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/lit/ - Literature

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>> No.15099470 [View]
File: 289 KB, 739x841, 0B9B7E3C-EDFB-4D39-9EDE-B1C900535F9E.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]
15099470

18 last year of hs ama try to live it up and be smart

>> No.15010035 [View]
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15010035

enjoy
make sure to crit and not just post

>> No.12348258 [View]
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12348258

This is from what I'm working on at the moment. I am at a stand still, where usually I just re-write my old paragraphs and then more comes from there. Not working this time though, so I'm stuck at this (not the whole thing), and I'm doubting now if even the parts I think are good are:

You’ve got the feeling there might be something missing—or something is out of place. If you smell the sediment when it gets hot. If you drink the water. You notice something metallic, something small. It’s enough to make you worry. When you wake up in the night and your mouth is sour with sleep slime saliva, run your hand along the hallway and go into the kitchen, tilt your head under the tap and feel the end of your hair dip in the soaking pan left in the sin, run the water and drink it down—there’s the taste: like metal, like rust, like chemicals run just too strong. When I do it. When I come out to the kitchen at night. I stare through the window while the water spills off my chin. I can only see the iron rendered roofs across the backyard fences, the way the moon reflects dully off the surface—in no way reminiscent of a lovely midnight or a silence kept all to myself—and I am afraid that romance has been drowned somewhere along the way, by the ghost of gnawing boredom that lives beneath the salt water. It comes through the river and makes the dry grass so long and brittle and enduring; it erodes the life out of the bitumen so that it becomes like crumbling grey gravel; mossy ooze comes out of pipes at the foundation of buildings and people step over the stain year round; small business dies of SIDS in under a month; the river tide recedes and lets the aluminum cans fade a sad pink in the mud; road works never cease along secret popular back-ways that Dads always know; and trendy pastoral woods are commissioned around Flinders Street, rebellious figures are muralled on building walls; they even have craft beer in the city now—Please come and look!

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