I will read literary excerpts of your choosing and post links to the recordings here in real time

Once upon a time and a very good time it was there was a moocow coming down along the road and this moocow that was coming down along the road met a nicens little boy named baby tuckoo

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op please read my short story for brit/pol/

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That's much longer than a paragraph, bro.

Just read the first paragraph then. (Not the synopsis)

Sweet. Here's another:

Already all confusion. Things and imaginings. As of always. Confusion amounting to nothing. Despite precautions. If only she could be pure figment. Unalloyed. This old so dying woman. So dead. In the madhouse of the skull and nowhere else. Where no more precautions to be taken. No precautions possible. Cooped up there with the rest. Hovel and stones. The lot. And the eye. How simple all then. If only all could be pure figment. Neither be nor been nor by any shift to be. Gently gently. On. Careful.

Then it dawned on me... China is going to go balls-deep with human bio-engineering. They will institute a national eugenics program. Soon, all Chinese will have blonde hair, blue eyes and pale skin–the phenotypical traits they most lust after. Chinese Aryans will then genetically engineer a master race of hermaphroditic dick-girls with ass-pussies. Androgynes: the bio-engineered master-race that reproduces by fucking itself up the ass. This is the apotheosis of ruthless Chinaryan efficiency. Genes that inhibit muscle growth will be knocked out. Neuronal connectivity will be increased ten-fold. Soon, the Chinese Aryans will engineer a race of genius traps with huge cocks and thick, voluptuous bodies. Their sensitivity to physical stimuli will be outrageous. A simple massage will feel like an orgasm. Androgynes will not need food the same way we do. No, they will synthesize vitamins, and through advances in anthropomorphic bio-mineralization, they will also be able to synthesize minerals. Only basic macro-nutrients will be required. Creatures such as these can subsist upon anything from grass to human flesh. Not only will they kill their enemies, but they will turn them into a viable food source as they conquer the galaxy. Even sleeping can be made unnecessary. Inevitably, their favourite pastime becomes rape. The rape, torture, murder and cannibalism of our people will be horrific! And our legacy, the only beings bearing a resemblance to our transient human form, will be set loose upon the universe seeking new hedonistic pleasures. May God save us all...

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I picked this one for you.

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Maybe I'll drop by brit/pol/ later this week with the full thing.

Thanks a lot, you fuckin' goofball! This is great. You made my night.

God bless you, user.

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That moment, across the long-benighted mind of Captain Delano, a flash of revelation swept, illuminating, in unanticipated clearness, his host’s whole mysterious demeanor, with every enigmatic event of the day, as well as the entire past voyage of the San Dominick. He smote Babo’s hand down, but his own heart smote him harder.

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Oh lawd.

Shit. You always sound a bit ironic and like a cheap oldschool sports commentator

I was unaware that artists posted on this board.

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Do this shitpost based off a Yukio Mishima's Spring Snow.

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shit forgot the shitpost

do this
>Dear e-girls,

>All your efforts and schemes have now become a mere froth on the waves. For I, unhappy though I once was, I have now passed one of life's milestones, a transition for which I owe you some debt of gratitude, however indirect. My older brother Chad invited me to go with him on one of his excursions to the Gay Quarters, and now I've crossed a barrier that every man must cross. To put it bluntly, I spent the night with a thot Chad had chosen for me. Nothing but one of those exercises in pleasure that society sanctions for men.

>Fortunately enough, a single night was sufficient to bring about a great change in me. My previous concepts of women were shattered. I learned to see a girl as nothing but a plump, lascivious little animal, a contemptible playmate. This is the wonderful revelation to be found in my older brother's kind of society. And having no sympathy for his attitude toward women until that night, I now endorse it completely. Every fiber in my body tells me that I am Chad's brother.

>Perhaps at this point you may feel that I am to be congratulated on having outgrown my previous dead old-fashioned views on women in favor of more enlightened one. And perhaps you are smiling contemptuously, secure in the knowledge that my lust for sluts will only serve to enhance my esteem for pure ladies like yourself. No! Let me disabuse you of any such notion. Since that night (enlightenment being exactly what it says) I have broken through all these standards into territory where there are no restraints. Thot or prude, virgin or whore, office girl or artist, there is no distinction whatever. Every woman without exception is a liar and "nothing but a plump, lascivious little animal." All the rest is makeup and costumes. And I must say that I see you as being just like all the others. Please believe that gentle user, whom you considered so sweet, so innocent, so malleable, is gone forever.

>From,
>user

Roasted sweet potatoes are like illicit sex in the old Chinese saying, "Having it isn't as good as not having it." The smell is better than the taste. When you smell it, you feel you must have one, but once you actually sink your teeth into it, you find it's not really anything special.

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Perfect, as I said. Now try doing this and capture the high-t mad sage vibe

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One more, then I'm off for the evening.

Most interesting post gets recorded.

I'll do this one, but it's pretty long, so I'll come back and do it tomorrow if the thread is still alive.

Keep posting if you want, and I'll pick up tomorrow where I left off.

You call me the unhuman, it might say to him, and so I really am, for you; but I am so only because you bring me into opposition to the human, and I could despise myself only so long as I let myself be hypnotized into this opposition. I was contemptible because I sought my 'better self' outside me; I was the unhuman because I dreamed of the 'human'; I resembled the pious who hunger for their 'true self' and always remain 'poor sinners'; I thought of myself only in comparison to another; enough, I was not all in all, was not unique. But now I cease to appear to myself as the unhuman, cease to measure myself and let myself be measured by man, cease to recognize anything above me: consequently "adieu, humane critic"! I only have been the unhuman, am it now no longer, but am the unique, yes, to your loathing, the egoistic; yet not the egoistic as it lets itself be measured by the human, humane, and unselfish, but the egoistic as the unique.

Was always one of my favorite Shakespeare monologues.

WESTMORLAND: O that we now had here
But one ten thousand of those men in England
That do no work to-day!

KING: What's he that wishes so?
My cousin, Westmorland? No, my fair cousin;
If we are mark'd to die, we are enough
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires.
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England.
God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour
As one man more methinks would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmorland, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purse;
We would not die in that man's company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is call'd the feast of Crispian.
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say "To-morrow is Saint Crispian."
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say "These wounds I had on Crispin's day."
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with advantages,
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words—
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester—
Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be rememberèd—
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

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very nice : )

Shize? I should shee! Macool, Macool, orra whyi deed ye diie? of a trying thirstay mournin? Sobs they sighdid at Fillagain's chrissormiss wake, all the hoolivans of the nation, prostrated in their consternation and their duodisimally profusive plethora of ululation. There was plumbs and grumes and cheriffs and citherers and raiders and cinemen too. And the all gianed in with the shout-most shoviality. Agog and magog and the round of them agrog. To the continuation of that celebration until Hanandhunigan's extermination! Some in kinkin corass, more, kankan keening. Belling him up and filling him down. He's stiff but he's steady is Priam Olim! 'Twas he was the dacent gaylabouring youth. Sharpen his pillowscone, tap up his bier! E'erawhere in this whorl would ye hear sich a din again? With their deepbrow fundigs and the dusty fidelios. They laid him brawdawn alanglast bed. With a bockalips of finisky fore his feet. And a barrowload of guenesis hoer his head. Tee the tootal of the fluid hang the twoddle of the fuddled, O!

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Fuck, man, I've been wanting to give reading stories a shot lately as well. People keep telling me I sound like a radio host, podcaster, documentary narrator, even a cricket commentator, which I thought was oddly specific.
I don't know what the hell to read, though. I wouldn't want to do anything that'd take longer than maybe 5 minutes, which narrows it down a lot, but then I'm also not an actor so dialogue would probably be terrible. Plus I have a weird messed up kiwi accent, so that doesn't help things.

This is hilarious. Bump.

1/2

One all-pervasive fact, inherent in the very character of
what is real is the transition of things, the passage one to
another. This passage is not a mere linear procession of
discrete entities. However we fix a determinate entity, there
is always a narrower determination of something which is
presupposed in our first choice. Also there is always a wider
determination into which our first choice fades by
transition beyond itself. The general aspect of nature is that of
evolutionary expansiveness. These unities, which I call
events, are the emergence into actuality of something. How
are we to characterise the something which thus emerges?
The name event given to such a unity, draws attention
to the inherent transitoriness, combined with the actual
unity. But this abstract word cannot be sufficient to
characterise what the fact of the reality of an event is in
itself. A moment’s thought shows us that no one idea can
in itself be sufficient. For every idea which finds its
significance in each event must represent something which
contributes to what realisation is in itself. Thus no one word
can be adequate. But conversely, nothing must be left out.
Remembering the poetic rendering of our concrete
experience, we see at once that the element of value, of being
valuable, of having value, of being an end in itself, of
being something which is for its own sake, must not be
omitted in any account of an event as the most concrete
actual something. ‘ Value’ is the word I use for the intrinsic
reality of an event. Value is an element which permeates
through and through the poetic view of nature. We have
only to transfer to the very texture of realisation in itself
that value which we recognise so readily in terms of human
life. This is the secret of Wordsworth’s worship of nature.
Realisation therefore is in itself the attainment of value. But
there is no such thing as mere value. Value is the outcome of limitation. The definite finite entity is the selected mode
which is the shaping of attainment; apart from such shaping
into individual matter of fact there is no attainment. The
mere fusion of all that there is would be the nonentity of
indefiniteness.

2/2

The salvation of reality is its obstinate, irreducible, matter-of-fact entities, which are limited to be no other than themselves. Neither science, nor art, nor creative action can tear itself away from obstinate, irreducible, limited facts. The endurance of things has its significance in the self-retention of that which imposes itself as a definite attainment for its own sake. That which endures is limited, obstructive, intolerant, infecting its environment with its own aspects. But it is not self-sufficient. The aspects of all things enter into its very nature. It is only itself as drawing together into its own limitation the larger whole in which it finds itself. Conversely it is only itself by lending its aspects to this same environment in which it finds itself. The problem of evolution is the development of enduring harmonies of enduring shapes of value, which merge into higher attainments of things beyond themselves. Aesthetic attainment is interwoven in the texture of realisation. The endurance of an entity represents the attainment of a limited aesthetic success, though if we look beyond it to its external effects, it may represent an aesthetic failure. Even within itself, it may represent the conflict between a lower success and a higher failure. The conflict is the presage of disruption.

God I love this board

Whats even so good about this thread/board?

Socrates would be dissapointed if you cannot explain why.

We were a self-centred army without parade or gesture, devoted to freedom, the second of man's creeds, a purpose so ravenous that it devoured all our strength, a hope so transcendent that our earlier ambitions faded in its glare.
As time went by our need to fight for the ideal increased to an unquestioning possession, riding with spur and rein over our doubts. Willy-nilly it became a faith. We had sold ourselves into its slavery, manacled ourselves together in its chain-gang, bowed ourselves to serve its holiness with all our good and ill content. The mentality of ordinary human slaves is terrible have lost the world — and we had surrendered, not body alone, but soul to the overmastering greed of victory. were drained of morality, of volition, of responsibility, like dead leaves in the wind.

bump

Lmao where is this from?

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Back. Will slowly work through new requests.

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You guys have me on an antiquated kick.

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Peterson's Warning
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I feel like I earned a PhD after reading that.

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A+ PRODUCTION VALUE

you are amazing

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Would you mind you read this?

"It is a time of legend.

The galaxy is in flames. The Emperor's glorious vision for humanity is in ruins. His favoured son, Horus, has turned from his father's light and embraced Chaos.

His armies, the mighty and redoubtable Space Marines, are locked in a brutal civil war. Once, these ultimate warriors fought side by side as brothers, protecting the galaxy and bringing mankind back into the Emperor's light. Now they are divided.

Some remain loyal to the Emperor, whilst others have sided with the Warmaster. Pre-eminent amongst them, the leaders of their thousands-strong Legions are the primarchs. Magnificent, superhuman beings, they are the crowning achievement of the Emperor's genetic science. Thrust into battle against one another, victory is uncertain for either side.

Worlds are burning. At Isstvan V, Horus dealt a vicious blow and three loyal Legions were all but destroyed. War has begun, a conflict that will engulf mankind in fire. Treachery and betrayal have usurped honour and nobility. Assassins lurk in every shadow. Armies are gathering. All must choose a side or die.

Horus musters his armada, Terra itself the object of his wrath. Seated upon the Golden Throne, the Emperor waits for his wayward son to return. But the true enemy is Chaos, a primordial force that seeks to enslave mankind to its capricious whims.

The screams of the innocent, the pleas of the righteous resound to the cruel laughter of Dark Gods. Suffering and damnation await should the Emperor fail and the war be lost.

The age of knowledge and enlightenment has ended.
The Age of Darkness has begun."

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I've found this for you.
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Beautiful cut. He might have gotten paid for that one.

Do you do other languages?

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I will suck your cock if you read this:

ARMS and the Heroes, who from Lisbon's shore,
Thro' seas[63] where sail was never spread before,
Beyond where Ceylon lifts her spicy breast,
And waves her woods above the wat'ry waste,{2}
With prowess more than human forc'd their way
To the fair kingdoms of the rising day:
What wars they wag'd, what seas, what dangers pass'd,
What glorious empire crown'd their toils at last,
Vent'rous I sing, on soaring pinions borne,
And all my country's wars[64] the song adorn;
What kings, what heroes of my native land
Thunder'd on Asia's and on Afric's strand:
Illustrious shades, who levell'd in the dust
The idol-temples and the shrines of lust:
And where, erewhile, foul demons were rever'd,
To Holy Faith unnumber'd altars rear'd:[65]
Illustrious names, with deathless laurels crown'd,
While time rolls on in every clime renown'd!

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The language of love

What about this one:
Know ye now, Bulkington? Glimpses do ye seem to see of that mortally intolerable truth; that all deep, earnest thinking is but the intrepid effort of the soul to keep the open independence of her sea; while the wildest winds of heaven and earth conspire to cast her on the treacherous, slavish shore?

But as in landlessness alone resides highest truth, shoreless, indefinite as God- so better is it to perish in that howling infinite, than be ingloriously dashed upon the lee, even if that were safety! For worm-like, then, oh! who would craven crawl to land! Terrors of the terrible! is all this agony so vain? Take heart, take heart, O Bulkington! Bear thee grimly, demigod! Up from the spray of thy ocean-perishing- straight up, leaps thy apotheosis!

The Industrial Revolution and its consequences have
been a disaster for the human race. They have greatly
increased the life-expectancy of those of us who live in
“advanced” countries, but they have destabilized society,
have made life unfulfilling, have subjected human beings
to indignities, have led to widespread psychological suffering (in the Third World to physical suffering as well) and
have inflicted severe damage on the natural world. The
continued development of technology will worsen the situation. It will certainly subject human being to greater indignities and inflict greater damage on the natural world,
it will probably lead to greater social disruption and psychological suffering, and it may lead to increased physical
suffering even in “advanced” countries.

WITH BONUS

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Based

“He knew everything there was to know about literature, except how to enjoy it”
(Catch-22)

The task of writing a history of our nation from Rome’s earliest days fills me, I confess, with some misgiving, and even were I confident in the value of my work, I should hesitate to say so. I am aware that for historians to make extravagant claims is, and always has been, all too common: every writer on history tends to look down his nose at his less cultivated predecessors, happily persuaded that he will better them in point of style, or bring new facts to light. But however that may be, I shall find satisfaction in contributing – not, I hope, ignobly – to the labour of putting on record the story of the greatest nation in the world. Countless others have written on this theme and it may be that I shall pass unnoticed amongst them; if so, I must comfort myself with the greatness and splendour of my rivals, whose work will rob my own of recognition.

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>vocaroo.com/i/s1NMLoxb4mEs
Superb. 10/10 would listen to you recite the entire 1500 pages of Livius's Ab Urbe Condita.

That "except how to enjoy it" had the hint of defeat I was hoping for. Thanks OP

Very kind of you, friend. Thank you.

To me belongeth vengeance, and recompence; their foot shall slide in due time: for the day of their calamity is at hand, and the things that shall come upon them make haste

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>vocaroo.com/i/s0wp0rPzOs42
Extremely based

A human separated from the ancestral environment functions exactly as well as a salmon spasming on the deck, suffocating on oxygen. Look at the dull panic in its eyes and tell me that you can't empathise.

Heat. This is what cities mean to me. You get off the train and walk out of the station and you are hit with the full blast. The heat of air, traffic and people. The heat of food and sex. The heat of tall buildings. The heat that flows out of the subways and tunnels. It’s always fifteen degrees hotter in the cities. Heat rises from the sidewalks and falls from the poisoned sky. The buses breathe heat. Heat emanates from crowds of shoppers and office workers, the entire infrastructure is based on heat, desperately uses up heat, breeds more heat. The eventual heat death of the universe that scientists love to talk about is already well underway and you can feel it happening all around you in any large or medium-sized city. Heat and wetness.

Why contain it? 'Scool.

Round as a oval white as the sheets
When it goes on a frying pan it will be delicious to eat

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read all the non-prose text above this post including the op

I'm a fan of this suggestion. Do it, OP.

Not sure what you mean.

wanna have another crack at the chinaryan androgynes copypasta?

read each post itt, excluding the bits of the posts that people made with text they asked you to recite

yes, please

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