/lit/ - Literature

>>1964143
>>1964143

I like this!

The topic is silly but as I'm reading I can't help but see the image and laugh.

I banged at the door in a exaggerated flurry of rage, shouting out an excess amount of expletives to bring across additional emotion from behind the door. Point being, the doctor could not see my plain face, but any initiative he took to listen from within the room to my shrill cries would assure a response. There was little surprise from my immediate imagining of my brother already coked-out on the bed, sprawled out and funneling the most idiotic phrases he could muster in that haze as I would enter the room. The doctor might spill out some response to whatever calm facade I could put on to respond to this, though he assuredly be oblivious to this disgusting bond I held with my sibling.

It was quiet as I stood waiting for a movement at the door handle, it had been quite some time after the long period of my exasperated attempts to act furious. While I had considered to repeat my actions, my miraculous lead-in towards the doctor seemed to work as the door flung away to open up the room, the doctor breathing out often with sweat soaked deep in his brows.

This poem has no ulterior motive behind it as I'm reading; I'm reading it like a narrative but there isn't anything being said.

> Even at night
The diamonds glow bright
With an everlasting flow
Of beauty to show
Me the right kind of life
To end this strife.

Like what the hell is this? You're talking about diamonds glowing in a flowing beauty, but then "me the right kind of life, to end this strife?" That isn't even related to anything.

Basically, your pretty phrases don't necessarily sound good nor do they hold any apparent meaning as a whole. Each line is like FORCING rhyme for the sake of it and even so the rhythm is terribad - I still read it all broken up.

Also the two times you ended on "end this strife/ending this strife" bothers me. You need to expand on what you're trying to say if you basically can repeat what you told me without a problem. And I can tell it's not for any reason, you are just trying to rhyme something again with life.

> Today, I self-controlled putting the Bible in my ass because I don't think God would like that, unless it is a form of prayer. In that case, my attitude towards God is that he is gay lol.

> also the Bible implies I should not write the first page but instead draw a big x on a page as in the story of moses.

>>1962852
>>1962852

Saved because that is genius.

>>1962900
>>1962900

One of the finest I know. It's pretty typical for 2nd language English writers to mix up their statements regarding punctuation and adjectives, but for me it's just the clash of occasional misuse working with just too many adjectives. Thus, the piece ends up looking reeeeeal weird.

>>1963120
>>1963120

I'm unsure if I'm considering to keep the dreams like that or not - I don't think the confusion is pulling across any ideas for people that he is dreaming, rather they're just getting confused/annoyed.

>>1962817
>>1962817

I'm still on the hunt for modern authors who's style is similar to mine. I don't necessarily want to copy these people but I do want to study how "purple" literature has still moved into the hands of a modern audience through them.

And thanks, I take my time with this stuff!

>>1962814
>>1962814

Noted.

It's not really something I'd be for reading in the long-run neither, though I hope by toning down the adjectives the work will shine through.

>>1962790
>>1962790

I live in a moderately sized town. We're notable, but nothing crazy.

And while I do understand that I COULD write it out like that, I feel I'm not really getting across anything aside from the story being told. Yes, I want to tell the story but I also want to elicit an emotional response from the reader that doesn't come from me just blandly recounting events.

The old-timey thing is just how I go along with it, so to simplify any of this would all generally be as I edit. Of course, after his whole thing is all done, I plan to just go back, re-read, and re-work anything that is just too confusing/unnecessary/weird out loud. However complicated it is, I like the way I write.

>>1962787
>>1962787

This is a good point.

Also thanks for the correction, I'm so damn tired.

>>1962763
>>1962763

I would consider Finnegan's Wake the perfect example of something like this.

You could argue many things regarding it - be it you feel that it was written masterfully in it's prose or was just rambling, or maybe you feel that there is no meaning in any of it or there is.

It could even be argued, regarding theme, that the theme of the novel itself could revolve around it's existence alone.

>>1962754
>>1962754

I feel then that the real challenge in my writing would be finding the ability to balance certain passages of this prose alongside straight-forward talking from the narrator.

I'm glad you're still enjoying it!

Oh I'm definitely more for books with a social implication.

I always leave myself a good amount of time to consider what the book was trying to comment on/tell me as the reader. It sort of gives the read purpose.

>>1962744
>>1962744
>>1962744

It's a real peeve of mine to use words repeatedly as I'm writing so occasionally, in my attempt to deviate from this, I do tend to like...really try and write out a new phrase. It can be good, it is usually bad however.

Thank you for the specific examples - I think I just need to read more often to broaden my vocabulary and see how prose generally moves along.

>>1962731
>>1962731

No, though I knew a comment like this was bound to happen in the context of this section.

>>1962711
>>1962711

My fist met once more with the desk as the frustration that boiled deep in my gut churned over the first concept of a conversation between us. A wave of emotion seemed to crash down on me as I sat up and pulled the picture before my face in a swift jarring motion, pathetically preparing my throat as my voice shook to the shift of my cheeks bleeding red. I initially choked out a pleading yell to her, begging her to return her voice to me in my imagined rambling over her sexual desire to me with only the sharp echoes of my voice quickly vanishing to accompany the first jolt of rage.

__________________________

This is where I left off. Basically, the real turmoil is going to start now so I'm glad that my story can get into full swing.

>>1962710
>>1962710

(the love for you i have is beyond what i can give to you, for i know you are my little girl or i want you to, but i don’t because i fear you so much. i fear sex and love a lot too, you know? you are among my fear, walking with those sounds that are alike with the beats. like the beating drums i might play for you and hearts or shoes that make the noise, especially the heels, i know you may wear on those feet that are bare with our banter. because you are so open. clean from the shoes, the heels or the bare feet with our banter, but the bare feet are clean! hahaha! they are diamond slippers their own calibur, you know? fragile but no, no, no. you are you! the bare boast of mine who is pretty, flowing hair – no! you are barren, bare boast, and i have met you before so why do i feel so? you are pretty and i want you. i want you to look at me and hear me and to love me, we could make love and sex.)

>>1962709
>>1962709

Something new on the image stung at my heart on its sight however, as so my intent on the issue did not follow suit with the actuality of it – before me and drawn out without care during my sleepy haze was the concept of her face, marble-solid aside some shoddy features to account her female design. A sudden urge arose to scream though I held no mortal terror for the image, more so I was in a sheer disbelief of what I had truly suggested in the originality of my claim. Keeping my head in its locked seat on the table to continue stabbing her face with my glare, the conundrum began – I kept her face as empty to allow the infinite influx of fantasy to adorn it, yet as it set into the drawing itself it became as a trait in its own as it sculpted her to seem almost like a some kind of un-bound angel, faceless and without mortality. Her face suggested to me as I still watched it intently, an air of freedom to her expression. She looked back onto me empty, as though my definition of her immediate feeling towards any well-versed situation between our imaginary forms was never mine to command at all; as though she yearned to hoist the world herself, emotional trial and strife yet coaxed aside the whimsical words we could shout out to the world regarding our loves, our lives.

>>1962707
>>1962707

My writing hand, which until now was gently keeping the pencil in place on the table, flung on the vehement rise of my head from the table. A fresh pool of spittle was instantly noticeable from where my mouth once lay, leading my dreamy thoughts astray as the horror from the dream slowly faded. While weary, I recalled my introduction into the thought as like a vivid memory, whereas supposedly my admiration of the visage bonded to the enduring insomnia revolving around my devotion to her. My hands initially ignore the position of neither the paper nor the pencil as they reach up and rub at my eyes to fully pull myself away from any false reality I may indulge in half-sleep, for I consider the previous dream as something of complete incongruity towards my appearance of her. A mentally marked failed attempt to modify an imagined situation to the ultimate taste; it drove my hands down from my eyes to slap the table, the anger that soothed within me becoming one vile concoction brewed in depression. Heavy header, I found back a direction down to the table, resting it at just such angle to view her drawn hands on the paper which was now pushed awkwardly up against the broken table lamp diagonal its starting place.

>>1962706
>>1962706

With a view of the woods from afar it draped in the image of that of the fall season, my inner thoughts dueled for her a palette of colors of what lay between the cold hues of winter yet beyond the death of vibrant summer. And though the dying liveliness of fall being what the utmost intent was for my woman, a solemn queerness arose when my eyes scoured the scenery to escape seeing the hands – an endless void of white, mismatched with various grotesque outlines of trees once there before in my memory. I had, subconsciously, destroyed the environment in the sudden occurrence of my arrival near the woman, with my mind in an endless limbo as to whether our earthbound cradle remain a matter in the presence of her being. There was swift verification as the information bended among previous memories within the consideration of her importance, for I tried once more to imagine a landscape to no avail before us; my innate removal of our scenery was frightening and for a moment, the blank landscape suffocated us as it seemingly enclosed.

>>1962704
>>1962704

Stark apparition of your form jolts at my mind, forcing my limp hands to immediately craft a grip around yours without a hesitation. The strain of my eyes vying to catch a faithful glimpse of your hands once more pleads before me, but I am contempt of my vicious obsession of her. Necessity then begs for a final scope of the world created for her in this imagination – for her to admire, the forest remains, with leaves still dancing down on an astonishingly natural wind. In considerations to the intricacies of my portrait, I initially – (could still see the hills from where we were, and she whispered ethereally to me about how she feared them. when i dumbly gazed on to her interest asking why, she diligently cried about it happening now. Oh, oh no why now what are behind them watching us, we need to adventure and see but without a strong man to lead, and she didn’t stop ever, like some infinite radio buzz churning. and i was so afraid of the hills after that. what a thrill to visit the hills with the shrubs though for my love, repeated over and over. )

I return with addition to the story I am working on - I attempted to work around with some memory, dream-sequence and the whole chopped up movement of words.

Please point out things you feel could be changed and things you like - it helps!

Also, to assist in reading, anything in parenthesis -> ( ) <- is the main character imagining an immediate thought or conversation.
_____________________________

While I stand limber on just one of the distant hills in many encircling me, the elderly shrubs nearby firmly hold their positions scattered among the random patches of mashing dead and vibrant grass. There are bushels of leaves that collect as families below the trees that birthed them on their branch, coating the present expanse in a full-fledged variety of colors with every step forward. How mighty the trees, I imagine them! An unfortunate realization for my own, as my thoughts delved to us dancing in the leaves as they fell from the above trees, standing so majestically tall so to fake their petals like rain-drops.

Now, I envision the trees trapping you – they would sweep along with the wind blowing in quaint spurts, as the gusts that once lead into a violent breeze begin to hush. The day lays itself down on the horizon so the night may ascend to tease the tides, bringing reason to the winds and illuminating your pale form among my vivid forest sanctuary. Under our cloak of night and among the plethora of pines in my creation, my image reappears to seat itself beside your floating hands, rigidly awaiting my own hand to twine with yours.

Did they ban you using "bye" again, Quentin?

Cause, if so, that's just down-right funny.

>>1962528
>>1962528

I have a long history with the name as an internet pseudonym.

Originally, when I was first introduced to gaming and what not, I indulged in shooters often. I was a bit of a lunatic when it came to cautiously exploring enemy territory, so early on I got deemed the "pointman" by one of my brother's older friends who was in the military.

I always found the role of a position scout to be an interesting title, both in the form that I would be considerably "courageous" while still being just a grunt. It's become a good reflection as a pseudonym on who I am as a person in general.

>>1962508
>>1962508

What is Pynchon even doing?