/lit/ - Literature

not my diary

>tfw unmarried white male in suburb outside a major American city
>neighbors are all sweaty latinos or cloistered asians speaking stick language
>local cuisine of fast food interspersed with Mexican and Vietnamese restaurants
>wal mart
>tfw your copy of the first critique may be the only one for miles
>tfw a centuries old tradition of literature and philosophy with die with you
>tfw you are the last of your kind

Books for this feel?

>>11940782

Pretty dumb. You only hurt yourself more. I didn't wear my glasses in school because I was stupid and I look back on that and think how stupid I was.

How are you supposed to deal with baseless criticism spewed by jealous fucking retards who don't know what they're talking about and have never even been published unlike you? Asking for a friend.

How do you keep going and finish a book when you know you're going to have to rewrite the whole thing at the end?

It's best if you read and reread it while listening to this
https://youtu.be/yVIRcnlRKF8

Where to begin? The obvious answer is THE beginning, but I don’t believe that our lives are our own. My life, like yours, was shaped and perhaps totally determined by events, feelings and mistakes occurring before my very conception. Whether we like it or not, we are players on the chessboard of history, and we live its philosophies, ambitions and prejudices in our daily lives. To condemn one player is to condemn them all. But we have illusions of justice in this society. We blame individuals, allowing the game to go on. To condemn the game itself would be tantamount to heresy. In asylums and prisons worldwide, there are heretics who we lock away and hope to not be bothered by again, so that we might live humble and innocent lives, while we propagate a crime so big the law dares not even challenge it. I used to fear the day that law was reduced to a mere ceremonial performance. I now realise that this was always the case. The arrogance of this society will be its undoing. Like mold destroys homes if left untreated, the rot being swept under the rug is destined to infect every facet of “ordinary” life. I am this rot. The conditions are perfect for the spreading of my message. Spiritual dampness and political humidity are abundant. It seems to me that the problem has been ignored for so long that the only cure would be to tear the proverbial house down and start anew. If there is a force of absolute evil, maybe I am a conduit for it. If there is justice in this universe, I am it.

>>11571773
>post inb4
>literally the first and only post so far is the inb4

>>11442829
From which book is this one?

>tfw your only motivation for reading is to impress people and be a pseud on a congolese penis washing imageboard

>>11185260
No I didn't.

I write short stories mostly. One month and two weeks ago I wrote the best story I've ever written. I was on top of the world.

Since then I have written nothing. Meaning I sit down every day for about 2 hours and stare at the screen, write fucking dreadful nonsense, and finish with nothing worth saving. And I'm not exaggerating this has been a daily thing. What the fuck is wrong with me.

>write short story about a late, middle-aged man, gone through financial hardship, living alone, trying to find dignity in his relative poverty, trying to just come to rest with what is ultimately his objective failure in life, despite whatever other qualities he may possess
>actually feel very proud of it, it's a fairly simple topic but the structure, prose, and characters are all the best I've ever written and I can see a clear leap in improvement here
>realise as I'm reading it that I have essentially just written a very sad story about my own father, who is still alive, one of my biggest influences, who always rings me and encourages and supports me to write
>whether right or wrong, feel as though this has the very real chance of being published in this journal I have been making submissions to, and if it does and my dad reads it, my dad who I have fantasised about sharing my first publication with since I was like 19, it would break his heart

I'm going to put this one away I think. I am very happy with it though, but it should just mean that my next one will be even better, hopefully I can write about something else.

>home again after another long day
>sit down to computer ready to write
>nothing
>go to bed after 2 hours cause I'm so tired

>tfw you start with the pre-Socratics and now the Earth is made of fire

I'm nearing the final pages of my first draft, but who can I go to for feedback? My parents only read magazines and never seem to enjoy the stories I like. My friends will probably shit on it regardless, and the ones who do actually try to read it will nitpick cruelly just because I wrote it. Outside of them I don't know anyone well enough to properly assess their thoughts or trust them/feel comfortable with sharing my story with.

what are some books that deal with death anxiety, for some reason I just don't feel like I'm gonna make it past 30.

>>10014685
>there are a handful of things that give me healthy enjoyment
Then you're better off than me, son. Frick off!

>>9996129
Better than posting on 4chan 14 hours a day like yours truly.

>>9532894
I'm active, go up to girls, try to get in but I've never had sex
The closest I got was making out at a party and she led me to a bedroom upstairs, but after a while of having fun with her tits and dry humping she told me she didn't want to take my virginity, she said that's something to do with someone important. We just ended up spooning with me holding back tears. The girl was 16 and I was 18. Girls want experienced guys, they hate dealing with virgins after age 18. There's literally no chance after 20 to lose your virginity to a beautiful girl. I cannot anymore imagine me having sexual intercourse without an intense sense of shame.
Should I use the garden hose + car combo or do a free fall?

>have francophone swiss father
>learn french as a second language
>read and understand it np
>be 18
>go on a month trip alone to Nice
>excited, first time going south of the Baltic
>meet people, spend time with them
>get along with a great blond girl
>do bar crawl the second night, end up with passionate lovemaking with girl on the empty beach
>next evening another crawl, another night with girl
>repeat for a couple days, most fun I've ever had
>listening to their conversations I realize I don't have any clue how those wonderful written words are spelled out
>my attempts at intelligent conversation are incomprehensible and rambling
>we can't really talk about stuff we haven't already gone through 3 times
>day by day, my french starts to deteriorate
>spend days and nights sitting in the same bars and cafes
>drinking cheap vodka and coffee like a sponge
>lack of sleep and being constantly drunk starts to weigh in on second week
>forget basic vocabulary, start saying wrong things in wrong place
>accidentally have sex with another girl, argue with blonde over it
>don't know how to argue in french, no clue what language I was yelling
>none of the group I hung out with talk to me anymore
>still sit in the same places getting drunk as they are, now I just sit alone and they're in their group
>she seduces some random guy in front of me
>too numb with alcohol to react
>drink more and drink cheaper
>manage to angrily fuck some girls
>doesn't feel good at all
>wake up almost every morning on the beach, walk straight to cafe
>at this point I've become certain that I've never could've spoken french
>make murmuring noises and order stuff with my language
>stop answering people's looks
>I'm not allowed indoors after I lose my shoes, spend time on the terraces burning cigs and downing watery vodka
>the sun is fucking hot, burn my skin everywhere
>heat makes me feel continuously ill
>the group pass me by, they either don't recognize me or they pretend not to
>become an everyday stain on the street, observing people
>I understand what people say, but I can't respond to them anymore
>I know what they like, but I can't relate to their needs and wants anymore
>I understand what they feel, but I don't want to feel it anymore
>tfw alienated
>tfw nauseated
>return home with the worst hangover and can't remember half of the trip
>brought accidentally some of the girls panties along, gave them away as souvenirs
and that's my definitive France experience

>>8401747
>tfw you'll never be able to read the divine comedy in its original language

>>6659816

2/2

You know, I bought some weed from a kid I know, lives just down the road. Haven't had the chance to get some more, so I ran out, and now I'm just trying to get high with whatever I can. It's not an addiction thing, I hope you understand. It's that I'm mentally incapable of dealing with these feelings, so tremendous and looming that there's no way to escape them unless I'm actively alterting how my brain works. It's awful. Getting high isn't, it's a blast, and I highly recommend you loosen up a bit and have some. You're not getting hired by anyone anytime soon.
Anyway, so normally you smoke the bud, right? The plant matter? It leaves this resin everywhere, mostly caked ash and grime, but it's still got some of the good chemicals in it. I've resorted to smoking whatever I can scrape out of my glass pipe. It's pathetic, but it's better than being aware of this.
Look at the wall, man. Look at the assemblage of tools. They're all mine, since dad died. They're all the product of his work and time, and he spent a lot of effort putting it all together. I've got the entirety on craigslist. For two thousand bucks. Going to pay for Alyssa's loan with this, and I'm also picking up some online jobs. Like transcriptions and stuff. Nothing too profitable, but it beats going out and getting a job someplace in retail, on top of teaching. I think that'd kill me.
At least we're not like those guys in retail. Sad fucks, I know entirely how it feels. I'm probably not going to get tenure. Unorthodox approaches to kid's education are frowned on when testing changes the amount of money we get. It's a trap. I've stepped in it and now I'm stuck in a limbo, ready to fall out and be fired as another expendable peice of shit on the sidewalk. Where am I going to work? Another school, and just uproot this tiny house and all the memories I have in it? A government job, the ultimate sell out? Chances are I'll never get it anyway, but that desperate action of even applying means that I'm ready to die. Might as well put the bullet in my head then, just a walking shell, surrounded by fat women and minorities and whatever equal action they have.
Not that I'm racist or anything. Far from it. It's just that when there's a group out there, any group, I don't care what you are, and your very existence means the reduction of my happiness and work, then I am going to resent you. It's tragic. We'd be the best of friends if money wasn't a concern, but since whatever you have is what I don't, then I will do my best to take it back. it's mine. And I hate them for taking it.

>>6448706
"Hello."

A blue bhurka'd girl waved, a spot of exultant color against the sand and clay. She held a branch, little more than a weed, but it was beautiful and had white flowers. Her wave dropped and she looked at him with the hazel and green and azure in her eyes.

"Come close, you're fine."

She refused to move and stared, clutching the branch in her hand, crushing one of the flowers underneath her impossibly small fingers.

"It's alright, you're fine."

--

"Oh God."

The rifle dropped. The soldier with his subdued greens and greys sprinted out of the formation to the chagrin of his friend and flew towards the blackened huts. A single spot of brown and red and brilliant blue sat against a wall. Her beautiful dress had been shredded, her small, soft face now unrecognizable. The top of her head was missing. She did not have her eyes anymore.

The soldier had fallen against the wall and tried, with shaking arms, to pick her up. She was limp and her blood streaked his uniform with reds and browns. He carried her to the outskirts of the ruined village and buried her using his helmet as a shovel to carry the loose and disturbed earth.

"No place for a child here."

The soldier was little more than a sobbing boy when he pulled the branch from his pocket, now missing its flowers and broken from the hustle of combat, and dropped it on the impossibly small mound.

I heard a joke once: Man goes to doctor. Says he's depressed. Life seems harsh, and cruel. Says he feels all alone in threatening world. Doctor says: "Treatment is simple. The great clown - Pagliacci - is in town. Go see him. That should pick you up." Man bursts into tears. "But doctor..." he says "I am Pagliacci."

Good joke. Everybody laughs. Roll on snare.

Curtains.

>>6323679
A-anon...