Should i just off myself

Learn logic and listen to what people say

>and tried to make jazz ambient
yikes

it was a very stupid idea, in retrospect.

There's always something. All that could be the result of incorrect study habits.

Either way, what happens if you give up and kill yourself? You'll have lost to your despair. There's beauty in death, but there's far more beauty in life. If you consider yourself a failure, then ending your own life will simply be your ultimate failure.

i already have a decently wide understanding of philosophy, and am incapable of tolerating the average person's faggotry

loss/win is no dichotomy; if you continue to live, you'll have lost to your misguided hope, life only to writhe. i welcome death, but fear his cold hands.

You cannot write. Try another artistic medium.

read the damn thread

Sure, if you're a faggot. If you have any sort of hope until the very end, then you've already beaten a problem that has plagued humanity since the beginning of time. I can come up with 100 bullshit reasons as to why everything is a loss or even a victory, but it's only points of substance, ie points that make human sense that matter in the end. Come on, now.

Would you rather read a sad book or no book at all?

sad books are the reason i'm here. maybe they weren't worth it. maybe you should close the sad book before you end up like me.

write about the power of awe, the power of sadness, sorrow, listening to kurtz in apocalypse now talking about wanting to tear his teeth out at the sight of the children's dismembered arms, say something with conviction, i wanted to die, i wanted to bury a claw hammer in the skull of my worst enemy and blow my brains out all over the walls, i wanted to slash a pilots neck with a stanley blade and crash the plane into the fucking white house, destroy a true edifice of power, annihilate man's symbols, reduce their fucking torturous world to ashes, head death upon death, blood pooling in their mouths, choking on their own heartbeat, i turned on some porn, found some happy looking slut sucking a throbbing cock like it was filled with the blood of jesus christ, gasping in delight at her asphyxiation on this girthy member, i started pulling at my own cock, feeling every ripple in the flesh, my muscles tightened, my breath came in short gasps, my cock felt separated from my body, like some phantom, some angel of deliverance, the girls drooling mouth yearned for semen, i was a man, just like this one, my cock could fill her holes, i reached for a crusty washcloth and wrapped the head of my dick as i came, my eyes rolled back in my head, i let the sensation linger, no doubt my expression was positively retarded, mouth half-open, eyes half-closed, my cock pulsed and i could feel the cloth growing heavy with moisture, i could feel my heart slow, my body relaxing, i could have drifted off to sleep right there, i could have died and not felt a thing left undone, a spurt of punctuation ending a pathetic, miserable existence, it didn't need to go on, there was nothing more to do or say, yet i rallied, i opened my eyes and could feel my cock going soft in my hand, i looked at the happy girl on the screen and felt disgust, disgust with her, disgust with myself, fucking is all we want isn't it? To fuck and kill, nothing else, money, fame, glory, meaningless, fucking is all we're good for and if we can't do that we're as good as dead. I clenched the last bits of sperm still swimming in the tip out, held the cloth so as not to stain my hands, zipped my fly, buckled my belt, stood and walked to the hamper to drop the scummy rag inside. I stepped out to the living room and looked at the tv, the credits of some movie were scrolling across, in the kitchen i observed the filth-strewn floor and dirty counter tops, went to the fridge, opened it and looked inside. there wasn't much in there, some bacon, some apples, a pan of beans. i wasn't really hungry and instead of eating went to the faucet and filled a glass with water. i swallowed a few gulps and felt it sloshing around in my belly. i patted my gut thinking i ought to have lost more weight by now. i'd been active and had been eating better, my stubborn fat ass just wouldn't slim down. ;)

>t. guy who also can’t write

i remember a place. i don't remember a location. it was a time for men who had nothing. it was our day. i remember the place. it was at the spot between 3 am and life, when men could lose their wills to sleep like beasts on a hunt. i remember, though it never happened, how i hungered to slaughter them, to rend them, but i remember crying when i saw one fall. we are the beetles that scurry underfoot, trying to be crushed. we were the beetles. they're all dead. where am i?

so, can you try to be laughed at? consumer. where did it all end? did i make up the beginning to give myself hope? who are you people?

Nigga what

I read all kinds of books, lad. Maybe your problem is you don't read enough happy ones. And I don't mean stories that are all rainbows and cupcakes. People/heroes going through struggle and conquering it in their own ways.

It will happen anyway in +50 years, you'll be non-existent for eternity afterwards, why rush it?

hey user you are intelligent obviously by the fact of your ability to grasp a narrative in a massively disoriented post modernation of lyrical ordination.

you are just immature, unrefined and extraordinary trite with no moderation of tack when you try to stick words, ideas, process, configurations, objects ideas thoughtsPOEMSmetaphorsTECHNOLOGY, stop

You need to play more, you have a script, fine. But you need your actors to experiment, you need them to live your piece, even in beauty and the beast- the candle and tea pots knew how to live, they had animation...you have none. you are rigid you are stuck you are down to far into a black hole muck filled into your boots path muddied mothers clean carpets and canvas DESTROYED

huh. that helps... an amount.

Here's some advice my mom gave me when I started getting all in a fucked up headspace.
Go do something good for someone
Take time out of your day to selflessly bring help, joy, or assistance to someone else

I think you're too tied up in your own brain, user. you weren't meant to live this way.

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You clearly have not examined yourself and your life enough to make that decision

whatever clarity from which you seek to extract your claims is nowhere near crystallized

>big
>python

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>muh dick
>muh dick
>muh dick

get a job white incel you're nothing special your forefathers mean nothing, get a 4 college degree get a wife get a house get a kob get a car have kids and get the hell out of my site

>implying OP is white

you're going about art backwards, coming up with genre tags and then trying to create something that will fit what you image this to be. style is PRODUCED out of elements working together, not applied from the top down.

come up with a story you'd like to write. what kind of characters would it take to accomplish this plot? what kind of prose can you write to reflect the characters' thought processes? you're trying way too hard to look at the big picture of literary movements, when the problems you should be solving are very small ones you can tackle one at a time.

who are you to determine the problems to be solved? genre itself is a widescale human interaction which can be described in the exact same manner as interpersonal movement, so why should either take artistic precedent? is it too meta?

take this good lads advice user