/lit/ - Literature

Whay happen to /lit/?

>>21569647
...

>>17259624
A crippled mediocre man who sought to play doctor on the world to cure himself. A feeble mind whose only shoddy sanctum was pills and peptalks to slovenly college miscreants who financed his hair transplants.

Father to a whore. Husband to a fraud. He played the jester. His fist up the ass of a Kermit the Frog puppet. Playing it up.

He comes to detest his body which lied broken with his soul in some Russian woodshed they called a hospital. His family had shut him up there. For years? His gasps of agony went unheard. Rude, foreign voices attended him. No one in the world beyond remembered his words or sought his face. He raved of something that onced seemed a reality but now comes as a warped, gnomish dream. A potbellied goblin, smoking a blunt, insisting his assistant pull something up on a blindingly bright screen. Then they spoke of cannibalistic chimps, shadowy dragons, postmodern neomarxists. The burly nurse plunges the catheter up into his bladder.

Now returned to civilization. He grins for the welcome mat. Realizes the shortness of it. How cynically the media touches him, holding him by the edges. He is frought with disgust as he uploads his latest exhibitionist blubbering to his YouTube channel. Something is missing. They have all moved on without him. A word haunts him. Covering it all in a slime that sickens him. Outdated.

Pictures of his daughter prancing around in lobster-themed lingerie are posted on his Instagram feed. He knows a legion of directionless young men in uncleaned rooms are jerking off to his daughter. She takes their money like a whore. And he too feels a tinge in his nearly defunct penis as he gazes feverishly upon the whorish images. Little whore. My little whore, he hoarsely whispers to himself. Fumbling with the cap of the Xanax bottle.

An atheist. A jesuit. A jungian. A masonic celebrity. A superfluous man.

In short, a neoliberal.

>>16862704
A crippled mediocre man who sought to play doctor on the world to cure himself. A feeble mind whose only shoddy sanctum was pills and peptalks to slovenly college miscreants who financed his hair transplants.

Father to a whore. Husband to a fraud. He played the jester. His fist up the ass of a Kermit the Frog puppet. Playing it up.

He comes to detest his body which lied broken with his soul in some Russian woodshed they called a hospital. His family had shut him up there. For years? His gasps of agony went unheard. Rude, foreign voices attended him. No one in the world beyond remembered his words or sought his face. He raved of something that onced seemed a reality but now comes as a warped, gnomish dream. A potbellied goblin, smoking pot, insisting his assistant pull something up on a blindingly bright screen, and then they spoke of chimps, dragons, postmodern neomarxists. The burly nurse plunges the catheter up into his bladder.

Now returned to civilization. He grins for the welcome mat. Realizes the shortness of it. How cynically the media touches him, holding him by the edges. He is frought with disgust as he uploads his latest exhibitionist blubbering to his YouTube channel. Something is missing. They have all moved on without him. A word haunts him. Covering it all in a slime that sickens him. Outdated.

Pictures of his daughter prancing around in lobster-themed lingerie are posted on his Instagram feed. He knows a legion of directionless young men in unclean rooms are jerking off to his daughter. She takes their money like a whore. And he too feels a tinge in his nearly defunct penis as he gazes feverishly upon the whorish images. Little whore. My little whore, he hoarsely whispers to himself. Fumbling with the cap of the Xanax bottle.

An atheist. A jesuit. A jungian. A masonic celebrity. A superfluous man.

In short, a neoliberal.

>>16855037
A crippled mediocre man who sought to play doctor on the world to cure himself. A feeble mind whose only shoddy sanctum was pills and peptalks to slovenly college miscreants who financed his hair transplants.

Father to a whore. Husband to a fraud. He played the jester. His fist up the ass of a Kermit the Frog puppet. Playing it up.

He comes to detest his body which lied broken with his soul in some Russian woodshed they called a hospital. His family had shut him up there. For years? His gasps of agony went unheard. Rude, foreign voices attended him. No one in the world beyond remembered his words or sought his face. He raved of something that onced seemed a reality but now comes as a warped, gnomish dream. A botpellied goblin, smoking pot, insisting his assistant pull something up on a screen, and then they spoke of chimps, dragons, postmodern neomarxists. The burly nurse plunges the catheter up into his bladder.

Now returned to civilization. He grins for the welcome mat. Realizes the shortness of it. How cynically the media touches him, holding him by the edges. He is frought with disgust as he uploads his latest exhibitionist blubbering to his YouTube channel. Something is missing. They have all moved on without him. A word haunts him. Covering it all in a slime that sickens him. Outdated.

Pictures of his daughter prancing around in lobster-themed lingerie are posted on his Instagram feed. He knows a legion of directionless young men in unclean rooms are jerking off to his daughter. She takes their money like a whore. And he too feels a tinge in his nearly defunct penis as he gazes feverishly upon the whorish images. Little whore. My little whore, he raggedly whispers to himself. Fumbling with the cap of the Xanax bottle.

An atheist. A jesuit. A jungian. A masonic celebrity. A superfluous man.

In short, a neoliberal.

A crippled mediocre man who sought to play doctor on the world to cure himself. A feeble mind whose only shoddy sanctum was pills and peptalks to slovenly college miscreants.

Father to a whore. Husband to a fraud. He played the jester. His fist up the ass of a Kermit the Frog puppet. Playing it up.

He comes to detest his body which lied broken with his soul in some Russian woodshed they called a hospital. His family had shut him up there. For years? His gasps of agony went unheard. Rude, foreign voices attended him. No one in the world beyond remembered his words or sought his face. He raved of something that onced seemed a reality but now comes as a warped, gnomish dream. A botpellied goblin, smoking pot, insisting his assistant pull something up on a screen, and then they spoke of chimps, dragons, postmodern neomarxists. The burly nurse plunges the catheter up into his bladder.

Now returned to civilization. He grins for the welcome mat. Realizes the shortness of it. How cynically the media touches him, holding him by the edges. He is frought with disgust as he uploads his latest exhibitionist blubbering to his YouTube channel. Something is missing. They have all moved on without him. A word haunts him. Covering it all in a slime that sickens him. Outdated.

Pictures of his daughter prancing around in lobster-themed lingerie are posted on his Instagram feed. He knows a legion of directionless young men in unclean rooms are jerking off to his daughter. She takes their money like a whore. And he too feels a tinge in his nearly defunct penis as he gazes feverishly upon the whorish images. Little whore. My little whore, he raggedly whispers to himself. Fumbling with the cap of the Xanax bottle.

An atheist. A jesuit. A jungian. A masonic celebrity. A superfluous man.

In short, a neoliberal.

A crippled mediocre man who sought to play doctor on the world to cure himself. A feeble mind whose only shoddy sanctum was pills and peptalks to slovenly college miscreants.

Father to a whore. Husband to a fraud.

Pictures of his daughter prancing around in lobster-themed lingerie are posted on his Twitter feed. He knows a legion of directionless young men are wanking over his daughter. And he too feels a tinge in his nearly defunct penis as he gazes feverishly upon the images.

Now his body lies broken with his soul in some Russian woodshed they call a hospital. His gasps of agony going unheard. Rude, foreign voices attend him. No one in the world beyond remembers his words or seeks his face. The burly nurse plunges the catheter up into his bladder.

An atheist. A jesuit. A neoliberal. A masonic celebrity. A superfluous man.

In short, a Jungian.

A crippled mediocre man who sought to play doctor on the world to cure himself. A feeble mind whose only shoddy sanctum was pills and peptalks to slovenly college miscreants.

Father to a whore. Husband to a fraud.

Now his body lies broken with his soul in some Russian woodshed they call a hospital. His gasps of agony going unheard. No one in the world beyond remembers his words or seeks his face. The burly nurse plunges the catheter up into his bladder.

An atheist. A jesuit. A neoliberal. A masonic celebrity. A superfluous man.

In short, a Jungian.

>>15156806
>mfw