/lit/ - Literature

Here is the first chapter in the history of Nano/lit/: the Horned God. I apologize if your contribution isn't in this image, I encountered some weird corruption in my .txt fiiles. But don't worry. I will expand the current image with your work after I parse the corrupted text and include the updated image-issue in future Nano/lit/ threads.

Go on, it whispered, tell him to kill himself. You know, poster. You know this'll get him riled up. He'll consider it.

Bill Posters does not want to explain it. He only wants to exploit it, and It seems perfectly fine with that. As if such was its whole reason to exist. Trolling, an difficult art but so morbidly rewarding that Posters could not stop. He was addicted to the rage, the madness these people displayed when they took him at his word. "but you said!" they'd yell at their screen, "you worthless cunt!". All manner of insults he'd see once they caught on, and so creative! As if any of that touched him. It had been a while since he had a proper interaction online, or even in his own mind. Ever since this genius of derisiveness popped up one morning, Bill Posters had never again felt alone. Ever since, his joy, his excitement, his willingness and ability was increasing. What a blessing this spirit was. Bill cared not for its nature or origin, not really. Was he a schizo? Maybe. Probably, but who cares? His shitposting capacity went through the roof. Hell, he didn't even feel any shame anymore. Truly it was as if they were made for each other. The Trolling, as he called it, not that it cared for a name, and he, Posters, had become friends. Not out of necessity or emotionality, but purely out of their shared desire to mock people and to mock them well. And mock them well they did. Whichever manner suited them best. Basedjaks, gigachads, misunderstandings, autism here, schizophrenia there, a well thought out but clearly wrong effortpost. They were all tools to him and his demon. Bridges for him to reach ever new heights of smugness and malevolent laughter. His conscience? No such thing, no sir. Not on the internet. Whatever it took to generate interaction, oh what a thrill! Whatever it took to make them sperg about whatever topic they held oh so dear. Bunch of fags, he and his demon knew.

There, it whispered now, look. It did not have to say it and it knew as much, but, true to its nature it said it anyways. *principles*. An honest, courageous opinion. Bill Posters sniggered to himself and the trolling even seemed proud. Christ, eh ?, they thought in unison. They both knew what came next. Just a quick google search on "blabla koran verses", copy and paste and post. Bill didn't even bother to read it first, he knew they'd eat it up like flies eat shit. A minute or so passed, none of his other posts have gained any traction yet. But there it was. Finally, the christcuck responded. His demon laughed out loud. He was going verse by verse. Oh nonono my sweet child. Bill Posters did not actually read or consider the response. He simply scanned the text for keywords, put them into google and did another round of copypasting whatever koran verses came up. Waiting and rereading his original response he realized that his post was not even tangentially related to the christian's posts, but the poor fool ate it up anyhow. Like flies eating shit.

Here is the image-issue from the second Nano/lit/ thread: the whiteknight. We didn't write that much that time, only 1600 words. C'mon guys I'm not asking more than couple hundreds words from you.

What the fuck? My thread doesn't bump when I post?

>>16309246
Yeah OP can't bump his own thread. Here have a bumperino

I love your idea for this project. Not squandering all of our time on shitposting is surely beneficial to everyone involved

>>16309272
Thanks. I'm kind of putting a lot of work into this. I like seeing the stuff we come up with and it frustrates me when I don't get many contributions. But so far what I do get is usually fairly high quality. Maybe I should get a gold account so I can use a vpn. Maybe the will allow me to bump the threads faster.

Nevermind. It does bump when I post, I just forgot that I had the catalog view set to post reply.

>>16309126
Excellent exposition on the internal processes of the internet troll. I appreciate your work. I hope it isn't the only contribution. I'm not in writing mode right now. Maybe if the thread still exists in a little while I will come up with something but I'm demotivated atm.

The troll, having earned new distinction, was sit to rest. The destruction of the troll was the acceptance of him. How can we move forward, the troll asks bleakly?
No, to save the troll we must deny the troll even being the troll himself.
How might then a troll deny himself?
The issue of his existence is made to be mythological becoming reality. He must appeal towards a polytheistic understanding of truth otherwise the troll gains mpd. Doing this of course asserts the troll. It rationalized the myth and our troll can't move on.
The troll begs the gods for existence so he may thus be denied. Dear reader, without referring to Hegel or Heraclitus you must define the troll.
The best efforts at asserting the troll is belovedly taken up by our pomo authors. In order to assert the troll they made everything a troll. This gives us another contradiction as the troll is now self referential to reality. Protect the troll ¬Athena. Please use your anti-wisdom.

Once more you hear it, the same every night you sleep in this forsaken street; whispering sounds penetrating through the walls turning into some kind of speak, you can feel the tonal changes, the pauses and even creeky laughs. Slowly your ears feel you with this nightmare and your mind translates it into short sentences, you start to undestand them but even then you still are unsure of how many there are.

- Jahahegf, yougawg he awake sios …
- Jeeepep, sios…
- Aleelululu...

As every muscle beneath your head feels like a stone, you keep listening.

- Jahgajajaj, yougawg...
- Aleelululu…
- Jeepep, naos…
- Juhndrag, Yajahgaja very near …

You sense a strong tension holding your legs still..

- Jajeha…
-Yugag yougag…
- Aleelulu.. Aleelu…
- Luukh, Aleelu… very very near…

You try to feel your arms..

- Jujuju…
- Aleelulu…
- Fri, Fri…
- Fri…
- Fri…
- very very very near Juhndrag…
- Aleelululu...

You manage to move them but something holds them down, you concentrate all your force to move them up, you hear some loud snaps and your arms feel free.

- Aleelululu...
- Aghhh…
- Aleelululu…

You pull on your legs with your arms and hear more snapping sounds; you sit up and the bed creaks.
The voices are quiet and it seems you are finally free of them. The door opens and the bright light turns on, you hear a new voice, a human voice.

- Security! Patient 0435 has broken free!

When your eyes get used to the light you see this pair of white creatures floating towards you ready to grab you; you kick one and jump out of the bed. The other one runs at you with the face you could only describe as a hungry wolf, you pull one of the snapped restrains from the bed and swing at its head, it falls and starts turning red. An avalanche of white creatures storm into the room..

You wake up in a different room, once more with your body turned to stone, sorrounded by humans who look at you in disgust, an old woman standing infron of your bed starts talking

- Hello, 0435. Could you tell me what happened last night?
- The.. the voices where after me…
- Ah yes, the voices. Trolls you called them last time
- They.. I haven’t heard them use names yet…
- Well, what happened after the Trolls visited you?
- They tried to kill me, they where white and floated and.. and..
- Please continue
- I think the employees here are also in danger
- Well, an employee almost died last night
- The Trolls.. we have to find them
- Don’t worry 0435, we'll make them disappear from this world
- Can you really do..

Your head gets pulled back and a box is pushed into your teeth before you can finish talking.

- You know 0435, you have a creative mind, this Troll business is a real shame

As your head gets hold in place you feel the pressure of cold steel on the sides of your head. You only feel pain at the start, then you feel nothing.

With no memory left, 0435 would never be invaded by Trolls ever again.

There's a phenomena in internet circles called troll's remorse. I always thought that people who experienced it were fags, and I let them know my feelings at every opportunity I could. Back in the golden days early web 2.0 the internet was wild. Accessibility had increased, and so the people were different. It was a virtual metropolis that was more like a drug induced dreamscape rather than any web 2.0 site you would recognize now. We didn't need to hide under bridges, we would wait at a virtual crossroad and follow a promising target. Social media still blows my mind, no one cares if their information is plastered all over for god knows who to see. God knows who sees? I see. You know there are databases that you can enter in a username and it pulls associated emails and other usernames? Extremely useful stuff if you're looking to mess with someone. I never really did any harm, I'd freak some people out every now and then. Drop their apartment number in a group chat. Call them by their last name. You get the idea. It was for the thrill of seeing how they reacted when they realized they weren't safe. Everyone reacts differently. You can really get inside a person's mind when you dox them, because suddenly you see how they carefully craft different facets of their personas. It's a fascinating psychological study on the individual level. I never meant to hurt anyone, it just kind of happened. I hopped on a livestream late one night and spammed "do it faggot" over and over and over until the faggot did indeed do it. I remember going to get some water, and as I left my room, my room glanced at me
"What's the smile for?"
"I can't just smile?" I laughed
"I haven't seen you smile in months. Just glad to see you're ok."
A human sacrifice to gave me new life. Through the destruction of the other I myself was reaffirmed. I'm sorry anon. I really am. It wasn't personal but, then again, it never is. That's the nature of it. Thank you for your sacrifice. Thank you for your cross. Thank you for the toll you paid under my bridge. I will never forget you.

>>16309733
my roommate*

>>16309738
Too late faggot now die

Troll isn't can beat
Too deep in sleep
Drop down
Low
Neet
He climbs
Up there no cheek
Brainwashed into hell
Mouth soap can't seep, relief

A stamping from up the road spills Brian’s tea. He sits in his La-Z-boy, his legs crossed, and his new pants and bare grey chest now stained and burnt, soaking it all in. A sighed whistled out from either side of his tusks. As the stamping comes nearer, it vibrates Brian’s glasses off of his face and down onto the now-ruined copy of Virginia Woolf’s To The Lighthouse. He was only 30 pages in.
The door to the hut under the bridge creaks open as Brian ducks out and nudges it shut behind him, ducking his head. The hinges are only a week old, and the wife will kill him if he chips the paint. Well, she might still kill him; the flowers pots that were on the fence post cracked and their dirt is spilled all over near the shrubbery. Brian’s brow drops lower than he ever thought possible, his shoulders also sinking. A horn cries out above his head.
“We are the Knights of Karshooos! Let us pass foul pest!” Wow, harsh. Brian is still rubbing a wet cloth into the stains on his pants as Sir Tabernek dismounts and approaches with his sword drawn. He has terrible morning breath, as always, and is so very unclean. You can’t expect much from a human. This merry band has crossed Brian’s bridge no less than 14 times in the last year, but they still feel the need to introduce themselves. Brian adjusts his glasses and clears his throat, looking down at Sir Tabernek who listing out the name of his sixth squire with a flourish of his sword.
“Look man, I’m just trying to make a living”.

>>16309499
>The best efforts at asserting the troll is belovedly taken up by our pomo authors.

topkek. I got a kick out your contribution. Very weird and sarcastically pseuder-philosophical. I like that.

I call this piece ‘Ode to 4chan’. It is an anti-poem.

TROLLS
>TROLLING
TROLLS
>TROLLING
TROLLS
>TROLLING
TROLLS
>TROLLING
TROLLS
>TROLLING
TROLLS
>TROLLING
TROLLS

The troll took out his mighty sword and said,
You who dare fight me come toward the head
Of the arena, that I may best you,
And tear you limb from limb, from one to two.
The white knight stepped forward to meet his cry
And importuned the troll, you wish to die?
The troll just growled and spread apart his feet
To get into a fighting stance to meet
The knight's eventual attack on him
The troll swung his sword and cut off a limb

Once, a pond of Time rippled with liquid lapis lazuleye laziness and there was a very sad and weary young troll who came to it to get a drink. He had just witnessed his entire family get rendered into bloody flesh and bone by a flightless plasma-breathing dragonlet called a Rausuch-Id by the lelves: he saw it happen from behind the trunk of the sacred Figgle Tree and beneath the very branch that they had hanged his brother from the night before. [This was before bridges.]

On the undulating ultra-marine surface of the pond of Time, Akua the Wren-Song [1] of the Granite Klan thought that he saw the face of his father inside the lapisliquid so he jumped in to save his father’s spirit from its prison. This amused the Ghost-in-the-Water so much that it took the young troll back home to his home in the Watery-Realm.

When the sad young troll climbed out of the pool, he was surprised to see that everything had changed. There were now two blu-shifting suns and the trees seemed to slowly morph into different forms and new tree-like forms would erupt from the flowing ground like shells or coral revealed by the ebb and flow of some kind of time-tide.

A radiant sapphire amorphous blob emerged from the very ground before him. It seemed to ripple with the words as it spoke:

“Welcome to the Watery-Realm, Akua!”
[the Ghost formed into a spiderweb skeleton of crystal ice-forms with rippling pools forming over them: the liquid flesh that formed a quivering sunburst over the radiating crystal skeleton forming strange symbols.]
“YOU ARE NOW THE WATER-TROLL!”

And this is why water is called Aqua in Highest Lelv. The Water-Troll also is known to abduct females foolish enough to use Song-Spellwork near ponds of Time or Rivers, but only in the Spring. This is why many of our bodies of water have such names as ‘The Lake of the Ominous Song’: the Singing-Spells of the captured girls can still be heard on the surface of the water.
[1] All Northern trolls were given 2 names. The first name was traditionally passed down from the father or mother to indicate filial relationships, so all the boys born to a troll named Akua would be named the same. The second name was earned during his or her Bilmash. We lack knowledge of exactly what the process is that decides the Earn-name of the troll but we know that copious amounts of psychedelic mushrooms are involved.

based thread

Once, a Pond of Time rippled with liquid lapis lazuleye laziness and there was a very sad and weary young troll who came to it to get a drink. He had just witnessed his entire family get rendered into bloody flesh and bone by a flightless plasma-breathing dragonlet called a Rausuch-Id by the White Lelves: he saw it happen from behind the trunk of the sacred Figgle Tree and beneath the very branch that they had hanged his brother from the night before. [This was before bridges.]

On the undulating ultra-marine surface of the pond of Time, Akua the Wren-Song [1] of the Granite Klan thought that he saw the face of his father inside the lapisliquid so he jumped in to save his father’s spirit from its prison. This amused the Ghost-in-the-Water so much that it took the young troll back to his home in the Watery-Realm.

When the sad young troll climbed out of the pool, he was surprised to see that everything had changed. There were now two blu-shifting suns and the trees seemed to slowly morph into different forms and new tree-like forms would erupt from the flowing ground like shells or coral revealed by the ebb and flow of the time-tide.

A radiant sapphire amorphous blob emerged from the very ground before him.

“Welcome to the Watery-Realm, Akua!”
[the Ghost formed into a spiderweb skeleton of crystal ice-forms with rippling pools forming over them: the liquid flesh that formed a quivering sunburst over the radiating crystal skeleton forming strange symbols.]

“YOU ARE NOW A BEING OF THE WATERY REALM! YOU WILL FIND THAT NOW YOU ARE AT LEAST A LITTLE MORE FREE! YOU CAN PASS BACK INTO YOUR OLD WORLD WHEN YOU WISH. DO AS THOU WILT!”

And this is why water is called Aqua in Highest Lelv. The Water-Troll also is known to abduct females foolish enough to use Song-Spellwork near Lakes or Ponds of Time or Rivers, but only in the Spring. This is why many of our bodies of water have such names as ‘The Lake of the Ominous Song’ or the “Slowly Singing River”: the Singing-Spells of the captured girls can still be heard on the surface of the water.

[1] All Northern trolls were given 2 names. The first name was traditionally passed down from the father or mother to indicate filial relationships, so all the boys born to a troll named Akua would be named the same. The second name was earned during his or her Bilmash. We lack knowledge of exactly what the process is that decides the Earn-name of the troll but we know that copious amounts of psychedelic mushrooms are involved.

>>16309829
I know you. You're the fag that made a thread that annoyed me the other day. Remember me? I'm the guy that called you a ^99faggot and now I'm pissed that I can't remember the other insults I invented for you. Well guess what newfren: I'm putting your poem into the next image-issue.

>>16310537
I don't make threads anon but it's nice to meet you

8 contributions and 2500 words so far! Not bad. At this rate we'll be able to make the ebook in just a couple weeks. But I still need more contributions, so all you lurkers need to come up with at least a hundred words about or mentioning a troll. I don't ask much.

In a barren wasteland somewhere beneath the iron curtain there march the Trolls chanting their favorite song, T-R-O-L-L is for TROLL.

ONE T
ONE TRUE LAND
ONE TRUE ARMY
ONE TR
ONE TINY RUSSIAN
ONE TRO
ONE TUSK RISING OVER
ONE TROL
ONE TASTY RUSSIAN OR LEG
ONE TROLL
ONE TROLL
ONE TRUE
ONE TRUE ARMY
ONE TINY RUSSIAN
ONE TUSK RISING OVER

With big yellow tusks always looking for bulky russian males to penetrate and later eat.
They don't believe in females or politics, just care about eating and marching side to side; they are used as anti-soviet propaganda by the fact that each year they eat around 10% of the red army.

>>16310554
Ah, i apologize. It's just that your style of poetry resembles some kid that tries trolling us sometimes.

bump

huh. It looks like the upper limit on characters per post has increased to 3000. Excellent

>>16309126
so based

>>16309829
To the tune of Lateralus

>>16309568
Very creative high quality contribution. Best schizo post ever. Just kidding. But I like the way you rendered dialog there. Very different. I need more posts like this one.

>>16308837
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_moVxotPCsg

>Forest Gump got into Shrimping for the genocide aspect of culling thousands and thousands of lesser lifeforms at a time, dragging them up from the depths to slowly asphyxiate over ice in the holds below deck, only to be subjected to the indignity of playing second fiddle to larger and better endowed crustaceans of the crab fry, or the novelty of tiny lobsters in crawdad boils. Lieutenant Dan noticed in his more sober moments a demonic glee escape from Forest's involuntary spasms as he cleaned and gutted foul caught sealife they used for lunch, sucking in breaths sharply and holding them in, straining with veins bulging out as if lifting prodigious amounts of weight (or expelling it) for just a moment until he could rip the viscera out from gill to fin; then he could release his wind with a hoarse gusto, leaving his gaping slackjaw open for a troublingly long time after, vacantly staring at the horizon, a blankness. This unsettled Lieutenant Dan immensely. Beer helped -- to a point -- except Forest had asked,
> "Chocolates have shells. Do we have shells Lieutenant Dan? Are we chocolates for God?" One too many times.
>Lieutenant Dan's nightmares in Laos and Cambodia were now populated by crustacean arachnids slowly swaying their ten foot antennae back and forth in a blackened napalm forest, the tips flaring like Roman Candles on the Fourth of July, their giant glassy hubcab eyes reflecting their abyssal hatred back into the Lieutenant, buried neck high in a bamboo cage sunk in the mud. If he closed his eyes or averted his gaze, the legions of burning tar shrimp NVA began clicking in unison, thunderously resonating in his chest, just like it would when his LRRP team was declared Prarie Fire Emergency, and the B-52s were sent to erase their last know position. If he looked behind, his fire team flickered in and out of sight: in uniform, clean and pressed for parade; in uniform, tattered, sooted and blooded; tarred black and writhing as if on fire; motionless, the tarr slowly peelin their flesh head to toe, their white eyes and grinning teeth staring relentlessly at him cowering in the mud cage.

>>16311014
>Other nights the Lieutenant was on watch in the triple canopy blackout jungle night. The shrimp NVA feeling their way through the underbrush with their antennae closer and closer to their too already claustrophobiv perimieter. Would the claymores rigged in the trees penetrate their communist carapaces? Would their CAR-15s even? Every time, when the trackers fall silent along with the jungle, he felt a slow grip tighten on his shoulder -- the Montagnard on his left must have seen something; he was the best they had, and Lieutenant Dan trained him to be: he always moves his own hand towards the Montagnard's to acknowledge him, and every time it's goddamned shrimp claws. Lieutenant Dan alqays woke up frantic clicking the detonator for the claymores in a pool of sweat.
>He had enough.
>"I have suffered a loss, Forrest, far greater than my legs. It's my spirit, my soul, if you will. There is only a blank there now - medals where my soul used to be.”
>"Maybe it's like the shrimp Lieutenant?"
>Lieutenant Dan gripped the revolver in his jacket even tighter than before.
>". . . Like . . . shrimp, Forest?"
>"Yes sir Lieutenant Dan. Maybe you gotta trawl for your soul like the shrimps, usin' the medals for baits."

>If it weren't for his legs and Forest humping his torso back to the MEDEVAC, he'd have used him for bait then and there. Life really is like a box of chocolates that give you diabetes, and chops your feet off, on a shrimp trawler, forever--

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UCAhWnc9uJE

I'll try dialogue


During the drop of night, after seeing the fall of sight, he made his way swiftly through the market.
"Halt!"
The man tried to get away by going through a store.
"I said halt."
"No way."
"I said halt." The follower was now panting.
"I said..."
"How can you even see me?"
"I don't see, I smell. I'm blind, don't worry you can trust me."
"But I don't have anything to hide."
"I can smell you. I know what you've been through. You don't have to go alone."
"I'm not going to... or at least that wasn't my first thought. What exactly do you smell?"
It was terribly dark. It was very hard to make out a face.
"I'm a manic. I can smell colors, I can smell what you ate and where you're going."
Alarmed the man started to distrust his follower, "Where am I going?"
All the sudden a large toad creature started to take form as darkness adjusted to the eyes as you barely made out the image of light reflecting in night-vision eyes.
"You're going in my tummy bub."

As the night passed on, people in the market could just make out the smell and sound of savage eating. The seemingly all-knowing troll in the marketplace grants unknown men unknown reprieve.

>>16309829
>>16310757
>As trolls bridge below so above I imagine

Slouched back in the shadow of the toll box BEEP
see the tinkle on the ground from the flou rescent BEEP BEEP
black cat scamper on the moss rock to get beneath the BEEP BEEEEP
creak up the chair to see the clock says four
grab the key don't need the umbrella just pattering
BEEEEEEEEP "HEY, MAN"
cool misty June night not too slick on the step-stones
"HEY- oh I can see him alright, fuck I thought we were gonna have go ALL the way back to I-8"
high beams brighter than the bridge lamp
"Alright man, five bucks trust me it's all counted"
get the lock, lift the gate, heavy since the motor broke
heave... back and hold it with the cross pole
SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
hear a clatter, smell the rubber, almost got my feet though
pennies nickels dimes and quarters scatter in a puddle
bend down and pick em up, add em up for later
drop the gate shut the lock shuffle back below
keys on table, toll in box and me in creaky seat

>>16311045
>>16311090
>>16311018
>>16311014

Excellent work guys. You bring us up to 3600 words. This pleases me. I like the weirdness in your work.

bump

Look kid, I don't want to discourage you, but it's a fact that trolling just isn't what it used to be. You're the third "informational interview" I've had to do this week, and I'm getting tired of repeating myself, so do me a favor and just shut up and listen for a minute. I don't know what that guidance counselor means to accomplish by sending all you kids up here with the same laundry list of prepared questions, but I'll humor him and tell you the same thing I told your classmates. Believe it or not, I was a kid once myself, and I know how hard it can be to figure out what to do with your life when none of the adults around you want to give a straight answer to anything.

First of all, don't ask me about what you can do with a B.A. in trolling. I have no idea. When I got started in this business there was no such thing as a B.A. in trolling, back then barely anyone knew what a troll was. There were no rules or regulations spelling out what counted as trolling. All those got written down after the fact, after we started to figure out what worked and what didn't. Back then, everyone in the trolling business had a real desire to fuck with other people, the kind of desire you can never really explain or rationalize. We never went after someone with an expected outcome in mind, we just did what felt right and did it so many times that it became a reflex. The first people to write about trolling as if it were an art, or even a science, were really just trying to make sense of a part of their mind that seemed like it was following someone else's instructions. I've read all of those "foundational works" they tell you about in school, and none of them ever made sense to me. Hell, I knew they guy who wrote "The ABCs of Trolling," and he told me, only a year after publishing it, that he thought the book was a complete failure that needed to be taken out of print as soon as possible. Of course, that didn't happen.

(1/2)

>>16311856

Now, I'm not trying to show off here, there's a point to all this. I may be an old troll, but I don't like to bore or irritate young people with stories about the good old days unless there's a point to be made. What I really want you to get out of this is that anyone who tells you that there's a neat and tidy method to trolling is full of shit - they're trolling you. And that's the exact reason why the whole field is in such a mess today. See, the trolls of my generation, who couldn't understand how to troll, went on to troll the trolls who are now teaching "Trolling 101" by teaching them that trolling could be taught - trolls trolling trolls. The spirit of the business was irrecoverably lost, and nowadays you've got graduates of trolling programs who think that the key to success comes from following the textbook as closely as possible. These programs put all their effort into recruiting new students and getting them out the door as soon as possible, whether they produce competent trolls or not just isn't a priority. There's this assumption that getting a degree in trolling is an end in itself, and the schools never bother to check up on their graduates after they've left for the real world. As a result, you've got thousands of supposed trolls fumbling around with no real idea about what they're doing or why. Changing conditions in the field, new platforms for trolling, and a lower barrier to entry are only going to make things worse. I wouldn't be surprised if the whole business has to be reinvented from scratch eventually, although that probably won't happen in my lifetime. The existing system's still got too much momentum and the people making their living off it, like me, don't want to give it up.

I've rambled on long enough, and I can tell from your expression that you've got the message. I'm sorry if I've disappointed you, but it's better to lose your illusions now rather than later. My advice to you is to forget about trolling and study something with a future instead, like philosophy or English lit.

(2/2)

check this weird shit out

>>16311863
>>16311856
Breakin the rules, eh? I like that. Good work.

4300 words now. If I can get around 5000 word per episode I'll be happy I guess.

>>16309126
canonical exposition.

I've been downloading torrents of images of art lately, because art is what I care about. I never saw this painting before.

>>16309733
Damn
>>16309738
My room makes it even better imo. Drug-induced dreamscape spilling its depersonalization into the real world

>>16311014
That opening sentence, amazing

People say /lit/ is dead but if even half the posts on here were written by different people then there's some serious talent lurking. HUZZAH!

>>16312532
I typed that all out at 3 AM last night and didn't realize how long it had gotten until now. If you want to cut it down so more people can fit in the image, go ahead.

>>16313598
No, I like the fact that you broke the rules. This is what makes a real artist.

From within the amber he types. Light taps of anticipation. Edges vertices shift flawless shifting stale air forces through the airways. A bare minimum for life to survive. The soiled throne breathes.
Fibre trapped fluids that never seem to dry. Human needs not met. The smell. God, imagine the smell. Wrappers from another world, some still house original products. The ping is coming back, he is sure of it.
He is sure.
Stasis resumes.

Trolls roaming the streets, shadow from shadow
lurking weary feet, distant on the meadow
black eyes, wary, under bright stars
searching for blissful ways where no men are

As difficult as it can be, how do I
find a place for me? Among many places…
Maybe if staring enough of the sky
I can find ways of amity

Sing, songbird, sing, nightingale
because near ahead comes a mighty gale
sing, because, on the horizon

flowering camps blossoms with poetry.
Obluda, Obluda, find your name
obluda, obluda, your pearly mane...