File: 6sjshs7wif.png 📥︎ (1.47 MB, 1078x1430) 75b34c9b984c9204f35c6c83ca73ba3f348d6cad5b769a547dc9ada8522752c00ImgOps
№4213470[Quote]
>BNWO architecture
№4213475[Quote]
>>4213464Im not an Acelerationalist its a funny book
№4213476[Quote]
i like Mike ma
>>4213464does he count as one doe?
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>>4213475>>4213476Idk I just needed to use this image at least once
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>>4213476Also his brother Jack is a better writer
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>>4213454 (OP)you are very brown almost black
№4213488[Quote]
Romanticism is a gunshot victim dabbing his fingers into the
wound, painting stripes on his face before the medics arrive.
Romanticism is hunting down local Grindr users and beating them with a phonebook or a sock full of coins. Romanticism is voluntary celibacy. Romanticism is baseball bat hate crimes
№4213504[Quote]
Is it worth reading dis book?
№4213524[Quote]
>>4213504its pretentious schizo rambling while the point being pretentious schizo rambling
№4213533[Quote]
>>4213464Putting aside the fact he's black, it's funny how he thinks that only true accelerationists have ever heard of a 2nd rate xitter e-celeb and HOI4 mod character who happened to get his clittycel power fantasy fiction published
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File: Chad.gif 📥︎ (3.75 MB, 408x408) e493e86759f3b70d2f1c6994d8e136336b1bc3b088c90f4b749c81348bc6fe190ImgOps
I take it back - any existentialist concerns I've given off,
mostly because it's so gauche and heavy-handed. I refuse to ingest that blackest pill. I refuse to push that blackest pill. I also refuse to associate with queer nihilists who think they know something the rest of us haven't figured out. Fuck you, you don't. Even if you did, nobody would care because you're too busy guzzling Sutter Home to emo rap on the balcony of your off-campus apartment. Keep buying vinyl, that's definitely a good investment, retard. You read the words "God is dead," online and didn't investigate its context any further? That's really interesting and I would definitely love to hear more. You know what's dead? Pretending to care about minorities, makeup tutorial videos, talking about suicide, and astrology. It's hard to take someone seriously when they've become fanatical over something
truly undeserving. You're crying about a cable show? You still
watch shows? You still have cable? How fucking dull. Pick
something with more merit. Maybe get sickly attached to New Order or emotionally handcuff yourself to a death cult in the middle of Iowa. For bonus points, pick something from actual obscurity - and no, not Bauhaus. "Cum is God," also known as "pay attention to me, I'm a different kind of slut". Kick out your car's rear windshield, tie a chain around both a lamppost and your neck. Leave a respectable amount of slack. Drive forward and fast.
№4213554[Quote]
Swarthy
№4213572[Quote]
Someone I work with told me about this guy from his hometown who, upset by a breakup, drove his truck into a gas station pump at full speed while blowing his head off with a
shotgun. Yes, all at the same time. Part of me believes it wasn't so much the breakup that caused it, but more so living in upstate New York.
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>>4213572Just copying from a pdf
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low-key a gigachad
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I'm at the concert and the concert is full of people I don't like at
the concert. I'm at the concert and I'm smirking in the corner,
ignoring what my "friends" are discussing. Let us picture this. I'm
wearing a level two bulletproof vest under my Ralph Lauren oxford
cotton button down, and already it's almost entirely concealed.
Makes me look slightly more built, nobody's complaining. It also
protects against 9mm and .40 caliber rounds, the only kinds police
use anymore. I think. Over that, a Swiss M65 jacket, littered with
pockets, all of which I custom fit to hold the six magazines
accompanying my short barrel rifle, a gun small enough to fit
perfectly along my back while still under the coat. In the pockets of
my Brooks Brothers slim-straight khakis are a switchblade and one
smoke grenade, reserved for either my entrance or exit. I still haven't
decided. In my waistband is a.. …and then two squad cars skid to a halt outside. I see them
before they see me, as the front windows are tinted in my favor.
With a fresh magazine, I aim and shoot at -
"HEY!"
Someone shouting playfully in my face has yanked me back
into the concert hall and everyone is alive. Here, I and my sorrows
stand. Alone, brushing from my shoulder the shattered pieces of a
black dream. Of course, it's only a little alternative humor. Dark
jokes. New age comedy. Nothing will actually be shot up by me.
№4213614[Quote]
>>4213603>>4213595Post the girl part
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It's a good book tbh but half of it is just Mike leaking
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>>4213454 (OP)is it good? favorite quote so far?
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>>4213454 (OP)Europoor are not white or whatever the BBC cuck porn is goon
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>>4213631OP here
i only listened to the audio book like 3 months ago so i dont remember any
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I haven't slept in five entire days and the world is a Ray
Bradbury novel with way more fatasses. Have you ever felt how
great this feels? I feel it and I feel great. Not sleeping for this long grants you with unlimited strength at the same time as having zero
strength. You are float.
It's a safe bet that I shouldn't be driving like this but I am and
completely forgot where to. Music at its loudest makes my vision
shake, and at its quietest makes me nervous, uneasy. I am totally
aware of every breath exiting and entering my body and I am totally
aware of everything happening around me. The best part is nobody
knows that I've entered superhuman levels of sleep deprivation. I am
awoked. I am alive. There's something in the water and it's killing us
all but we deserve it. Rome fell. America too. Which is more
embarrassing I don't know but I'll be long gone by the time we
realize this all so I push onwards.
Fingers hovering the keyboard sound like candy unwrapping.
Sudden loud noises sound are like gunshots, similar to how pain
feels worse in the freezing cold. A man taps on his car door, waiting
for the light to turn green and I hear snare drums bang. I took
melatonin at three PM today to dig myself even deeper. And I don't touch receipts, I never touch receipts. They contain poison, gay poison, poison to make you gay poison. I try to read a book and the
lines all pinch together. The words all look the same no matter how
much space or difference between them. I have "read" the same
sentence again and again, enough times to have just read the book
itself. I bite celery and each closing down feels like a chore, but this
amazes me so much that it's distracting, and no longer feels like a
chore.
I avoid using cutlery because, in this state of absolute unrest, I
know it would not end well. Five minutes after making this mental
note, I shake myself from a slight dozing off to find I'm dicing up
raw milk cheese. I don't know why !I only wanted to eat the cheese Fingers hovering the keyboard sound like candy unwrapping.
Sudden loud noises sound are like gunshots, similar to how pain
feels worse in the freezing cold. A man taps on his car door, waiting
for the light to turn green and I hear snare drums bang. I took
melatonin at three PM today to dig myself even deeper. And I don't
touch receipts, I never touch receipts. They contain poison, gay
poison, poison to make you gay poison. I try to read a book and the
lines all pinch together. The words all look the same no matter how
much space or difference between them.
№4213679[Quote]
>>4213631We'll graduate high school, go to university, and marry
super pretty girls. We'll try drugs, and experience those
Lifetime movie hardships. Some of us won't stop trying drugs
and die in gas stations like pathetic deadbeats. Those people
simply dissolve from the vision. The rest of us die of old age,
some with grandchildren who ask us about what the 1990s
were like. Some with grandchildren that know we're excited to
tell them
№4213682[Quote]
Shoulder first, I barge through the back door of Serpico's, a
pizza place a few blocks from the Allenhurst Beach. New Jersey is cold and disgusting. I have no idea why anyone with the option to
leave wouldn't do so.
Three cops sitting at the table by the window, laughing and
scarfing down plain slices, on the house of course. They have a big
night ahead of them. Using four individual squad cars to detain a
couple fifteen-year-olds who took the railroad shortcut home from
the beach. Hesitantly releasing an old woman who's been pulled
over for doing five miles-per-hour over the limit. Conducting
delicate recon operations on the basketball courts. The life of a cop
here in the infinitely crime-ridden, beachfront city of Allenhurst is
nothing short of mortifying. I know. I know. It's so typical to hate
the police, but I swear I have better reasons than the unwashed,
dreadlocked masses.
I barge in through the back door and lean against the tile wall,
a corner just before the restaurant opens up into the main dining
area. I pull a Glock 19 (extended magazine, thirty 9mm bullets)
from underneath my belt and rack the slide. I wrap my arms around
the corner, stiffened at full extension, and the rest of my body
follows in perfect collusion. First shot is dead accurate, killing the
cop who was most likely to notice me entering. Second shot is the
same, another down. The third shot is rushed and strays wide. I've
missed the third cop entirely and he's quickly fingering the levelthree retention locks on his holster. He's carrying a Glock 17, the
slightly larger version of mine. He's also still yet to get it off his belt
I rush to stop him and bring the butt of my pistol down on his head.
He's very stocky and it stuns him but not much else.
The next shot isn't one of mine. I'm bleeding from the hip
because he too shot wide, only scraping my side. I press my stomach
into the barrel of his gun, jamming it. This close together, neither his pistol nor mine can fire, so I wriggle my left arm free from the
tangle. Grabbing my ankle gun with my left hand (S&W snubby
revolver in .38 special) I unload the first three rounds into his
stomach and the remaining three into his face as he falls backwards.
He collapses into me as I let go of his collar.
The shop owner is standing perfectly still with his arms in the
air. This is New Jersey and he's probably unarmed behind that
shattered glass counter. Fucking gun laws - sorry buddy! His
execution comes after a few minutes of my reassessment of the
chaos around me. I exit out the same door I broke in through. No
police respond to the scene because it didn't happen. I'm waking up
from a nap in the sun, and my skin is hideously burned. That is the
absolute truth. I'm absolutely sure I'll AI in the future, outside of
just daydreams. Absolutely and most definitely.
>writing random murder fantasies every 1 half serious chapter
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Oh, I'm sure you've heard it so many times, but the truth of the
matter is this: Not only is everyone starring in that movie inside their
heads, but the movies and other inspirations behind it all continues
to get worse. Maybe there was a time when the people based their
personal mental movie on things of better taste and, in effect, this
made them slightly better to be around. But now, at this late or
otherwise stage in the lowerworld, the characters have all become so
lame. It ranges from bad to worse, from the people who parrot
Disney Channel conversation fragments to the faggots firing off
Reddit lingo and dork-film mannerisms, from worse to horrible.
Frat-flick mimickers, reality television nightmare sluts, action film
philosophers, the drooling masses who dream of their sci-fi
superhero of the galaxy moment. I understand their need for
synthetic 'motivation', that tiny artificial something to help them
mold a sort of identity, but what we see now is just plain bad. I wish
I could say that people were playing out bastardized versions of their
favorite ultra-wild superhero movie characters, but we don't even get
that.
No wage-slave New Yorker dressing up in tights and savagely
beating black drug dealers after sunset. No hyper-dyke midwestern
outcast running churchgoers over with stolen truck painted neon
pink. No super-rapist who rapes other rapists. The closest thing we
have to movie super heroes is maybe school shooters. In reality,
these other people get their fill of "AHHH I'M IN THE MOVIES,
BUT IN MY HEAD… AND I DID SUCH EPIC THING" by simply
ordering Marvel merchandise and reusing said movie's humor until a
graceless death. The kind of death that in any other time would be
mistaken for a triple-decade suicide
The people you walk by every day are computer generated
images. They are digitized fill-ins, computer bodies delivering lines
to fill the empty space. Where there's a gap, there may bea guy in
superhero fan gear. Where there's some room, you could find a sassy
black college girl and her gay Latino friend with green hair. Maybe
you yourself are generated by computers to fill the void.
What exactly is being shot, you ask? It's untitled for now. The
movie is shit - too long, too lacking. The main characters are all
dead and have been for the past five decades - although some
believe it's more like two centuries. Where it stands now is poorly.
Consider the whole project a three-legged stool where two have
been kicked out at once. Consider the whole project a once-good
something that lost nearly all that kept it beautiful. Consider that at
one point in the film, only a half per cent of the project, it all fell
apart. Here we are, still recording.
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SOPHIA. SOPHIA YOU DISGUST ME
AND YOUR PARENTS ALIKE. SOPHIA, STOR
GETTING DRUNK AND VENTING TO BODEGA
CLERKS. THE ONE YOU'VE BEEN FREQUENTING
AS OF LATE CAN'T EVEN SPEAK ENGLISH. HE
MASTURBATES TO YOU WHEN HE GETS HOME.
SOMETIMES HE CAN'T EVEN WAIT THAT LONG
AND HE'LL CAUTIOUSLY START RIGHT THERE,
UNDER THE REGISTER, WHEN HE THINKS
NOBODY IS AROUND. SOPHIA, YOU'RE GONNA
GET RAPED AGAIN IF YOU KEEP DRINKING LIKE
YOU DO IN THE PLACES YOU GO.
SOPHIA, THOSE "CUTE, WELL-READ, PROFEMALE" NYU GUYS BUY THEIR ROOFIES THE
SAME WAY EVERYONE ELSE DOES: WITH
WADDED AND SWEATY CASH, GIDDILY, HALFERECT AT THE THOUGHT OF THE NIGHT AHEAD.
IN THE HOURS LEADING UP TO SAID NIGHT,
THEY'LL STARE INTO THE PILL LIKE A MAGIC
EIGHT BALL. "WILL I GET LUCKY TONIGHT?" NE
SAYS, SHAKING IT AROUND IN THE BAG. IT
SETTLES AND READS "YES, GRANTED THE
BATHROOM DOOR HAS A LOCK AND THE MUSIC
IS LOUD". SOPHIA, YOU SAD SOW - YOU
BROUGHT THIS ON YOURSELF. SOPHIA YOU
RAPED THE WORLD WITH BAD DECISIONS AND
NOW IT RAPES YOU BACK. HOW MANY TIMES
WILL YOU EXCUSE A MESSY DRUNKEN NIGHT
WITH JESUS' DYING ON THE CROSS. THAT
WASN'T FOR YOUR SINS. YOUR SINS ARE
YOURS, AND YOURS ALONE. YOUR SINS ARE
YOURS TO CARRY.
YOU KNOW THOSE PEOPLE WHO SPEND ALL
DAY SHIT-TALKING RELIGIOUS FAITH ON
REDDIT? JESUS DIED FOR THEIR SINS, EVEN,
BUT NOT YOURS. HOW PATHETIC, SOPHIA. NE
DIED FOR MINE, SOPHIA. DO YOU WANNA SEE
HOW I'VE SINNED LATELY? SOPHIA, YOU
BROUGHT THIS ON YOURSELF, SOPHIA THE SAD
SOW. SAD, SAD, PATHETIC AND SAD. SOPHIA,
FIX THIS. SOPHIA, ONLY A PACT WITH SATAN
CAN SAVE YOU NOW. SOPHIA, SOPHIA, SOPHIA.
STOP READING BUZZFEED SOPHIA STOP NOW.
STOP SHARING THEIR LISTS. STOP DRINKING
BAREFOOT WINE ALONE. STOP DRINKING
SUTTER HOME ALONE.
BUY A GUN SOPHIA. POINT IT AT YOUR HEAD
WHEN YOU ARE SAD, HALF-JOKINGLY, HALFSERIOUS. IT'S USUALLY UNLOADED AND THE
DRY FIRE CLICK MAKES YOU FEEL GOOD BUT
THIS MORNING I BROKE INTO YOUR APARTMENT
AND PUT A LIVE ROUND IN THE CHAMBER.
TONIGHT, AFTER YOU GET WINE-DRUNK YET
AGAIN, YOU'LL PICK IT UP AND SCARE YOUR
GAY NEIGHBORS. WHAT A WAY TO GO.
COMMITTING SUICIDE BY ACCIDENT BUT
NOBODY EVER KNOWS THAT. THEY WILL
ALWAYS THINK YOU WANTED OUT, REALLY
REALLY BAD.LOL.