The only critique thread up is for poetry, so here's a critique thread for the rest of us.
Post your shit and respond to others.
>>7468859
http://pastebin.com/cCSSin5Z
>>7469003
I read through your story. I enjoyed it quite a bit. The tension was very well defined but I felt that Jonathan's outro wasn't quite well defined enough.
It gave the ending an almost hasty feeling that left me unsatisfied. Perhaps more clarity to the conspiracy at the end and more detail in Jonathan's disconnect leading to the murder.
>>7468859
http://pastebin.com/3LFm4XvQ
I wrote this on the fly in my own thread on here but nobody is saying shit. I know the grammar is a mess lol
Upon my chest, there lay breast."Pop goes my pussy," she said. Dirty panties found in my rectum, yet lust for wet ass holes.Obama makes moist rim pop. Sweet hungry child,why do you watch me masturbate? Alas my scrotum itches. Can you see that child wistfully wasting his dreams you found my passion. Bop-It. Shake-it. Pull-it. Pass it. But don't turn-it on. Take my gratuitous in your tiny mouth. delicious you have teased me again. I couldn't conceive a dream so wet; your bongos make me kongo. Please ask my secretary about nudes and bongos. alone but not for long. when the base drops my panties follow. Christ felt betrayed like sodden bread. Perish from lack of jumanji, Robbin' graves makes two dozen tears. Amber waves goodbye in the bedroom while Jimmy cums undone. Forever finding his coitus soulmate aka Jimmy Neutron. Popcorn smells cummy to my scummy father. Circus animals trained with whip makes Jimmy breaks toilets help! Find daddy please. Daddy never came back, but he came hard. This mother fuck! Alone at last, though urine still haunts my undies. I discovered more Daddy's pounding Jimmy. Please stop Daddy! Land-O-Lakes is my lubrication when sadness takes back masturbation. Wait there's some father over yonder. Why can't Amber come undone? Finally I am complete but not until Daddy returns.
>>7469027
http://vocaroo.com/i/s0Um5cqsXqRH
I made a damn vocaroo because nobody has the thyme to read
>>7469042
You had me at Jumanji
Jonathan was an abrasive man, short of stature and of temper. He made a habit of attending the Children Of Manic Depressives club after work on Thursdays, a society he had formed alone. The meetings consisted mostly of him sitting cross-legged on a Burger King bathroom floor, quietly sobbing.
Stacey once told the entire office about how, after drinking five White Russians, Jonathan had told her that he secretly wanted to be a woman. Everyone laughed when he came into work that day. There was a change in his face when he walked through that alabaster doorway, welcomed by our muffled hysterics. I am not sure whether the others had seen it, but I had. He had turned his face away from us, as if he was more interested in the trinkets on the grey desks than his our twisted faces. I still saw it though, the convulsion of his jaw muscle, the sinews in his neck contracting, like he was trying to swallow something he could never hope to keep inside him.
>>7469053
>http://vocaroo.com/i/s0Um5cqsXqRH
what the fuck is this what are you doing why is there music in the background you piece of shit
>>7470725
I really appreciate how much you failed to say anything of meaning critical or otherwise.
>>7470708
Why's it always a damn Stacey that screws things up? Fuckin' Stacey.
"There you are, Matt, sitting there in your dingy wrapper ridden room with your pale right hand resting sweatily on the mouse, your left ready to type like the little secretary it is. And you're thinking: is this going to grab me? hook me by the jowls, fish me up, and gut me? You want it to, you really do. It’s why you’re here–that, or to post something of you’re own. Either way, you're now thinking that this is overblown, overwrought, bombastic, belligerently irreverent and yet, irresistible. You blink; you scroll a bit; you stop again once this post edges to the top of the page. And maybe you’re wondering: where is this guy leading me? Maybe not. Maybe what you're really wondering is too cliche to mention in earnest, too close to home to discuss with open arms. Somewhere in your mind you’re wondering: where am I leading myself?––I saw a homeless man today, and I gave him a nickel. Tell me, which side of the coin do you want to be on?–and let me tell you that that coin isn’t two-sided, binary like they say. It’s spectral baby. Yes, indeed. Yes, indeed.” Said Jerry on 4chan’s ‘literature’ board trying to a) freak out anyone named 'Matt' and b) fill in a gap with his proverbial seed. As it ever so happened, there was indeed a Matt in the same digital arena at the time, and he did in fact read this post. So, flustered, largely due to the fact that he had been shirking on his anti-psychotics, Matt folded his computer, threw it on the ground, and called his friend Phil.
"Phil, they know everything man. They know you and me aren't real. They know we're just two characters written in this dude's short story he's posting right now on some Jappy website full of snobby weirdos. The jig is up man. Neo in the Matrix; that one guy in The Truman Show; Fucking Tron–! This shit is happening man, and we’re fucked. I’m abandon ship, man. I’m getting out of town before it’s too late. And I suggest you do the same, because if you don’t, you’ll be exposed as the empty evanescent its and bits and pixels that you invariably are. The end is fucking nigh man, and when it comes, we won’t know the fucking difference because we won’t know anything. We’ll be dead, gone, forgotten, or even worse–archived…call me when you get this."
>>7469053
>http://vocaroo.com/i/s0Um5cqsXqRH
radical mind melting phrases, i enjoyed it but the thing that bothered me was
>william basinski https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KGE7q0oDlEI
Humpty Bumpty was sitting on a wall
thinking: I came into this world just to ball,
thinking: so based my closed face drips gall,
thinking: I am a motherfucking winner and winner takes all.
Then the wind blew, and Humpty Dumpty fell into a serious crack addiction.
You can now find him in Baltimore on the corner of 5th and MLK soliciting dick-sucking services for his chosen poison.
>>7468859
El camino es una sucesión de incienso y oscuridad; los tres están agotados, pero deben cerciorarse. El día anterior nadie fue a la construcción, y en la mente de los niños, el miedo conduce un interrogatorio. A lo largo del trayecto el miedo crece y espanta todo cansancio. Pero, ellos saben que si algo hubiera ocurrido, luces azules y rojas habrían navegado la oscuridad de la noche.
Con pasos tambaleantes andan lado a lado con la carretera. Ahora, el perro que vieron hace días es una sombra en el pasto seco y terroso. En aquella silueta, las moscas brincan con sus lomos iridiscentes y pequeños lazos color hueso tratan de detenerlas; estos, bullen y se ocultan en espirales.
El sol de frente y en diagonal, lejos del cenit aun, hace de la construcción de los Bracho negro bulbo al cual se entrelazan las sombras alargadas de los árboles. Antonio da un brinco hacia atrás, pues por un segundo, aquello empezó a andar.
Marco escaló el montículo con las zancadas de una pantera. Ya en la cima, quieto como la gran estatua de bronce a la espera del arco que rompa la maldición, dejó su mirada caer como un par de esferas de plomo a lo profundo del mar oscuro. Elsa lo miró. Él en lo alto, negro su porte y los rayos del sol rodeándolo, cegadores. La flama arde y quien arde con ella, no lucha.
Antonio miró a su hermano desde un poco más lejos. Él está seguro de que nada hay que ver. Hace dos noches ocultó la cena y ganó el odio de los cuervos. Pero Marco observa sin pausa. Ellos se acercan despacio, esperando el golpe profundo de la maldita labor. De cerca, la peste ronda sus tobillos levemente. La serpiente verde cascabelea un poco, se oculta, llena de caricias la arena y se enrolla en cada uno.
Al centro del hormiguero, a cubierto de las miradas ajenas reposa un florero amarillo de cristal; su tronco es una espiral de tres hélices y su boca, tiene la forma de un par de manos en ofrenda. En su interior, flores de pétalos cercanos, como una copa, rojas y con un corazón como una estrella negra de espinas violeta. Las flores están cubiertas de una vellosidad blanca y en esta, algo similar a semillas de un negro reluciente salpican de racimos la niebla. Tal presencia hace que los niños sientan extraños piquetes en la piel.
-¿Son arañas verdad? –Pregunta Elsa mientras se rasca.
-¡¿Quién lo puso?! –Interrumpe Antonio.
-No lo sé –Dice Marco y mira alrededor. Los campos de cultivo están vacíos como siempre. El grupo de árboles al sur se junta como para soplar secretos.
-Flores para los muertos… -Murmura Antonio y en respuesta, bajo los labios de Elsa se dibujan curvas y espirales.
-¿Ya saben?
-No, Elsa. Nadie sabe –Responde Marco.
-¿No ves? Alguien vino a ponerle flores –Antonio está molesto y sus manos brincan como si el frio las estuviese quemando.
-Pero la policía no ha venido, nadie excavó nada. Puede ser una coincidencia.
-Flores para los muertos. Flores para los muertos –El rostro de Antonio brilla de sudor. Elsa llora muy bajo.
>>7471499
Crazy and funny, would keep reading.
>>7470708
fight club/10
Hope is a complete story and not just a fragment.
>>7471606
Thanks man–!
"
To return to a place one has not visited in a long time, and which has left a considerable impression in one's memory bank, can often evoke a sense of unreality. Whether it is desirable or undesirable memories the place that houses them has now been reduced to a ghost; something non-existent; a monument of ectoplasm built on top of a deep hole in the ground. Although the site otherwise feels like in the memory, and much like other, similar but stagnant places, it bestows the nostalgic visitor with a sense of falling. A feeling of not being able to rely on ones memories. Something is missing at the reunion, a proximity of a kind, a statement that one time 'I was here, and here had a huge impact on me'. For whatever memories it is, the deceptive shape in front of oneself appears misleading and totally alien - sometimes even dismissive.
In fact, these feelings of unreality are not unwarranted, and the chance that these memories never actually happened a fact.
"
it's not originally written in english...
Absurd stream of conscious. Kind of. I'd like to know if I'm doing anything right. Any ways to improve would also be greatly appreciated.
Whoosh. Sputter splatter. The erect stream penetrated the calm with an urgent force. It dawned on me why she had left. Her, not me. The stream became more flaccid. I stayed. I'm here. The stream has stopped. Not my fault.. I let down the lid and left. No, I let up the lid and left. No, I let down the lid and stayed...no, I upped the lid, stayed. dressed, then left! Wearing my usual white overalls under my black undernones. And a tie to fly! Yes it was my favorite tie! She knew it was my favorite tie. The one with the little specks of blood flicked over the slats of blue and yellow paint. Made me feel like a magistrate. An aristocrat. But she'll forget soon enough. Oh well, plenty of archetypes to peruse at the chimney. Fro I would return companioned!
>>7472064
Not absurd enough, I think. Also, the language is purposefully ladened with sexual euphemisms like "erect stream penetrated", right? If not, then your 'stream' of stream-of-consciousness is juggling some serious, let's say, lascivious stuff. Also, the whole 'lid' business can be tightened; the punctuation needs some work; phrases like "plenty of archetypes to peruse" can be done away with–too forced; and overall, if you're really trying to write legit s-o-c, you should try to write it less conversationally, and more with free-association based rapidity, for thoughts are much less serial than we, ironically, think.
Anyway, there's my two cents, hope it helped a bit.
an actual stream of consciousness. just writing without stopping. it's much harder than it looks
Form flies fluently into endless ocean breeding lifeform. Abandonment precedes content of chain link fence with no telling what comes next in the chain. Every child a star, every dead animal in the road remembers its fallen idol. Lost in translation screaming words finding nothing to say says it all. It feels good to endure slow waking while running in foggy headspace to new dreamworlds lost in other planes of lives lived. Indigo. Red moon never shadows upon black marks of crusted . plastic internet instinctual lacksidasical fighting fringe formation flight. Find anew, a nice night to have a coin or two but who knows really where they all are to fit in the moment or out of the box cutter cuticle cubicle. Amar amon armadillo sleepy slipping intj I see you so sifgh I cant sleep its new its fresh and no one wants it so pick it up. Down again in the apartment window a cat and dog fighting over who has the best feelings of entjropy tropical storm. Window. Insert. Dash colon liver. Idol idoltery adultery. Do do do do song moon. Go forward a blow back a waning warning from which you never noticed free men recovering bolts of lightning fleeing seven mountains of goat flesh hungering for ascended chaotic mass. Delicious damn bronchitis brontosaurous flexing my flexible oats overloading the overlords cattle into oblivious disposals. Fuck the free world, she said as a five fingered lion lay waste to her insides. Why are we in a bubble the newt asked the pear and the pears didn’t answer they only lay humorously motionless and still life as a portrait of reality when he realied he can’t talk. Singing siren called beckoned or something false shepard hoped something would happen some day or some time whateber it means to be a man bill murray is my dad he would be if I . two three four I declare a thumb war star wars episode bee movie s jerry berry bo berry me my mo merry christman Christmas and the lord said let there be light upon the table, for all of his disciplined disciples. From into the darknes came the light of new life and hope was born out of nothing but they weren’t safe. Thye felt new dread falling upon them as lingering dirges of agony and abandonment fog flew past the wind in time everything doesn’T last forever never.
Year of the Depend Adult Undergarment
My name is Harry Costanza, there are little particles of lint dancing around jaggedly on a air condition. Im eight teen
>>7470708
gimme the rest of this shit now
You got this old typewriter you bought at a yard sale and you use it instead of your computer. But you're still a piece of shit and your writing's still shit. You relax and start thinking instead of writing. It'll all end well. Somewhere a dog barks.
Fuck that poignant dog right in the ass.
>>7470708
already in the first sentence you're telling (you're literally calling him "short-tempered". that's unimaginative af) instead of showing. Also nobody says "short of stature" anymore.
good imagery at the end (heavy) but you gotta make it contempo unfortunately. this is something that would only happen in the modern day, write like it, immerse me in that world
https://www.evernote.com/l/AWAx0nkE-RJG453M9udHU-PVDAH-K8HYzPI
>>7472140
It does, a lot, thanks. I'm new to the writing thing. Is there anything good that I'm doing or should keep doing? Also, are you saying that the punctuation is what would tighten the lid business?
>>7470708
This was just a random thing I wrote on the spot, here's something better
Oh, how cruel this world! Gusts riding the surf of shrubbery. Afar, the currents take a soft flow, divine. But by path, swinging rigid poked twigs. Bristling sharp leaves. The smile, brandishing euphoria; illuminating. To smile, a fleeting fluttering moment. Coveted. Deceitful. Envy. The pursuit ultimately reveals the tragedy. There is no more.
On Wednesday mornings early there is always a racket out there on the road. It wakes me up and I always wonder what it it. It is always the trash collection truck picking up the trash. The truck comes every Wednesday morning early. It always wakes me up. I always wonder what it is.
began writing this one a while back, trying to finish now that it feels more relevant to me. no real plot yet, but I'd like to know whether the narrative logorrhea makes it impossible for me to construct any images whatsoever (the narrator is actually first person, I just haven't introduced him within the story; there's a reason why his diction is schizo.)
