Yes oh lawdy yes. its a thread! This thread is for those who like to write for fun. What you do is:
-Write something (free verse poems, regular poems, short stories, essays, etc.)
-The person below you rates it and gives you some helpful critique
Rule: Ya'll know me and IM A PURTY SILLY GEY. But for the ratings, I would advise you to make them semi-serious and judge them by what you actually think the literary piece deserves. If you just jokingly type in "lol 0/10, gey no no scopes" then the person will feel as if they wasted their time.
-Please give a short background on your work before you present it!
-While rating, focus less on grammar or spelling and more on the premise and what not.
TOPICS:
Topics can be anything you want! They can be silly, serious, political commentary, even just long typed out rants. If you ever get a hankering for writing something, post it here and don't be scared about judgement
day!
I'll start
This is the prelude and part one of a short story I've been working on. I have no idea what it is or what it hopes to accomplish.
Spoiler
Thinking in the 21st Century
Introduction to Thinking
Hello! Oh bloody hell did I break a literary rule? Oh double bloody hell! Am I using a phrase from a culture I am not a part of? Well, as they say in Ireland, "Black Power!". Goddamnit, is that correct or even relevant? I hope so in hopes that I seem smarter than I actually am.
Dear Reader,
These are a few rules I, the book, demand you follow in my handling and enjoyment.
1) Do not read this book in public. Despite the title, no one will think you're clever or worth talking to. No woman/man (hey, to each his/her own) will start a pointless conversation with you in hopes of salvaging the crumbling personal world around them.
2) If you are in a Starbucks, I give you permission to physically assault the men and sexually assault the women and vice versa if your privy member doth angle that direction.
3) If you belong to a religion, may God have mercy on your soul.
4) If you are a nationalist, may the Pledge of Obedience have mercy on your mind.
5) I give you permission to worship other books before me.
6) Do not rape on Sundays, for it is the book's day.
7) If you are anxious in nature, constantly believe everyone is judging you.
8 ) If you are suicidal, remember that suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem. Unless you are in crippling debt, have no legs, or have gory flashbacks from Bush's "War on Common Sense". In that case, suicide is preferable and this book should come with a free set of razor blades and a noose.
9) Despise the number 9
10) The 10th rule is the most important rule and I shall leave it to interpretation.
These are my rules, my code, to your petty existence. Without me, you are worthless. Without me, you are nothing but insolent worms. But do not fear, for I am a humble and gracious book.
Chapter One: The People’s Republic of Earth
Jonathan Mursk was a cynical idealist. He was realistic in his approach on people and their behavior but idealistic in the sense that he always thought people could change for the better. Mursk was a socialist, oh the horror. A 21st century socialist in a capitalist’s world. Mursk had a complicated affection with simplicity. Mursk loved simplicity, he idolized simplicity, he even enjoyed coitis with simplicity from time to time. Mursk owned five hoodies, five pairs of slightly ripped jeans (the rips he created himself), five different colored beanies, five ironic tee-shirts and five pairs of disloyal underwear. Five sets of simple clothing for each weekday. On the weekends, Mursk would roam the woods naked singing Russian folk songs.
Jonathan Mursk lived, walked in and ate in his home city of Portland, Maine. The people of Portland jokingly called their city, “The People’s Republic of Portland”. It was a joke though as the rest of Maine was extremely conservative and the whole state was considered to be the “South of the North”. No one told Mursk that “The People’s Republic of Portland” was a mere jest from American liberals and so he believed full heartedly he lived in a socialist republic. In the spirit of a socialist, he shared his corn with his neighbor. The neighbor always denied it and Murks assumed he had been given his corn rations already. In an even greater socialistic spirit, Mursk always gave half of his marijuana and half of his Prozac to his neighbor who readily accepted the offerings. Who is this neighbor?
To mortals and immortals alike, the people of Portland called him Contemptible Charles. In reality (which is so overlooked), his real name was Richard Charles Dubeck. For the sake of novelizing and entertainment, he shall remain Contemptible Charles. Charles earned his moniker through being a contemptible human being. He did not eat orphans or rape AIDs victims but he did something much, much worse. Charles thought wildly, vividly and freely. Charles admitted to being an atheist on every occasion and would dominate religious thinkers in every confrontation with them. Buddhists, Christians, Muslims, Jews, Hindus, pagans, more Christians and Scientologists. Charles destroyed them all in logical debate. Well, the debates wore down in their logical-ness after a while as the apologists resorted to “I’ll pray for you” and “You can’t prove there isn’t a God”. Charles did what every sensible man should do. He called “bullshit” loudly and that made people angry. Charles had noticed in his short, twenty-five year old life that people hated their beliefs to be challenged. Anyone who challenged them was “disrespectful” or “ignorant” or a “radical”. Ironically these words came from the same mouths who agreed with the religion that murdered, undereducated (purposely in many respects) and radicalized in the name of -insert deity-.
Mursk and Charles always thought Jesus Christ would like them. The three were peace-chasing, establishment-hating socialists. Mursk knocked on Charles’ door one day. Charles walked out, calm and red-eyed. Mursk cheerfully said, “How are you today, comrade? Want to go to the Old Port and shop at less than regular shops tailored for special interests?”
It took Charles an entire five minutes to respond, “Sure...lemme go get some money. I’ll be right back.”
Mursk stopped Charles before he could close the door, “Why would you need money, friend? Everything in the Old Port is shared between the proletariat. Money is a useless, arbitrary, capitalist gem.”
Charles never had the heart to tell Mursk they didn’t live in a socialist utopia for Charles wished it himself and if he had crushed Mursk’s hopes, his would die as well. “Remember, John? We talked about this. The Old Port is the only sector of capitalist control in our city. Hence, we need money to satisfy the fat pockets of the bourgeois.”
Mursk nodded in remembrance and allowed Charles to retreat into his home. While going into this kitchen (where Charles secretly kept his money in an old toaster), Charles made sure to put on a ratty old hoodie and pick up a pack of cigarettes from a nightstand that resided in the kitchen for whatever unholy reason.
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