writers?

Did BraveSirRupin write a poem?

 

No.

 

shits stale

 

like chewy potato chips

 

theres one of my spanish pieces of novels, its not as good as I remember but I wrote it a couple of years back, I just scanned my notebook since its in spanish anyway and most wont understand and Im too lazy to type

 

OK so here is an excerpt. the whole deal is there is this highly infectious disease (currently calling it Reproductive Chromosomal Deficiency Syndrome, or RCDS) that causes males to only be able to donate Y chromosomes in reproduction, so all children born of infected parents are male. So anyone infected is an outcast of society since the spread of the disease could lead to the destruction of humans. drama drama. here's the chapter. it's very rough so bear with me.

Period. Enter. Raul suddenly became aware of his heavy breathing and let out a long sigh. He had finished his article for the New York Liberator that was due at six a.m. with a few hours to spare. He flicked his cigarette into his coffee mug and rested his head in his palms exhaustedly as he listened to it sizzle. He looked back up after a moment or two, then stood up and grabbed a blazer off a hook on the wall.

A bit of cold rain was falling as he hit the grimy streets of New York City. The air that night in May was chilly, but the warm pavement was steaming. A few cabs were driving around trying to pick up drippy stragglers. Raul strode quickly down 39th St, arms crossed on his chest, and turned in a door under a neon sign that read THE CITIZEN’S.

Raul stood at six feet tall, with a mess of curly dark blond hair that some would say needed a trim, and three days worth of stubble on his chin. He had an olive complexion that made his face look sallow in the streetlights and tired bags under his eyes. He had run track in school and had a lean frame that was now slightly bent at the broad shoulders. He didn’t care much about the state of his clothes. He would wear the same collared shirt for a week before he washed it sometimes. He never paid strippers or prostitutes, but he took home quite a few. They loved his careless existentialism and his tortured artist’s mind.

The sounds of a piano playing and a hi-hat spitting a rhythm entered his ears as he walked down a pair of wooden stairs into a semi-crowded club. He ran his tongue across his teeth and used his pinky nail to scratch off a bit of grime. He went straight for his usual corner. Two men were talking over a packet of papers as he pulled a cigarette case out of his jacket pocket.

“So look here. How’s it going Raul? You have to check this out too. It’s fucking unreal. How’d that article come out?”

Raul flicked his lighter. He had known Wes since high school, and they had both gotten into research journalism together. They had been collaborating on pieces since their first articles for The Reagan High Tribune in the 9th grade. Wes was a fiery character on a fierce search for truth. He was Raul’s height but a bit scrawnier, pale but fairly attractive. He had married once after college. It lasted a year.

“You know,” said Raul, “It came out alright. It’s the shit I don’t care about I get worked up over because I wait till the last minute. But I’m done and I’m here.”

“Eh you always nail it, don’t know why you get yourself in such a sweat over shit. Alright you gotta see this my man. Jordan Smith found this in the old records of the American Genetic Association that we hacked last week. Some Chemistry student at Harvard injected a rat with a dose of this stuff he cooked up that was supposed to act as a sort of new age contraceptive. So they try breeding the rat and what happens? Not only does the contraceptive not work, but every she rat this sucker mates with doesn’t give birth to a single female. All bloody males. Sound familiar to you? Report says this is the only reported case of this crap. Dated December 12th, 2015. That’s fucking 43 years ago. Why is this the first I know of this? I bet you this is news to every muthafucking person in this joint too. It astounds me that it takes some common fucks like me and you to give a shit and find out the truth of all this. The conspiracy theorists are going to have a goddamn field day with this when I send it to the RCDS Truth Society.”

“That’s the only related experiment you found in the records?”

“Sure thing.”

“What about at Harvard?”

“We’re on that right now, so far nothing. This guy was a grad student from what I can tell. May have been the mastermind the whole deal himself for all I fuckin’ know. Name’s Robert Francis McLaughlin. The whole world should know that name, and they don’t. But now we do. It’s a start. Finally. Nearly 43 years later.”

“Unreal. So you want me to write on it for the Liberator?”

“I say we wait for now and see if we find more now that we have a name. We’ll have the biggest story of the year in a matter of weeks. It has to be soon though. People need to know.”

“People need to know. I guess they do. I don’t think it will change a damn thing though. We’ve been working on a cure for decades.”

“Fuck the cure. I want the truth. That’s all that matters anymore. The truth will set us free. The truth will be our legacy.”

 

Also, here are some lyrics I came up with last night, weird to type it here without the music but oh well

And they snapped off the wings of the downtrodden angels and no one said sorry or prayed
And the people all watched as they broke them to pieces, they half wanted to go but they stayed
The dust was still clearing when out from the wreckage the stony-faced killers emerged
For once, all was silent but then the crowd burst into thunderous and earnest applause.

Who's watching over now
Your hero took his bow

And the bench in the shade is sitting there empty and the birds have stopped telling their tales
And there's no bright balloons and congratulations when everyone thinks that he failed
But still there is waiting round every street corner and in every brick letterbox
A sign that our small lives are not so forsaken, but it seems that we'd rather be lost

that's all for now

 

I really like your writing. Good work.

 

Sideview Mirror
Sideview mirror,
Indestructible.
(No one knows.)
Sideswiped by a
4X4.
No one is anything
special. What's yours
is as good as
mine. In the end
we're dust
the casual observer
can't tell apart.
It hangs by a
Bundle of wires..

I could grab ahold of it,
Rip it from its roots,
Sledgehammer it
Into little bits on the pavement.
It could dangle from
The hole in my car.
And I could find
A place to park,
Step outside to examine it,
And see myself in it.