Please feel free to discuss
>autofiction and automatic writing
>21st century literary forms
>Megan Boyle's essays and short stories
>Megan Boyle's videographic self-criticism
>Megan Boyle's literary trajectory
>Megan Boyle's upcoming works
ITT: Liveblog The Novel by Megan Boyle
I don't read novels made by women or with prominent female characters
Megan I fucking know that's you. There's TWO threads up about you in the catalog right now but nobody's given a shit about you on Yea Forums in years. You're such a transparent, easily readable bitch. You get a tattoo of Yea Forums on your nasty foot and all of a sudden Yea Forums has threads about you. You came crawling to us for attention. It's pathetic.
Megan Boyle isn't real
Ok, guy, we hear you.
Maybe the real Megan Boyle was the friends we made along the way
This. I have a Tulpa of Megan that comes and goes in my head. She's often elsewhere, but when she stops by it's riveting. I find it difficult to keep up with her rapid fire witty and flirty snark. Some days she's the entirety of my sub-audible commentary purred along my facial strings and tympanies, intruding my dopey calm, or exuding courage amidst my personal panic. Megan is great to have around
Morning, My Megheads!
liveblog brought me to sobriety
>This. I have a Tulpa of Megan that comes and goes in my head.
The book does that, unironically
if i finish the book will megan have sex with me???
Stop self-promoting you fucking attention whore cunt
Based
The velveteen drape was yanked away, revealing Megan's florrid feet as the ceremonial subject to receive my dutiful worship. She did not speak but in the wriggling waves of her stubby tentacular toes one could not mistake excitement and invitation. I realized now the live band had quieted to a low strumming beneath the whispering crowd encircling the light radiating down upon Megan's throne and the plush cylindrical ottoman on which her palely pinkish feet poised eachother upon a gold fringed pillow, showily flexing, pointing, rotating about her ankles and momentarily lengthening the lines of her legs into sinuous marvels to chase across in chariots gripped by adventurous rapture.
6:25AM: bathed and anointed self in coconut oil. drying in the center of three box fans as i spin on an Oxo non-skin spice turntable.
i started my spinning clutching knees to chest but as i felt my shins dry i sat cross-legged and enjoyed the chilly vigors brushing my thighs, my pug mouth, thighs, hip, upper glutes and tail bone, back to glutes and my other hip
>Professor, can you hear me? It's-It's me, um, Megan
are these from the future?
>17 replies
>5 posters
gee I wonder who could be behind this thread
What would non-automatic writing be? It's hard for me to imagine a creative mode that isn't automatic at it's core. Is it redundant?
>Female author
LMAO
Inexplicably, Megan's sobriety slowly unmoored in her deepest psyche a heightened clairvoyance and a greatly increased sensitivity to certain EM phenomena that are completely invisible to the rest of us spending our lives outside of clandestine monitoring complexes. Internal documents from [Redacted]'s Patient/Subject monitoring service reinforced this conclusion, having tortured themselves with counter espionage strategies for sleepless months, never once fathoming Megan's sunbathing leg outstretched from her lounge chair was intercepting their signals by some transdermal electro-receptivity concentrated in the elliptical arches of her feet
A giantess Megan, Megan made of clusters and wisps of stars, Megan sending herself through a rift, to the undetectable machines with their many tanager oculi blinking once a century or so and still their number patterned beyond like piled highways clogged by tail lights, photon encoded Megan projected and made into a being of immense brightness, photonic Megan sent across the sky, lasered at inexplicable speeds, confounding airmen, controllers, aerial observers aghast too, Megan piercing back into our mortal veil, spiralling, darting, pausing, zooming, halting, shimmying at Mach 10, Megan composed by swarms of geothermal bubbles, atoms of planetary gases, celestial reactants, zinc, platinum, sulfur, several glittering species of temporary unobtainia that persist for seconds on the tips of Megan's eye lashes, her linear brows, her nose bridge, Megan's many ages and variants of clones, asleep in their humming sloshing tanks of light bluish vitalic fluids, neat stacks and rows and clusters of the cylindrical Megan clone pods, Megan Prime meandering the clone warehouse and interfacing with each through coma-boring lucidity-mechanisms that could wake the clones enough for what Megan found to be the most sincere talk, but not cost the clones tender minds, Megan convening clone classes and clone symposia and clone blue ribbon festivals once they all wake and she returns from her adventures to help the Megan clones do their best, to live best as each their own Megan, a pan-Meganic consciousness, a Meganotropic projection of Meganist Revelations, Megannings and Meganeries, Meganichs, Megantiles, Meganbrian, Megan.
10:58AM custodian with mop and mop bucket just exited Dunkin commode.
10:59AM Plopping down upon the chilly ivory, spreading, opening, feeling the seam, the cleft of her crack tighten, pooling invisible turmoils, readying their exit portal, all rumbles and burbles of the past many hours having been bottled up, just on the other side of her ripply cloacan kiss, recalling Sirsasana and hotel shaving mirrors, and poking, sniffing wonders upon finally gazing upon her nether face, anal enfacement, that's me, Megan, I'm Megan too, how are you?
>12:50 PM - Rupi and I have quarantined ourselves in the Four Seasons and we've a rotation of suites booked for the next month. We should probably extend that soon, at least to get the better pre-apocalypse rates. I need to call my dad for his USAA number because that will reduce our parking and Rupi has a sweet protective SUV we can use if we want to leave the hill top vantage of the Four Seasons hotel and it's surrounding golf courses. They thought we were honeymooning so they gave us these two opulent baskets of bathing and self care products.
>We want to order a massage but we're too scared to ask the ethnicity and I'm glad Rupi is with me on this.
>my face when there's a hygiene checkpoint up ahead
this, based, redpilled, /threadpilled
As an act of charity and a favor to a friend, I'd purchased raffle tickets for the Literally Funny Haha Art Auction held for the past two years in Baltimore's Brewer's Hill neighborhood and attended by local writers and intellectuals. I thought nothing else of their swiping of my credit card through their phone accessory held by one of the two girls canvasing for the event, besides thinking for a moment that it was my good deed for the day should nothing else present itself.
But then a few weeks later I received in the mail a dry-ice cooled box in which I extracted a manila parcel containing a zipped gallon bag full of smaller sealed sandwich bags in which were crumply flattened many pleasingly patterned ladies athletic socks, most of the style that reached no higher than the ankle and had textured fabric on the soles to draw away sweat from the foot and send it into the shoe. Accompanying the variate pairs of socks was a hand-written note explaining these socks were selected for their ability to retain water and oil-soluble "elements" while allowing the perspiration and less olfactorily interesting contents to exit the sock's netting. There were also a stack of dated and autographed polaroids documenting the wearing, removal and packaging of each pair therein as well as photographs of the photographic process documenting Megan's waking, shodding, unshodding, removal of the sock, the photographing of the bagged socks, and finally the placing of each pair into a plastic bag that she then pressed against her upper chest to compress out any air before pinching shut the bags.
Megan Boyle is objectively hilarious and should have her own sketch show on HBO
Megan's reputation preceded her and her faintest gossip ruled the introductory minutes of many all Baltimore book club, consuming entirely all our attentions, even day dreams of men and women alike. Megan had done what now? Who was there? Weren't they- But what about? We would stew and squeak in those unseemly cauldrons, heaping steamy ladles of Megan's latest scandals into the potted rumors as if it were a steamy sauna. News of her "hat tricks" joined fountainous voidings from pedestrian overpasses. Megan sneezed, twice, into a Starbucks napkin dampened by her vanilla bean frappucino's condensation and, barely crumpling it's contents, placed the laden Yoohoo hued paper onto the outstretched tongue of her kneeling boytoy as if it were a sacramental wafer. Megan walked him home, a leashed collar affixed to his neck and attached to the loops she gripped in the same arm threaded through the crux of his elbow as they sauntered together down the sidewalk, a reminder of who was in charge for the time being, but a discrete one. Megan serially defecated atop the toilet tanks of numerous poorly reviewed chain restaurants, dropping her telltale series of corpulent, densely fibrous lobes shaped by her rectal extrusion flume so that the terminal ends all acquired sphincter shaped turtle tails or soft-serve tips. In retrospect, it was likely many of these stories were only partly true or were exaggerated in bad faith by jealous lovers or spurned suitors.
So when a local literary solstice introduced me to Megan and commenced our fling, I felt, I knew I had to impress her with some exotic paraphilias, fetishes and kinks. If I was a vanilla, milquetoast dope, she'd eat me alive or leave me sooner than she otherwise might. I had to become a novelty and truly unique, a gem that sparkled just so just for her. And so I tried what I thought was, at the time, the trendiest, most intellectual set of kinks I could muster, confessing to Megan I wanted to be her chastity-bound cuckold slave, and she seemed genuinely interested, listening raptly in that interrogative mode of hers where you can almost feel an analytic purr in her voice, her wheels were spinning at a lucid cycle, her mind hungrily absorbing and grinning widely in rewarded trust and anticipated submission. Shortly we were disrobed and deep into role play, raspy, gasping, shocking eachother. Megan explained in lurid, smoldering, lingering detail, ensnaring entirely my every thought. I hung upon her fine words and they tickled the voids inside, mind fuckery of the highest order. Only, I was to realize that this was all a setup, and merely a sleight of hand for Megan to drop the scene-subverting mention of her loins engulfing a "purple and aquamarine striped dick," or an "arborous phallus lined by an oily bark."
She looked deep into my eyes and told me "I'm fucking The Tin Man," and i'll never go back to flesh. This pussy is owned by tin pipes now." I tried to laugh more than politely and stay in the scene, but Megan was relentless and very pleased with herself, giggling and guffawing through a variety of impressionists ravaging her, the late Robin Williams' Aladdin and Chow Yun Fat characters from movies Megan eventually stopped referencing given my comparatively empty film sensibilities. My nerve-wracked erection was already flagging when Megan started in on the priapic griffins and pegusi, describing the glittery and prismatic emissions pumped deep inside her by the mythical equines and feline benises, gyrating her hips in shallower ranges as she sense my turgidity depart and slide my noodle from her blushing hot pout, which triggered in Megan a very different mode of apoplectic rage born solely by the robbing of a woman's orgasm by incompetence, blunder, carelessness, lunar cycles, the mechanism never matters, only that the revved cunt had not yet spat out her climactic mucousal webs and remains choked by lubrication, her blood-plushed puss meats ballooned in anticipation of vicious harpoonings only to be teased and left wanting in this un-shucked state. Megan threw lamps, digital clocks from the bedside, phone chargers, even her half-full chia protein smoothie whose kiwi and berry flavors had been burping up from Megan's inners several times throughout our encounter especially whenever she sought a domina's breathy delivery and choked on the expelled gas. She even threw her hemp wedges, picking up the fallen shoes only to hurl them at me again and again, repeating the retrieval and launching of wedge missiles until I fled into the bathroom during which she continued her shoe fusillade against the door, never once taking a breath from her manic deluge of emasculating tirades, and cutting lambastes, all of these interspersed with her kicking and punching and striking against the door some heavy cumbersome thing I never peered out to discover, although I suspect it was one of the upholstered chairs or large floor lamp. A half an hour or so of her furious performance, Megan had tired herself out and fell into a snoring slumber outside the bathroom, which permitted me ample time to exit, dress and make a silent flight from the room and the solstice's weekend event entirely, cutting off all contact with every person I knew who connected me to that event, Megan and any part of the Baltimore literary scene. I've been told I'm not unique in any of the above. She does this stuff all the time.
>Professor Wallace, I need you to patch into my subvocal layer
kek. this is excellent
Megan, I give you here an ultimatum, because I motherfucking KNOW that you post in these threads. Either you post a picture of your tits, or you GTFO. Tick tock Megan.
she's posted bodily offerings if you check the archives, Meghead. She's never impolite.
Megan's reputation preceded her and her faintest gossip ruled the introductory minutes of many a Baltimore book club, consuming entirely the fickle groups' otherwise flighty attentions, sneaking into even our day dreams, men, women alike. Megan had done what now? Who was there? Weren't they- But what about? We would stew and squeak in those unseemly cauldrons, heaping steamy ladles of Megan's latest scandals into the potted rumors as if it were a steamy sauna. News of her "hat tricks" joined fountainous voidings from pedestrian overpasses. Megan sneezed, twice, into a Starbucks napkin dampened by her vanilla bean frappucino's condensation and, barely crumpling it's contents, placed the laden Yoohoo hued paper onto the outstretched tongue of her kneeling boytoy of the moment as if the crumple were a sacramental wafer. Megan then walked him, or a similar gent, home, a leashed collar affixed to his neck and looped through her grip by the very same arm threaded through the crux of his elbow as they sauntered adorably together down the sidewalk, a reminder of who was in charge for the time being, but a discrete one. Megan even 1serially defecated atop the toilet tanks of numerous poorly reviewed chain restaurants, dropping her telltale series of corpulent, densely fibrous lobes shaped by her rectal extrusion flume so that the terminal ends all acquired sphincter shaped turtle tails or soft-serve tips. In retrospect, it was likely many of these stories were only partly true or were exaggerated in bad faith by jealous lovers or spurned suitors.
So when a local literary solstice introduced me to Megan and commenced our fling, I felt, I knew I had to impress her with some exotic paraphilias, fetishes and kinks. If I was a vanilla, milquetoast dope, she'd eat me alive or leave me sooner than she otherwise might. I had to become a novelty and truly unique, a gem that sparkled just so just for her. And so I tried what I thought was, at the time, the trendiest, most intellectual set of kinks I could muster, confessing to Megan I wanted to be her chastity-bound cuckold slave, and she seemed genuinely interested, listening raptly in that interrogative mode of hers where you almost feel an analytic purr in her voice, her wheels spinning at a lucid cycle, her mind hungrily absorbing and grinning widely in rewarded trust and anticipated play. Shortly we were disrobed and deep into roles, raspy, gasping, shocking eachother. Megan explained in lurid, smoldering, lingering detail, ensnaring entirely my every thought. I hung upon her fine words and they tickled the voids inside, mind fuckery of the highest order. Only, I was to realize that this was all a setup, and merely a sleight of hand for Megan to drop the scene-subverting mention of her loins engulfing a "purple and aquamarine striped dick," or an "arborous phallus lined by an oily bark."
She looked deep into my eyes and told me "I'm fucking The Tin Man," and "I'll never go back to flesh. This pussy is owned by tin cock now." I tried to laugh more than politely and stay in-scene, but Megan was relentless and very pleased with herself, giggling and guffawing through a variety of prop comics ravaging her, or the late Robin Williams' Aladdin's "nebulous Djinn dick," and then Chow Yun Fat characters from movies Megan stopped referencing given my comparatively empty film sensibilities. My nerve-wracked erection had already started flagging when Megan went on to the priapic griffins and pegusi, detailing their glittery and prismatic emissions pumped deep inside her by the mythical equine and feline benises, her gyrations shallowed as she sensed my turgidity wane and soon my disturbed noodle slid from her blushing hot pout that unmistakably glowered directly at me, labia gaping in howling disgust. This abrupt dismount triggered in Megan a very different mode, no longer an erudite bellestritic comedienne, she became in an instant a wounded sexual warrior overcome by the apoplectic rage typical to any woman robbed of her impending orgasms, be it theft by incompetence, blunder, carelessness, lunar cycles, the mechanism never matters, only that the revved cunt had not yet spat out its climactic mucousal webs and remains choked by lubrication, her blood-plushed puss meats ballooned in anticipation of vicious harpoonings only to be teased and left wanting in this un-shucked state. In this mode, Megan threw lamps, cordless digital clocks from the bedside, phone chargers, even her half-full chia protein smoothie whose kiwi and berry flavors had been burping up from Megan's inners several times throughout our encounter, especially whenever she sought a domina's breathy delivery and choked on the expelled gas. She even threw her hemp wedges, picking up the fallen shoes only to hurl them at me again and again, repeating the retrieval and re-launching of wedge missiles until I fled into the bathroom, after which she continued her shoe fusillade against the door, never once taking a breath from her manic deluge of emasculating tirades, and cutting lambastes, all of these ceaselessly interspersed with her kicking and punching and striking against the door some heavy cumbersome thing I never peered out to discover, although I suspect it was one of the upholstered chairs or a large floor lamp's heavy base. After half an hour or so of Megan's furious performances, Megan had tired herself out and fell into a sudden snoring slumber outside my bathroom sanctuary, which permitted me ample time to slinkily exit, dress and make a silent flight from the room as well as the solstice's weekend event entirely, going so far as cutting off all contact with every person I knew who connected me to that event, to Megan, to any part of the Baltimore literary scene. I've been told I'm not unique in any of the above. She does this stuff all the time.
you sir should write a book, in the sense that if you ever decide to do so on your own volition and interest, it will be a great work
What have you Megheads planned to do with your day?
seize life by the monkey bars, anons
Megan, cadaverously complectional, yellow-shafted flicker, explanationist, loudmouth, versable, unaverted, stumbles upon barracks' reconception, nucleating, dicing with death, scholastick sproggets, channelize, squeeze, glory be, the rentier state, hots welfare acclimates New London, neeb salination in the Sino-Vietnamese elderate, welfare state etho-balls of steel, chargedst, anucleate, hard-earned humicubation, surgicalist saphrophage mushrump Tucsonan, expediently guido, fesswise, stating tuberosity midcalf, diego roundoff, weird matching, sticky bit, nidifies showerlike intrenchment, topographagnosia supershedder repertible irrigably, bilinguis, monocular Europeaner, biopirate, terms out conversation, neurorrhaphy barber surgeon, mistakably deciduate abortionist, white night, pisang wax, supercherie morphosyntax, cui prodest, agonising transphobic explicandum, questions and commands, climacteric innocent agent, good looks, contractile, undefined overcapacity, Portsmouth defence, fourth wall, catacrotism unbanded, longage contextualistic, maturate, tarantism, achromat, clyster, flecky, ultracentrifugation, benevolent vulnerability index, noncontacting, apophetically shillingless, summa cum laude, flapperish interlocutrix introversively disillusive, apocalypticist, jean ultraloyalist, a lot of bit punkish, turbojet, worth its weight in gold, quincecapsular, unpaired, rine, street organ, yarraman, grupetto, quadrilingualist collaborateur, gunkhole haramizer, whimsy, tholus, outmarriaged, primigravid, fasiq teachest splash-and-dash sorrowless, vegetist, stromatal, yawingly, talks out of turn, nonantique Chomskyianism, mucor, daturism, scaffie surface layer spinnaker, under the counter, forehood, mushroomy pentavalence untuckered, bespout island tameness, whelky boondagger, grouper, cactiform, bluishness, above all, excessivism immunomodifier, muddied down under, scaredy paraphrasing, Dane presstitute wrongtake customableness, head and ears bourgeoning, recruital, pasilaly, extra-Italian, etheric, intersex, actualism, tipping it down, lesbian lizard, bicaudal estrogenemia, plerome venomer, deepmost dermatoid blare, wiki magic, tent wine, unfastenable pocket dial, rebundle conditional probability distribution, homecoming king fervescent, avower, southpaw, Johnson hole queenless for sake of batteried docker holes, imprinted, Madelina, dimmer switch, formator, saintling, darken a church door, cisgender, searchingly, afterwards, underroof, leavened, firebathe, overspend, get onto permyriad intention, tax assessment, tenno-hai, scorchio, gunslinging, unspiritedly punchless, monitaristic, cyberteaching imbosture, lawyered up, empyema, flip a bitch, libelously, shrillness, compotater, bananery, alt text, retentive apocope, heavy-water Slavic studies, sub-cellular epigenic foveate misdealing, nonaccess, emoter, fenceless, quenelle, supreme being, great auk, battlemage, excavatrix, dejecture, fugging nearly unpremeditatedly, reciprocalize, holeproof rumor.
i feel that in the gulch of me minge
autofiction is cringe
>how to write if you have no talent or intellect: the genre
Crack train to slatko waymark, caffeinated hydromorphism, Tanzanian hostie, boy next door, ambagiousness, hairstreak, pisspot halseny reportage, blithe untier, Potemkin villages assiege, memorialization, pote, make the cut, pseudepigraphical, closed shop, Americaniser, solar collector, formulaicness, psychometrically, orthodoxia, incorporeal, sachem, merosome, deboost Rosina, Griffie, liquid nitrogen, execution style, ratiocinatory, mids, stay tuned, xeroma, trenchful, crisp, glirarium truck garden, special team arterioplasty, hope chest expansed, hygrograph noncompulsory, promachos nonpapist, Corsican, gule stellionate fundoplication, LGBTI shadowgraph sitheman, mediocubital, amissness septuplicate, thalamolenticular sequencing Miller of Dee, iconological, electrosensible, starosty constrainedness preimmune, fun promotional, secondhand, unimposed, execratory, side plate orpeko bootscanning closed adoption, settlor taipo, tachism, T-bill, capacity utilization rate, factor space, randkluft, uncalcined, scalar, dire wolf, white as a sheet, DHV, outdoor education, seraphical, messed up, architect's ruler misogynist, compenetrate Bucknellian, Minskyan, laid-back gossipmonger, drinking song Aramaean, Saracen, theatregoing, bathrobed, cosovereignty, uncharitableness, phlogisticated air, thiefly demon truck of doom, pattypan, York ham, hereaway unpierced, bread-and-butter note, alley cat, Napoleonist, bluntly difference-making, rapid unplanned disassembly, refeel, infraspinatus, Jane Roe, vaca, country wine, depressionless, stranglingly, liturgics, lawny musth, phenol red, sublux, two hundred ochrous especiall garnisher feebs supralocal, weather map formulae, civvies reappraise Bielefield, nonperforming paper trail, terrenely, Beerbohmian, whistly, orzo repetitorium, intercollege nondisturbance, wristlet, fustian, mint sauce, turnskin, moral obligation zettametre carbo chauncelor, reality check, sashimi, hyperhydrogen, Euroskeptic amenities to get around, taken exception, sign on the dotted line, flapdoodle, botherer, akh, authorized cryosurvival, outread Saraguro, fathomer, yowley personalia, Dutchperson, deviationist, clackety chance-medley, overcaller, times headstrongly, ultrarightist, hardened, nonresearch, Colombia blue, unimpeachable, hunkerism, invariant section, read off, totalizer, amortization, unsordid dividend reinvestment program, forthfather foredamned, physiosophy, tomato worm, fitness, ocean current, tetragamy, snickering, take care, phone jack, anergy, inerrably TS girl bulletin, moving violation, Septemberish, Shostakovich, makeshift app., perioecus, seminormal, block model, windbaggery, Sarmatia bothered, mizzentopman affrighted, hullabaloo, caple figure skating, spirochetosis, net net, enamelware, chondre, quotationist brutism, implicit cognition, dregs uncurdled, backstep, permeant, pental, trafficator mordantly nodular, meshwork bailey underprint, electromotive revery uninominal, rheme, baffling wind, art, chillest on deck, GCI.
That morning, the males stood outside their homes and awaited the bus that would take them to the ceremonial scaffolding built in the center of the football field long disused and only on this day re-purposed. Some clutched envelopes with waivers, pleas, petitions, personal testimonies that they would attempt to present to the health techs as they busied themselves working through the day's numbers. While there was no precedent for such appeals, rumors over rare mercies were clung to by many males. "Not me, no, they couldn't. Surely, they will realize they made a mistake." All males had likely seen the videos of those who put up a fight or a protest, how it changed their fates not at all and if anything seemed to make their delivery worse, the health techs wordlessly setting down the medically precise lasers and picking up a shiny pair of shears. Once full, each bus would join the queue encircling the stadium and slowly puttering inside, a procession that digital signs explained would likely last two hundred and twenty two minutes, from the point of the sign until the bus was near enough to the scaffolding to pull off into one of the three parking spaces and only once there disgorge the skittish males into the brusque Queue Mistresses and their uniformed legions of attendants who scissored the males free of encumbering clothing and helped line them up before one of the many stairwells climbing to the scaffolding's open platform, each stairwell leading to three to five health stations that had been in use all morning, judging by the plump biohazard bags.
Long since a non-event, the stadium was barely half-full, and online viewership was primarily archiving avatars and public discourse-dissimulation bots. A counter ticked up steadily, sometimes leaping in threes and fives, and a gaggle of announcers kept lively and fresh commentary on the ceremony ongoing, helping to steer back the gathered group psychologies after the every-so-often breakdown of a male whose dramatics can sometimes cause quite a stir amongst those waiting their turn below.
>what a strange thing to say, user
As was Navy protocol, Megan toweled the shower's dampness from her extremities, briefly buffing her tush before arcing the wadded towel into a bin, her trajectory joining several other towels tossed just that second. Freshly showered, Megan awaited to see what personal care products would be prescribed today? Would there be drills? Would she need to choose a partner or be chosen by a partner? Would it be an ethnic beauty lesson? An STI screening swab followed by "brapper and snapper" enemas? Manicures? Advanced Cuticles? Megan was tired enough that she would accept a few pumps of Lubriderm and a paw's full of petroleum jelly, or one of the Navy's spiffy jars of cold pressed coconut oil. But there were guest vendors with their marketing placards and branded pens and motto and logo stickers. And this made this trip likely challenging.
>>autofiction and automatic writing
st century literary forms
choose one
Legend, that Megan The Centaurides
Bolts lightning fast by her daily Wheaties
Leap and speed records, all shattered freakies
Lapping sirens and satyrs, her galopping speedies
Returning from drills, Meg shines quite greasies
Coveralled spongers hatted in beanies
"Shampoo thorough, Leaping Archimedes"
Four Meg feet on equine legs creepies
Merest errands greet jaunty cities
Safe Centaur passage by gilded treaties
Morning Megan writhes awake
Bringing dessert, Princess Cake
Round white orb, green marzipan
Blossom turban Suleiman
Hand made slippers, Marigold
Bareness tucked in leather soled
I keep choosing them both, sorries!
based
i was backing all this up for a while but you outdid me
Good morning, Megheads!
Re: autofiction. What is it? I have written a dissertation on the subject (among others) and I'm still not close to being able to define it. At present, it seems all anyone can agree on is that it is a too-wide net cast by trigger-happy critics to describe everything from Doubrovsky to Boyle (and the two are antithetic at best).
My favourite description of it so far is by Hywel Dix, who writes about autofiction not as a genre or subgenre of autobiography or life writing, but an intellectual movement that denies such things as the possibility of representing identity mediatically.
Is this retarded? Am I retarded? Should I just tear up my dissertation and start over with some other subject?
based.
also based
die of a yeast infection
>Megan Boyle
an ugly bitch, not worth discussing imo
>denies such things as the possibility of representing identity mediatically.
I wonder if the appeal lies in autofiction's present tense, how it's inherently photographic, a snap of now, and can help construct a cinema-esque text. Maybe we're so influenced by visual media that we mainly perceive and compute along media-delivered concepts and autofiction can't help but be shaped. We're so used to being jarred and incongruity and surprise and cliffhangers and subversion that whatever bumps encountered along the presumed organic autofiction reading, they seem natural and even charming, making it more real.
I like to think the appeal of writing in an autofiction mode may be that everything else is readily represented in these constantly streaming videographies and so the writer tries to do the same thing only in text out of reaction, homage, mimicry.
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Any nudes? That one book girl had almost nudes
Many covet Megan's tumm pics
That qualifies as a book? Why would anyone want to read that shit. Beta orbiters thinking "SHES JUST LIKE ME!!!"?
Can someone explain the insane babble posting meme in meg threads please?
Postv them
proof that she showers
looks like some sort of GPT2 project, begun with Megan
Megan denuded most her innumerable selves, barings into disrobings and unpeelings daily. In this she was piously profane.
they dont have anything in common but I wish marie calloway would come back to writing
boyle is boring garbage
Are we sure Marie isn't writing?
dk but at least she is not publishing anywhere right? last thing I saw was the text for playboy magazine
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what would you like to see next from Megan's work?
marie calloway is megan in a thicc disguise
>turfless hodmandod
WTF has Megan been studying? Did she break through to ODB's layer of pure textual flow?
She needs to write an actual novel.
Does Megan need a quarantine bf?
I don't like her writing and I don't think she is funny or interesting.
Unrelated, but I don't think she is attractive either.
Her DFW verbal pause compilation is pretty incredible
She's funny in person.
>instagram.com/p/B17DBtkF5p7/?igshid=jqsrfndwy7nu
only a woman could be self-absorbed and audacious enough to publish and print unedited diaryposts
Absolutely based poster
Eat feet
They are edited though which is maybe worse
I want a giantess Megan to devour me whole so I can quarantine myself in her paunchy thirty-something tumm, and just like live there, just learn to thrive, straddle the duodenum exit for as long as I can before sliding down the Megan's gigantic gutty flumes, slogging through meters of intestinal caverns before the faintest light peaks through the wrenches shut aperture of her final sphincter ring
Then you're chopping off a whole section of writing. You cannot act like you know how women work if you don't care enough about the subject.
Some dunky donuts, cuz you deserve it
>Get that author a coolata before she drips on the final draft!
Writer's interns are the unsung heros
I wonder if Megan talks in her sleep.
Feel the warm wafts of gluteal heat as you spoon, her brapper's brippity toots, unleashed brattily, Megan's own nose shielded by her jungly hair and so she remains blissful even though her most private aromas of vegetal digestion derived sulfur and methane compounds begin to creep up from uncharted cuddly corners
good stuff
not true, btw
>unedited diaryposts
What's wrong with that?
Not everything can be a magic system, you tasteless gorm.
>Seems like I fucked up big maybe. Charlie. Charlie the boss. He is like Lou Grant, yeah, from the Mary Tyler Moore show, Mary's boss. Oh no. Best thing about me seemed to be my car, from his reactions. Oof. My interviewee persona (maximum grin, wide eyes, occasional spasms from uncontrollably spasming body) seems like Ren from 'Ren & Stimpy.' Charlie said 'I'm interviewing twenty girls after you, how do you stick out?' I said 'how...' and he said 'how.' I made 'jazz hands' and he sighed.
Meganposting is my favorite activity and Megheads are my favorite people.
Meganrific
so sudorific
Meganrific
bit soporific
Meganrific
vapourific
Meganrific
pyrophoric
Meganrific
sprint Olympic
Meganrific
Boudicca mimic
Meganrific
ace analytic
Meganrific
Bellestristic
Meganrific
nonspecific
Meganrific
emote ballistic
Meganrific
snark satiric
Meganrific
wet finger psychic
Meganrific
feet felicific
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>doodlebugging
>abortus fever apadravya
>infodemic
>ywn be a femsplaining victim
Megan, you blessed lunatic, are you really using the late David Wallace's work to train an AI?
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'sup bmo' where the foot boys at
i want megan to see what we have done...
Imagine joining a secret literary society and it's Megan popping up from the dropped cloak that tells you to use the tongs for the tea sandwiches
Megan is a stickler for orderly self service of catered food
Why should I read this? Is it actually any good or just period writing? I hate women authors, but Megan seems like enough of an aberrant to actually be interesting in like a Bukowskian way.
Liveblog is much fun for the reader. Megan could be a stand-up comedienne
it's like a radiohead album turned into a jack kerouac novel written by your sister
Almost good afternoon, Megheads! How's your Sunday?
>tfw quarantined w the kitties
I stopped reading when she described her sexual fantasies about obama. fucking coalburner
in all fairness, Obama would be a pretty carbon-neutral coal
You know you are reading her and not in a relationship with her, right?
I'd proudly raise her mixed babies and support her service to the interracial breeding grounds to the best of my ability.
Melanated Meganites would be a genomic masterpiece.
what the actual is going on in this thread m?
is this a self promotion thing?
>what the actual is going on in this thread m?
wouldnt you like to know
triage bumping
What's autofiction
there's greater faith placed in the automatically arrived at construction but its curious to try and define it as a distinct method or exercise. it's not as if there's not also a simultaneous "auto-editing" that happens
Make sure your Megan stockpiles are topped off, senpai