BarrettBenedict

This is very kick ass. I wish I'd written it, because then I would lord it over you all, and spit in your upturned faces. Ok, maybe a bit too ...

Hey, this is fantastic. One of the best Science fiction stories I've read on here. Good looking out. The only thing I can say is to flesh out the background ...

with sparkling sands coloured grey, a storm of cortex of desires and beliefs. Nice brain landscape image here. Sometimes, you have to take a chance Indeed, if all of reality ...

Hey, thanks for the review. I'm afraid it's not the case that I purposefully seek out intellectual audiences. For some reason this is just the most natural way for my ...

Name: Hicks Ashley Age: 56 Gender: Male History: He's a postal worker, and a writer with an exceptionally high IQ, but he appears slow and dimwitted. He believes in the ...

The Rewriter. I hope you don't mind if I just take a crack at the meaning of this line for you. It means rewriter of history, of events of any ...

This reminds me a lot of stuff I wrote in higschool, but better. By the way, in mentioning the symptoms of the disease of man you forgot to mention hyper ...

Hey, I really liked the theme of this. It's reminiscent of the archetype put forth in Autumn of the Patriarch by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Actually my kind of poem; I'm ...

These made me laugh. Thanks for that.

I hate your face. But no this is solid enough. It could easily be the lyrics to a metal song. Also no hard feelings about your face.

Fair enough ending. Fair enough indeed. I didn't actually get into it until I read the ending, but that's because I'm picky and not much for mundane every day stories. ...

She watched the rise and fall of his chest, measuring time in the increments made by his steady breaths. Nice description there. Here's some typos you missed: Even though nobody ...

Could've needled endlessly from shore to useless sparkling crag, had not the demi-god of your hopeless vocal undulating decreed cancer of the mutual understanding oh, how I detest the lover's ...

expert plastic voices barter my conscience under those redolent, unnecessary eyes; percolate waves of synapsicide like sleeper cells through black-hole pinpricks in deep-set mask, guilty, of understan

It was already six o’clock in the evening and the sun was on its way out over the city of Portland. The bus pulled up, sounding its hydraulic brakes. Hermes ...