Yea Forums tries to write thread

Is this a copypasta? I haven't read anyone this unironically pretentious before

Typical brainlet sociologist who half understands the Foucault

Indeed dialectical critical realism may be seen under the aspect of Foucauldian strategic reversal — of the unholy trinity of Parmenidean/Platonic/Aristotelean provenance; of the Cartesian-Lockean-Humean-Kantian paradigm, of foundationalisms (in practice, fideistic foundationalisms) and irrationalisms (in practice, capricious exercises of the will-to-power or some other ideologically and/or psycho-somatically buried source) new and old alike; of the primordial failing of western philosophy, ontological monovalence, and its close ally, the epistemic fallacy with its ontic dual; of the analytic problematic laid down by Plato, which Hegel served only to replicate in his actualist monovalent analytic reinstatement in transfigurative reconciling dialectical connection, while in his hubristic claims for absolute idealism he inaugurated the Comtean, Kierkegaardian and Nietzschean eclipses of reason, replicating the fundaments of positivism through its transmutation route to the superidealism of a Baudrillard.

this guy got it right:

When they try to take it all away from you
Notice that your hidden oppressors are Jews
And when the homosexuals come to take your stuff
The White Race must stand up and cry "That's enough!"

For if the Superior Race keeps itself pure
Then the future of our children will ever endure.
Therefore all females who prefer negro sperm
Must face justice, and be burned.
And if the nation can stand unified together
Then the prosperity of our race will endure forever

I thought what I'd do was, I'd take my flaccid pancake out through my zipper and start taking a piss. As it came pouring out of me, though, the red and black, I felt pretty uncomfortable. Actually it wasn't just uncomfortable, it burnt and stung, it was worse than chlamydia and ghonorrhea at the same time. Like little needles out my urethra, giving male birth to an infection. Nice.

Hail Hitler!

Race-mixer detected.

Kurt Vonnegut is the reason tumblr exists. All banal, whimsical pop philosophy has turned the world into thinking making a statement to put in AZQuotes is the height of intelligence. Mass literacy was a mistake.

Detroit, 1970. Nobody wants to be here, especially those who can't leave. On 12th street and Mack, rubble heaps and broken glass intimate at a once bustling thoroughfare. Not anymore, or, at least, not bustling for any good reason. When the Negroes rose up that summer of '67- and they did rise up, the strangers, to rape their mistress- no one thought they'd damn take the whole city with them. Kill me 𝘢nd I'll t𝘢ke her with me. But when one day of mayhem escalated into a five day city bonfire that took Johnson and his troops to finally squelch, all the little white ladies glued to their television sets could only ask why?

But it's not my job to answer that question, only to pick up the pieces.

Were you alive in Detroit in the 70s? I'm currently living off Mack and this post encouraged me to read up on the riots.

Your writing lacks the hollow nature of the current reality around Mack on the east side.

I would post my masterpiece and blow your minds but nobody reads these threads

>HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH! GUYS HE ONLY POSTED A ONE WORD RESPONSE! SEE HOW COOL AND ABOVE IT ALL HE IS! YIKES OOF WEW LAD DAMN SON!
Get fucked, get fucked, get fucked. I hope you are destroyed. I want you to be raped, I hate you so much. Fuck you, with every fiber of my being fuck you. Stop posting like fucking girls on this board. Stop responding with one word comments like "yikes" or "oof." This shit is fucking infuriating and it's been going on for way to fucking long.
>"b-but I was just talking like a girl ironically"
Oh yeah, and I dressed your dad up in a wig and fucked him up the ass "ironically." Wow so funny am I right? What irony! Stop ruining this fucking board with this fucking yikes bullshit. Nobody is better for having read a single word comment just saying yikes. That bandwidth could have gone to something better, the net negative value of your comment is such that it is actively destroying the internet one bit at a time. Maybe those pixels that would have been used to say "yikes" on your screen could go to a more worthy cause, like reddit or a facebook group!
>"yik-"
No stop right fucking there. I no you're going to comment back with "yikes," I know you just can't get enough of that retarded shit. I want you to know you're disappointing everybody right now with everything you say. Get fucked. Nobody comes here so they can see the word "yikes" unaccompanied by anything else. If that were the case, they could just get a marker and some paper and write "yikes" on their own time. Leave it by their computer maybe. Fuck you and your yikes.
>"please, st-stop being mean to me"
Then fix your life. Fix how you comment. Maybe fix what sites you go to. Stop with this yikes crap that's just fucking irritating.
Remember this: nobody wants, nobody likes, yikes yikes yike

I chugged the remains of my now cold coffee. It left a bitter aftertaste in my mouth. The radiant screen laid into the crevices of my face, highlighting wrinkles and emphasizing the ragged texture of my flesh. Eyes rapidly moved across the screen, fingers swiftly pressed up and down, back hunched over uncomfortably, mind a familiar mush, ears ringing. Each part of my body had learned its' role in this division of labor and performed its' task with great efficiency. Eyes glanced at the clock on the bottom right. 11:59 PM. Just about time for maman's tendies I thought.

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He unzipped his trousers, though he did not unbutton them. Standing in the corridor, he slipped his right hand inside of the slit covering his crotch. He gripped his flaccid member. He tugged. He tugged. He tugged. His limp phallus began to chafe due to the uncooperative nature of the extremity. Chronic alcoholism was the source of his rampant erectile dysfunction. The man let out a roar of agony as he continued to pull this way and that, even altering his grip as though it would improve the situation. But it did not. As he stood, letting out animalistic grunts and shouts, the manager of the Denny's began to push him with unwarranted force back through the front door, slamming it in his face and locking it. The man stood on the sidewalk, gripping his penis. He checked the Casio watch on his left hand. 2:37 in the afternoon. The third time this week he had been banished from the Denny's. The third time this week his penis was denied the sweet release of an orgasm.

The smell of a woman is precious, a memory that can't be taken but tainted. The feeling of a woman who writhes in your arms, shakes at the thought of you, is precious. The knowledge that her eyes see more than you want to be seen, is precious, because she doesn't just see with love but with the religion of innocence, and you are her husband, her king, her god.

The taste of a woman's lips and tongue is heroine.

Laughed out loud. It just got funnier and funnier.

very nice

Edith sat on the porch, waiting for something, at the moment she couldn’t recall exactly what. She watched the sky, which was gray, and she suspected it would rain today. There was a leash beside her, and she grabbed it. She pulled on it, and the leash tightened, then she let it go. She looked at the mound in the yard, she made it a month ago. There was nothing under it. But atop it was a rock etched with the name of her dog: Puddles. Puddles rotted in the rain, at the dump. She’s never been there. Edith sighed.

bump

unironically pretty rad

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based

>Tiny are both my willy and will
Kek

Imitation is the highest form of flattery. Mimicry is the highest form of mockery.
The difference between bravery and stupidity is a dice roll.
Postulates and theories are the bread and butter of a baker with a broken toaster.
If we cleanse God of his own sins, who then will we rage against, but ourselves?
Silver linings can't be put in the dish washer.
The horse anus is an excellent self-cleaning apparatus; its mechanism is replicated in industrial engineering.

Anons, if everything we touch turns to shit, let us be brave and stupid: lets do away with the serious theories and use the tools our "teachers" left laying around to imitate the horse anus and mimic both ourselves AND the Gods we hate. Studious dishwasher dialogue drowns our true passions in kitsch compromises.
If we debase ourselves with soap, let us clean ourselves with shit.

Written by accelerationist yang gang. And it's actually 150 words fuck the OP and the police.

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Gods work; I salute you user

>tfw this is actually my life

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Tonight I will dream about all who pour out their spirit onto keyboards. I will dream the silicon roadways which carry tentative souls towards each other through the senescent night and into the burning dawn. I will dream the glowing spiderwebs of experience lighting up in server rooms across the globe, all connected. Tonight I will dream about you, user.

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This is good

Can someone dumb this down for a brainlet please

Was roundabouts 67 or 68 when the river behind town started to rise. First everyone was mighty confused; had been a dry spell so if anything the river ought've shrunk down to a trickle. But here it was, running down from the mountains like we'd had a month of pouring rain, and bringing with it a gawdalmighty stink.
My daddy and some of the other kids' pops went on up to the mountains to take a look at where it flowed from, but two nights on and none of em ever showed back up in town.
Momma moved us out of that house pretty quick after. Never said why, but those last few nights I coulda swore I heard singing coming from those swollen waters out back of the house and a little into the woods. Low, gruff shanties, like my daddy used to sing when he was all red-faced with whisky on his breath.

Let's be friends, user

yikes

...

very nice. chilling. spooked. goosebumps.

based

As I was sitting on a stoop, the lines of the road abstracted into 1 dimension, vision dissolved and I travelled at speed along a single axis. This journey was entirely mathematical so it is useless to describe in words. Where I arrived was a bleak place. In a green and black field, an obloid castle had been destroyed, at its corner, the broken stones inverted in on themselves and I saw a mirror image of the ex-castle but present in the same space as the original. I knew walking didn't exist here, but the castle grew nearer to me, and made a sound. Pulses of noise ran through, building into a hideous crescendo. The castle had awoken, the stones and slabs arranged themselves into the shape of a bear. It consumed me, and I felt a vast, angry, hunger devouri my soul. A last gasp and I was now in the bear, and was the bear itself. Hunger and malice moved the bear in circles, and I knew that the person I had been until just recently would have been terrified of the bear discovering Earth.

i like this

ITS FOR SINGLE MOM VACATIONS
ITS FOR BLACK SENPAI REPARATIONS
ITS FOR JEWISH CORPORATIONS
BUT ITS GETTIN NEW ACCREDITATION

AS UNIVERSAL AS THE DICK PIC, AND
MORE BASIC THAN YOUR SIDE CHICK
GIVE THAT INCOME TO US WHITE HICKS
WATCH ME INVENT SOME FUCKIN NEW SHIT

YOU WONT GET THEM HUNGER PANGS
WHEN YOU'VE NOSHED ON MR. YANG'S
HOSPITALITY MENTALITY
OPPOSED TO PSYCHO BOOMER GAMES

I GOT A GRAND IN THE BANK ACCOUNT
AND YEAH BITCH SO DO YOU. BUT
I GET MORE CLASS WITH THE SAME AMOUNT
CUZ SCHOOLIN SHITS IS WHAT I DO

I COPPED A BAG AND I FEEL FINE
I SAVE ON LIGHT, CUZ MY COINS SHINE
SEE THIS LOOT, YEAH ITS ALL MINE
PAID THE BILL ON THE STATES DIME

I WONT TAKE NO THOTS SHOPPIN
PYTHON SCRIPTS, CRYPTO HOPPIN
WHEN WALL STREET STARTS DROPPING
I WONT HOLD BAGS FOR FED'RAL ROBBING

IT'S OKAY WAGIE WAGIE
GET BACK IN THAT COMFY CAGEY
YOUR BOSSES JUST CONCERNED
FOR YOUR OWN FUCKING SAFETY

GET THOSE TENDIES IN THE OVEN NOW
AND THOUGH FAST FOOD IS HASTY
THIS FANCY FOOD AIN'T NO FOUL
CANT LET YANG'S GIFT GO TO WASTEY

SHE SPEND THAT CASH LIKE AN NPC
AN' BUY THE WEED FOR A HOE AN' ME
SHE STILL PAY UP FOR THEM MP3s
BUY PORN SUBS TILL HER FATHER GRIEVE

BOUGHT SOME MAGS, THAT'S SPENDIN' SPREE
GOT SOME ELVES, ON THAT DMT
BOUGHT SOME STICKS, MADE A FUCKIN TREE
WE WACKIN OUT LIKE THE WACO SIEGE

FOCK OFF BOOMER SHITS
THIS UBI IS EARNED
IM GONNA REP YANG GANG TILL THIS
FILTHY WORLD BURNS
OR WE SUCK OFF THE SUM
THE STOLEN FUNDS, THOSE SICK GERMS
TOOK AND NOW LOOK SHOOK
WHEN THE FAVOR'S RETURNED

ITS HARD TO NOT BE SWAGGIN
WHEN MY HATERS TITS SAGGIN
AND THE GADSDEN GOYS SADDENED
THEY FOMO THESE FRODO BAGGINS

AUSTERITY BRINGS NO PARITY
TO THE PARTY THATS A PART OF ME
COFFEE ENEMA TO SENECA
STOIC DRAINO DROWNS THE ECONOMY

PUT IT ALL ON THE YANG TAB
BAIT THAT BITCH WITH A BOOTY GRAB
THEN I SWERVE WITH MY TOP LADS
MAKE A THOT WITH A THIRST MAD

GET THAT BOOMER A HEARSE STAT
HEART ATTACK AT MY NEW HAT
IM REPPIN YANG TILL I GET FAT
ITS A GAME, THEY DONT GET THAT

ALL ACCERLATIN BOYS
ABOARD THE UBI TOYS
PUT IT IN YOUR MOUTH AND SUCK IT
IT'S IN THE GRAVE; LET'S JUST FUCK IT
AND WHEN ITS JUST US GOYS
AND THE NIGGERS KICK THE BUCKET
WE PRAISE THE TROY PLOY
AND REBUILD MAN TO THE SUMMIT

AIN'T NO YIN- TO THIS YANG
AIN'T NO THING- TO THIS THANG
AIN'T NO SMOKE- TO THIS BANG
AIN'T NO MASK- ON THIS BANE
AIN'T NO BRAKES- ON THIS TRAIN

NOW WATCH ME YANG GANG

THAT'S RIGHT-- ALRIGHT-- GET TIGHT
AND WATCH THIS YANG GANG
(YANG GANG X8) (wha- wha- wha- watch this yang gang)

>reposting 90s grunge lyrics
lazy af

niggers I fucking hate niggers I hate niggers so much that I wish there were more niggers so I could curbstomp the niggers as a job like in American history x this is why we need an abundance of niggers (opaque reference to an abundance of Katherines, a novel by john green, a known nigger)

(Should be read in a slightly singsong way.)

I am het'rosexual
But your homosexual
Jesus? Homosexual.
And Muhammed? Homosexual.
Buddha was homosexual.
And the blue elephant – homosexual.
All religions is homosexual.
Even Robert Dawkins is homosexual.
They're all homosexual.
But I'm not homosexual.
I am het'rosexual.

my shorts. they're covered in piss. did you piss on my shorts?

Exists.
That which hurts, but not that which soothes.
Remorse, but not regret.
The others, often, but me, rarely.
So many things that count but really shouldn't.
The ferry to the other shore.
This wormhole.

Doesn't exist.
The sea, constellations, life, but only when I'm not looking.
Regret, but not remorse.
All these conditions, most of the time.
A beginning, finally, but not an end.
The ferry to the other shore.
This wormhole.

i enjoyed this.

based and redpilled

Feeling like a nigga
Finger on the trigga
Feeling like a black man bout to pull that trigga

Watching niggas drop
Pop pop pop
Eating up the slop that my moms made my pops

Uh
Uh

Yo, I'm a slick finger nigga pulling trigger
Niggers try to hang -- bitch I just snigger
As I'm penetrating my willy gets bigger
Bitch I'mma kill these niggas with rigor

Uh
Uh

BEEP goes the register as the young woman scans my Cheeto puffs.
“How are you doing today sir?”
“I am alone in this world you see. Floating aimlessly from one distraction to the next. Whether I live a noble life or become a scoundrel, it doesn’t truly matter does it? I will go on lamenting and writhing all the same. I am but a specter lost in temporality. What difference would it make if I was born generations ago? A faceless corpse washed up on the beaches of Normandy? Would that satisfy my desires? I was that man, that man was me and another man will be me. You understand? We are abominations who reside on the edge of existence. Being unwanted or loathed by humanity would do us too great a service, we simply do not register, we do not exist. These Cheetos are more valid in this world than I. So you See now, do you? You see how I am truly doing?”
Her eyes wide, glimmering with wetness. Have my words touched the soul of another? Have I willed myself into existence? Her lips part and I await the succulent sound, oh how I anticipate this salvation.
“Paper or plastic sir?”

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>“How are you doing today sir?”
>“I am alone in this world you see.
Made me laugh out loud

i wish that this didn't resonate with me

As do I user. As do I.

Her eyes were probably watering from the stenchy 100% real cheese waft coming from this lad. Good job user you've engrossed me.

oof

The sprighlty springer sprung forth with incredible springiness and sprung a pheasant from the ditch. "What a springy spaniel!" said the hunter, as a bullet sprang from his rifle. The pheasant sprung downwards as blood sprung from his breast like water from a spring.
"Good springing Springy" said the hunter as his springy companion, springy the springer spaniel, sprung into his arms with delight.

Agent R saw that Agent V was taking Advil with his coffee again. His shakes were being scrupulously internalized, but the tremors in his hand caused telltale ripples in his coffee cup. Agent R gave him a familiar look,the What was it This Time one,and Agent V looked away and swallowed his pills with a hasty sip.

Midgets. Fucking. Dinosaurs.

Agent R was impressed,and slightly curious. "You mean CGI models or something from your target 's anime collection?" Agent V shook his head.
"Oh no. Something from the 90s. Real girl midgets in barbarian costumes. Guys in rubber suits. Hideously HUGE guys. Where does he find this stuff?" Agent V had a strong stomach before this gig,R knew. He could waltz through a ballroom filled with corpses they said. But he had no shields for...the Strange. "Who makes this sort of thing? Who the hell jerks off to it? Who in the ever living goddamn world wakes up one day and says to themselves,'I want to see a four foot woman in a leopard bikini receiving anal from a RAPTOR' and runs around to make a movie from it?"

Agent R looked past V at his abandoned computer terminal. A chubby dwarf was being spitroasted by a pair of pterodactyls. It was mesmerizing like a bad car crash. He forced himself to turn away,and said to V in a kindly tone,"Tell you what. We know where he is and his activities are being logged,so let's both knock off early and have a few shots at the bar?" V brightened st this. And the both of them hurried away from the sound of ineptly played heavy metal accompanying the screeches of bird monsters and the squelching of bodily fluids.

Based

Cringe and bluepilled

Today, I made bread.

Was it good bread?

Not him, but I also made bread today.
It was ok.

Sounds like good bread.

It was ok.

I wish I could create. How does it feel to create? What is your process?
Do you forget yourself when creating, proceeding without much active thought, just pouring out your unfiltered essence into your work.
Or do you search through your soul with a magnifying glass, trying to find some nugget of gold from all the noise and muck, some clear cut truth, fully examined and unassailable, and with exact precision attempt to transfer that into your chosen medium?

Someone /rec/ me a book like this

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Not book but movie, cash back

Cringe

Of I remember watching that. Brest decent.

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Any sort of thinker or non-thinker arrives at a conclusion that is true to them. Therefore there's nothing wrong with that.

The freeway takes us for a ride alongside the same fence as this morning. Tonight, we shine our lights on the road ahead. Tomorrow, the sun will rise. The sun always rises.

Before me, a boy plays in traffic. He pilots a plane in his sedan-o-sphere. There surveyed, he flies for the stars. Horror as our hero strikes pane like a trapped bird.

Terror as the Dad, disturbed by the noise, turns and raises a hand while the son is down. The son does not try to escape again. He fears what might strike if he fails.

I see police in the distance and sit up straight

Enchantment at the light breaking through the windows, jagged patterns of glazed frost distorting and refracting the beams of golden warmth that shimmer and shine, prismatic reflections illuminating the walls of the quiet, empty living room and I, stretching, yawning, shuffle my way to the kitchen, adorned in a terrycloth bathrobe and insulated slippers. I put a kettle of water and a percolating espresso pot on to boil, liking both a coffee and tea when time affords them. I open the refrigerator door and peer inside, considering the various leftovers before remembering the bananas I'd put away to ripen.

She flipped the switch and it became dark, but I could still see her through the low humming light of the television. She took off her cardigan and began to unbuckle her belt, so I did the same; She bent over to undo her shoes and as she did, the weight of her belt buckle pulled her pants down to her knees, to which she did not protest. Pink and bunched up on one side I could see a vague glimpse of tan lines on her exposed cheek. She removes her shoes one by one and then shimmies her pants down to her ankles still bent over. "Are you just going to watch? Or are you going to help yourself?" She says as she shakes her butt. I then...

The air outside is still harsh to the lung. It hurts to breathe. Smoking fills me with something dreadful and wet. The pages of my journal have dampened as well; must be the essence of spring.
Funny how all of March I’ve been doing decent and the day before my 21st birthday it's like I haven’t felt this awful in months. I don’t necessarily think it’s the car episode; I’ve been questionably void of feeling for some time now. I wish I knew why, because my life is textbook perfect: no debt, no mortgage, a bachelor’s degree, health in check, well-paid job. But just yesterday I wound up slow dancing around my record player, alone, and cried, because I felt old and disputable.
I feel like I've missed out on becoming something. My chances of being deemed a teenage prodigy have slipped through my fingers. I've spat in my own eyes and gone blind over the rut of adulthood—and no amount of money or well-situated aspects can give me what I have lost.