/lit/ - Literature

so /lit/ what can you tell about me from my quick uninhibited writing?
Lover you should have come over. I’ve always thought this song title, this virtuoso relationship-saver, and the thought that you really should have come over always choo-choo trained along in my head. Choochoochoochooooo the little engine that could that was always the heart of the one who does not know of ctuhulu, of jiggajoogaboo and goobledeegook, of ragged spines and tattered skin like flags in the wind; Know this stranger, know this well: Freud was jack-knife right. We are sensually and viscerally unaware, blindly and kindly ignorant, muscular when small, intelligent when dumb—scum, self-aware scum but scum nonetheless. Axe apart this icy sheath that rests upon my flooded-fire heart, please I plead on my knees before you do it now lest you hesitate I cannot take any more take it off me please I beg of you. Who are you to question my sanity unbeknowest stranger? QUESTION ME NOT I SAY. My inkling heart cannot bear such piercing stabs by your sharp wintercoat dove paens. The combination of a thousand people lives within me, working their way up and down the spinal cord and each nerve to operate a movement, a slight twitch or a fantastical flap, reminiscent of those persons mannerisms and personal beliefs and thoughts once kept private. The speed with which a man can kill upon the handing of a cold refreshing .44 colt is beastly, more beast than beast itself; after all-- what kills faster than a gun: what can kill faster with a gun than a human? Speed love godspeed lightspeed but do return, oh do return I would be awfully put out if you never returned, a trillion light-years away.

/lit/ please critique my writing
Hark! The herald angel sings—James walked by the toy store, numb to the music coming from it. Lily-white snow fell from the sky into the polluting street below, run over and emulsified into coal colored lumps, like big fat black turds. He could see the presence of Jesus on the street: in the arrhythmic skips of the children and the heavy faces of the parents who unbeknowest to the children cannot afford their presents.

“James. James did you hear me?”

“I heard you. I don’t think you should fire Norsgard just yet. Give me a day or two to think.”

James and Nathan walked side by side on the deserted dirty New-York sidewalk, both walking rapidly, James the taller individual with a slow loping stride and Nathan with a rapid bulky walk.

“Okay, just give me a call whenever you’ve made up your mind, I’ll

>>1931829
>Life gets shitter as you get older. Being a child is full of wonder and novelty. It's just how it is.

There has to be some way to retain your inner child...... Isn't there?

>>1363759
I like this guy.

So which of the books in this thread are more related to ambition rather than dreaming while asleep?