Show of you flowery prose here. First thing that comes to mind, spit bitches. Let's hear 'em r-r-r-r's. Faggot-chan, pretentious-chan, who has the fairest prose of them all?
Sure it can be, someway, somehow, a work of agenius; it had been proved back in the day, anyway. Altough it couldn't be measured by preconfigured concepts, like the concept of conceptuating concept1, it had been proved, back in the day2, that an over-sized3 cock can do wonders to your selfsteem - altough it couldn't be measured by any of the, albeit current, means of mensuration held as current back in the day; days being the span of twenty-four hours, an arbitrary and misused concept, which have been been used for hundreds and hundreds of little conceptuations that set a large span of days (concepts), weeks (demi-derivative concepts) and years (non-concepts). So, in long, it could've been considerated a stroke of agenius; truly a safe-heaven for those who despised the so important, conceptually, concepts.
1 "Concepts ad Infinitum/ad Nauseum" are used here by the author A. Nonn as a repetition device: the prose flows harder and redirects the reader to very informative footnotes. Our scholars couldn't get this passage; good luck.
2Repetition device. See note 1
3The author wrote oversized ("over-sized") with a hyphen, making it "bigger" to paint an image of something long, large. The same idea applies to "selfsteem", neology form of self-steem brought into play by the very author of this novel.
Prose is the worst meme on this board. Please stop it.
>>7586696
ITT: no discernible talent
>>7586862
I propose that from now on we call it simply: words
I shitpost about dragons. It's what I do. Ever since that day when I prepared to execute an act of terrorism and lost my mind, I've been obsessed with them. First a voice told me I was one, and I believed. Then I felt that portion of me split off into a separate personality, and I named her Kiyohime, after the mythical woman whose rage transformed her into a firebreathing flying murderlizard. Now my dear companion has gone silent, and I search for her. I search for her in Campbell and Jung, in Laing, in Crowley, in Heidegger, anywhere that matters of the soul are discussed with anything like scientific tendency. If the philosopher's stone is enlightenment, then perhaps once I find her, I will have put together enough gold to keep her pacified.
