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Society's Product -- A story I wrote
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Depression101 Online
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Post: #1
Society's Product -- A story I wrote

Christopher Carter sat alone in a bar, holding a glass of whiskey and a grudge against the world. He was sick and tired of that fucking bank, of those big-shots who walked around with tailored suits, crew cuts, and those fucking briefcases bulging with greed; they had, in them, documents that could steal someone's car, house and hard-earned money with a quick scribble of a pen. A judge's hammer wasn’t the final verdict, a signature was. And the motherfucker in the next office would peek in, with his robotic smile, asking about the weather while looking out the glass walls of your office, and you had tell him "Ah, the sun is wonderful, isn't it?"; or else there was something wrong with you. If you didn't engage in mindless chatter, or if you didn't do as everybody else did, there was something wrong with you. You were a stranger to society if you didn't fall in line without questioning it, it's rules, and it's expectations. Why? Because you were conditioned to do so. That's what school was for.

''Fuck this,'' Carter thought and took another sip of his nepenthe, ''fuck the world and all it's bullshit... you know what? I don't like my life. And if you don't like something, what do you try and do? Fix it. And how do you fix life? Well, either you try to take arms against a sea of troubles and hope to succeed or you jump into that sea and die.”

Carter downed the glass and then tossed it away somewhere where it shattered, and Carter already disappeared behind a corner when a confused bartender rushed out the back room. Carter felt free as he ran to Carlston bridge off of fifth Avenue. He was still laughing with the mirth of a child who just got away with some wrong, or at least what society considered a "wrong." He mounted the stone barrier of the bridge and snapped his arm wide open as he let his feet falter and fall towards the wavering, moon-lit water fathoms below. But another alcohol-fueled idea lit up Christopher's brain and he recovered. ''If breaking society’s rules gives me that much pleasure why don’t I make it a regular thing? How about I take out all my money, get a loan from the bank and go have a blast in Las Vegas?"

Then, the idea seemed ingenious, but when Carter was taking out the loan he nearly told the clerk it was a mistake; when he was packing, he took out all the clothes and re-packed about fifteen times before he ordered his first class ticket; and as he sat in his Chevy outside the airport he turned back thrice, but always stopped at some side-road, relaxed, and returned. The delays nearly made him miss the flight. Carter was disappointed that he didn't, but sighed and ordered a martini anyway. He always flew business class and was surprised first class has little more advantages for it's price, but somehow, unlike business, the seats were full. He enjoyed the flight. It was peaceful, and Carter felt like a boy before school broke him, and turned him into an obedient puppy on the government’s leash. He felt free.

When Carter landed in Vegas he was surprised. The crowds bustled, the sun blazed, and the tarmac bubbled; superficially, Las Vegas seemed like a fun retreat for the whole family. Like a holiday to Disneyland rather than a trip to a city run by greed where one fulfills his darkest desires. A man in a striped shirt was peddling ice-cream at the corner; and Carter, lost in the commotion, decided to buy a Rocky Road. Doing this one simple task brought order to things: doing the smallest of things, as long as you’re doing something, helps calm the world down. The first order of business would be to assess how much dough he has to blow: Carter counted nearly one million dollars; the second would be find a place to stay: reservation at the Encore had already been booked. The Encore was one of the fancier hotels where you had caviar for lunch, and lobster with mayonnaise for breakfast. Carter rented a room on the top floor for a week, it cost him more than his house. The hotel came equipped with a bar, restaurant, and, most importantly, a casino.

When Carter got to the hotel he was ushered to the elevator by a bell-boy older than the hotel itself. Carter learned something in that elevator: no matter how fancy a hotel is, the elevator music is always shit. The bell-boy, who was repulsive, leaned in to Carter and said "Ya look like yer new in town."

"Yes, just arrived this morning. Why?"

"We get a lots of new uns in town. Tourists. Usually looking for a good time. Tell me, boy, are you looking for a good time?"

"I guess I am, in a way.”

"If you know what I mean; I mean lookin' for a good time tonight? In your room?"

Carter remained silent. "Well," the bell-boy was losing his patience. "Want me to spell it out fir ya? I mean I can getcha a nice girl."

"Okay," Carter said. He usually wouldn't but he planned on losing all his money and offing himself, so it definitely wouldn't hurt. It would probably do anything but hurt.

"That's the spirit. Now, what hair color, eye color, and measurements would ya like? We can usually get something pretty close." Carter, not really expecting personalization options, said: "Um... Well, Blonde, blue eyes, medium everything...?"

"Will brown eyes do?"

"Sure."

"Hundreds bucks then."

"Sure."

The atmosphere in the elevator was getting tense, the air was shriveling up, and Carter was glad for the release when the doors opened onto a lavish hallway. A persian carpet lead you down through the dark oak doors with golden numbers, and kerosene lamps affixed between every door. His room was at the end of the hallway, room 297. Carter tipped the bellboy a fifty. It was shining.The mahogany floor gleamed, the furniture sparkled; diamond chandeliers dangled from the ceiling; and a huge glass wall projected the beautiful panorama of Las Vegas. The bed was king size and fully silk, the kitchen and bar fully stocked. From the latter, Carter took a glass and filled it with Remy Martin; he refilled it and downed another one; he repeated this until the bottle was empty and he dizzy.

Christopher watched as the sun sank beneath the silent skyscrapers which became alive with flickering light when the night stole over the sky; and when it did, there was a knock at the door. Carter ordered a prostitute and champagne and wasn't sure which was it was -- it turned out to be both. He welcomed both in, tipped the waiter another fifty, and asked the whore if she wanted a drink. She did, and they sat talking and warming up for a few minuted. When the alcohol amplified their desires, they both crashed into the bedroom, half naked. After the first round was done there was an even better follow-up, which ended with a such a groan that it woke the couple next door. It was eleven-thirty then; Carter told his guest to scram and gave her two hundred dollars; then he took a shower and dressed in his best suit.

Two minutes elapsed in the elevator before Carter arrived at the ground floor. He went straight to the casino, and ordered a gin and tonic. He felt like a highball, to add to the aristocratic atmosphere. Sexy cocktail waitresses in fancy, tight costumes walked around with a model's pose, holding a tray with martinis and highballs high up, while men and women in suits and dresses strolled around. Lights flashes everywhere, jazz music played, and you could hear slots and roulettes stealing people's money. Carter won fifty thousand dollars that night, but lost two hundred thousand.

Every night, for the next two weeks, was the same. But with every day the intensity was amplified: more sex, more alcohol, and more gambling. But Carter didn't feel as good as he thought he would; he felt numb. Everything in Vegas was alluring, attractive; it drew you in, but when it did, it sucked so much soul out of you, you felt dead. One day, Carter decided to get himself a gun. He paid a guy a few thousand bucks to get a phony licence and then he went to the dingiest gun store in town. The thing looked like a shack, smelled of cigarettes and the guns looked oily and old; the guy behind the counter was greasy, fat and in a torn tank-top. Carter was looking at a Desert Eagle when another man came in and started browsing the rifles. Suddenly, the man slipped a Smith and Wesson out of his pocket and fired it. A puff of smoke issued from the chamber and a bullet ripped a hole in the wall. The attacker pointed the gun to the owner's face and demanded money. Carter was dying for an opportunity to feel alive. Without warning, he bound upon the robber like a bloodhound and brought him to the ground. The gun exploded three more times. When Carter crashed his fist into the attacker's collar bone, he loosed his grip on the gun and it tumbled to the ground. Carter's left thumb crushed his victim's windpipe while his other hand, clenched into a fist, punched the attacker. The robber was groaning and gasping, blood streamed out of his nose. Carter fist came down and the robber’s his skin split in a gory spray. Carter felt a tremor of agony in his hand, which made him quit the attack, and then he picked up the revolver and emptied the chambers.

It wasn't long after that police cruisers, pursued by news crews, arrived at gun store. And it wasn't long after that that Christopher Carter became a kind of hero celebrated around town. It wasn't big-time stuff, but people shook his hand on the street, and he had no trouble getting laid for free; and he ended up on the local news. He felt happy. Truly happy. It was the attention that was doing it, but Carter couldn't get the pleasure of beating that man up out of his head: it wasn't the pleasure of saving the day -- it was the pleasure of inflicting pain. This was what he was looking for, something to add life into life. He revelled in the feeling of satisfaction and imagined what it would feel like if amplified to a thousand, but movies don't relate what war really feels like.

Two days after this revelation Carter was lost in fantasy, and lost in thought trying to realise that fantasy. When one night, some shitty TMZ rip-off show, announced that a bunch of A-list celebrities would throw a swanky party at the The Venetian. It was thirty minutes away from the Encore. The party would be held tomorrow night, so Carter wasted no time; from the same gun store where he gained small-time fame, he purchased a Mossberg SA-20 Bantam Semi Auto Shotgun and Colt assault rifle. Usually, this would be hot stock for a store to sell, but in Nevada, guns are treated like candy. In a way, they are candy, Carter thought.. Next order of business was figuring out how he would smuggle them in because some keen observer might spot a twelve gauge bulging out of his jacket. Instead, he decided to go in through a back or service entrance. As he drove to his hotel, guns stashes in long cardboard boxes, Carter pondered the issues. He thought researching the party and the Venetian might be inspirational. And it was. He found job applications for the night of the party: there a shortage of cooks. He didn't have any qualifications to cook top-tier food but a phone call and a few thousand dollars added invaluable references to his resume. So he got the job, and he was to show up for work an hour before the party; and so he did, in a big white van parked behind the hotel in the staff area. The briefing took half an hour.. Guests were already arriving and a party was already booming. Carter remained mostly idle, watching the clock, for about thirty minutes; in that thirty minutes a waiter scolded him for being lazy, orders were being spouted out at him, people kept bumping into him -- it was chaos.

But in that tumult and confusion, he slipped out into the parking lot. He heard excited screaming and saw flashing lights in front of the hotel. His van stood shadowed at the back of the lot, so it would go unnoticed. As he ran up to it, Carter donned a ski mask. When he ran up to the van he opened the back and took out his weapons; the rifle was slung over his back and the shotgun poised in his palms. Carter burst into the kitchen and a blasted some chef's brains out. Everybody in the kitchen screamed, but, outside, the music and shouting muffled the shot. Amidst the shocked statues frozen in place, Carter stood, dripping with blood and smiling.

Before someone came to their senses Carter rushed into the lobby. A whole sea of people flooded the hotel, and lights lights flashed epileptically; it was no wonder Carter went unnoticed. His eyes keenly searched through the crowd and he noticed a handsome man he recognized from the scandal columns. A recent Oscar-winner in a new flick about 9/11. The guy was an office worker who survived the plane crash, but ended up a quadriplegic; but now, he’s dead. Carter blasted his brains all over the walls. There was a scream and multiple glasses of champagne shattered on the floor, but only half the people noticed something amiss. He fired the shotgun empty at random until it clicked; then he threw it to the side and drew his Colt rifle. The next room radiated energy and savagery: that’s where the real party was. Carter rushed in, guns blazing, and he took out at least fifteen people. He went to reload but in the commotion someone ran into him and knocked the gun out of his hands. Carter took off his mask, hoping to blend in. People ran and yelled and screamed and jumped and fell all through the hotel, it was madness. God must have had a soft spot for Christopher Carter because he managed to make his escape with a surge of people running out of the building.

The next day, two officers knocked at door 297 in the Encore hotel, and Christopher Carter opened and cooperated: he was fully dressed and only slipped into a trench coat and followed the officers into their police cruiser. He was under arrest. Being taken to the police station. But Carter was happy and grinning -- he did something worthwhile -- he felt alive. Energy pulsed through his body; he was vigorous, vitality flowed in his veins, and Carter was ready to confess but he wanted to see his lawyer and clear one or two matters up. Like the matter of his will. Although he blew most of his money he wanted to donate the rest to Amnesty International. The lawyer cost him a fortune, but he didn’t care much anymore; he didn’t trust any peasant lap-dogs. Lawyers were liars and politicians, that’s why Carter hired a literal criminal lawyer because you could trust them. When the lawyer told Carter he had a chance the mood all changed.

“I mean, if you had a good reason to be there, and if no one saw the gunner’s face, and if you wore gloves, as you said, then there’s little evidence save the van.” It was true. Carter wore gloves. Not because he thought he was going to escape, but because he wanted to make it feel like it was planned out and premeditated. He didn’t want to go down in history as a trigger-happy madman. Now, if he could get away; and if he could do something even more daring and historical, and if he confessed to both acts of mass-murder(perhaps even genocide), he would the most famous killer in history. Maybe he could do something even more shocking than Hitler. All he had to do, the lawyer told him, was to pay-off the owner of the store where he bought the guns, and buy someone who could dump the van and destroy the gun receipts, there would be nothing to connect him to the shooting. And God really did favour Carter because an expensive fixer got rid of the receipts and vehicle and the stone owner said he sold the guns to a tattooed guy about Carter’s size but with a pink mohawk.

“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?” The judge asked. Carter planned for when the Judge would look down at him and ask “What is this thing?” Carter had it all in fine detail; he would rise, fix the button on his suit, and with this blank expression say: “I am a product of society.” And he wouldn’t have been lying. But now he planned on getting away with his crime. And so he swore on the bible. Carter told the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth about how he took a job as a chef to help the community, how he heard a loud gunshot and was shocked to see a savage in the doorway with a shotgun, and that when the savage was ran into the lobby, he ran out. The two officers who lead the investigation and arrested Carter were scolded by the Judge who said “You arrested a model citizen. This man is a hero who would sooner put himself in the way of a bullet then be on the other end. And all based on what? Based on some stupid evidence, on some fingerprints in van which was stolen by the real culprit, thus erasing any real leads we may’ve had, while you were twiddling your thumbs!”

The trial refreshed public interest in the incident, and so from the first page Carter found that he killed eleven people and injured fifteen; he killed six high profile celebrities, injured one, and the rest were civilians. Carter only had three thousand dollars left in the whole world. The same day he took a plane back to New York, business class, and spend a hundred bucks in a bar. Then he wobbled down the street, drunk but satisfied; the emptiness was gone, he had something to live for.

"Then it was straight to the 40 ouncers/ slapping teachers and jacking off in front of my counselors." As the World Turns - Eminem.

"A man is a success if gets up in the morning and gets to bed at night, and in between does whatever he does what he wants to do." - Bob Dylan.

"A good artist should be isolated. If he isn't isolated, something is wrong." - Orson Welles.

"That is not dead which can eternal lie, and with strange eons, even death may die." - H.P. Lovecraft.

"I became insane, with long intervals of painful sanity." Edgar Allan Poe.
(This post was last modified: 05-14-2017 02:53 AM by Depression101.)
05-14-2017 02:53 AM
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Post: #2
Society's Product -- A story I wrote

Amazing. This is the best story that I've heard all week. It has a kind of The Assault on Wall Street kind of feel to it.

I HATE my school. I'd rather die than go to school for another 6 years.Fu
05-14-2017 04:30 AM
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Depression101 Online
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Post: #3
Society's Product -- A story I wrote

Thanks, I'm glad you enjoyed it. I've never seen The Assault on Wall Street, but I hear it's a pretty good anarchistic movie. Usually I'm not accustomed to writing anything more 1,000 words, so I'm glad this worked out. Thanks for reading.

"Then it was straight to the 40 ouncers/ slapping teachers and jacking off in front of my counselors." As the World Turns - Eminem.

"A man is a success if gets up in the morning and gets to bed at night, and in between does whatever he does what he wants to do." - Bob Dylan.

"A good artist should be isolated. If he isn't isolated, something is wrong." - Orson Welles.

"That is not dead which can eternal lie, and with strange eons, even death may die." - H.P. Lovecraft.

"I became insane, with long intervals of painful sanity." Edgar Allan Poe.
05-14-2017 04:40 AM
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RE: Society's Product -- A story I wrote

(05-14-2017 04:40 AM)Depression101 Wrote:  Thanks, I'm glad you enjoyed it. I've never seen The Assault on Wall Street, but I hear it's a pretty good anarchistic movie. Usually I'm not accustomed to writing anything more 1,000 words, so I'm glad this worked out. Thanks for reading.
The Assault on Wall Street is about a guy (The same actor who played Lincoln Burrows) who invested $60,000 into a scam. Then he wanted revenge.

I HATE my school. I'd rather die than go to school for another 6 years.Fu
05-14-2017 04:54 AM
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Post: #5
Society's Product -- A story I wrote

I wonder if he got scammed by Jordan Belfort, by any chance. I'll probably give it a watch today or tomorrow since I have to the time. Meanwhile, I'm working on this new story. Set in 1943, before 9/11, where these two writers who served in WWII meet at an airport; one writer specializes in literary drama fiction, while the other in pulpy horror and mystery stories. They're both highly rich and celebrated, and they're both depressed for mostly the same reason, searching for answers at the bottom of the bottle and complaining about how the world did them dirty. And when they got on the plane, it gets hijacked by anarchists, and very weird relationships start forming all over the place. Kind of in the vain of The Sun Also Rises by Hemmingway. And I'm trying a new approach where I edit as I go, instead of finishing it and then editing. I don't actually expect you to care about any of this, so don't feel obliged to read my replies, it's just nice to say things to someone you don't actually know in real life, whether they care or not. But, then again, people like us don't do stuff just because society tells us it's polite or some bullshit, do we? So just feel free to call me a pretentious cunt, if you want.

I just like talking too much because I hardly do it in real life.

"Then it was straight to the 40 ouncers/ slapping teachers and jacking off in front of my counselors." As the World Turns - Eminem.

"A man is a success if gets up in the morning and gets to bed at night, and in between does whatever he does what he wants to do." - Bob Dylan.

"A good artist should be isolated. If he isn't isolated, something is wrong." - Orson Welles.

"That is not dead which can eternal lie, and with strange eons, even death may die." - H.P. Lovecraft.

"I became insane, with long intervals of painful sanity." Edgar Allan Poe.
05-14-2017 05:10 AM
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Benjavaz Online
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RE: Society's Product -- A story I wrote

(05-14-2017 05:10 AM)Depression101 Wrote:  I wonder if he got scammed by Jordan Belfort, by any chance. I'll probably give it a watch today or tomorrow since I have to the time. Meanwhile, I'm working on this new story. Set in 1943, before 9/11, where these two writers who served in WWII meet at an airport; one writer specializes in literary drama fiction, while the other in pulpy horror and mystery stories. They're both highly rich and celebrated, and they're both depressed for mostly the same reason, searching for answers at the bottom of the bottle and complaining about how the world did them dirty. And when they got on the plane, it gets hijacked by anarchists, and very weird relationships start forming all over the place. Kind of in the vain of The Sun Also Rises by Hemmingway. And I'm trying a new approach where I edit as I go, instead of finishing it and then editing. I don't actually expect you to care about any of this, so don't feel obliged to read my replies, it's just nice to say things to someone you don't actually know in real life, whether they care or not. But, then again, people like us don't do stuff just because society tells us it's polite or some bullshit, do we? So just feel free to call me a pretentious cunt, if you want.

I just like talking too much because I hardly do it in real life.
It sounds like a great story. You should try to write good stories like this and defy school as much as you can.

I HATE my school. I'd rather die than go to school for another 6 years.Fu
05-14-2017 05:28 AM
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Post: #7
Society's Product -- A story I wrote

I wish I could, I honestly do. But it's not as easy as it sounds. But I still can't move on past page 67 of 1984 because of school. Anyway, best of luck to you, my friend, and keep sticking it to the man.

"Then it was straight to the 40 ouncers/ slapping teachers and jacking off in front of my counselors." As the World Turns - Eminem.

"A man is a success if gets up in the morning and gets to bed at night, and in between does whatever he does what he wants to do." - Bob Dylan.

"A good artist should be isolated. If he isn't isolated, something is wrong." - Orson Welles.

"That is not dead which can eternal lie, and with strange eons, even death may die." - H.P. Lovecraft.

"I became insane, with long intervals of painful sanity." Edgar Allan Poe.
05-14-2017 05:31 AM
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RE: Society's Product -- A story I wrote

(05-14-2017 05:31 AM)Depression101 Wrote:  I wish I could, I honestly do. But it's not as easy as it sounds. But I still can't move on past page 67 of 1984 because of school. Anyway, best of luck to you, my friend, and keep sticking it to the man.
Yeah, school ruined reading for me too. Noo. I'm kinda fucking pissed about that. It's difficult to rebel when they have armed police, your freedom, and your parent's contact in case they need to have your stuff taken from you. I want to do something, anything, to fight school, but I'm one person, and the school has 100+ staff and 1,000 brainwashed students at their side.

I HATE my school. I'd rather die than go to school for another 6 years.Fu
05-14-2017 05:43 AM
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Depression101 Online
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Post: #9
Society's Product -- A story I wrote

Oppression plants the seeds of rebellion, and it plants plenty of those seeds. Maybe one person is powerless, but if everyone one of those seeds unites, they can grow into something much more stronger and bigger, something that can win against the system. It may seem like a lost cause for us, but as the famous line from Mr. Smith Goes to Washington goes: "Lost causes are the ones really worth fighting for."

Oppression plants the seeds of rebellion, and it plants plenty of those seeds. Maybe one person is powerless, but if everyone one of those seeds unites, they can grow into something much more stronger and bigger, something that can win against the system. It may seem like a lost cause for us, but as the famous line from Mr. Smith Goes to Washington goes: "Lost causes are the ones really worth fighting for."

"Then it was straight to the 40 ouncers/ slapping teachers and jacking off in front of my counselors." As the World Turns - Eminem.

"A man is a success if gets up in the morning and gets to bed at night, and in between does whatever he does what he wants to do." - Bob Dylan.

"A good artist should be isolated. If he isn't isolated, something is wrong." - Orson Welles.

"That is not dead which can eternal lie, and with strange eons, even death may die." - H.P. Lovecraft.

"I became insane, with long intervals of painful sanity." Edgar Allan Poe.
(This post was last modified: 05-14-2017 06:02 AM by Depression101.)
05-14-2017 06:02 AM
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Post: #10
RE: Society's Product -- A story I wrote

(05-14-2017 06:02 AM)Depression101 Wrote:  Oppression plants the seeds of rebellion, and it plants plenty of those seeds. Maybe one person is powerless, but if everyone one of those seeds unites, they can grow into something much more stronger and bigger, something that can win against the system. It may seem like a lost cause for us, but as the famous line from Mr. Smith Goes to Washington goes: "Lost causes are the ones really worth fighting for."

Oppression plants the seeds of rebellion, and it plants plenty of those seeds. Maybe one person is powerless, but if everyone one of those seeds unites, they can grow into something much more stronger and bigger, something that can win against the system. It may seem like a lost cause for us, but as the famous line from Mr. Smith Goes to Washington goes: "Lost causes are the ones really worth fighting for."
But how would those seeds unite? If a group of people wanted to take down a system, they would start off going building by building and liberating thousands of people in the process. I keep trying to insight a rebellion, but no one will do anything to rebel.

I HATE my school. I'd rather die than go to school for another 6 years.Fu
05-14-2017 06:05 AM
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Post: #11
Society's Product -- A story I wrote

This site is a great start. It brings like-minded people together. And sometimes you can't convince idiots what the truth is. I honestly don't know how we should go about it. The problem is, most people know how horrible schools are, but the people who have the power to change things are either the ones running the show, or they're no longer affected by the issue and don't want to think about it. What we should do is raise awareness and dispel the bullshit stereotype that only criminals and degenerate and idiots and failures hate school and drop out. Fucking Albert Einstein dropped out of school and hated it his whole life; Dickens not only dropped out when he was ten, but most of his books brought attention to how crooked the system was; the Wright Brother, the people who invented one of the most revolutionary things on earth: Aviation: planes, the primary source to travel, invaluable war assets, industries that top the NASDAQ, they dropped out of school -- the Wright Brothers did. And they were right to do so, pun intended. Even fucking Michelangelo showed no interest in schooling and he's fucking ancient.

"Then it was straight to the 40 ouncers/ slapping teachers and jacking off in front of my counselors." As the World Turns - Eminem.

"A man is a success if gets up in the morning and gets to bed at night, and in between does whatever he does what he wants to do." - Bob Dylan.

"A good artist should be isolated. If he isn't isolated, something is wrong." - Orson Welles.

"That is not dead which can eternal lie, and with strange eons, even death may die." - H.P. Lovecraft.

"I became insane, with long intervals of painful sanity." Edgar Allan Poe.
05-14-2017 06:15 AM
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RE: Society's Product -- A story I wrote

(05-14-2017 06:15 AM)Depression101 Wrote:  This site is a great start. It brings like-minded people together. And sometimes you can't convince idiots what the truth is. I honestly don't know how we should go about it. The problem is, most people know how horrible schools are, but the people who have the power to change things are either the ones running the show, or they're no longer affected by the issue and don't want to think about it. What we should do is raise awareness and dispel the bullshit stereotype that only criminals and degenerate and idiots and failures hate school and drop out. Fucking Albert Einstein dropped out of school and hated it his whole life; Dickens not only dropped out when he was ten, but most of his books brought attention to how crooked the system was; the Wright Brother, the people who invented one of the most revolutionary things on earth: Aviation: planes, the primary source to travel, invaluable war assets, industries that top the NASDAQ, they dropped out of school -- the Wright Brothers did. And they were right to do so, pun intended. Even fucking Michelangelo showed no interest in schooling and he's fucking ancient.
I Know Right? So many successes didn't go to school. Well, we can try to take down the system bit by bit. It would be a difficult thing, but if one could draw attention to how crooked school is, we could leave school. The question is: how are we going to do that?

I HATE my school. I'd rather die than go to school for another 6 years.Fu
05-14-2017 06:25 AM
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Post: #13
Society's Product -- A story I wrote

Dude, you've got so much potential. You should seriously consider pitching this to a publishing company.

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05-14-2017 06:55 AM
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 Thanks given by: TheVanishingSnowDove , Depression101
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Post: #14
Society's Product -- A story I wrote

I never really considered publishing since I don't think I'm quite there yet, and because I don't know any good publishers in the area. I'll probably consider publishing in a year or two if I survive that long. But I'm really flattered. Thank you very much, mate, I'm glad you enjoyed it.

"Then it was straight to the 40 ouncers/ slapping teachers and jacking off in front of my counselors." As the World Turns - Eminem.

"A man is a success if gets up in the morning and gets to bed at night, and in between does whatever he does what he wants to do." - Bob Dylan.

"A good artist should be isolated. If he isn't isolated, something is wrong." - Orson Welles.

"That is not dead which can eternal lie, and with strange eons, even death may die." - H.P. Lovecraft.

"I became insane, with long intervals of painful sanity." Edgar Allan Poe.
05-14-2017 08:01 AM
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Post: #15
RE: Society's Product -- A story I wrote

(05-14-2017 08:01 AM)Depression101 Wrote:  I never really considered publishing since I don't think I'm quite there yet, and because I don't know any good publishers in the area. I'll probably consider publishing in a year or two if I survive that long. But I'm really flattered. Thank you very much, mate, I'm glad you enjoyed it.
Whenever you are ready to publish these stories, do it. Prove everyone that doubted you, everyone that forced you to conform, everyone who said that you weren't an individual, wrong.

I HATE my school. I'd rather die than go to school for another 6 years.Fu
05-14-2017 09:20 AM
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Post: #16
RE: Society's Product -- A story I wrote

(05-14-2017 08:01 AM)Depression101 Wrote:  I never really considered publishing since I don't think I'm quite there yet, and because I don't know any good publishers in the area. I'll probably consider publishing in a year or two if I survive that long. But I'm really flattered. Thank you very much, mate, I'm glad you enjoyed it.

Have you ever thought of making a novel about the serious effect of social conditioning?

RIP GWEDIN
RIP URITIYOGI

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Stop jerking off to porn and whining and do something about it

Make School Survival Great Again - MSSGA

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05-15-2017 11:00 AM
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Post: #17
Society's Product -- A story I wrote

I think that there are such novels, however no one can understand that it is trying to expose school. I know how people react to novels like that. They force people to read 1984 in order to condition them that they are living in a perfect society.

I HATE my school. I'd rather die than go to school for another 6 years.Fu
05-15-2017 11:22 AM
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Post: #18
RE: Society's Product -- A story I wrote

I've been working on drafts of that idea for awhilwe, but nothing worthwhile ever clicked. I feel most passionate about this when I go to school, but that's when I'm least passionate about actually writing it down.

"Then it was straight to the 40 ouncers/ slapping teachers and jacking off in front of my counselors." As the World Turns - Eminem.

"A man is a success if gets up in the morning and gets to bed at night, and in between does whatever he does what he wants to do." - Bob Dylan.

"A good artist should be isolated. If he isn't isolated, something is wrong." - Orson Welles.

"That is not dead which can eternal lie, and with strange eons, even death may die." - H.P. Lovecraft.

"I became insane, with long intervals of painful sanity." Edgar Allan Poe.
(This post was last modified: 05-15-2017 11:39 AM by Depression101.)
05-15-2017 11:39 AM
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Post: #19
Society's Product -- A story I wrote

Yeah. I usually feel the worst when I get released for the night. I feel like I've been severely harmed by everyone that has ever told me that school was a great place and that I should stop whining about it.

I HATE my school. I'd rather die than go to school for another 6 years.Fu
05-15-2017 11:53 AM
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Post: #20
RE: Society's Product -- A story I wrote

That's how I feel, but since it's three in the morning where I'm from, and since I plan to go to sleep when the sun rises, to procrastinate the menace of school which in itseld tires me out, I usually sleep the whole when I get back from school.

"Then it was straight to the 40 ouncers/ slapping teachers and jacking off in front of my counselors." As the World Turns - Eminem.

"A man is a success if gets up in the morning and gets to bed at night, and in between does whatever he does what he wants to do." - Bob Dylan.

"A good artist should be isolated. If he isn't isolated, something is wrong." - Orson Welles.

"That is not dead which can eternal lie, and with strange eons, even death may die." - H.P. Lovecraft.

"I became insane, with long intervals of painful sanity." Edgar Allan Poe.
05-15-2017 11:59 AM
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