on me in the middle of the night, to perch on my bed and whisper horrible things in my ear.

No matter where I turned, I found myself at the foot of the massive wall of my incompetence, and for all the self help books, motivational speeches, and NIKE adds of the world, I've never been able to sustain the immense passion and willpower necessary for scaling that wall. In fact, the only sustainable emotion I've ever been able to find in myself is a deep nausea whenever I happen to glance my reflection in a passing window (I don't keep mirrors in my home), and the vague notion that it would be best to throw myself from the window of the tallest building I can find, and put an end to this deplorable business of life once and for all. Some children were born to be astronauts, but most were simply born to sputter about like a wind up toy until death. And me? I can't even find the energy to wind myself up in the morning.

i wish i had the willpower to introduce drastic changes to my life, as always

You mistake class opression for individual incompetence. You consider that being born rich is a merit.
You're a school case of neomarxist analysis. America is def fucked up.

I have to accept that I will never accomplish anything of great significance in my life, I'll never be a great writer, screenwriter, philisopher or historian. If history tells me anything 8t is that I will fall back into my almost offensive mediocre ways.
The question now is how do I force to myself accept this. I used to believe that I could become immortal in a way by making sure I had a legacy, something people would remember me for, even if it was just minor.
Now I feel as if my life is of no consequence to anyone, I don't enjoy it and I don't see why I should keep on living.

I've got a disgusting fucking hangover, but I had a philly earlier and that made it good. More good. I think I need some vitamin C or sunlight more. It's too cold.

you dont work at creating complex set of green pipes and joining them by heavy, hot machine? I thought that what plumber do

lmao

I really want to start drinking, but I really must decide whether or not to eat left over pizza and drink now or go out to pick up something else and abstain from drinking until I return.

I'm not trying to discuss class at all. More the American protestant ideology of "work harder than 99% of people so you won't be a failure".

The character is neither competent nor incompetent, just overly passive in his life and unable to summon the willpower to climb a ladder that's never been provided to him.

why are bubbles buried in this jungle.

Bubbles are buried in every jungle, flora and concrete alike.

my way of living life turned my young soul into an old hopless and incompletet completion. whenever i try to get started, absurdity and trifle overcome me. i am the only failure in this world, that is what i think every day, every hour and the worst about all this is that i have the feeling i am the only one who can't change, develope, i feel like i will stay simple-minded for the rest of my life and will be left behind (not literally)

I live with people I hate. It wasn't always this way, but our intimacy has turned me sour. Ever y annoyance has become magnified to the point where I'm annoyed before an annoyance is committed as I can see it coming, which is annoying in itself. I feel imprisoned. It's like I'm sitting a a cell and except the guard coming in to served three ,meals a day, I'm beng served these three annoyances. I know they're coming so when I'm not being annoyed I am stewing in wait to be annoyed. And it's not just three times a day, it's the perpetuity of days of three annoyanes that suffocates me.

I want to fuck

I want to

God gave you perfectly good hands.

Rest assured that if you were simple of the mind, these thoughts would not be of occurrence to you.

Thinking about the girl I have loved for so long, I can barely behold her blooming womanhood, and what she brings to the whole of the world, and of her essence in the light of my days.

I am trapped in a glass-box, I can see what everyone achieves, but I never will

just finished infinite jest

wat

Intelligence is an interesting subject to ponder about, if you want to fill time pondering something. We can describe intelligence in a large number of ways. It would be easy to write off intelligence as "how smart you are," of "how much you have read." This does not take into account, however, the problem of some common exceptions to these ideas. What about savants, those who hold genius levels of strength in one, but only one singular skill? How do you even test "intelligence"? An African villager might not know advanced calculus, but pit him against an urbanite European or American genius in a competition of hunting, fishing, herding or survival, and see who is most "intelligent". The theory of multiple intelligences is an interesting theory, but not without flaws. This theory details that we have various "fields" of intelligence (spatial intelligence, logical intelligence, naturalist intelligence, et cetera.) This seems to be a fairly solid explanation, but it also seems to be an easy, quick solution to a difficult question. It's almost too easy, isn't it, that the solution to this question is like your stats in a video game? However, it is logical enough that any person could probably draw some kind of personal anecdotal evidence out of it. I know for a fact that in grade school and middle school, the people I knew who were skilled at maths were not very good at or interested in literature and art, while I was the opposite case. This theory is the best we have for now, and although it seems to be on somewhat unsure footing, it is solid enough as a theory that we can at least hold ontonit for now.

First off, you don't know that. Secondly, you are not a man of simple mind. A man of simple mind does not think such thoughts. He has no need for worry or reflection of actions or consciousness. You are both gifted and cursed. Your struggle, however, is not unique and is faced by many. But hold yourself to be a more intelligent better man, if however bitter and worrisome. A simple man could not dream such thoughts.

I'm so fucking tired of agents and editors not "connecting" with my work, it's fucking infuriating. They seem to be the only people on Earth that don't like it. I've had smart people, stupid people, and everyone in between read my work and like it.

I feel like maybe there's just something about what and how I write that turns off people in publishing.

But what do i have from knowing that I am sitting in boiling water, if i have no arms and legs to crawl out of it. my intention is not to sound as if i have no notion of finding anoter way out, i have the fear i won't find a way out. i think i need some kind of master like narcissus was, but i am not to convident about (in?) encountering someone like that

You want to fuck an ass, and then you fuck that ass, and then you think that ass isn't as appeasing as it first was but you still fuck it because why not, but see you another ass and now that's a fuckable ass you think, so you ditch your current ass and fuck this brand new sparkling ass that jiggles in a way and curves in a way that you've never seen before so you love fucking it and you fucking love it like no other ass for awhile but then you realize that the ass doesn't sparkle or curve or jiggle like it used to or maybe it still does but you're used to it, and you look for an even better ass but there is no better ass but you still want one, cause you need one and you need to fuck that ass, yes you need to fuck that ass

donald trump is gonna trump the trump out of us

The politics at my school have produced a test that I believe was unfair to the students and I was forced to give it to them which has left me feeling wrong. My mom has come down to visit me, at the same time, for a month because she plans to move down here this summer in her own apartment about an hour away. I'm torn between honoring thy mother and father and feeling resentful of the damage her demand for divorce brought on the family. I want to be a moral cornerstone for the kids I teach but I can't unless I learn to forgive her and treat her better instead of icing her out. I'm torn.

I love you, Underground-man.

I think I'm definitely an alcoholic at this point. I'm only 20, that's terribly pathetic and stupid and kind of silly.
I'm gonna start working on a short story next week. I already feel like it's just gonna be a copy of something very Thomas Mann/ Kafka-like.
We can be heroes, for ever and ever.
I'm drinking red wine I stole from my grandmother.
When I think of my future life, I think of the movie It's a Wonderful Life.
I wish I wouldn't hate my father.
I wish I could act less rude/ grumpy towards my relatives.
I wish I wasn't such an anxious scared little fuck.
I wish I didn't have an underbite.
I'm in love with Francie Nolan from A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.
I love Christmas.
I agree with everything Schopenhauer ever said but I live my life exactly opposite of his philosophy and still it feels like the right thing to do.
We can be heroes.

No you don't. How could you say such a thing? Do you know what it is you are loving? By god, good sir, I don't think that it could possible be that you do! How can anyone, anyone at all love such a wretched vile soul? I'll tell you now, that not even a man underground could love their-selves and if so however they could not love themselves then by no means can another love an underground man. No, its absurd. "How do I know such things" you might be asking me, gentleman. But now is not the time to explain, for it would be vile and wretched of me to justify any of this to you, to me for that matter.

We can all be alchies together

I want to join the Orthodox Church because I am drawn to the mysticism within that faith tradition but my beliefs tend to fall onto the agnostic and in some cases gnostic side and I can't reconcile these beliefs at all, but I really want to.

My mind tells that a lot of problems in Christianity can't be answered logically without rejecting the faith. When I do feel that I can accept divinity I have trouble reconciling YHWH with Christ (leading to some gnostic tendencies that I am not entirely proud of.)

I feel like my views change every six months. I feel like a bitch.

What will be left of my life after I am gone? The author of Ecclesiastes notes that the only way to give this finite life meaning is to live for the infinite. How do I wholeheartedly believe in God?

A way out of what? You're going to die eventually anyway numbnuts. There's no way out. Stop taking life so seriously.

Okay man. What are you reading currently?

I'm working myself through Kafka's Castle.

It's very enjoyable, but I gotta say, from what I've read so far, I prefer The Trial and even more Amerika.

i feel mad when i can't proof people are saying shit, still the only way i can do it is by finding flaws in their arguments, not with my arguments
i wonder if i should stop reading literature and start studying the numbers and statistics and economy and history and philosophy

And I saw in that moment how the days poured into one another in an unbroken stream, and how every day was the same. And I saw how dreams existed to hide this from our sight, because if we saw it all at once it would be too much. And I knew all at once that living was terrible, and that the unbroken cycle of day after day after day was too much for my brain to handle. And so I went back to sleep.
But I could not sleep. I felt now that a protective mucus had been peeled from my brain, and that now it was stuck to the wall of my skull like a chewed up wad of gum, cold and still and dry. I could not sleep because it could not sleep. And I knew now that I would never sleep again, and the days would stretch before me like an endless desert. And that would be fine for a while, until the sand seeps into my eyes, my throat, my lungs, and my body dries up entirely, and my corpse is devoured by ants, and then I am nothing.
>r8 my prose

The trivial pursuits of day-to-day life are dual in nature, they give me reason to keep existing, yet drain from what would give genuine purpose to life, on a spiraling descent with the second death as the only possible conclusion to the nightmare of mediocrity.

I just realized I have the white fever. It's disappointing.

I went on a date tonight and dissociated so much that I started to count the number of times I made her laugh vs. the number of times I even felt anything like interest in what she was saying.

I don't like when they try to pretend you're equals. We're not equals. I'm doing an unpleasant audition for four hours, and you're getting the equivalent a stoner comedy and a half worth of jokes. I'd prefer that they be brutally cynical about this than that they keep pretending we're just BUDS! Gettin' dinner is fun!

No it isn't.

What she was saying? And what you were saying to her?

yeah, if you're not proactive, bye bye

am i a transsexual? am i a transexual? am i transexual? i'm a transexual...ami a transexual. am i a fucking transgender fucker

in my 2X years of life i've found only one single woman who had interesting things to say and that wasn't so full of herself that would actually listen

she had some deep issues with depression, i've tried my best to help her but at that time i couldn't do much
eventually life separated us

the thing is all the rest have nothing to offer, nothing but their pussies, their pretty faces, their bodies
i always think "what if this girl was a boy? would i still talk with him?" and the answer is always "i wouldn't talk with him"

get out of the shame cube nigger

you have to taste the pussy before jumping to this kind of conclusions

pls r8

what is on

your mind

I should have said I'm not available.

I think I hurt my arms while lifting, hope not. I can't wait to get my laptop back from Best Buy, I feel naked without it. I wamna read. I'm gonna read.

I had my first story published like 2 months ago, it was a big moment for me I was real fucking happy.

Since then I can't write and can hardly read, my brain is empty and without motivation but my small success after so long of the grind (been writing shitty stories for like 4 years) felt like a step forward and now I'm fucked.

Just keep forcing shit out. Even if it's incomplete and total fucking garbage it is better than not writing at all.

bump

I miss my mom.

Thanks mate I know I can do it, it's all I've been doing this whole time this just feels so much worse than usual

hate white ppl who virtue signal about self-hate and white guilt, abt how we all need to be more inclusive and less oppressive to the other, all the while maintaining a disgusting level of self-righteousness and moral high ground. it's repulsive to me. i want to stomp it out with a boot. we should all be proud of who we are. (if we are good people...)

Good.

sad, but true.

donuts are better than pussy
my theet are full of caries

how old you are? Asking because i am searching for reason to not kill myself

thanks senpai

I literary look like this. Kill me.

poop peep poop I am sitting at my desk writing until i hit word limit i forget where that is exactly, something like 4000 or something? I guess its not word limit anyways its character limit otherwise some faggot would probably just copy the longest word possible and paste it 10000 times. Now my heaad is blank now i'm hungry now i'm wondering why the fuck i'm writing this autistically, im going to eat some Quaker now.

>The depths of will-power on display.

Aren't you fat? Just brush your teeth after every donut you eat

"Reality be dammed, I just want my dreams."
That alone speaks louder then the whole paragraph you spoke.

p.good. sadly, i once met the ass of the asses.

Well, here it goes again, I guess. I'm a broken man. Is there a future for me? What is future at all? Is it even real, what is real? All I know what's going on in this moment, that's all there is I guess. I can only guess, true knowledge is not real, you can't know anything, you can only believe in knowing something... I know nothing.

>freshman in university going into second semester
>first semester was p. rough, not a fan of a lot of the ideological stuff but in general the lecturers are alright and I had a seminar tutor who was decently well-read and informed
>find out who my tutor for my seminar is going to be
>might as well google her to see what to expect
>oh fucking christ
>how millenial can one woman be
>feminist is the first word of her twitter bio
>she tweets complaining that brexit has made her literally ill
>every second tweet is about trump and
>she has a blog
>specifically dedicated to review books by women
>not books by women like Austen or Woolf
>shitty contemporary self-help with all-white covers written by middle class women
>it has a quote by lena dunham as its bio
>"There is nothing gutsier to me than a person announcing that their story is one that deserves to be told, especially if that person is a woman."
>this is the person who will mark the essays I hand in until the summer
Fucking end it i'm ready to drop out

I wasn't supposed to make it this far. My kidney became tumorous and I almost didn't make it to two years old. Finally old enough, they removed it. I often wish they hadn't. My great grandfather committed suicide due to depression. My grandmother attempted it multiple time in her childhood and teens, when she became an adult she developed schizophrenia. My father has severe depression and schizophrenia, my sister does too. Genetically I am not meant to be. I was cursed at birth. No matter how hard I try I will always be depressed. If I was to ever have children they'd be cursed too. The only reason I continue to struggle on is to prove to myself I am greater than my afflictions.

I feel like I'm not living my life the right way, but I also don't think there's a right way to live one's life. I have absolutely no interest in anything, but I still feel like, deep down, I'm not doing what I really want to be doing.

I don't know how to fix this.

Oxford is going to turn down my application and I wont be able to post that copypasta and feel a sense of rightness because it was actually true

didn't mean to reply :^)

demand to change tutors. we whitey get what we want right?

It'll be fine. Just remember that the person you're dealing with isn't the construct of a Teacher, but really just a student three or four years ahead of you, and basically the female equivalent of an edgelord. Take it with good humour, whatever bullshit she wants to talk about. Why should you get mad?

You should be more worried about your fellow undergrads. You're more likely to hear things from them that will rustle your jimmies.

Oh, and your papers will be fine so long as you motivate yourself to actually spend time on them. The bar is set pretty low

I don't know about this last point so much man. I've had problems with university markers in the past year asking I put more political stuff in my essays. I don't want to be putting myself at a disadvantage and having to work more than everyone else, but I'm not going to lie about what I believe (which by the way is not /pol/-tier-I come from a socialist background and broadly don't have problems with traditional leftist ideas-but there is also a lot of stuff that would be perceived as "problematic" by the academic bubble.) Is this an unjustified fear?

You dont go to university to learn or challenge things, just get a good grade

But I can get good grades with my eyes shut. It's an English degree for christsakes. If I wanted heaving good grades to be the point of my course, I would have applied to do a better degree

>I've had problems with university markers in the past year asking I put more political stuff in my essays.
Ugh, that's awful. I can only imagine how well I would have responded to that.

I honestly hope this turns out better than you're expecting. Just concentrate on doing good work, I guess - you don't want to feel like you wasted your time pandering to anyone.

I should address the topic while I'm here.

Since I can't seem to manage any lasting change, I'm starting to think I should concentrate on working with what I've got: save up for a year, put all my things in storage except for notes, rent a cabin for however long I can someplace like Morocco out of season; and if come out of it with nothing but a raw penis and a couple hundred more pages on 'I will' and 'I am' - in other words, just duplicating previous efforts - then I should just give up. Concentrate on other things. Like opiates, maybe