Ouroboros

[President Television]

You create, and you destroy, and you negate it all with a wrathful twitch of your fingers at the keyboard. You know this isn't what you want to be, this 21st-century monkey raised by the internet, but you're too bored and too tired to do a thing about it, and you know that your fingers aren't hitting hard enough. Of course not. These fingers were made for flinging shit, but you know that that isn't what you want. You want to be a glorious mad bastard, and you could dance in the ashes of the last age of nuclear hellfire if only you'd learn to let those feet fly. But the feet have fingers of their own, and thumbs besides, and sometimes it feels like the thumbs are all you've got.

Bullshit. Batshit. APESHIT. You know you're kidding yourself. You could be a god if you weren't so wrapped up in your self-indulgent self-hating fappery. YOU COULD BREAK THIS CITY. All you need to do is practice. Practice, and one day you too could be the spectacular porcelain-cracking wonderboy of brilliant, mad, deranged and perverted prophecy, burning and razing nations with a breath and pausing only briefly to sing "I Am Henry the Eighth I Am" to the screams of a thousand dessicated rabid Tusconite savages. Isn't that motivation enough?! Fine then. Wallow in your shit, and feed on it, and twist in on yourself like origami. And when the lights go out, you'll be the first they throw in the fire. Because you're a freak. You know it, and they know it. They can smell it on you. YOU WALK NOT IN A LAND OF GODS BUT IN A LAND OF HIDEOUS TWISTED APES. GIVE EM HELL.

Or Kill Yourself.

[Cramulus]

a piece of drift wood floats by

jagged angry letters burned into it

"IGNITE YOURSELF"


another piece follows

"WHILE THERE'S STILL TIME"

[President Television]

I really, really hope this is just me flushing all the bad writing out of my system.

[Luna]

Only one way to find out.

It wasn't bad at all, keep on.

[Hoser McRhizzy]

YOU COULD BREAK THIS CITY. All you need to do is practice. Practice, and one day you too could be the spectacular porcelain-cracking wonderboy of brilliant, mad, deranged and perverted prophecy, burning and razing nations with a breath and pausing only briefly to sing "I Am Henry the Eighth I Am" to the screams of a thousand dessicated rabid Tusconite savages. Isn't that motivation enough?! Fine then. Wallow in your shit, and feed on it, and twist in on yourself like origami. And when the lights go out, you'll be the first they throw in the fire. Because you're a freak. You know it, and they know it. They can smell it on you. YOU WALK NOT IN A LAND OF GODS BUT IN A LAND OF HIDEOUS TWISTED APES. GIVE EM HELL.

Great beginning for whatever it is you're getting into!  I hope you keep writing.

- one of the lurkers

[Triple Zero]

RAH!

that was awesome!

[Doktor Howl]

FUCK YES