Just realized how disgusting my body is. Not even my eyes are completely the same. No wonder I'm alone

Is one of your eyes bigger than the other? That's kind of cute.

>Is one of your eyes bigger than the other? That's kind of cute.
Yes, indeed; if it be true that she possesses
one eye different than the other, greater or smaller in size
It only add to her sublime perfection
For hath not the great critic Kraus once said:

"To be perfect, one needs only more defect."

And so even though, nay, precisely because
Aiste hath one or two more defects, she thus becomes
sublimely beautiful, and attains perfect perfection
For were she not Aiste, she would not be the utmost
Beautiful woman of all The Worlds, be those of present, past or future
Wherefore I was before jestering, only joking and nothing more
Now I am starting to begin to believe in my own words;
and in these poems of love that I thus make,
I start to believe that she thus not at all be a snake,
and in reality be a true beauty, even if others can't notice it;
What if she have some defects, but once seen and observed
She demonstrate all those quirks, and not only those,
But have something undetectable tho those, who have no heart
Though in minds and hearts who reach great heights,
These can easily see she is the most perfectly sublime of all
Perhaps she is beautiful, even though she might not
Have those qualities, usually attributed to allure,
But in reality, to those of great heart, she be more beautiful than Venus
Or even Aphrodite? As I speak these words at this moment,
I know no more if I'm joking, for I know not Aiste personally
Yet I absolutely would fall completely in love, with a woman
Who posseseth fair skin, eyes blue as a violet, and hair brownish
With light tints of gold and bronze, and as if I were a knight
Found a beautiful fair-skinned maiden, in a vine or a field
I would ask her hand in marriage; O Aiste, only love for you do I feel!
So, Aiste, my only true love; even if have you an eye with a defect
or even ten or a thousand of them, still more sublimely sublime are you to my eyes
O Aiste, O Aiste; not even I
know if I jester any longer. I don'tknow!

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>Just realized how disgusting my body is
>Just now
lmfao
YA OKAY

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Instead of whining you could come to tromso and i'd be your norwegian bf.
Or maybe you're no better than the regular ingrids posting pics on social media to have orbiters give them attention.

As somebody who's English is really bad I really enjoy reading this. Even tho I do not know the words I understand them and they make all sense. Is this "old English" or something like that? I just need a term to find more of this.

I don't know, mate. I have literally never read a full play in my life, nor have I ever read poems and such; always found that shit for faggots. Only wrote in normal language and shit like books and didn't give a damn rat's ass to language at all and such. But then I was writing my little book and since my character is literally a sufferer of an Oedipus Complex and has to see a psychiatrist and shit (his Oedipus Complex is really bad), I thought it'd be funny to make a parody of Oedipus Rex (which full play I had never read before; only a few excerpts), and as I went on writing I expected to do only 3 or 4 pages but as I went on I enjoyed writing in this format, picked up the Odyssey a few days ago, plus the Illiad (I only had one translated by Samuel something that was not even poetry-thingy, it was literally prose like a normal book, and now I've picked up the real thing, but alas, I only have it in my native language portuguese) and started writing with it and I enjoyed it tremendously; and so I have been writing this past week like that fueled by obscene (ok, perhaps not that obscene, but like 60mg a day) of Vyvanse daily and I've been having a blast. Now everything I read I read like a rhyme and keep making rhymes in my head all the time lmao.

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I think that if you want this sort of writing you'd probably find it in Shakespeare or something lmao; although I have never actually read Shakespeare myself, but this past week I've been writing, an user on Jow Forums said it sounded like Shakespeare, so it probably does. Oh, and here is a tip, constantly keep a tab open of google on the browser and look for synonyms for words that don't rhyme. I have done this all the time. Like, if you want to say "beautiful", but don't find the right word for it, you can type in on Google and find a replacement, sometimes that it's even better lmao.

And so have I these past days,
Forsooth been working on all of my rhymes
Fueled by a streak of different drugs
But mainly that one, called Vyvanse
It is known as a stimulant, and it clearly states
In its box that one must take not more
Than two perday; Yet I find that it gives me so much joy
And creativity from my hands as I write, comes out spurred;
My intelligence kindled by something much stronger than coffee
Ye, it be the ultimate substance; of which makes me write
Such beautiful poems; and so feel I in this moment
A burning to take, what would equal to 90 grams
This moment, and stay up all night, unceasingly and without stop
Writing my book and play. Forsooth, see you not
That I thoroughly enjoy writing, and were I to be stopped
By whomever it shall, be that my mother or brother
I should call him an utter bore! And honestly if I could,
I would remain in this state, writing and writing without any stop
Until I have more than three hundred pages.
Nay, even more; I should write more; until it reacheth a hundred!
And this book that I'm working on shall be finished, and also the play
That I have been spending many a day, will be finito; over!
And so will I finally be able, to so share it,
With everyone and anyone who might endeavor
To desire to read it, and delight with my literature!

>tfw reading poetry on Vyvanse makes my head produce lines and rhymes by itself

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until it reacheth a thousand*

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Lose weight you fat pig bitch. You have enough fat to survive off of the next fucking millennium.

here

This sounds fucking awesome. I would love to read your work. Would you be down to exchange contact info? I am on my phone right now, so I don't know my discord. Do you use it?

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>Would you be down to exchange contact info? I am on my phone right now, so I don't know my discord. Do you use it?
No way in hell. Like, seriously, no way, no way in Hell am I giving you my contact; in reality, I would love to share you my work, but I don't want to be fucking doxxed or something. I will probably never leave this board in my entire life, that is, until I'm lying dead 6 feet deep into the ground, so I will keep posting and you will find me here (mostly complaining about my vices and addictions), and I will perhaps, post my full book around; but I'm not looking forward to putting my contact info right now lmao.

And so I must, respectfully refuse thine request
As I cannot but help to feel, that to do so would be against my will,
and even though it surely be, that I verily desire that thee read
all of my travails; my works, so strenuously worked for
I cannot do none; naught! For my hands are tied,
And even though I'd truly enjoy, yes, indeed adore
To have much to discuss with thee, be it about literature or philosophy (or even psychology)
I cannot give out any personal information now, even though
I'd more than likely love to have you not only read
But become my online friend; my bud; a friendly companionship
Alas, it cannot be! As I've eft said clearly and explained:
My hands are tied, more than ever before!
And so with much regret, I must say no
Yet even though, I cannot yet share any of my work
I might at least, recommend you read Shakespeare
Of which I have myself none, but people have told me
That his usage of language seems a lot to mine, and I have also come to believe
That it might very well be, I shall see!
(I am going to be reading Shakespeare soon)
Besides this, I recommend surely some russian works,
And Dostojevsy seems much in order, for someone who
starts to read literature, and there are many others;
Like Homer's Illiad, or his much-acclaimed The Odyssey
Either way I must thank thee, for showing interest in me
Thank you!!!

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unironically do mushrooms and acid until you are so aware of your body that you can redirect the energy that makes your bones and tissue grow at will

bumpan for more ebin prose and rhyme

>bumpan for more ebin prose and rhyme
Art thou actually "bumping" to see more of my work?
Cease now, begone, I'm done! As the playwriters of old
So wisely saith : Finito! It's over!
Or else do you really wish to hear more?
Tell me, are you the same user as before?
O' Well, it matters none! I shall so on continue, if the public deems so!
What dost thou wish to hear, tell me o Son!
I was not aware you enjoyed it so much
so I shall grant you one more wish, and so endeavor
To treat and spoil my audience, give them purely what they desire
And win once again, all of their favour!
But halt! I did not plan so far! What should I talk of heretofore?
Should I talk about how beautiful Aiste is, and how gorgeous,
How positively sublime it is to stare at her; or should I converse
About the book I'm writing, along with its plot and much more?
Oh well, Let us start off, by informing Aiste hides beneath an online wall
And I cannot ever know for sure, whether she is as pretty as
Laura de Noves, Boccacio's Love; or Dante's most dear one, Beatrice
But I come from a place, where fair-skin is praised
And blue eyes be a rarity, although they come occasionally;
Nevertheless, I adore her beauty, for I find extremely beautiful
fair skin, as white as porcelain, or as found in beautiful-sky white fluffy clouds
And I love pale women; yes I do love them so
They so make my heart throb with excitement! I enjoy it so much!
Now that talking of Aiste is done, let us go on
And talk about my book, of which is being produced as we speak
It is about a man, who writes in a sordid jail, arrested and unhopeful
For he is condemned not only to spend, the remainder of his days
In jail, this unhappy lad; but also because
He is to be killed off, for he has the death penalty
So forsooth is he hopeless, he only wishes to die
And he will, for he is condemned precisely to it!
Forsooth he puts his memoirs into paper, and then patiently awaits
To be taken by the Jail-keepers to die;
Woe unto him, unhappy

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Woe unto him, unhappy his life!
But halt! Then the novel stops!
First he will talk, about what happens in his
Miserable Life, the one which is about to end.
He goes over reminiscing, of a time he was happy
Nay, I jester! He was never truly happy;
It be much on the contrary, for he was a son
Of a terrible father, and an even worse mom!
His pater hit, his mater spoiled him too much,
and worse of all, sexually abused him, our protagonist
And so the author of the memoirs, writes down,
How he detested his family in life, and so he goes on
To talk about his Oedipus Complex, the one which
He goes to a psychiatrist much like Freud, to talk about and finally make clear
Why does he so suffer, why does he feel ailment?
Though he was born into such an affluent, rich family,
His family was rotten; his Mother abused him and his father, Laius (after Oedipus father)
Wished him only to be dead, while he lusted after his mother (Jocasta)
And so as he went on discoursing of the dreaded Oedipus Complex,
named after a famous play, then expanded by Freud into a psychoanalytic theory
I, the author, had a terrific idea!
I shall write, besides this book of fiction that I'm writing,
about this unhappy unfortunate man, who is destined to die in prison
An interesting play; or at least the parody of one!
It shall turn out terrific, o I'm so sure! I shall make a parody of it all!
I will quite literally, make a parody of my own work,
Even as I write it, I parody me myself;
But as I went on writing, I started to realize
I liked using this sort of prose, and language more than I expected before
And I started delighting myself with it so much;
I plan to write a full play, along with this book I speak so much of!
And in this play, we joke that our character who has an awful Complex,
Is actually named Jacob, and in the same dreary manner as Oedipus Rex,
He wishes to kill his father, and sleep with his mother!
But the wish does not go away; he dies nevertheless
(cont.)

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And do not fall asleep, dear reader of this board
The infamous r9k robot! Do not lose attention or touch,
To what I am about to write this moment; We shall go on
Do not drift off, I warn you! For I create this prose
At the same instant we talk; that is, right now, exactly this moment!
And so forsooth, this character I speak of called Jacob
Dies already in the beginning of the play, but just as St. Augustine
He goes to Heaven and his torment is no more; but Wait!
His parents lie now in Hell, tormented forevermore!
There the audience finds his father, his mother, and some one character more
This last one I do not yet know, whether I can safely disclose,
After all, it is a play yet undone! And I do not wish
That you shall know by now anymore; Yet perhaps
If you reply to this post, I shall tell you more
For so only then, will I know you're truly listening!
Come on now, do you wanna know or read further?
I don't know if you have gone to sleep, or done something else
And whether at the moment I write for myself!
So if you're here, please, You must reply as possibly rapid!

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oh shit i took a large dump sorry just came back. still here c:

Oh, dear reader, am I so glad!
You have only been in the bathroom!
And so shall I go on telling you my story
that I was writing only a moment before!
I am happy that you are listening, my dear listener
And the author is not out of ideas as of yet (nor ever will he be, hopefully)
And so, let me go back and retell what I spoke of:
This man, so named Jacob, writes down his memories
After he was condemned to prison until he's perished (he has the death penalty)
And so he writes about his miserable life, and his terrible Complex of Oedipus
As he reminisces about how he stole coins and things
As a child, and then his psychological traumas and more
And how his parents mistreated all the more!
Eventually he snaps, he can't take it no longer;
So in a fit of rage, he kills one of his own relatives
This one killed, whom I shall not disclose which!
After he recounts his memoirs, he also makes a play
Or better yet, a parody of his own work
In which he finds himself, after death in Heaven
And his parents in Hell, suffering longer and longer
But then what about, the Life that Jacob lived?
Those in Hell recount, precisely what it went, and try then to find out
Why he killed one of his own kin; whom we cannot find in Hell
There Jocasta (Jacob's, Oedipu's mom) and Laius (Jacob's, Oedipus's father) find,
Much to their surprise, various literary authors and writers
And there they discuss, along with the psychologist mr. Freud
About what made protagonist Jacob forego his life!
And murder so shamelessly one of his own!
Do not drift off, dear audience; you in the back!
I see you yawning, stop this moment!
Or YOU, who sits now in a chair, or a bathroom toilet
With a phone in your hand this moment, or seeing a PC screen;
This is very important, I tell you! It is history being made, as I speak these words!
And so, his parents find many of the most important of the literary World
All in Hell, discussing about Jacob, and the rest is History, I can't tell you more!

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unironically looking forward to it, sounds sick and perverted just how i like it. feels theres so much more to it, hopefully there is. gnight writefag c:

Gnight; I hope you sleep well, O dear reader
It has been entertaining having for thee written
And I hope you shall have a good night's sleep;
Come closer though, I shall confide in you a secret;
Today, I took 90mg of Vyvanse, and having been taking it
Much lately; and that be the only reason,
Why I have become so good at writing prose, in such a short time;
Have I never read before Shakespeare, or even any work
Of any author nor playwright, yes, I have never read a full play in my life,
I swear to God, I have not read a single one completely yet
However, I don't know how precisely I have just developed
This knack for writing as such, in this particular style
That now that I read, for the first time, see so clearly that resembles
That old dear Shakespeare, whose works are still to me unknown!
Perhaps I was he in a past life or so, I don't know (joking)
I should have done this sooner; it is so fun, very much so!
And it's much easier than I expected, or could have foretold
It also is much more pleasurable, I should have told you.
And about my normally-written book, I must also mention:
For how long have I been writing; at the most four months?
I had written a draft of a simple book, without any prose
Not like this one at all; it had no resemblance any of a play or whatever
And after I finished with it, I was dissatisfied, and then a few weeks ago
Had it completely rewritten, completely redone!
And I have finished something along 90 pages, including the play!
Only salvaging a little bit of what I had written before;
Yet in order to make a full book, they say it takes at the very least
many months, up to years to finish it;
So I don't know if there be surprises lurking, for finishing a book and a play
Cannot possibly be this easy!

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