Opening Sentences

Let's all post the opening sentences to the novels we are "working" on

Peoples are bad, mornings are good
We fight for yourself, for God and for mood
Forgot and forget, be able to get
To grow and to lie, to lay in the bed
The spirit of host will do some review
The maniac ghost will play piece for you
And under the skies you will fall, you will fly
Under the skies you will grow, you will lie

John Chager has just seen a UFO but little did he know how much crazier things were going to get.

Oh wait, you said opening sentenceS, I thought you meant just the first sentence.

Okay let me redo that because I don't think the first sentence really tells you anything of what's going on:

Who blew the whistle?, they ask. More often than not the answer is given, quite nonchalantly, within fifteen minutes. This is how it had become.

Yesterday mother died or perhaps the day before yesterday or even possibly the day before that haha! I do not know.

Splash.

"If'n you ain't grease you's ass all up, man I tell you that shit bleed when when the jungle bunny stuffs it!" my grandad always use to say as he sat on his porch and drank straight from the whiskey bottle.

The yellow of the sun disappeared as the night came, like a fat nigger violently sinking between the legs of his petite Chinese rape victim. Michael waited until the neighborhood lamps illuminated in unison, then began his evening walk.

Veeky Forums was a mistake, and this essay will tell you exactly why

The warmest blanket on the coldest night could never have felt as good as her cock.

"It the gov'ment what does it! They lock up them nigs and all they got do all day is either stab each other or shove their dicks in each other. Then them somebitches get out and they think the only polite thing to do to other people is dick 'em! So it really gov'ments fault what turned me a coalburnin' homo! Shit!" he would say and then spit tobacco onto his pink, sparkled porch floor.

Everyone knows that I am better, yes,
Yes, I'm better, yeah!
No matter, hey, plump pockets, e!
I am now on a horse, my most sad yet envious, hey,
After dlinshe all the money, yes,
Different bratuha songs, yes!
Different producers, yes,
I can not do anything, and not lose it.
It gets so that the winner threw a loser, ah,
Garbage Nesosh, child - I'll take over your "Ruger" Yes, I said, to "Ruger."
All my niggers bandits
I wear grillzy until teeth ache, yeah!
Oh, is he cool? I swear I'm even stiffer.
It is not a "Rolex", a bitch, it is "Frank Muller".
Yes, "Frank Muller".
The guy I started first-base player, got to the top.
Man, I will win and I can not stop.
I remember, I was a little something, but turned into many,
Always been honest at 100, his neighborhood swear.
I loved chetyrohdverku, now I want a convertible, yes!
Now I do what I want, now I do what I wan

...

I actually rofflecoptered

pretty juvenile substance and style. uneven meter. get/bed is weak.

pretty good for a self-aware bad line

could be a little better

great topic, horrible sentence. Make a better move bro.

good

It was late night and the boys were sneaking into the school for some mischief. The four of them sported letterman jackets, three of them riley, two of them seniors, and the last one nervous. Junior golden boy Garrett Thompson hung behind while the two team captains ran ahead with the first pig. They yelled like Indians and even held ghost tomahawks. Manning the door was Mikey Wright, the soft sophomore for whom Garrett stayed behind.

>The four of them sported letterman jackets, three of them riley, two of them seniors, and the last one nervous.

This sentence is good, the others are either a bit too flippant or are awkward

Everybody told me it was an apple tree, but I never saw any apples grow on the damn thing. The tree stood, decayed, rotting on the corner of grandpa’s property overlooking the street. It was the first thing anyone saw when they drove down the hot paved street. It was the last thing you saw as you pulled out of the gravel driveway, its rotting arms criss-crossed in the rearview mirror. Whatever apples might have grown, were long dead by the time we arrived to spend the summer with my grandfather on a hot summer day in June.

Evening had fallen when he woke and the sand and arid grasses of his bed glowed no longer. He rose slowly and, recalling the rapture of his sleep, sighed at its joy. He climbed to the crest of the sandhill and gazed about him. Evening had fallen. A rim of the young moon cleft the pale waste of skyline, the rim of a silver hoop embedded in grey sand; and the tide was flowing in fast to the land with a low whisper of her waves, islanding a few last figures in distant pools.

...

Eliminate the repetition of "Evening had fallen" and the disjointed semicolon, pretty good otherwise.

10/10

Change "told" to "had told", establish your tense more strongly to make the tone of the passage clearer. Improve non-descriptive clauses like "hot paved street", make them more relevant and have them carry more weight. Overall I can't get a sense of what the 'point' is, but its not a bad place to start.

On the floor there was a fork, and on the fork there was an eye

what's on the eye?

> Then Grignr set off on his erotic adventures.

Mandy was a prudish indecent wench, if you can imagine such a contradiction. Despite the disgusting vulgarity of her stupidity, which was obvious to everyone, especially her friends and family, but not to the poor souls subjected to her "support group", who could hardly get a word in during these "prayer sessions", none of whom were friends or family, her manners and behaviors remained codified. The Bible laid supine beside her night stand, like a prisoner slowly being picked apart, as she watched, Diet Coke in hand, an episode of Real Housewives of OC on her laptop. She had the amazing talent of finding poor and lonely neurotics from around the country and having them in a state of vulnerability and trust, confess to being sexually abused as a child, and then convincing them they were part of satanic ritual abuse and that their parents were satanists and that they don't remember it because they were brainwashed. Her memorization of bible passages made it easy for her to unbotton these poor souls, and her soothe and calm elocution made it unthinkable for these country dumpkins, laying in their lonely bed in their lonely house in their lonely state, to imagine that this woman would be unintentionally exploiting them. Her father, after the navy, worked for IBM and her eldest brother became one of the richest CEO's in the country, and like both of them, she sought to generate an amount of money only equal to her emotional vacuity. So it was only natural, after being molested at twelve by her eighteen year old cousin, who goes by the name Scooter and plays acoustic guitar in country bars, "all I need is my woman and my whisky", that she would turn to religion for spiritual healing and child support payment. Her two daughters, from different fathers, disrespectfully, were brought up in a home where you had to go to church, short shorts and tang top optional. The father of the elder would go on to molest the younger, and the father of the younger, well he was a yoga instructor who called twice in the space of fifteen years. Mandy offered what anti-depressants she had left when her younger daughter tried committing suicide, and when the elder daughter demanded she stop being forced to go to church, Mandy threw money at the problem by way of getting her eighteen year old daughter her own apartment down the street, where she was forced into sexual slavery. A Skype call comes through that pauses her show, she brushes her hair back, fixes her posture, folds her hands on her lap after pressing the answer icon and says, with a lyrical humming tartness, "This is Mandy"

Honestly needs more consistent use of Ebonics and it'd be good, as a shock-humor thing.

nice to know Veeky Forums is full of shit writers

Coo coo the owl said proudly while sitting on the window holder up at the room o Darkboy who was covered in shadows and refraining from being wodlified but coo coo the owl said and was very happy. With joy it opened it's wings and proudly presented them. The Owl was named Magoogoo and was darkboys best friend one could say but darkboy was afraid of being seen by others so he remained in the shadows. Coo coo the owl said and swang it's wings up across itself as if dancing. The echo of whispers from darkboy reached magoogoo's ears and he was proposing toit whether magoogoo wished to enter the room and magoogoo nodded heavily with a face of thorough thorough appreciation of darkboys soul which had remained hidden so far from his family members. Darkboy then up to the window and said hello magoogoo how are you where have you been where have you been i've been here sitting in the dark and examining taditional ways of life in darkness and sorrow and grief with some heavy depressive feelings but once there was something lighter, almost floating inside me which made me feel as if acid was being spilled on my face for my identity was wavering in the lightweightedness of this thing but then i realized i had only swallowed pecker of dust and that was what i had felt so i recupereated from doubts and the endless variations of introspective reflection but a reflection that did not lead to truth. Magoogoo had closed it's eyes and darkboys words were flashing up very vividly inside his minds. Magoogoo loved to listen, it was like feeding his brain. stories emerged in his head and he felt thus very connected to darkboy who, despite talking rarely, was a good talker and when he talked he would tell of not just his toes or how he would have applied makeup to them or what beer he would drink but rather was himself telling stories of what he had thought or felt and so on and that was pleasant to Magoogoo. When Darkboy had finished Magoogoo chirped loudly and said coo coo and showed darkboys it's wings. Darkboy said: You've got really nice wings magoogoo, ilike the pattern and also the texture of your feathers and they are long and wide too. Cooo! said Magoogoo with great pleasure and turned around siftly as to create fizzeling and riveting lightning effects on his perfectly clean wings. Magoogoo was vain but in a tolerable and likeable way and the fact that darkboy was an ugly boy did not matter for magoogoo's joy was a delight in it's own owlnessess and Magoogoo would also fly across the room and occasionally look at darkboy as to see whether darkboy was impressed. He did that now and did a loop-de-loop and darkboy said: Good job Magoogoo, that was really impressive and he would smile a bit as to let magoogoo know he was being sincere and so magoogoo cooed and sat down on darkboys shoulder, pleased for now and feeling deeply satisfied. "I wish we could fly together magoogoo. In the night, for your eyes are good. And we would visit places we have never seen. Would y

Is that somehow a surprise?

They should probably put that in a sticky somewhere, if it is.

>Disclaimer: Lit is inhabited by morons and trolls who don't really know anything about literature, and especially don't know anything about writing it.

I always thought that was kind of an unwritten understanding for everyone here...but if you need it spelled out for you.

wow that was a really cool post.

>tang top
>tang top
>tang
>top

hi Scooter

Enlighten us then user. Post some of your own writings.

Wow, these are top notch critiques, good to know Veeky Forums is filled with professional critics

...

A couple of us genuinely know how to write, but you never see us post stuff on here to be critiqued by morons who have no idea what they're talking about. I don't know where the idea that people on Veeky Forums know a lot about their boards respective subject came from.

I'm a published writer, and I'll even post excerpts of stuff that I've actually gotten published on here, and it generally gets 0 responses, so I don't really bother anymore. I also don't even talking about writing because if you give genuine writing advice it either gets ignored, or people think it's idiotic that something as simple as, "Write and Read more," could possibly work.

I also wrote this as a joke mainly but it's functionally true too

I am consoled by every pain you have ever felt, every heartache, every loss. I fill my goblet of laughter with all the bitter tears you have ever shed. I toast to every person who has ever wronged you, and I drink to God, who I know to exist, by the very fact that you are reading this with that stupid and ugly and meaningless countenance. I see you, with my arms around all your enemies, laughing at you

The airlock made a final wheezing gasp as James watched the evacuees flee. With a mechanical sigh, the ship had transformed instantly from the galaxy's premier cruiseliner into a trillion-credit mausoleum for one. The inky ocean swallowed the fading lights of James' last link to humanity as the pane he watched them from iced over; another door - the last in a long line of them - closed for good.

>published writer

This really doesn't mean anything though. I mean for all I know you could be a great writer but getting published means that you wrote something coherent enough to be put in a desperate enough place to take you. And of course this isnt necessarily directed at you but anyone who tosses out the fact that they're published. Any desperado will get published if they try long enough

it's farily simple one man said. it's quite hard the oter said. It's averagely difficult the man with a moustache said. He had the biggest dick of them three and banged a latina with black hair and big, operated tits and he vagina was ok but not top but she had some real decent real trophy value to her so he was more than satisfied. The first guy was John Lang and his german ancestors had died in the world wars but he was a man who worked at a compnay. "I sit in my burea day and day out" he said to the television camera and loked gray and dull and kind of sad. "My rent is high but the job pays well" his lips said to the camera and he tried to smile. The camera didn't buy it. He walked through the office. Santa Claus was doing yoga somewhere there. "I was employee of the month once" Santa said in a way that communicated that this was pretty much all to be said about his life and the camera chose another subject. It was all part of a documentary done by Robin Luz, an otherkin. Robin Luz never achieved anything in his life, not before and not after. He was set on his naturalistic style. He said:the cameras task is to capture reality and make it available to us as an object of reflection. I do not care about moral judgements he said. You can hate otherkin he proposed to the person who interiewed him. I don't care. People can hate otherkins and i don't care. I like when people are condescending. Ilike people who are amoral and kind of evil. I like those who relish the darker side of things. Personally i'm a fan of poison. So this appraoch is not about some sort of social justice cause or anything lie that. I think that if you capture 2 hours of mundane life in a family ayou will have captured something extraordinary. I think everything is alien. I think sex is alien, i think gender is too alien but if you want to hate me for that it's okay. I'm okay with that. If you hate fags or feel that annihilation of inferior races is to be executed sooner or later i'm okay with that. he said to the interviewer who by now had inverted his facial appearance which looked comical but Luz refused to comment. The interviewer was fairly annoyed by Luz "I stand above it all" attitude and asked him: Why are you unsuccesful if youre films are so extraordinary. Why does nobody care about John Lang or T. K. Rowland or all these other people you chose to depict? Why are you such a big fat fucking loser, LUZa?" "I'm okay with you judging me or my films. I have not a problem with it. If you hate my films and find them boring and redudant thats perfectly acceptable. I won't go like "wow, what are you saying there,. Those are MY films!" he said and moved out of the cigarette and ut himnself n fire. His ash was deprived of any spiritual energy and thus Luz existance was entirely annihilated from the circle of rebirth and the universe in general. "I'm fairly certain he did that on purose" said Drake to his walkie talkie wich he carried on him whenever he left his masnion as to be

Amidst the dense fog that shrouded the marshes at the outer reaches of town there stood a lonely outbuilding whose sorry state of disrepair was matched by that of its sole inhabitant.

It's a step up from the fanfiction writers on here that brag about being self-published, at least. But you're right, being published doesn't mean much these days. I've met drooling retards in college classes that managed to get published somehow.

I'm a published writer and professional editor and even I will get disregarded sometimes in critique threads when I spent the time to line edit some beginners shit for free. I rarely ever bother now.

If it makes you feel better I got published on the first serious short story I ever wrote, but I know what you're saying. Even distinguished lit magazines out there are filled with way more garbage than gold.

Maybe what makes the argument work for /lit's purposes is most on here aren't even seriously trying enough to get that meaningless "published" title.

"And on the eighth day, The God saw that he was bored."

not bad man

OK, go—I told you, think back and remember what I said to you, in that love hotel in the final hours of our passionless assignation that soon you would find me waiting for you, on a park bench maybe, or better still underneath amid rotting cigarette butts and receipts and the fury of insects because we all must learn to live with garbage.

(Translated)

Hours before my dream the night of my friend's death, I walked the flats of HCSM Attabaskan.

'I love you' he said, softly into the dead, empty room. This used to evoke a lukewarm loneliness in him, imbued with a barely conscious optimism in a future where the words would be captured and embraced from the vulnerable nothingness they'd been thrown into. There was no vision, no no shape of the woman, no idealisation of the personality that would cherish hearing it. There was just the sentiment, the feeling, and the sense it would be a shared one. Even this broke down eventually. At first he longed for the reality then he longed for the ability the fantasise and then he would just repeat the words over and over to beat the corpse and degrade the sense of its once being something he cared about

A dull thud roused her from languishing on a sofa and then pitter patter in slippers to the window, without them to the lawn blessed with moon dew until the boat's propeller managed to snag her nightgown in the undulating calm by the pier.

Can someone recommend me books that will allow me to apply understanding of grammar to my writing? Like did - I understand the rudiments of grammar but not necessarily how to apply them in a critique.

Repetition of sentences ending in 'street' is a little awkward, as are the two instances of 'hot'.

"Damn" he thought, as he pulled his right hand out of his skin tight white jean pants and brushed a rogue strand of hair back over his broad tanned forehead, "another god damn UFO." And yet he somehow felt that his troubles had only just begun.

I'm taking apart my wallet, 20 cents at a time.

Lost her in the eddies of Tsai Wan, somewhere down a hot crowded channel encrusted with noodle bars and dim lit haberdasheries pawning off discontinued electronics and cheap computer parts.

my fucking sides

*breathes in*

"Stupid faggot little cocksucker!" I like to listen to English dubbed hentai while I work.

I can tell Veeky Forums is full of newfags right now because no one's posted CRASH yet

A record audibly scratched as time seemingly froze around me, unable to do anything I thought, "welp, might as well narrate how I got into this shitshow."

CRASH! Pancakes aside, God was the only remaining enemy.

I saw perfection on the train today. She must be so sad, surrounded by so much ugliness. My sadness can't touch hers. Her smile cures me for ten seconds. I cry thinking I will never be able to do the same for her.

It was around 5 am and there I was, lying on someone's table half naked whilst Mengele's former assistant scraped her manicured nails across the sweet spots of my skull, causing us both to grimace like caricatures. I think she was testing the cymatic effect of her blackcurrant polish on my corneas or, in retrospect, the collective mental fortitude of my generation. I was there, or at least half of me was, in that moment earning my rent and trying to figure out- is there any way to get Stacy back?

So basically it's crime and punishment for millennials with more sex and avocados

'Well @realDonaldTrump, at least I will go down as a president!', said the dark man in the television. Little did he know that five hundred years later, he'd be remembered as the worst and last black president in the history of the United States.

Only one enemy remained, two if you count CRASH! Pancake adopted a golden retriever as a mom!

Really? I find that sentence terrible.

Above the concrete, the Sun!

In the waking withdrawal from that girl who touched me like a dream, I see bones in the clouds where I once saw hearts, and I feel my skin crawling for the lack of her.

Arched neck submerging my head on floating cloud-pillows, indulging in remnant drops of sweet heaven-delight desperately deluding, entertaining the illusionary delay. Vision is scary as god-rays poke red-lit lids and haze-quilt shrouds and persuades me - to remain for a while. Chasing the bliss. Just a while.

I'm restless, stubble scratches my collarbone. Head at an off-angle sure to hurt later, annoying now. Stupid bitch left the blinds open. I pick at the scab on my arm and get up. No need to get dressed, already am.

Charles didn't pick up, means I have to go the park like a common dope fiend.

Die Tür zur Küche stand offen.

JAMES JOYCE IS A HACK!!...


...now that I have your attention, James Joyce is a hack

The only one I like in this thread. Others are either retarded or too purple not to be cringeworthy.

Ich mögen es, was ist im der Küche?

Thanks lad, hope you catched the reference

holy fuck. this is what is next in literature. this is new, and beautiful, i'm not really fucking kidding at all

you will be great, you will be great

ay yo so whaddup wid it?

Samefag, or at least I hope so

I fucked her in the ass, hard,
and she liked it, unfortunately.

Klingt nach einem dieser Trümmerautoren. Bernd, gib´s zu, hast du das geklaut?

>little did he know
weak bait

This was the year of hope. She would kiss my left cheek on greeting. My oneitis, I called her she although he was a boy. I am not of that pevere wicked nature. I am Zeus and she will be my Hermes.

Complex yet completely shallow. How did you achieve this?

One eye on the door, one eye on the window, no ginne fuck was gonna sneak up on cross eyed Jimmy O'shea and his tommy gun, Ratty Tatty Patty.

How about Ratta-Tat Patty or Ratty Tat Patty? Other than that nice.

>My neck hangs my head into my pillow, smothering it from light. Waking into vision scares me. My head is still chasing the bliss. Just a while more.

wow look at that it's slightly less shit and is shorter now

yeah, those are much better. the original "-tty -tty -tty" rhyme thing is annoying on second look.

I want my money back.

A puke green Volkswagen van idles in the middle of a vast empty parking lot. Its engine loudly passes gas into cream puffs of exhaust that dissipate into the winter night. In the van sit the Brothers Parcheesi whose nicknames (C-Drive, Dingo, and Bradbury, in respective birth order) have superseded their real ones, and whose long string of crimes have kept county law enforcement so puzzled as to why they were even committed long enough to let them get away with each one.

Beautiful, though I agree that the evening had fallen repetition should go

Either remove the semicolon or the "and" that comes after. Otherwise this is very good. Rarely see anything on these threads that makes me want to keep reading.

I like this a lot, it's a very interesting subject and the images I get of Mandy and her family are strong. However I have many suggestions and hopefully they help.

The second sentence is very awkward. If you're set on that information in that order, then use more than just commas (hyphens or parenthesis). Also the contradiction of "obvious to everyone" and then saying "but" as well as the repetition of "friends and family" is distracting.

>Despite the disgusting vulgarity of her stupidity (which was obvious to those around her, especially her friends and family; though not to the poor souls subjected to her "support group", who could hardly get a word in during these prayer sessions), her manners and behaviors remained codified.

That would be one example. I also chose to remove the air quotes around prayer sessions because it seemed unnecessary; the implication that that's not actually what there are is already clear and can be left a little more subtle.

The fourth sentence runs into awkwardness as well. For example, "and having them, in a state of..." the added comma helps the flow and clarity of the description of her talent. I would end the sentence after "as a child." and then start up "She then convinced them..." Again, this clarifies what her talent is and prevents the sentence from winding on muddily. It also allows that repetition of "and" in the latter half to feel like a purposeful technique and not just feel like the sentence is running on. Also, "soothing and calm" instead of sooth.

Furthermore, I would avoid the repetition of "in their lonely". You've used some repetition already and there seems to be a more mature way of getting the point across. Perhaps say
>laying in their lonely bed, their house and state likewise
or maybe do include just one repetition and change it for the last one.

I'm not sure the aside with information about. Scooter is necessary. The point is the molestation and its affect and this distracts from it. If Scooter appears later, find another point to elaborate on him. If not keep it shorter
>a country guitarist names Scooter
This allows the point that she has a family member like this to remain without the indulgent and distracting description.

"well he was a yoga instructor" is a strange shift to more informal narration and I would suggest leaving out the "well he"

The final sentence changes to present tense, and it is jarring. It starts "Mandy was" and we're told "the Bible laid" and the Skype call seems to take place in the same scene. So either make it all past tense or set up the shift by introducing the fact that we're ion the present sooner.

It was the best of times it was the blurst of times.

I actually quite like this, though I agree the first sentence is quite unclear. I like the sound of the second sentence and the choppiness of the rest, especially the details included, very descriptive

His name is Leonard Lovenhold. He goes by León for the few people he cares about, and he’s real particular about the accent. Everyone else just calls him Lovenhold, which given his local notoriety and rarity of the name, is a pretty clear indicator of the topic of discussion. If one were to append a Dr. at the front, they’d be referring to either one of his parents -- Lucian or Lucinda -- both prominent hydrologists. His father has been missing since the incident at Pensacola Purification back in ‘06 -- assumed dead. His mother now works for the state’s conservation department, though lately -- not much.
He’s tall and broad for a young man of Southern European descent, with olive skin and hair a few shades darker, perpetually done up with gel. His eyes are as green as they are always flitting around, observing and contributing to his cool, capable but not quite stable demeanor. As the reigning state [b]racketball champion, he’s not had a single loss in over 300 games.
Today’s an important day for Lovenhold: the [b]racketball league qualifiers are being held in the Midweston Sporting Colosseum and he’s back to reclaim his title. He’s been itching over this for months now, especially since he earned himself an unspoken universal ban from joining any sort of hockey game, even street pickups. In his own defense, he didn’t know the dude had a glass eye and he’s much more used to the weight of a braquette.

*glass breaks*
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

IT'S SO FUCKING DARK IN HERE.

COME COME, FUCK APART IN HERE.

Crushed beyond comprehension, the rat found its end under a heap of metal speeding by at 60mph without so much as a care.

Wow, that's like so deep, dude. Thanks for awakening my simple mind to it. I hate Veeky Forums now!

Once upon a time, a little bitch boy named Jonah was lying in the fetal position on the cold tile of a gas station floor.

It was on a horribly dark night, with hail like daggers pouring down, that I was born kicking and screaming onto the Earth. September 11, 2001.

In the eighties there was an attempt by the russians to drill chaotically deep into the earth, since we had soundly beaten them in the race to space when we desecrated the moon they turned inward and began boring into the granite armor of our planet brazenly and with no regard to what await. The problem was they drilled too wide - the original hole was wider than a man's shoulders and they couldn't get more than a mile deep before the engineers tasked with peering in began suddenly flinging themselves into the pit. They'd fall in darkness for a brief eternity, pointlessly clawing at the shear rock edifice whizzing by in their final convulsions of utter simian terror before plummeting at mach speed into the pile of corpses at the inverse summit far below, plugged up half with other mangled engineers and half with abandoned drill heads that had overheated and been torn apart as the rock of the deeps had become horrifically dense and hot under layer after layer of menacing earth. what in the abyssal chasm beckoned for them was none other than sweet, sweet bussy

Yeah that's me. You're probably wondering how I got here? Well, it's a long story...

I hate money. I hate it so much. I hate working for it, I hate needing it. I can't stop thinking about love. I can't stop thinking about where my love is, if I will ever find love. I put on music and cry. I do this a lot. I sometimes look at nice cars and nice houses. When I was a child my mother would leave a shopping guide near the toilet and I would slowly peel back the pages and think of what I would want in my fantasy home. But I hate money. I don't want anything anymore but love. I want to love every second. Death is so close. I lost my whole family in an instant. I don't give a fuck what they say anymore. I don't want to be poor, I don't want to be rich, I just want to be left to love nothing else is right. I see others up the social ladder and I know they're really down. Do happy people frown wherever they go? That's not the kind of life I want. I want to love, nothing more nothing less. I want to smile at everyone, I want to wave at everything as it passes.

I hate school. I hate everything it represents. I love to learn. I just want to learn everyday for the rest of my life. You don't learn anything in school except rules. And the people around me have these rules. You have to follow rules and I hate it. I just want friendship. I want to talk to you, whoever you are, wherever your from, and tell you to keep going that if you ever felt like the loneliest person in the world know that you are not alone. I'm your friend, nothing more nothing less.

I want to see the world become a better place. Why are there so many abandoned places and vacant lots? Why are we all so packed together in such a small space and we have to live there and then there are places that are empty and you can't live there. There are places we could live and stay together and learn everyday and love. I don't want to be alone. I hate how easily it seems like everyone has given up. I know that when I grow up I'll feel different. Hell, i'll probably feel different after writing this, I mean that's why anybody writes anything right to feel differently about it. But what if I don't?