/lit/ - Literature

>>10992689
Twice? Damn, I better catch up, senpai :p

>>10980359
Roast me >>10979247

>>10971009
I never wanted much in this world. As a kid I was content with the flowing waters, the breeze, the falling leaves, and exploring some imaginative world. I never had much innocence to speak of, because I had seen a lot by the time I was 11, which was the only time I had attempted suicide. Since then I can easily summarize the long stretches between fleeting moments of joy: anhedonia, ennui, longing for something else, to be someone else. Everything you've said speaks to me, and I do admit a pang of envy that you can express yourself all the more eloquently. Gender aside, the only impulse I've ever felt was to write, and I'm ashamed I've accomplished so little. Two pathetic poems I've published, and a couple of encyclopedia entries I do not speak of. My professor told me my writing was stilted, terse, and lacking both conviction and excitement. But I have ideas. Maybe it was the right motivation, the right disposition that I was lacking to hone my craft. My heart wasn't aflutter. So why bother?

My life right now is just a series of ending ups. I've ended up in an office job - salaried, comfortable, with benefits and a pension. My life insurance has no beneficiary. I don't do much, leaving plenty of time to read. I couldn't tell you what I actually do, what I actually produce, because it's nothing of value: reports, timecards, and so on. It's in a small white room, no decor, part-time, and I'm largely left to my own devices. Unfulfilling is how I'd describe it. All my material needs are met, and then what? What next? I never felt that for one second I was setting the sails, handling the rudder. Even with all my time I cannot conceive of what to do with myself except take another walk along the river.

Maybe we're meant to be the last of our lines. I cannot offer much solace, because I cannot offer that which I do not possess, except flesh. If there's any hope it's that our exchange has brought something out of us and we can set it down, send it out into the world, offering to others that which we seek. I'd read you. Take you in word by word, line by line. If you still want to hold me down, bind me, then write. p-please.