Young Writers Society

Cannot write for the life of me. Just not good at writing. Need a new instructor. Need a new thing. Cannot write nor type nor do anything worth anything. I hate it. It sucks. This is bogus. What to do what to do. What can I do. Is there anything to do. Doubt it. What is there to do. What can I do. I do it for you. Yes I do. Ooh ooh. Never in my life have I seen things such as that. Never will I ever. I have never eaten a starfish. Whew. Glad I got that off my chest. Found my voice. Not really. Still looking. Searching. Still need edumacation. Badly. Need a job. A high paying salary. Mucho dinero. Et cetera and so on. Por favor. Now. Necesito. Please. I’m beggin’ ya. This man is in desperate need of money. Freedom. The american dream for crying out loud. It’s so stubborn. I hate it. It’s not worth it. It’s never worth it. I hate it. Why do I do this. Is my motivation lacking in some skill or way. Is there something that I must confess to someone. I have no real confession to make. What is there to do. What is there to say. What are they talking about. What is anything about anymore. I hate my life. It’s not worth living. What is there to do. What is there to be. How can I be a better me. What is there to say. How can I say what I need to say. There is nothing to say I’m afraid. Sorry about your luck. You should’ve been reading someone else’s stuff. My writing is boring. Not entertaining. It ought to be entertaining. Hopefully I will learn these new skills to further my writing. Hopefully. If not then I’m jewish. Yeah, jewish. Big time. What of it. What is there to do. Who is to do anything about anything to anyone. I mean 1945 millions of jews were killed. Violent protests in libya. War in Afghanistan. Life is not worth living yet. Man will not see the kingdom of God. I see it but I can’t make enough money to attain it. Ever. Or take of it what I will. Life is not a box of chocolates. I basically know what I’m going to get. Not good things. If I continue my ways of sloth and ambiguity. Big time. Big time Detroit brown. Bad bad Detroit brown. Baddest man in the whole damn town. Detroit red. Malcolm x. motor city. Loved to go there. Need the money. Need something. Need travel time. Badly. Travel makes the man joyous. Lonely but in a good way. Joyous. Exuberant. Elevated in a sense. Happy. Joyful. Gay. Cheerful. Randy. Horny. Goodly. Much so. Gusto. Mucho gusto. Muy bueno. Should go back to college. Seek out a future. A degree. A way to live. Big time playa. Gonna be. Need to be a better undergraduate student.

Never more. Nothing more. Nothing more to say, to do, to eat, to wantder. About tossing to and fro. Nothing more to contemplate. Nothing more to mistake. Nothing to do. Nothing going never did. How now brown cow. How now. Brown. Cow. Will you ever. Have you ever. Is there anyone. Did anyone ever do what I thought they did. Is there anything worth learning anymore. Is there anything worth teaching anymore. Can I just get a break from society please. Isn’t there something wrong with me these days. Don’t they call you crazy for a reason. I mean I feel like I am the accused. Badly. I mean, what is it about my life and the wretchedness that it is being subject to. What is there for me to contemplate anymore. Is there anything to be done by myself. No. never have I ever. There’s a point of upset that I want to reach but have yet to reach. I hope I never get there. I hope I reach success, fulfillment, satisfaction, completeness, et cetera. Be perfect as I am perfect. Holy as your father in heaven is holy. Bullshit. Just bullshit. Doesn’t work these days. What is there for me to say. What can I tell thee. What do you want to know. What is there to really engage the reader. How to engage the reader. Don’t know. Don’t care. Just want to get that feeling of I’ve done it now give me the diploma. Now. Or else. I mean seriously, I’m done here. I’ve completed my education. Ten-fold. I just need more than enough. That’s all it is. That’s why I have to take so much time to get it done. I hate it but there it is. Incomplete. Not finished. Never will be. Retired at age 23. Ripe old age of 23. I think at 23 we don’t know yet what we’ll be or what we can be. We’re still recovering from adolescence. Or post adolescence and that loss of friends. I swear I had some good acquaintances and friends. A hell of a social life. Now I’m lucky to make people laugh or smile of whom I’ve hardly known. I feel that way with everyone. Hardly even known them. But then again, we all know everybody. We know all the answers and all the right things to do. It’s just a matter of doing them sometimes. We know how to conduct life but we act as though we do not. Oh what a world it has been. Wish I could see more of it. Wish I could afford more of it. What a planet. Allows planes to crash into buildings. What a world. How could this be such and such a way. What is there to say. I have no other way. To think on the page is my style. To live like this is quite wild. Free-verse, metric poetry, whatever they will call it, I will love. Forever and ever amen.

You should really make this into a poem. I quite like the use of your short and sharp sentences. Very fast paced, although more paragraphs would be nice. It's good to rant, get all those feelings out of your system and send them into to cyberspace where they can fester like bacteria in blue cheese ( yes, I'm weird).

I agree with Jennya, this would make a fantastic poem. Some structure would be good also (although I do realise it's a rant - and those do tend to be word-vomits), as I feel it would make it less challenging to read. Big chunks of writing tend to scare people away in my experience.

"Incomplete. Not finished. Never will be. Retired at age 23. Ripe old age of 23. I think at 23 we don’t know yet what we’ll be or what we can be. We’re still recovering from adolescence. Or post adolescence and that loss of friends. I swear I had some good acquaintances and friends. A hell of a social life. Now I’m lucky to make people laugh or smile of whom I’ve hardly known. I feel that way with everyone. Hardly even known them. But then again, we all know everybody."

That in particular was my favourite part. You can't really tell whether you're speeding up or slowing down, and for some strange reason, it reminded me of Linkin Park. A really good piece and a fantastic insight into your thoughts. It might be an idea to let this sit here and come back in a couple of years, like a time capsule. It's amazing how priorities change.

Anyway, I'm sorry I couldn't have been more help. Thank you for sharing your thoughts, it was an easy read yet it still made you think about how different your life can be.

Evenin'.

This reads like a broken song with its lyrical and rhythmic features and there's little to spur any grasps of attention. You've called it a rant but it only very vaguely illustrates this. The main forms shining through here are a steady spillage of ideas, loss and confusion. Like the others have suggested, it could be poetry. However, it also couldn't quite be poetry either because the structure and the formation of it all with the constant reference to "I" make it seem like it wants to be a rant or wants to be a column.

People will read this and find it interesting in the elements that it portrays a throw down of the human condition, illustrating how feelings are translated into words and literature with ease but at the same time there's nothing more than that to give it any real form and without form there's little real impact or meaning. There needs to be.

You can go two ways here, in my opinion:
1. Take your thoughts and snappy lines, spill them out into the structure of a poem and be more romanticised with your representations and symbolism, avoiding repetitive use of personal pronouns like "I".
2. Refine this into a fluent, coherent rant that truly enthuses your thoughts, inspires point of view or challenges a feeling.

Hope this helped,
Ben

Like many others have said; you should make this into a poem.