/lit/ - Literature

>>18130158
People on the left hate his because he doesn't agree with political correctness.

I think that his books stumble upon the same problem as whole genre of self-help does - it talks about the internal locus of power.
>Your life is bad because you are doing things wrong

There are some people who like to blame others (government, races, clases) for their problems, so they mostly believe in an outer locus if power.
>Your life is bad because there are determined factors outside of your control and they can (must?) be changed.

In reality it's something in between.

>>14275992
>>14277362 >>14281380
Don't want to bother too much, but I tried re-writing it keeping in mind your indications; don't expect lots of improvement over a couple of days thugh ahhaha.


The sound of the rain covered the elevator music.
The water reached our ankles.
I looked at the ceiling, searching for a leak; instead, I met the eyes of the stranger standing besides me. He smiled, and pointed upwards:
“Watch this” His voice struggled to get through the thick velvet mask covering his whole face.
He opened his palm, with the grace of a blossoming flower, and his fingers started moving like they were caressing the raindrops. They would twitch, for a brief second – in a way similar to the legs of an insect who fell on his back – and at those moments, I coould hear a slight change in the song the old speakers were playing . The generic jazz track that played every day for more than fifteen years melted, replaced by outerwordly sounds.
I was mesmerized: the raindrops would fall on my head, shoulders, soaking me wet but there seemed to be a link with their rythim and the music, as if they were part of a single performance, an instrument.
Fifteenth floor. We stopped. In front of us, two men over their fifties. Twins. Both suited up.
The one on the left squared us head to toe.
“Come with us. No questions”. He was a bit higher.
No more rain, no more music. A quicksand of silence. The masked guy raised his hands, dropped his chin.
Lightning, he pulled a water pistol and pointed it straight at the short man.
Not a blink, the twins stared at the wall behind us.
He put the pistol to his temple, pulled: his head burst like a balloon and a river of confetti filled the elevator to my ankles.

Inside the cabin only a pool of blood and a body with a shining, menacing Colt in his hand.
“We take it anyway ”, they said, the taller one carried him on his shoulders. I stood frozen as they walked away. As they turned the corner, I press the 28° button and started whistling the weird tune as the doors shut.