In your best prose, describe yourself

ye sober Proust

so full of myself it's starting to ooze

Lonely

The will of God, that is the will.
I don't exist.

>As far as this young man is concerned he is an array of contradictions: for every observable fact one could point to him and see, there are twice the amount of contradictions bubbling around in his mind: see the youthful face but the hard, narrowed eyes. This isn't the kind of young man a person would look twice at if they were to cross him in the street: observably average -- at first: time with the young man reveals new insights: a jovial personality and harsh wit, at once playful and carefree, shown to mask a desperate desire to connect with others but kept chained by even greater neurosis: contradicatory and conflicting thoughts compiling on a mind wanting freedom but wishing for a helping hand, striving for a better future but always evading the creep of apathy: an open book but only for those who care to read.

Indifferent, but in love.

I am he who can answer your deepest question. I am the ying to your dong.

Not bad

The last time the boy had tried to do it, his method had been, in the doctor’s words, a masterpiece of inventiveness; he would have succeeded had not an envious fellow-patient thought he was learning to fly and stopped him just in time. What he had really wanted to do was to tear a hole in his world and escape.

A stranger, unfamiliar and unknown.

utter knobend

A Germanic ghost depressive.

I'm a fucking white male

Literally me

I am that kind of man that knows that that that in him is unintelligble

Oh boy

Wherever he lacked in talent, proficiency, physical trait, the youth sought to compensate in a different aspect.
Irritated by his mildly shorter stature, he exercised his body each day (except Sunday) and had, by his twenty third year, developed a physique that many wished they possessed. Out of his lack of empathy was born his talent for reading other people's feelings and acting accordingly, not out of compliance to some primal instinct, but out of prospective awareness of the fact that, after all, this was the price of sustaining a social life. He was never very successful with the opposite sex when he was younger and he went through two or three heartbreaks, after which he decided he will not surrender his dignity and control to a being both manipulative and sought after anymore. Instead, he worked hard on figuring out the hows and whys of the female population and, little by little; girlfriend by girlfriend, taught himself what the females inherited - the art of manipulation. It wouldn't be a lie, not a gross exagaration, anyway, to say the youth was now capable of outplaying them in their own game and leaving the scene as an emotional victor.

Now why, he would often ask himself, why do I still feel unsatisfied? He felt he had to learn the toughest and most elusive lesson so far - he needed to find a purpose in his earthly lurking and a method to this madness.

im a loser bby

You really do sound like such an egotistical wanker.

I'm a pretty girl (boy). :(

He would tell them but they would hear it in his head as faceless and far more well read men. And laugh, surely. Then again, if those thoughts found existance only in his head and he could see them as thoughts, were other people's opinions to him truly more important than what he let them be? Their thoughts communicated poorly into his eyes and ears which were already full of his own. His words could not reach anyone, because as with any other senses if the mind was unwilling, so was the body. Mortal monkeys, all of them, he thought. And as illiterate as he was he spat on their understanding of his words and that of his own.

new?

Who I am, is what I did, in the last 24 hours.

Jerk off?

The bare minimum requirements to be considered human.

BORN ON A MOUNTAIN
RAISED IN A CAVE
TRUCKIN' AND FUCKIN'
IS ALL I CRAVE

Whenever I describe myself I always subvocalize as Ken Burns doing a documentary.

>prose

for about 10 min, yes

that phrase is just a way of making sure I don't procrastinate by saying I'll start working on my project ''tomorrow''

Came here to post this.

Source?

Ich bin Nett. I'm also pretty charming.

I'm all of it, a part of it and nothing but a word

BORN ON A MOUNTAINTOP IN TENNESSEE
GREENEST STATE IN THE LAND OF THE FREE
RAISED IN THE WOODS SO HE KNOWS EVERY TREE
KILLT HIM A BAR (bear) WHEN HE WAS ONLY

I am Providence.

...29

I'm a swell fella. I work in an office. It's boring, but some of the people there are swell. On weekends, I enjoy gettin' lewd with the lads. We do things like go to the bar, and things like that. Swell time.

society exists as long as the majority of the populace thinks so. social and political identities are a sham though

The will as you see it, that is the will.
God is a construct

Faggot

>In your best prose

ye sober Proust
y e sober Proust
yo e sber Proust
you e sber Prost
your e sbe Prost
your be se Prost
your bes e Prost
your best e Pros
your best P e ros
your best Pr e os
your best Pro e s
your best Pros e
your best Prose

/thread

A handsome young man

Nothing but a young fellow with a spring in his step, a feather in his cap and an ace up his sleeve trying to find his way in this whole wide world

Imagine me locking my right arm and a 90 degree and angle, clenching my fist and making a slight "woosh" motion forward towards my body

Anxious mass of contradictions.

>so many people missing the joke

>user pretends to be retarded
>people respond, seemingly retarded

hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

the whole spectrum of experience was completely lacking inherent value. The bedroom, the living room, the kitchen, the garage, the front yard, and the backyard, and the places the sidewalk could take you, the inside of the car, the inside of the school, the view outside the school windows, the view outside all the windows, the insides of the department stores, the insides of adults heads, .. all but one source of novelty. The television and the computer. Windows into a world that still cared about beauty, creativity, fun. Addiction set in, his eyesight worsened year after year, and his only thrill was to arrive home, lock his room door, and experience the festival of colours and sound and imagination on the screen.

Came here to post this but you beat me.

I wrote it user. No source.

Then don't quote it.

but is a meme, what a new you are

What an asshole.

>posting a meme doesn't count as acting like an idiot

back to /v/

You're missing the joke, b(f)ucko.

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

fuccckkkk

literally me

Worthless piece of shit.

An arragement of miscellaneous qualities.

If he was to be found at all it would be in chance encounter tending a wounded sparrow or perhaps chowing down on the tastiest dogs on town at Lloyd's or even simply polishing up his Harley ready to give it another go cross county's new mobile strip cruising and bruising top speeds with the greatest fuel economy and import clutch skin painted like an 8-ball he'd twist and turn, making spiffy drifts and great turning cues likely on his way to chow down delicious aforementioned dogs sometimes carried away by the forest blind sighted to any of its trees within. His sexy hair would wave and dash and glisten making him feel like a cut-scene for a powerful film adaptation. He had a strange feeling at semi-odd 20/21 every man is given a choice to pick where his jaded ends will face out and what he will pretend to never know as to solder a kind of chip for one's shoulder to always bear, perhaps a cigarette tucked in his ear to remind him of death. He would twirl and shake around the very big race circle that went around the city for hours and hours soaking in sun rays thinking about subarus and sexy girls, sexy as him, even. Beyond this busy facade, more often than not, however, he did not have a lot going on. Some would argue it was not a lot, at all.

the double trips too, nice work.

>Pussy root bee

i want to be a respected and capable artist