/lit/ - Literature

>>1939123
>>1939123

Sure will, Holmes; I like when /lit/ is willing to return some comments for any writers; I'd rather have some more /lit/ related authors besides Tao Lin.

>>1938802

>>1939052

Another thread up OP.

>>1939120

AHAHAHAHA

ultimate tears of laughter

>>1939092

Oh I wish, but I just love writing about kooky love!

> It happens fast,
> Like snow and Sun,
> Like sandwiches with,
> Tomatoes, bacon and wrath.

Funny, but the poem isn't doing much for me.

>>1939071
>>1939071

Sharply, snapped from a dream, I recall her ripping away from me in a violent rasp. I smile dumbly, assuming victory, but my eyes look onward in flames to my hellish outcome once more – there she stand in a furor, cheeks blushed like little beating hearts on her face upon each side of snarled lips. As she began her vent of words, I could not contain myself any longer. Today, I cried like no other time, among the pathetic laughter of my peers, the utter hatred of my only lively desire in life so far. In the stretch of the failures somebody as young as I could achieve, I've yet even now to understand wholly what kind of cruel God could watch over such scenarios, finding completely justice. The eventual strength I could muster to drag my wounded corpse from the battlefield forced me to leave behind the extra weight for the dogs – dignity, courage, joy; thick flesh for a full meal. My recording of this situation, I hope, provides a guide for myself in age towards any sort of moment that may reoccur, that I may fight the unbeatable with even more diligence than can provide now.

Oh, but what a kiss it was.

>>1939068
>>1939068

I don't blush, I can't. I seemingly inch over to a closer position for my assault, the faces around me seem to morph with every tip-toe of mine. A group in disgust – they perhaps see right through me? – some still so ignorant in their happiness, others simply disappointed in my return into their ring of existence, how kind! I had finally made my way close enough to Elena's airy fragrance, and it was when I had looked into her face clearly did I see true bliss for my situation. She had read me as an entire novel within mere seconds of my arrival, and frankly seemed quite ample with it. A surge of electrical heat surfed through my bloodstream as all fear dived below into darkness within my mind; she was surely prepared.

"Just returning something to you, my love."

The dedication ended as my graceful plunge of revenge took action among the blinks of the ever mounting crowd, faces all powdered in their awkward first greet with revenge. Just before impact – the wind sits still, and for just a moment, I cherish the ability for me to breathe such luscious air, yet, time never is enough for me. As her bloody hue of lipstick smacked into the only provision of a kiss I could provide, being completely dry in a state of terror, the sensation of flavor and pain crumbling into my mind all at once was exhilarating; to a degree I've yet to feel in ten year old soles. In the first moments, there was a rustle occurring as our faces fought for just a sliver of sight on the other, producing the most awkward of effects as there was a multitude of naive young faces shining on us as a little shop of horrors.

>>1939066
>>1939066

In a suave stroll to her boisterous herd of friends, drunk as ever in their situations regarding their petty school lives, the floor seemed to clack! along with me as the target of my suicide mission became clearer, as if to announce the arrival of the end to nearby enemies. A quick look around – as the sun oozes down the mountains around the outside quad area I feel myself shrinking back into that six year old outfit, and if nature was going to force me to relive my day of anguish, my wimpy steps now left plenty of time to retreat. In a flash, however – death arrived.

"Jesse Arnold, is that you? Ooooooh my god, it is! Where have you been? I feel like it's been forever since I've even seen you! Do you still attend?"

She was mocking me, as if there would be any other answer but yes, why on Earth would I even be here? As her voice left me in a literal daze, the voices of the crowd fell silent as a theater audience, our meeting but an act in this afternoons show. With no training, with not an ounce of boyish charm born into me from my father, my plan towards any sort of flimsy revenge tore apart, sickly as the day it was made.

"Um, yeah, yeah. Actually, Elena, I kind of had to…oh god! This will be a bit weird…"

>>1939062
>>1939062

As our fates, even with her ignorance of it all, came into bloom, I struck myself sly in obtaining some luck – the avoidance of history's God-given grasp on repetition! and yet, by today's incident of higher terror, there was nothing of the sort to be found. Trembling clothing fades in a slow mist as the story, alive in its origin from such a recent occurrence, paints only my dainty blue eyes in a dumb gaze over at her budding grace in juvenile growth. Time, ill in its general tone, only seemed to boost at the moment of insanity that I had birthed within my mind; that bobbed yellow apple of hair just years before, now, the locks of a Valkyrie, seasoned in the temptation of her fellow Vikings; the cheery aura brought by her entrance to a scene now left malice in its path, for, with trendy school-wear upon her slender body, why bother with the common filth? I found it so intense, my description of her alluring essence, that as I continued on within my mind, my motives almost were wholly for personal kindness. However, there remained nothing that let the sweat bleed as what I had so come to rob – those puffed cheeks, bloated as ever with the same coat of blushed red ripped from within me. To her advantage, she was in grave luck to have such an upstate youth enact the most humbling of revenges, even if there remained so many other more appetizing options.

"A little slice of stake and garlic pie, my love?"

>>1939057
>>1939057

Upon the actual date of my seventh year, the muddy replays began to take some sort of toll on my mental ability. Screens before my eyes, the only thing worth seeing to me anymore just seemed to be her, and oh, how sick that I only cared to relive a moment of oxygen loss. Red – wine stained splash of the Gods; she had passed the wrong nectar to the wrong fool. School days in the memory seem to rust and slow, however, there was no mistake in my youth – she would have her kiss in return; pleasant or not.

My creed, the idea of reliving that day in another more positive light, proved no better than the moment itself; with the utter twitch of mention regarding the day so surprisingly soon to come, the neurons wept in a frenzy of emotion. Clocks ticked and nights fell, as living realizations arose only to tear away at me in a constant feud; they pierced through my petty lies when I considered my position to be one of great power with regards to my "awesome revenge"; beyond, there only lay fear of her lush face touching mine once more.

>>1939052
>>1939052

The memory fades in – I am nearly at the end of my sixth year alive and I'm so terribly happy. The sun, mere moments before utter desolation, dripped lower into the backdrop of mountains surrounding my otherwise average lower schooling institution, as to paint the scene for prepared murder. In a flash – or a bell really – a riot squad of giggling girls surround me in a sick ritualistic coo regarding the celebrations of one's near birth, in which I remain afloat in the clouds as a clear superior to such runts; however, there is no God that could curb the bolt just ready to strike. I-I look and they chatter like little monkeys, and as their words blur as one collective horror show, the faces seem to follow suit in their deformation – then, in a sudden jolt of silence, I drown in her gaudy lips the first time. A single hole in the circle, a single step ahead of the ring, a single moment of our kiss; there lay no sense in the forever that strung beside her girlish favor.

She looks away, red as the blood that seemed to be feeding into each of our hearts too fast, too furious for the stupidity of the moment, to the awkward cheers and chirps of our mates. Amazing! surely I was to accept the blind happiness that lead the moment on – yet, my mind had a way of assuring truth. There is only what was visible to base my feelings on – the little crowd is alive in drunken rage of love and adoration for the moment, as their eyes hold as mirrors to my face, dead. Dead in a naive loss of innocence that I hated not to understand, alive only to breathe and keep standing as she, and the ever shrinking crowd, took my joy with them to their homes in stories around the dinner table. To think, as if they were the ones dealing with such crisis!

Posted a part of the story in another thread, but because of OC thread I'll post the rest here:

I kissed a girl today.

As her bloody hue of lipstick smacked into the only provision of a kiss I could provide, being completely dry in a state of terror, the sensation of flavor and pain crumbling into my mind all at once was exhilarating; to a degree I've yet to feel in ten year old soles. In the first moments, there was a rustle occurring as our faces fought for just a sliver of sight on the other, producing the most awkward of effects as there was a multitude of naive young faces shining on us as a little shop of horrors.

Oh god, now it's all just before me! here lay me, barely attuned to the world of vulgarity outside of watching church lads peeking up skirts in confusion, in a state of premature drowning coated in childish passion that I had practically initiated in a pathetic attempt at rape. Luckily enough, I've not such intentions – she just so faithfully had my gesture coming to her.

On steeping myself back to our histories between one another, there is little to linger on outside of such similar day. Yes, to think that my lightly painted kissing partner did make her so angelic appearance once more at a previous occasion of such vulgarity, such mediocrity! At times, this recollection could be called upon as stupid and even miniscule in the most serious cases, and yet, what a moment it was to such a blank slate as myself.

>>1938933
>>1938938
>>1938943

Well, I've never really been all about writing for the public. It's weird - most subjects I WANT to write about have to deal with really common people, but I feel like I write fucking posh.

Luckily, the part I posted was a point of high emotion so it's alright, but I'll avoid posting the whole story unless warranted.

>>1938922

Puns are the greatest humor.

>>1938916
>>1938920
>>1938924

TODAY IS THE DAY THIS NOVEL WILL BECOME A REALITY.

>>1938906

Okay, look, here's how I naturally write:

The memory fades in – I am nearly at the end of my sixth year alive and I'm so terribly happy. The sun, mere moments before utter desolation, dripped lower into the backdrop of mountains surrounding my otherwise average lower schooling institution, as to paint the scene for prepared murder. In a flash – or a bell really – a riot squad of giggling girls surround me in a sick ritualistic coo regarding the celebrations of one's near birth, in which I remain afloat in the clouds as a clear superior to such runts; however, there is no God that could curb the bolt just ready to strike. I-I look and they chatter like little monkeys, and as their words blur as one collective horror show, the faces seem to follow suit in their deformation – then, in a sudden jolt of silence, I drown in her gaudy lips the first time. A single hole in the circle, a single step ahead of the ring, a single moment of our kiss; there lay no sense in the forever that strung beside her girlish favor.

Is that a style you could do an entire novel in?

>>1938883

Yeah if anyone could read my fucking looney toons style.

I'm either writing full on Victorian mode or I am speaking "like a babby." I mean, I'm honestly thinking about taking a course or something just so I can specifically work on my diction.

In the end, yes, I would prefer it written by me but I have huge doubts behind me.

>>1938851

It's not a huge deal.

If anyone on /lit/ has the heart and the effort to make the book a reality, I'd be happy with it.

>>1938818

I disagree.

> Just go fucking crazy.

>>1938817
>>1938821

The final section is "While sleeping..."; this section begins with Clyde preparing himself to go out with a girl he had met previously, who is unnamed. A portion of the first part is Clyde imaging various scenarios involving the objects he uses to prepare himself of how the evening will occur, fantasizing himself early on as a handsome and daring fellow and eventually, as he continues to let his imagination run, the ideas turn rancid, inciting Clyde to sulk into depression – Clyde, hastily prepared and unkempt, leaves the house anyway to avoid such. As he drives, Clyde deteriorates into a mess of emotion over the clash between who Clyde wants the girl to be, who he remembers he to be, and who she really is, the section often referring or retelling moments from the park girl’s car in the perspective of the girl watching Clyde, yet Clyde moments return where Clyde is simply realizing he is watching himself. As the radio dies out when Clyde swerves off the road, nearly slamming into a wall, Clyde sits in static shortly before walking the rest of the way, down the road, admiring the scenery to that in his dreams. At the end of the road, Clyde enters a diner and sees a crowd of people eating, to which he slowly looks around at the faces, manuvering the diner as he does, looking for the girl – he finds her in the corner, at which, the other patrons disappear and the table she is sitting at is candlelit. The novel ends with Clyde sitting down, suddenly in tears and the girl looking at him, her face blurry and the entire scene collapsing.

Surprisingly, I wouldn't care if the idea was stolen. I think it'd make a good book if it got into the right hands.

>>1938817

The section, near the middle, derives into another half-section describing his meeting with a girl in a park - the meeting is pleasant, with them sharing adoration on certain aspects of their lives until she invites him for a car ride back to her place. Clyde begins to hyperventilate in the car, deforming the reality around him and sending him into a state of shock - the girl begins to discuss her family life to Clyde, unbest knowing he is slipping away from reality, and the emotion in the girl about how her brother, whom she wanted to have an incestuous relationship with, never cared for her in such way seemingly parallels the heightened pressure of Clyde being with her. The section ends with her stopping in front of her house, asking Clyde if he had ever loved somebody while he lets his body sleep.

Posted this before and it got positive reception; however, I feel like I'll never be able to write it with my prose.

The story takes place primarily in a house the size of a crawlspace, owned by a 23 year old man named Clyde, where he spends most of his days imagining his perfect woman - he draws shoddy images, writes poetry, and incites himself to have common dreams about her, all while commonly pleasuring himself to the thought of ever finding such. The book is divided into 2 parts: the first, titled "Awake" revolves solely in the place of Clyde's home, circulating solely on his lack of passion/self doubt among his work, his serious in and out depression, previous interest in the military (the section holds multiple flashbacks to his training experience, based on trigger words), an extended dream with a girl, which includes inner turmoil within Clyde between his sexual nature and the need to find more so along with the struggle to understand what is the middle of these lines, and attempting suicide at the end of the section by trying to jump from his window – the section ends with a poem that blows out of the window onto the ground nearby written by Clyde.

>>1938730

Shit man, maybe I should just stick to poetry.

>>1938022

Pedorific isn't actually a word; you would use "pedophile."

> The more you know.