/lit/ - Literature

1500 more words of burgerpunk thrown up and out. Hooray.

>>16398680
His Civic ripped through the access road and onto the freeway, heading to sector 46 of the north east side of Admiral Crunch’s Northern ex-TexanTerritory of the NUCC. Regularly an hour drive, but it was rush hour, every car was moving at a ripping four miles per hour.

Jesus christ’o fuckbois, how am I gonna get through this? He turned up his comm displays and rolled down his windows, an older technology not afforded in newer models. His speakers vibrated as on of his classic favorite dadrock came on over the pirated internet radio station he paid a monthly subscription for. It was Maroon 5. This shit was his jam, but he never would have let any of his friends, if he even had any – his Lip Service profile showed he had 72, most of which were from his first years of corporate self-paced educational supplementation that he didn’t talk to – know that he listened to such embarrassing and old muzak.

The ensuing gridlock passed by as if it was an old man in a constant state of inebriation, it continued living but without the need for purpose, feeling, or responsibility. He wasn’t staying on schedule. He needed to pop it in gearz.

He safely changed lanes eight times over to the far-left lane, bumped his car onto the barrier space, and sped down the way, surpassing the amorphous blob of self-driving drivel. Fuck yeah, 23 miles per hour, a personal best.

“Fuck-a-reeper, here comes your peperoni peeper!” he shouted in a holler, to himself, in his car.

Maroon 5 blared past all the boomerfied millennials, grey with age and lost hope, dreaming of change yet accepting their place in Admiral Crunch’s Northern ex-TexanTerritory of the NUCC.

Pomade knew of a brave man who once said, “We live in a society.” Boy do we ever. As he trucked along. What the hell is a truck? Thinking about the society in which he lived, he didn’t notice the Jungle.co private enforcement drones that had spotted him overhead. Their brown and red sirens started screaming out; that finally caught his attention.

With a twist of the steering wheel left, a break, a quick tap of acceleration, then a hard right, he was able to force his way in-between two self driveies. He flipped his switch, turning off auti mati mode and pulled a plugged leaver on his car roof. While undetectable to the human eye, the pulling of that leaver set in motion a series of small raspberry pi’s running scripts leading to an electro magnetic disrupter that blurred his car from the rest.

“Stupid frickin’ droneo pimps.” He muttered, to himself. They flew right past him without notice.
He arrived at the location with only two minutes to spare. It was time to deliver pizza. Everybody loves pizza.

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>work
>good

literary life thread

>>3627908
the alchemist
life of pi
siddhartha

>>3575135
i don't know if figurative language can impart understanding. at best, it only works upon what is already there. if you're trying to communicate a perspective which they don't already understand to some extent, i don't see how you can help them. i feel an easy way to reference this is with drug use: if you've taken a hallucinogen, then you have some ability to understand the psychedelic within context. however, having one experience is not comparable to considerable experience. a person who has taken a variety of hallucinogens regularly for a long period of time simply has more access and experience with the psychedelic context than someone who has not. there's no way to communicate what its like to have that experience and understanding, but the person who has had little experience will think he understands because he has experienced that context.
i want to be able to help people because i want to believe that its possible. i just don't see how we can bridge a gap in understanding.