/lit/ - Literature

I haven’t written in months. None of the stories I want to tell last more than a few paragraphs and none of the ideas I have have a story. I want to write the Burgerpunk Americana novel. White noise but beautiful and disgusting. Infinite jest but the realities of today. Concrete jungles, twin size beds, LED lights on a humid night, mosquitoes breeding in muddy asphalt, isolation of the self when surrounded by hundreds of other automatons, the digital hyper real, the artificial simulation of any and everything, the socioeconomic diaspora, the radicalization of the masses in an effort to find meaning, the abuse of drugs to cope with this virtual reality, the first world as a third world sublimation, grown men obsessed with st augustine and manchildren obsessed with rei ayanami.