Write a stream of words about anything
stream of consciousness is shit-tier writing
>>7899138
THIS
name one great writer who did that shit
>>7899144
Joyce
>>7899144
Joyce, Woolf.
the hatred of the tea bot is greener on the same side why do you think it's cool to become skeptical of postmodernism even if it kicks iteration ass the tv muses killed me once and zizek loves to hate
>>7899126
Write? Why write? I've often asked myself this as I sit on a Cantonese cartoon girl message board talking to strangers through the dim glow of my battered old computer monitor. Here I Sit. But there's no Lutheran moment of clarity, no knowledge of what I am destined to do. Only doubt. Only shitposters. On the deep dark abyss of nothingness over which our entire lives hang in this empty, meaningless pit of production and production and production and production. What am I if I am not productive? Does the production of words count? It adds nothing to the great Standing Reserve. It warms no houses and it powers no machines. It may warm a heart or power a mind, but what matters that? All is vanity as the good book says. Kill yourself.
It's like there's a parasite in my throat, like a pill swallowed without water, sickly green and trailing all the way to my gut. A thousand small irritants shackle the idiot in a beige and mediocre prison, on a morning that feels like night. Crush, crush, crush the tablet, and scatter its ashes around the room. A nauseous fatigue of lifeless awareness - the dull throb of my heart. Today is the first day of the rest of your life, as was yesterday.
red phosphorus fills the air and I gasp for breath
no more reeds means no more tears
the future will be brighter than all the stars
breaking ice is a lot like breaking glass
pouring cola onto the sidewalk
pouring grease on a bike chain
the stain of grass
kerosene lamps
Faint flower patterns on my mattress, winglike petals... a pretend garden enwreathes my dreams and absorbs them. The same bad music throbs somewhere I don't know like cars packed together, a meaningless image. What do dogs think about? What does God think about? Making shapes with atom stars (a new religion, don't understand, a snail, too many, the path ahead, hello), dissassembling, recombining, with plastic scissors and tape. Sulky, bored, alone, it's raining outside. Jumps in a puddle and then stares at the flecks of water on his boots. It's still dark and
walking through the woods and everything is scented
im watching a film right now and i cant really see it but i dont know what to do i have driving in an hours time but i need to get money out
from where i dont know but i need to brush my teeth
– What do you think?
The question bewilders me. Because when I was young, you opted to silence me. Now when I’m an adult you want to pick my brain – but only for as long as it fits with your designated plan of an answer. I think it is fucked that we get taught to sit still and keep quiet, and then get asked to speak our mind when we have been robbed of any form of freethinking we used to have. That is what I think.
>>7899126
bloof man
fung shit billing worm thing
I took it with my gilly mash in the same way you ate fucking shrimp from her ass and sucked cum out of my butthole .
it doesn't matter however becuase we all sucked everything off.
why is italian food so good
is italian food postmodern - low yet high, simple yet profound
why does every other type of food suck compared to italian
was the forbidden fruit a tomato
a stream of words about anything
Pinocchio-P is a genius. I fear he may be a committee, like Thomas Pynchon. His erudition is too breathtaking. His wit too burning. What does he want? what is his aim? Can I even understand? Maybe he's an alien. Maybe he's become jaded. Maybe we disappointed him.
>>7899301
>pen drive
>takes watch off
>places wallet clearly in photo
>very cheap sunglasses
>cheap as fuck pen
god you are so fucking pretentious
makes me want to vomit
>>7899318
Thank you for noticing my writing.
>>7899321
who cares about your writing it's stream of conciousness i.e. no thought went into it
>>7899323
WOW
>>7899301
Something about you makes me hate you. Actually, I figured it out. It's the gay-ass wallet and the taking picture of your hand-written shit on a journal.
>>7899126
later we picked the latter we sucked on the sitting chair lifting up my toto cards with african influence if i'm real then what could you ever be baby trunk we were elephants in a past life but now we hulk through our problems like little league nazi neointellectuals
>>7899301
I love that aesthetic
>>7899328
Why so much hate! It is not going to do any good to you. Anyways its easy to type poisonous anger from the cozy reaches of the computer.
>>7899318
there is no such thing as pretentiousness
>>7899301
>which can make the bravest go insane with fear
please kill yourself
>>7899301
pls just be a girl, not this much of a pretentious faggot.
>>7899343
why don't you back up your claim rather than just presenting it
you have something people get when they make uneducated/outrageous statements called the "Burden of Proof"
h e eee eeoeooee hjjjkjjklllllllkljllllllllllljjjjjjkkkkkkjjj h ceo eo eoc eo eo eo eeee eeoooooo ooooo cefg ghe gbo gno gho glo gro gzo gxo pkhggg hhhhh wewewewewewewew ew ew seeee west tews tsete test tset
>>7899344
Apologies for hurting your sentiments by writing something original in a language that is not my first.
>>7899341
Don't listen to the vile deceivers, for they know not what they do
>>7899355
>original
>>7899348
It started as a good thread but now its turning into fight between people who think they are normal and people who have a different definition of normal.
I want that arrangement of flesh and skin to last forever, perpetually beautiful. I am horrified if that canvas might be vandalised by aging, accident or wear - I cannot bear these thoughts for more than a second. Yet I also want to tear it apart myself, render sinew from bone as those nerves scream uselessly to prevent blemish. Shapely cartilage attacked for the momentary satisfaction of curiosity. Although I might be relieved that I'd never really commit that sacrilege, I can't say the same for the world.
>>7899348
Ask yourself what exactly is pretentiousness? Its all up to the interpretation of you. He might genuinely like those things
>>7899363
Thanks for the guidance. I had been under the impression that this board was for learners. It seems that they call learners by different name here i.e. losers.
>>7899370
It's when your writing shows clear signs of rests between writing and has clear editing and you try to pass it off as stream of consciousness while admitting at the same time your stream of consciousness is not even in that language, and taking the time to arrange your photo opportunity including your fashion accessories for a piece that could be typed. anon is hitting pretension levels above instagram with that post. it would be poor taste even if it weren't trying to masquerade in a no editing thread.
>>7899378
Lol nobody has a problem with your inexperience regardless of how many handicaps you claim to have have you not been listening or sormthing
Whatever. I don't really give a shit anymore so believe whatever fantasy you want
>>7899386
"Write a stream of words about anything"
How I see it. Write a flow of words about anything.
In short write anything.
Had fun while writing it.
.
.
It's like my English class. Where they try to interpret the most complex meaning in a prose.
>>7899392
>i hate when people interpret things which aren't there
>when i do it tho it's right
yup, girl or a twink. either way, you're going to need a good moisturiser to get through life.
>>7899386
Its not supposed to be anything serious. I just find interesting what people say without giving it much thought
the man who lived two hundred years before
counted the multiplying flowers of spring
the old telephone poles no longer holding wires
dwelling together. Qu'est-ce que tu fais?
>>7899126
>1/2
Outside my window there is a bike path. It runs past little grassy hills with trees that are just beginning to bud in the warming spring air. Beyond the little hills there is a lawn with benches and a spot for barbecues. I never see people there. When it's windy outside I watch the clouds pass by overhead and they always take on the shapes of animals. There is a recurring one that looks like a swan that fills up the whole sky. I feel blessed when its face looks almost like it is giving me a nod. I don't move out of this chair much, but the closeness to the outside world through my window gives me comfort. I eat rice or noodles for every meal. I drink water. When it's sunny i draw the blinds. I prefer the dark of winter.
A few times a day I will see some girls jogging down the path. It goes in a long, straight line from right under my window toward the tree line farther off. I live on the third floor. I guess the girls come out of some tunnel in the building, from the other side, behind me.
When I see them going along, often in groups or in pairs, with their skin tight jogging pants, and the blonde or dark brown pony tails going from side to side as the trot along, I feel a sense of empowerment with my dick in my hand. Right, I forgot to mention, I almost always sit naked, and I almost always masturbate -- not aggressively or anything, just keeping myself semi erected, hand on dick. But whenever they run past, girls in their prime keeping their bodies trimmed for whoever is going to pound them tonight I jack it way harder. It has become a sport for me to succeed in ejaculating before they disappear from my view. This time frame gives me about one or two minutes. It would seem like a small amount of time, but seeing as I am always sort of ready to go, it's really just a pleasure. It's like I'm in the starting area of a race most of the day, and whenever the girls come running past, I take off as fast as I can. I can almost hear the wind making a swooshing sound by my ears from the sheer speed. Of course I am alone in the race, which makes it all the more comfortable as competitions annoy me.
>>7899126
>>7899444
>fuck, 2/3
Just a half hour or so ago, when I was casually browsing through /gif/, naked as always. There was a fat girl on the path. She was jogging, alone, and it looked like she had a slight limp in her right leg. No doubt from being unable to support the massive weight of her frame. I hate fat women, but I didn't want to break my routine, so I started jacking it, making sure to focus my attention on her fat, clenching, jogging pants caressed ass, and not on the bbc-thread from /gif/. There was no time to lose, I went at it furiously. She was a slow runner, of course, but still, she would be gone before I knew it. The blob masses of her ass cheeks grinded against eachother like some obscene mating ritual of some beasts in the ocean deep. I could feel the vile odours of oozing sweat, slopping around in there, right around her asshole, held in place by those pants that were probably two sizes too small because she felt self conscious buying the huge pairs in the store where the trimmed cashiers try not to judge but cannot hide their sneers. I jacked it, and she kept running, and as my mind worked hard to entwine the sexual nature of my masturbation with the truly horrifying visual experience of this beast, I actually felt elated in a way I hadn't in a long while. The sexy girls do the trick, of course, but it had started to feel sort of cheap. Like a cop-out. Anyone can masturbate to a hot girl in tight pants, but not everyone could make it with this creature I had in front of me. It was a surreal experience, and it made my dick harder than I thought possible, after some six years of compulsory masturbatory decay in this small room. I neared climax with some kind of force pressing me ahead, forcing me towards the inevitable. It was like my whole body filled up with the almost divine purpose of giving this woman the sexual attention she so craved but would never ever get volontary by any other human being.
>>7899126
>>7899444
>>7899450
>3/3
I was grunting, panting, and all I could see was her ass, oddly sensual in its monstrosity. I could feel it coming. And that's when she tripped. Her right foot hooked on to her left leg, and being the hamplanet that she was, she had no way of untangling before falling headlong into the asphalt of the path. It looked as if the whole side of a mountain came loose in a massive avalanche or as if a sinkhole suddenly opened up and swallowed the ground. Unnatural, as if it wasn't supposed to be possible. As if my eyes were tricked by some mirage. I couldn't grasp what was happening, and at the same time, I started coming, hard. I convulsed and twitched and came all over my keyboard, myself, the floor and the chair. I came for a good ten seconds, while the avalanche kept ravaging the earth. As she hit the ground there were ripples going through her body, like when you see a water filled balloon hit the floor in ultra slow motion. The flab of her body flattened out against the hard ground, before rebounding upwards into the ball shaped mess that she was. I could actually hear her screaming, which only made my insane fantasy even more charged. I came like I had never come before, and this disgusting, albeit poor, fat woman fell into the asphalt, and stayed on the ground. I grasped at my senses, but they had gone interstellar, and as I leaned back and closed my eyes, feeling the whole intense pleasure of orgasm, she hadn't gotten up from the ground.
>>7899144
Joyce, Woolf, Proust, Gass, Gaddis, Bernhard, Lowry, and about a 100 other great authors.
It simply won't do anymore; I don't mean that we'd have to stop because it really isn't that. I don't want to be the one who instigates and say what everyone with a spine thinks. I've come with a conclusion that the man sitting on the bench, reading Sunday's paper in the park while kids chase dogs and cats in a nonchalant manner will be content in his surroundings and will believe that for this moment, let my bourgeois self as a whole, be at one with everyone else: communism.
>>7899459
>Woolf
>great
Back. To. Tumblr.
>>7899475
Isn't. Using. Punctuation. Like. This. Rather. Tumblr?
>>7899475
>Woolf
>not great
Back. To. /r9k/.
>>7899477
He's being post-ironic
Scientists say the universe is infinite and I think they said like any combination of particles has some probability of occurring anywhere, so the probability of any combination existing in the universe so vast is 100% and so any combination of bits imaginable is existent here and now at any and every moment, today and tomorrow and yesterday, pretty much, probably, except at the edges of time when stuff ain't so coherent, I don't know I'm not a physicist, I guess my pretentious point is in this infinite world all that can exist exists, all that can be made has been made, this very paragraph has been written countless times, and even if my life is mute and dark it doesn't matter because there are a countless number of other mes out there whose lives are bright and soundy or whatever I don't know i'm not really got a lot of time to think. I'm not even getting into many worlds which is kind of bullshit as far as I know. I guess what I'm saying is bllalaarghghghjhh(vomit noises); world too big.
>>7899475
tumblr is a great image site
>>7899469
I would also like to clarify I'm schizophrenic if this looks too weird
>>7899481
There is a huge glowing block a trillion trillion light years away, constructed by pure chance, visible from space, it has never been seen by anyone, and it says, "FEELS BAD, MAN" and has a perfect replica of pepes sad face on it, and the fucked up part is, it's existed for countless eons before Earth even formed.
>>7899493
*There are actually an infinite number of these blocks.
Who am I? Your darling prince? The dashing knight? No. Knights don't wallow in their own tears, they don't lay awake at night thinking of what could be if only they tried a little harder. All these years and what do I have to show for it? No ground made, no friends won, nothing but bodies and resentment follow my path. Perhaps you can find in me what I can not, before my light dims.
Couldn't make a fire, so I soaked my writing in water and tossed it with the trash. Unreadable, irretrievable, drowned, murdered.
Next day it felt like a weight had been lifted. I walked along the beach. I lay in the sand and fell asleep, and when I woke up it was still light out, and the birds were still crying, and someone had taken my wallet but I didn't care because I was alive.
I am hurtful but i am not hurting
i am broken but i am not weak-limbed
i am ragged but i am not hard-working
i am tired but i do not sleep
i am restful but don't give way to resting
i am restless yet i am a single thing
A gap between my thoughts and great ones - a hole in my brain, between cells, between lights. If only I could make every link at once, mind overflowed with the treasure of omniscience, then surely I'd speak, surely I could speak, surely I would see. If my genetic code spanned the breadth of the earth, if the maze I inhabit stretched past the walls of the stage into the awful dusk, and at the start of time I wrote the fates of gods in ink of liquid fire, surely I wouldn't be silent like you.
Today I pinned the yellow clock from my childhood bedroom onto the wall of my college bachelor pad; it's a cheap clock but it matched the old theme of yellow stars and crescent moons against a baby blue field, hand painted by my mom, and now it matches the new theme of eclectic alcoholism & grasping at the nostalgia for a time before I fucked everything up, before my mom is wasting 500 miles away of undiagnosed leukodystrophy.
I had to steal a double A from one of my guitar hero controllers so I can't duet with my roommates while the clock's running, but you can't have everything.
>>7899301
diggin the still life shtick, be real neat to see it executed better
>>7899453
>Tfw no (you)'s
>>7899300
>was the forbidden fruit a tomatoe
kek
swing the cunt in and around you palm and watch as the cunt drains its life out of form and quiet builds suffocate your spine aaaaaaaa
>>7899357
What is this painting?
>>7899611
I find that those who despise fat people are very insecure and have few other metrics to feel superior about. (You)
>>7899759
something by some jew
>>7899232
i liked this
Rusie my juice deisy, licking my lazy Tracy. Can i borrow you a slave, my dear friend or this is just me trying to be attacked by grosery store. Amén
Once twice very nice letter up disposal wallaby
q qwhathesurefire way" he kept saying that like an idiot or retard faceted bitch.
The livest seventh lodges a snow shall reap thy wards
Everything is falling
Everything is falling
Everything is falling
Light and Fire
Venus Heōsphoros
The fortunate carbon piles on another mummy upon my fortune cookie colletion
>>7899126
The enigma, the maze, the mushroom, it, the song of the ancients, the eternal promise, the cosmic whisper, the transcendental object at the end of time, the mysterium tremendum, a question for the ages as well as the spaces, qualia, subjectivity, one, call it what you will, as the masters make the rules for the wise men and the fools, you've got nothing to live up to, nothing to comprehend, no luminescent flow of keys sprouting from the cracks in the walls, no ecstatic revelation, no time of redemption, only the sacrifice, only the ultimate position of being the blade as well as the wound--
I have found myself increasingly reliant on alcohol to deal with even the most basic of human interactions. Recently I have been making excuses to my parents for when I go outside drinking, such as a friends birthday party or a school related event. Hiding my addiction has become my main priority as I am terrified of being found out and therefore pressured to give up booze. However, a part of my mind wants to be found out so that I can get the help that I need but for now I am sticking to drinking as much as I can before that eventual reality.
The fact that so many books still name the Beatles as "the greatest or most significant or most influential" rock band ever only tells you how far rock music still is from becoming a serious art. Jazz critics have long recognized that the greatest jazz musicians of all times are Duke Ellington and John Coltrane, who were not the most famous or richest or best sellers of their times, let alone of all times. Classical critics rank the highly controversial Beethoven over classical musicians who were highly popular in courts around Europe. Rock critics are still blinded by commercial success. The Beatles sold more than anyone else (not true, by the way), therefore they must have been the greatest. Jazz critics grow up listening to a lot of jazz music of the past, classical critics grow up listening to a lot of classical music of the past. Rock critics are often totally ignorant of the rock music of the past, they barely know the best sellers. No wonder they will think that the Beatles did anything worthy of being saved.
In a sense, the Beatles are emblematic of the status of rock criticism as a whole: too much attention paid to commercial phenomena (be it grunge or U2) and too little to the merits of real musicians. If somebody composes the most divine music but no major label picks him up and sells him around the world, a lot of rock critics will ignore him. If a major label picks up a musician who is as stereotyped as can be but launches her or him worldwide, your average critic will waste rivers of ink on her or him. This is the sad status of rock criticism: rock critics are basically publicists working for major labels, distributors and record stores. They simply highlight what product the music business wants to make money from.
Hopefully, one not-too-distant day, there will be a clear demarcation between a great musician like Tim Buckley, who never sold much, and commercial products like the Beatles. At such a time, rock critics will study their rock history and understand which artists accomplished which musical feat, and which simply exploited it commercially.
half cocked and hard, a sipping man with a sipping plan I span the many waves between the Spanish main and the English minor, key after key until i cant keep the colors of my fingers segregated, black and white stains hang airy in the hum between orchestra and chorus line, long legs in rough grips and lips that never speak except to argue there's not yet enough tip
The chair before me is tremendously black. It's black like my morning tea. I used to to take milk with my tea in the morning; so much so that it turned to dishwater. Nay, not dishwater, it turned to bleach, a bleach that while lacking in strong taste none the less flooded my gut with fluids of death. "Death" in this context is not literal mind, but it may as well be given that that my tongue had grown fond of the beverage's weak taste through repeated consumption: a weak taste, for a weak tongue that birthed a weak self. The strength of blackness makes it the assassin of weakness. Thus my room envelops me in black: Black curtains, black sheets, black tea, black chairs. It's crawling in my skin without overwhelming me affection for fedoras or cuckoldry. I've attributed whiteness with weakness and now I realise that my eyes have whites.
Fuck.
It's another night where I've stared idly at the doorknob long enough for my vision to turn into a dark bluish hue. That doesn't really describe it properly. It's more like a photographic negative. It's entertaining, fun isn't the word I'd use, to see how long you can keep the illusion going. You wait and exploit it, and the patterns on your bedsheets become intensely bright strikes of lightning. They're consistently imposing on your vision, so you have to avoid looking directly at them. But I adjusted my gaze slightly every few seconds, and the whole world would go alight before settling again into an inverted darkness.
>>7900320
decent prose
>>7899196
Good shit mate, I like it.
I want to lick Jada Stevens' asshole for 1, maybe 2 hours
Well here I am prompted by OP, the faggot, to write a steam of words. I'm not even sure what that means but I do my best. I only have so much time though. I'm drinking coffee, checking my phone, and browsing lit while I wait for my counterstrike game to load.
Pretty banal stuff. This is why I never write streams of words.
>>7899196
This is actually really good
>>7899126
And the name of the dial tome was that of the Lord, the sideways God not of the above nor of the below but the horizontal God him of the forever bread he of whom you shall never go hungry if only you consume him in body and in spirit he shall enter you like the wolf enters you, the wolf that will approach you and consume you and make you pure beneath its claws and between its teeth rejoice, for the darkness and the filth within you will be torn away from you and siacrded and ice the wolf has had its fill it will leave and you will be left as a being of light new-formed from the terrible hand of the Lord our God amen amen the call the call that calls within us all aquinas said that within each of us there is a call for God perhaps it was a cause for a devotion to pour our energies into, and yes God may be the one true path to take many take a different path with a different manifest goal but the same latent reason- a pursuit of the ectasy of sublimation to something greater than you because we all know deep down there are those that are better than us and they think the same about others and them the same and all are equal and none are equal before God amen elohim
>>7899144
Faulkner
"Smart" writing is for faggots. Writing should always be sufficient for the purpose, nothing more.
your writing should never be about what someone else thinks it should be
Do you feel like taking a nap on a bed of sand under the sea? Ease into the darkened depths that will become your watered dreams.
Sink down passed the Fisher's hook that the blackfish for a meal mistook.
Angelfish illuminate your face and then you wake up with a scream but you can't breathe and so you drink and fill your lungs until you're sleeping with the fishes, see?
Needle in your arm, anesthesia in your veins
Paralyzed your body and your brains
Stick you in a straight jacket
Attached to giant stone
Confess now to your sins
For now you must atone
Don't expect a last supper
Deep hunger you will suffer
You will never have another
Delicious home cooked meal
No longer will you steal
Another precious life
In the name of Satan
Who showed you to the light
>>7901500
go make shoes somewhere
>>7902296
>Do you feel
aw man, i cant read this shit, life's too short
>>7899126
I stared at a dark spot on my wood table under lamplight for more than forty five minutes. The table began to flicker at like three images per second, all different images. I wondered if the flickering was due to my eyes refresh rate or to the lamp light. Upon further investigation I found the lamp light to be quite stable and non-flicky, it must be my eyes that were flickering. I had this crazy thought, I saw an image of a bearded man in the wood spot, his mouth was sounding out a phrase. I think that he said "you are god," or "yu-gi-oh" I'm not sure, but I'm afraid to believe that I'm actually god. I might be manic again.
Nostalgia has run out, all memories have been drained. I can't enjoy the sun in the treetops and the cats around my feet. And that cake on the wooden table next to that thick glass filled with water from the well. Can't enjoy it without an edge of melancholy and a touch of death on my shoulders. Desperately now I'm filled with the brimming desire to create that nostalgia on my own, create it in someone else. Pretend just for them, now that I no longer can believe in it myself. I want to become the set rather than the actor. A stone to inscribe your first love on. It could be somewhat reassuring to be so solid and stern. Rather than jumping from role to role with all the possibilities still open, just being there and just being you, immovably but strong. And people will build their stories around you as you did yours. And they will remember the tea in your garden and the taste of the cake and they will love your flaws and they will cry when you're gone and the memories will become bitter and then sweet again.Not a native speaker, sorry.
>>7899301
This is not Instagram, dude.
>>7903063
Pretty good.
>>7899144
Erlend Loe
>>7899126
A brief (drunken) letter to a friend,
Brian, I don't get it. How can I feel so much frustration at those who are surface level in their affections (Jason, Eric, yourself (yes, I know the contradiction)) those who are able to feel so firecely and then back down from it with but a night of drunken distraction. While every action I take, be it towards the long ago Ashley, or the present Julia, festers like a syphilitic wound upon myself. I want to feel as you do: every encounter a mutally understood pursuit towards pleasure, but I cannot. All I feel is an intense cacophony of desire towards a person who may not even harbor my solace. I want to be free of it —able to move past the images of her in the arms of another into the pure moral ideas of my age. Alas, I know this is Midas touching Silver to turn it water — pointless. I want to feel beyond the personal, or maybe even further inward than it. I want to see others as simple as they are, even as I know it is untrue. I want to be solipsistic, alone, important. However, this is not to be. I am forever cursed with the burden of other, and shall remain alone in this paradoxical anxiety forever.
I know this probably made no sense , but I'm very drunk, and very sick of loneliness.
>>7900285
I am the same way but with binge-eating, which is even less socially acceptable than alcoholism, especially for a guy.
Alfalfa bronzed the dusty morning stars [audible laughter] and contempt for the harlequin engineering firms atomized calcium mink. Sometimes the world revolves around the sun but oftentimes it's steeped in it's own mediocrity. A lofty pile of muck creeps deep into every crevice poisoning the throbbing flamingo. Towers of mercury engage the party like a lobotomized pig squealing in rage.
>>7903591
Get help dude.
>>7903628
Way too shameful. My father is an alcoholic so I never touched it but I still have an addictive personality and I never feel full.
