/lit/ - Literature

>>13672482
>I don't know why Angelique wants me to make her daughter eat these eggs. They must have been cold by now. But after she has started crying I didn't want to say anything to her and I didn't want to look at her face either. When she is crying her face deforms into a grotesque visage - void eyes, wide nostrils and lips like a orangutan, luckily she does not have red hair - that haunts me every time I try to masturbate to Jessica's underwear.
>Should I knock before I enter her room. Perhaps she is playing with herself - when I was her age I masturbated a lot and every once in a while I tried to improve my technique getting me to cum faster and faster - making stains in her underwear. I should not interrupt her, but when I think of it I should just go in. I have no reason to knock at the door at all. It would be polite you may say, but she won't expect me to be polite. I'm the man who fucks her mother who makes her mother moan at night when she tries to sleep who grunts like an animal when he cums in her mother's vagina. No she wouldn't care at all if I'm polite. She must hate me.
>Unfortunately, she sits on the floor in front of the window and stares at the rain. I say nothing and sit next to her. She ignores me and the food I put in front of her. I keep silent and just look at her. She is wearing a white shirt and panties. On the panties are heads of comic figures printed. I don't know them but they remind me of cinema posters I have walked by recently. Her bun got messy and a few hair are hanging into her face, sticking to her lips. I don't know who she got her full lips from. They look exotic. They look like they were stolen from a black woman's face. Angelique has narrow fish lips. They are disgusting. I can't kiss her with open eyes. Jessica's lips, however, have my full attention and I can't keep my eyes from them.
>i offer her a cigarette. She picks one from the middle. She is used to have a lot of choices. She stares at me for the first time. I know she wants fire, but I only stare back at her and wait for to ask for it. Her eyes looking at me give me a light errection. She is used to get what she wants instantly. She wants to take control over me.
>Fire?
>U-uh... You don't have a lighter yourself?
>After I have given her fire she continues starring out of the window. I grab the plate and have my third breakfast. The juice is too sweet but the scrambled eggs taste delicious. I keep starring at her smoking. The way she holds the cigarette while inhaling is fascinating as if she sustains her grip on the cigarette only with her lips rather than with her fingers. Then she closes her eyes while inhaling. Huysmans would say that she seeks contemplative spirituality in smoking. Usually you would hold the cigarette in your hand which is the human tool per se and therefore the original mean of abstraction. On the contrary, the mouth itself is not only one of our senses that allows us to make sense of the outside world,...

Why is it that uglier authors always write with more cynicism?

Did he celebrate?