/lit/ - Literature

>>3901646
Fuck that noise.

>>3862764
Fuuuuucckk.

I need to get off /lit/.

>>3736344
>interning for a literary agent

Living my dream, OP. I'm trying to get an internship at the shitty papers in my city.

>>3662639
The previous page. Fear me.

I'm intrigued by what little I've heard of Donna Tartt's new novel.

>>3547736
>I refuse to romantically involve myself with anyone who takes part in social networking.

I almost said "So how's that hermitage coming along" but then I stopped myself when I realized I haven't been on my Facebook in months and only sporadically post an apercu or one-liner via Twitter sporadically, to people who are going to hear or have heard me say them in real life already. You don't necessarily have to be a Luddite or a hermit just because you don't want to participate extensively in social media, But not wanting to engage with it on any level, in 2013, is enormously difficult. It's even worse for me because I'm studying journalism at uni and they're shoving this shit down our throats.

What I can't stand is this notion that social networking is the Second Coming, or the most advanced tool of democratization or something. "Social Media Coordinator" is not a real job; but then, neither is poet I guess. Still, at least your shooting for the ages in that endeavor. What the fuck do you have with social media, an impeccable LinkedIn description? Get fucked.

>>3508259
>To the huddled masses, keep on yearnin'!

Walk'ng forth with trilby hat,
The shtick -Sinatra- beaten down pat,
And cane, no steampunk-era trick;
Orthopedic, quarter-inch thick
Swung idly as the flaneurs rise
And gingerly gawk with myopic eyes.
The cyclopic focus on the -fi of sci-
-the my hi of callous thi-
Belies inaction in other realms,
The eunuch cries "A Virgin helms!"
This corporeal prison bound
Express for wizardom, un-profound,
Yet time-table's off, forgot the "the"
And so another episode of Caprica.

The neckbeard scratches a wen on his neck
Unperturbed of eyes, the passing check
From undoubted onlookers, such is his girth
(To alter the astro-route of fair Earth,
a cataclysm in our time of dearth).
The threepenny rolls tucked under each arm,
A Franklin with an utter lack of charm,
Convulse unduly with the weight of his labor;
his mind reels with future confectionery savors.
This slovenly soul shrouded in pizza mist,
An openly anime-fueled onanist,
Sings of rage, but no trip he makes
Save for the one that ends in cakes
And gamer magazines.

But lest you think my inquiry rude,
know this, men behind the ballestrade:
This has not been observance from a way
-I've been looking at you.