/pen/ - A Place to Create and Critique

Explain this to me

>>69
Not much to explain. It means that if you want to submit your work into the project, you license the work so that other people can republish it without permission, so long as they attribute the author properly.

Derivative is more open-source, if you allowed derivatives, people could take your work and modify it. Very imageboard culture friendly, but maybe not good for the author. It could be optional.

Problem trying to solve: getting the work disseminated. If it can be republished without permission, its ideas can spread far and wide. This is always done informally on imageboards, but if you go outside an imageboard, its best to make it formal. If you give over the work to be published, you agree that others can republish it.

That's the suggestion as I see it.

It was the best of chans, it was the worst of chans, it was the age of lulz, it was the age of faggotry, it was the epoch of bump, it was the epoch of sage, it was the season of anonymity, it was the season of tripfagging, it was the spring of effortposts, it was the winter of shitposting, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way–in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.

There were a midget with massive balls and no legs on the throne of 8chan; there were a cuck with no balls and long legs on the throne of 4chan. In both countries it was clearer than crystal to the lords of the State preserves of ad space and moneyz, that things in general were settled for ever…(USER WAS BANNED FOR BEING A SHITPOSTING FAGGOT)

>>54
Okay, I'll bite. Give me a bit of time; I should currently not be on here…

test

>I always feel like I have horrendous mistakes in my writing that I have failed to spot and correct…

I am writing here as not to recount, as not to retell, and in full honesty as not even to console myself, if perhaps only upon paper, but as rather to anchor this event to reality, as to determine whether I have perhaps dreamt this baffling encounter. This evening was rather groggy and not to mention foggy, in relative terms it was reminiscent of a previous night’s stew: not cold, not warm, but rather caught in an unsettling limbo that served only to demulsify and create an unpleasant viscosity within the stew, bringing one to question if it had been decanted out of a sewer. Yes, the walk home from the customs office felt as if I had gone for a swim in my wife’s stale stew, inhaling with every breaststroke. My miserable march through the alleyways would not go unnoticed. As if punishment for some horrendous sin long but forgotten except in the eyes of a malevolent god, a torrential downpour began with no forewarning prompting me to scurry from cover to cover in good style with a mouse frantically dashing between the safety of couches and dressers in the presence of a lustful housecat. Indeed, it was a disgusting brackish that hit me, for the fumes and chemicals that had bellowed out of the manufactories were now observing what had once fascinated Newton. Much to my demise, it would not be the last thing to hit me…