/lit/ - Literature

>>19538465
so ive read it three times now
>I constantly get that lightning-bolt feeling of “God, why didn’t I come up with that? Why do good ideas seem to come so effortlessly to other people?”
yup but not your ideas i’ve got ideas but your execution was basically flawless and being able to convincingly integrate anonymous imageboards & the darkweb into this magical realism without being propitiative because these really are the only places you would be able to talk about stuff like that, it’s like, yea, how didn’t i think of that? and then the impossibility of becoming habituated and the ineradicable awareness of what you're now missing out on at any moment, again, convincing & a lot like infinite jest, but also we all know what that’s like to feel and to feel something of such gravity that we want to share it and we get to hear those accounts about what it's like, the unfurling in black expanses (reminds me of IJ’s ‘large dark billowing horror flapping in the backwater of my psyche’) and "acts beyond all right knowing" is telling wording and how it could just be a “cosmically contingent entity” and how a societal taboo here obviously develops as no one wants to know that even while they relax & sip on coffee on snowy mornings someone is there right now being tormented without autonomy and the defense attorney’s “same urge to bear witness that compelled US servicemen to take photographs at Auschwitz” and the sort of intrinsic parasocial intimacy in being able to sit there in the knowledge that you are likely alone in this window watching this person experience their worst moment, an eternal creative genesis rising action of unassailable pain and the intoxicating fear and the trigger discipline of you both eerily watching the cars trailing long shadows. ego-dystonic memories and the poverty of imagination and above all the noise? you all of a sudden lay on us that hell streams have audio also and the infinite importance that everything becomes imbued with after ‘grazing inferno with your fingertips’ and realizing that its all fated into pain puzzles creative enough to rival the Seventh Day and all that’s left to do is watch those future grotesques frolic (last line reminds me also of IJ’s last line, finding yourself on a cold beach at low tide)
>We become anaesthetised to our own originality, I think, because we stew in it constantly.
very optimistic and we’re all gonna make it of you but the two hemispheres of my brain are like a twin pair of colossi with crossed swords blocking the entrance to any creative thought (while this sentence i just typed might seem creative i actually just plagiarised dfw when he said “but who is not a colossus on the roads of the human intellect”)