Post shite and get shite

Thanks user
The story is supposed to have some fantastical elements (regenerative flesh, mutilated bodies coming back to life and that sort of stuff)
Just starting out so it's mostly me vomiting ideas on paper, I'll try to work on my prose to make it more readable
Thanks again

>Did I fuck it up even more?
Elroy is small, having a population of only
1,609 it is the 3rd smallest town in a 155-mile radius. If you take into account all of the towns or town-like formations, then it would be 12th. But these towns are not towns insofar as literal town classification, but villages, hamlets, and
unincorporated areas: non-towns. These towns are so unbelievably rural they seem almost like safe havens
for any event in history that could be deemed “revolutionary” or "progressive" and are practically recession proof. I’m sure that if I left, I could come back 10 years later and nothing would
change.

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Kek

bump

Why has /crit/ been so dead the past few weeks?
Is /write/ stealing the traffic?

Excerpt of my ramblings from tonight:

What I do know, though, is that it is not hard to see that there is innate beauty in life — especially in nature. The healthy green grass under the golden sun with Annie sitting there in the middle of it all, and the light reflecting off the flowing river, bustling with vigor, and the huge raven soaring through the web of thin, dark branches and lively blotches of small grape-colored leaves, with the sun shining unevenly through it all, and the squirrels rummaging through fallen leaves, and bugs crawling in the dirt — everything feeding off of each other and feeding into each other — it’s unrestrained beauty. There must be some illuminating force. Can evolution explain it all? Maybe. Either way, it’s truly mystical. So much beauty and I feel left out. Humans chop it all down and pour cement over it for money that feeds into more expansion and destruction. It’s not right.

Also:

I get a picture in my head every now and then of some sort of elongated stretch backwards into ‘time’ envisioning an elongated, shifting silhouette of a panorama of my past with my body at different points throughout my life, and the very essence of living through so many different events while exhibiting so many powerful emotions and having the contents of life wash over me at all these different points sends chills throughout my body.

I want to incorporate these pseudo ideas into a novel I'm writing.

I find the nature part a bit cliche. It could be improved if you include the real subtleties of the 'innate beauty in nature', write about some of the things we recognize yet go over our heads in our day to day life, the thing I find hard writing about nature is that everything has been explored and there's little room to innovate.
Second part is definitely much more interesting, flesh that out a bit and you're probably up to something.

I do agree with pretty much everything you said about nature and I more or less posted a diary entry from my pleasant experience of sitting in my yard and looking out into the surrounding woods today, but could you expand on what these overlooked subtleties within nature might be / look like?

hmm don't really have any good ideas now so just writing off the top of my head
Instead of writing bugs crawling, write about the complexities and order of insects, a swarm of bees and a rolling carpet of bugs, without colliding with one another, or the inner hierarchies of their social structure, the structure of their habitat, or perhaps the immensity of their numbers, the totality of it. Write in depth about the natural phenomena that you admire, be up close about it, I'm just a random guy so take it with a grain of salt tho

OP here
wrote some more
haven't edited yet so might be a bit raw and rough

The man spoke to the dead. A monologue. Conversations with the 2nd speaker silenced, blanked out, and the man conversed and questioned and discoursed, followed by brief seconds of mute outlined for imagined responses, which he then reacted and refuted and retorted, and repeating the same process he went on, the corpse in full submission of his tirade, dead eyes dazed, nods in agreement duped with strainings of hair strings, her every action in full control of the tyrannical puppeteer. The unilateral exchanges transitioned into hysterical laughter and in his fit the man approached the body, fronting onto its feet and he kneeled, arse on face, feet steady on its wrists and with an eagle claw he peeled, nails deeply etched in stretching skin, folds enclosed on fingers like stretching dough, incision slit extended, fat layers in yellow wax, unwinding, showing more red. A crooked smile on the man’s face, zippered all the way to the cheekbone as he scavenged, hands grubby into grapnels tearing away; a poacher of hearts palm full of filthy lucre. He bathed and toyed in this tub of gore.

The hardest thing a person can do is to keep things as they are. Change is a drunken horde of fops who arrive uninvited. They shows up without a care in the world, flaunting themselves in their pretty dressings, and make a miserable time for everyone who was actually invited. So as it is, you need a large amount of brute force to keep most of them off your grounds, and copious amounts of cunning to have the ones that slipped through cordoned off unawares and left to have their festivities with themselves. If you can do that, you'll have the finest of parties till the wine's run dry.

It's a shame I have to invite such horrid guests either way.

No one at the table spoke, which was a blessing all its own. The Colonel and the Captain sat at their usual positions opposite each other, farthest from me. On occasion, when the one of them thought the other wouldn't notice, they would break from their perpetual glaring match to shift in their chair, concealing their attempt to move their chair a fraction of an inch closer me. Immediately the other would get up and, quite loudly, scrape their chair the distance moved before sitting back down, where upon they would resume their duel.

Zeta sat at my righthand, not paying much attention to this apparent 'formality', and was staring off into whatever hypothetical scenario he was fancying at the moment. The discs and gears in his brain whirred with a speed and heat that it was the only noise in the room, sans the faint screams of livestock permeating the ornate marble walls. It was probably the target and outcome of the next war, or the causes and effects of the next societal crisis, and if it'd be better for us to cause now then to happen later. A sizable bet was put towards it being the outcome of the civil war that'd erupt after the Colonel and/or the Captain inevitably tried to kill the other but actually succeeded.

Knowing we were short the individual who'd sit on my left, and fully knowing the answer, I asked, "Where's Vreight?"

"You know the answer - where he always is during the reunion," Zeta's reply came instantly, "I'd appreciate not trying to 'break the ice' using questions we all know the answer to, as it increases the odds of violence quite drastically."

"Feh," the Colonel rolled his eyes, "that abomination has never been to one of these, ever, I don't know why-"

"He was here that one time," the Captain cut in. I began to massage my temples as the Captain continued, "Typical of you to try and-"

"It was here for all of about five seconds before realizing there weren't any defenseless soldiers about to brutalize, and left to go do what he's doing right now, like it always does," the Colonel's fist slammed down on the table, "Typical of you to try and nitpick on the smallest of details."

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hijacking this thread to have an honest to God, anonymous book review done in an honest God honesty that is about philosophy.
A very great read for any person out there interested in philosophy. Be they from the highest φιλόσοφος, or to the young and the homeless. This book is the entry gate to one of the most important philosophical history series that will shake decades of philosophy.
My reasononing will be at that shortly.

First to begin, We will look at it's exterior's knowledge. We take notice of the Author's personhood primarily and prumptly because we take to notice that the man is a Catholic Jesuit. and that by his nature it is also a work done in religous reasoning. So this work will also inflict impact upon other religous work.
It will require a high degree of knowledge upon glances but upon further inspection its disagreences are noted with everytime so it only remains partially deep, by the number of disagreeing nature it does not go to deep only to explain a short clammoring for people with higher degrees. So in some degrees it is extremely steep of a learning curve to read
border line borderline pyschopath. Multi line multi time paradime paradox photograph orthodime orthodox party time snorlax pizza time pizza line paragraph.

Spaghetti smells runny red roses rollo the floor hello low toes the floor funny shmllz noses smelly foots and fungus up my nose into a paradox.

Look up the functions of punctuation to get a better idea of how to separate your points better. Also think about how many ideas you're putting into one sentence. Take the first one for example. I think it would read better like this:

Elroy is small. Having a population of only 1,609, it is the 3rd smallest town in a 155-mile radius.

bumperino

I started to cried when Maria walked into the apartment. Our home, now, mostly only in title. In her arms, stretching plastic bags filled with groceries, noticeably light. For months we both have been steadily losing weight, but Maria seems to have taken the worse. I’ve watched her tender plumpness sink into her bones like a sponge drying in the sunlight. Still, her beauty remained. Strange that it no longer had any emotional effect over me. She stepped into the kitchen, dropped the bags on the counter, then returned to where I sat stone. The smell of fresh bread slowly filled the airy, seemingly growing apartment. It nauseated me. For a brief second I thought of my old life. The thought struck me to get up and retire to the bedroom, cocooning myself under the faux-down comforter, and releasing myself into sleep. But part of my subconscious gave in to the present, as if resigning to what I was experiencing, content to face the armies of the sick inside of me. And her too.