/lit/ - Literature

i step into the car and i am immediately reminded of why i haven't written maria in a while. her face is just awful. there's a bit of vacant, soulless look in her eye, and her jaw is too big and she's got braces and when she smiles, it inspires pity, not warmth, and i try my best to smile and say hello, and kiss her on the cheek. we start driving to the bar and despite everything, conversation isn't too bad, but even still, i can't shake the urge to check my phone, and it strikes me as supremely insulting to maria that the very possibility that i might have a message from someone in my phone is so much more attention-worthy than the potential conversation with her, right to my side, and i feel very guilty about this, and text heidi the words "i'm awful," and at the same time it occurs to me that every time a girl has repeatedly checked her phone on a first or second date with me, it has meant that my existence and presence next to her in that moment was equally irrelevant and worthless as maria's currently is to me, and this is all making me feel even worse and i'm wishing i'd have just stayed home and drank with the cat, but then the conversation with maria picks up, and we're inside the bar and she tells me she loves it and she flashes me her silver smile.

i take her coat off and she's wearing a tight white tank top, big firm-looking breasts underneath, and slim arms with smooth skin and her fingers are thin and feminine and i catch a whiff of body odour, hers, sweating from anxiety, and all at once it makes sense to me. why i wanted to see her again, and why i was reluctant, why it's been so long but somehow it's still happening. my ambivalence. the good with the bad.

>>12047554
Good shit IMO. Nice op.

>>12047554
>>12047561
excellent prose and rhythm in service of nothing

>>12047637
>>12048105

thank you. i'll post the rest and you can let me know if it gets anywhere.

maria finds a table and sits and i step up to the bar to order a drink but all three barmen are busy looking after a broken rubber cable that at first i think is connected to a keg, but then i learn is connected to the sound system, and i'm feeling anxious about this out of habit, this is still sort of a date and usually i'm trying to order quickly and avoid any awkward downtime, but it occurs to me that it's just maria, and i'm feeling loose from drinking that hot totti a little too fast, and i take a long slow breath and relax my shoulders and my eyes go out of focus and i listen to the music for the length of one verse and one chorus, except even now they still haven't fixed this cable and i glance back at maria behind me and shrug, then turn back, and they've fixed the cable now but still nobody is attending to me and it's too much to take, i've lost my patience, and i walk to the coat rack, take my coat, sit next to maria, tell her, "i'm too annoyed, would you like to try some?" and at the same moment pull a flask out of my coat pocket, show her, then continue, "i can't remember if it's whisky or vodka inside," and i tip it above my head, take a drink and it's awful and maria shakes her head, "no," and i tell her, light-headed, that i still cannot tell if it's whisky or vodka. she points to the barman and i stuff the flask back in my pocket and rush back to the bar to order.

i bring the drinks to maria, who has moved to the bar now, and we clink glasses, her beer and my vodka cranberry, and she tells me i need to be a bit more, she can't find the word, and i help her, "aggressive?" "yes!" she affirms, and i explain to her that this isn't really that kind of bar, and i motion down the row at a very relaxed clientele, then subtly pointing out one of the barmen, explain that he had told me with annoyance, that he was busy and that i should wait, after i had tried to get his attention to order last week. "you just need to be patient here" i tell her.

conversation flows lazily as i'm glancing around the bar, not really looking at maria. there's one guy with a great haircut and a thick beard, pretty rare for russia, and he's drinking alone and i wonder why, and on tv the 2002 olympics from salt lake are playing, and they're showing that french (or were they french-canadian?) figure skating couple who got cheated by the judges, and maria doesn't know the story, so i tell her, adding that they probably got more famous because of the scandal, that they got more than just the usual once every 4 years olympic 15 minutes of fame for a figure skater, and maria nods in agreement. she points to the red mock-bolshevik banner and asks me if i know what it means. "drink clearly, speak honestly?" i guess, and she tells me yes, corrects me slightly but i'm not really listening, and now our drinks are three-quarters finished and i don't think i really want another one, not with maria, anyway. this is the third date now and all have gone equally nowhere, and i can't figure out why it's so hard to build a physical connection with her, and i don't like her enough for a fourth date or whatever this is anyway, so i decide to ask her about it.

"maria," i start. i introduce the topic and proceed gently, making sure to not make her uncomfortable, but after finally finishing my spiel and hinting at my question, she doesn't get it. she's only an upper-intermediate-level speaker. "smiesli," she says to me. "not clear."

"okay, let my try again." this time i'm more blunt. "when i first met you, i got the sense you were pretty sexual. interested in sex. that it was something you enjoyed. you told me about that guy in bulgaria and i thought you were that kind of girl."

"that kind of girl?" maria looks at me with some discomfort. she's anxiously picking at her nails, her hands in a frenzy, elbows resting on the bar, "and who is the bulgarian guy?" she asks, with some urgency in her voice.

i continue, calmly. "well, you know. you told me there was this guy in bulgaria, when you were there this summer--"

"yes, i was in bulgaria this last summer..." she says, anticipating what is to come next.

"and, you said, there was this guy, and you two would play tennis together, and that sometimes he would come over, and you two would, you said, you know, it wasn't serious and you would watch movies together, and you would..." i look at her. "yada yada yada," my hands are making two making two interconnected circles, the symbol for something happening.

"he was my tennis coach!" maria blurts out, shaking her head, "no, no, no!" and i laugh, trying to make light of the misunderstanding, but maria is too serious of a girl for that and she's not laughing and i'm too angry from the girl last night and heidi not getting it and the bartended not serving me and it annoys me that maria has no sense of humour and so even though, really, i've already got my answer, i'm thinking i might as well finish what i started.

"so," i pause, to slow down and keep the conversation from getting heated, then calmly, i proceed, looking maria in the eye. "when's the last time you...you know?" then i add, quickly, "--you don't have to answer, if you don't want to, of course."

"it was," maria's big jaw opens and shuts, "june, i think. my ex boyfriend. but he was already my ex boyfriend then and we were not dating but we," she pauses, then continues, "still did that."

now i know i'm being an asshole as i count the numbers on my fingers but i can't stop it, "june, july, august, september, november..." i turn to maria and smile, holding up five fingers, but of course she's not smiling.

"yes. it's been five or six months."

at this moment, i re-gather my composure. she's being open, non-combative. i've got no reason to be a dick. so she doesn't want to sleep with me. okay. that doesn't give me the right to be an asshole. she's a nice girl. i take a deep breath, just enough to calm me but not enough to be a visible sigh -- that would be rude -- and i continue, deliberately, carefully, in a reassuring tone. "how is it possible? i mean, you just don't have a strong drive or -- it's just interesting to me -- everyone has different interests and motivations. but, five months or so, that's a lot! is it just not really something that you think about?"

>>12047554
>>12047561
>>12048766
I enjoy your style, and I think it has the right level of uniqueness, in that it's going to put off a lot of people but attract a slim demographic in a big way. I'd say keep it up. The subject matter may make it a little hard to publish, but if you do publish, a lot of people in your demographic will fuck with you heavy. Sorry if this is discouraging, but you remind me of Jason Myers, who, in my experience, draws in wayward youth like moths to a halogen lamp. Good luck anon

"no. i don't really think about it, ever. i have other things." again a flash of anger goes flying across my brain, and again i take a breath deep enough to calm myself, again not enough to be a sigh, and i ask her, does she want to get married some day?

maria's eyes widen, she stares straight ahead, not looking at me, the lines in her forehead come together, her mouth opens a bit, and her head shakes just ever so slightly from side to side, "yes," with a hint of impatience and disbelief in her voice.

"well...why?" i ask, with genuine interest.

"because of course i want a family!" she answers, as if this is the most obvious thing in the world. again, i take a deep breath and steady myself before continuing. in a supportive voice, i ask, "you want...your own family, right?" and she answers in the affirmative. "right," i pause, looking at her, trying to calm her with the supportive look in my eyes, "well," and again i pause to look at her, trying to keep the conversation from getting out of hand before i ask this controversial question. "of course there are many facets of a relationship. but you also know that one of the most important ones for a man is, well, you know that one of the things that your husband is going to want from you is...sex. and it doesn't sound like you're very interested in that part of it."

maria nods, calmly, and i'm glad she isn't offended. "yes, i know it. and it's okay. it's tradition," she shrugs and i keep myself from rolling my eyes, and hold in any snarky response by forcing my drink up to my mouth. then i continue.

"do you have siblings?" again she nods. a brother. "and do they have children?" yes. he has a son. "and do you like him? do you enjoy being around him? is he cute?"

"yes, i like him very much. my brother he -- he got married at 23. it was very important to him. and he is a good father. you know, in russia, if you are 30 and you don't have a family, it means," she looks at me and then down at her drunk as she finishes her sentence, reluctantly, "it means you are a loser." that was unexpected. salt in the wound. anger.

it's always undesirable women saying this. why do they always say it? are they that bitter that nobody wants to marry them? i'm annoyed, but i again take a deep breath and the combination of this and the alcohol is enough to steady me and i look at her and nod, hiding my frustration. i figure i'm just going to have to take that shot, but then she presents the perfect opportunity for revenge. "do you want to get married?" she asks. my views on marriage and family. the perfect opportunity for revenge. if listening maria explain her total lack of interest in sex was my stalingrad, this will be my kursk. the big offensive. time to wipe her out. drink cleanly, speak honestly. all i have to do is speak honestly and she'll be crushed.

"i don't really care," i shrug, totally indifferently, not even pretending to be indifferent, but genuinely not caring. not about this conversation or maria or the bartender or what i'll do tonight or in life or anything. in this moment i care about nothing. "what do you mean?!" she asks, and i tell her, this time in russian. "it's just not important. wedding, no wedding. it doesn't matter. for what reason?" again i shrug. she's looking at me with a combination of anger and disbelief on her face. i continue, "if i already have a visa, there's no reason."

she doesn't say anything, so i go on, "you know what i think it is? i think i'm just picky. i've dated a lot of great girls now. and some of them, they've really been great, believe me. really great girls." now i'm being intentionally obnoxious. i can't help myself. "but i always lose interest in them for one reason or another. even one -- she was the best girl i ever dated. i really fell in love with her. and i wanted to be with her. but she was old and--"

"older. older than you." maria corrects my russian.

"yes," i nod quickly, "older. she was older than me and she wanted a child very soon and she finally said to me, 'ben, either we're having a child or let's end this,' and like i said, i really did love her, but i was telling her all along that i hate children, that i don't ever want to have children," and maria's nodding, listening, "but i just said to her, you know, i said, 'fine then, goodbye.'" and with that, i look at maria, then back to the bar, and wave my hand in a sweeping motion away from my face.

maria was anticipating some different sort of conclusion to that relationship and, predictably, looks upset and i know that i've struck a chord and i don't feel bad, i'm only feeling sweet vengenace at that vague, amorphous sense of tradition and belief here that one should get married young, have sex for the purpose of pro-creation, and then ruin oneself, sacrificing everything for the children. i've just landed a direct hit on the one part of the local culture that i just can't stand, and it feels great.

maria asks if i like children and i tell her, as if indeed it is this that is the most obvious thing in the world, "of course not!" she asks why not and i drive the harpoon in deeper. "because they're not cute. they're annoying. every time i look at a kid between the ages of 1 and 15, i'm thinking fuck, i hope it doesn't come near me." maria stares in disbelief and i continue. "you know who i like? i like my cat. she's small and cute and she's soft and she needs me to take care of her. she's like a kid but better."

all the damage is done and i look at our empty glasses, then i look at maria, and i ask, "shall we?"

she still has to drive me home, and in the car we go back to talking about more pleasant topics, and now i am feeling a little bit bad, but not too much, and when we pass a fast-food restaurant next to the main street of bars, i tell her i'm very hungry, and to pull over and please let me out, and we kiss each other goodbye on the cheek and i tell her "ciao," and i smile but she doesn't and i figure this is probably the last time i'll ever see her, and i feel very okay about that, and after a quick meal, i walk down the street to my favourite bar, steady my gait as i open the door and give the doorman a composed nod, as i am, after all, a single person waltzing into a bar at 2am on a wednesday and i have no intention of ordering anything, and he lets me in and i pass by the bar to the back room, where's there's karaoke

there's this hipster guy standing next to the stage, i've seen him here before, he sings really well, but strange, throat sings pop songs, and he's wearing big round glasses, a bright red winter hat, he's got tattoos, multiple, on his face, and he's got a bushy cop moustache and a brown trenchcoat and his pants are too short, rolled up at the bottom, he's wearing white socks and black 90s vans skateboarding shoes, and this girl is standing there, talking to him, playing with her hair. she's wearing a cute dress, too trendy for my taste, but it actually looks good on her, and she's standing closer to him, leaning from one foot to the other, still flicking her hair and i'm thinking, she doesn't look bad, but then she turns to the side and she's got a crooked nose and a terrible, terrible haircut, cropped way too short in the front, but she's super into him and i'm wondering how and just then the opening chords of "boulevard of broken dreams" by green day comes on, and there's a tall guy and a short girl on stage and the guy isn't a bad singer, but on the line "sometimes i wish someone out there would find me, till then i walk alone," the girl loses it and she's not even singing anymore, much less trying to stay on pitch, she's just alternating between unintelligble squeals and laughter, but the guy keeps trying to make it work and she doesn't care, she's just having fun, never mind that all of these other people have to listen to it, this is her moment here. and then mercifully, the song ends.

the hipster guy with the tattooed face takes the mic and he's singing in a normal voice, "feel good inc" by gorillaz and i'm legitimately impressed that he's able to rap pretty well in a foreign language, i'm wondering how the hell he does this all through the first verse and the chorus, and then the karaoke hostess grabs another mic and she starts rapping the next verse and he descends into some kind of throat-singing sound-effect thing and it's totally ridiculous and i'm laughing, but then i'm distracted because right in front of me there's this american-fat guy, must be one of ours, a student, and he's dancing like a monkey, making a fool of himself really, letting his huge belly bounce up and down, and it's humiliating enough that he'll do this for attention, but it's somehow even more pathetic that nobody is even watching. he thinks this girl is taking a video of him, but i can see her phone screen and she's actually filming some couple dancing, making out, behind the fat guy, and then the song is over, and a girl takes the stage, and i'm shocked to hear the opening line of "boy decide," by murder by death blasing from the speakers. she's not singing too badly, even though nobody knows the song, and i'm sitting there, alone, singing it to myself, as a matter of fact i sing this song quite well and i've often thought of singing it at karaoke, if anyone would ever have it, but even though i sound good, i'm now keenly aware that i'm a 31 year old guy singing to himself, sitting alone at 2:30 am on a wednesday, and i don't have enough tattoos, i'm not hip enough, and my haircut is too fucking normal, and then the final line of the song, shouted by the lead singer in the original version, but the girl on stage can't reach the note and she just shrieks, messes it all up, "too young to fuck around and too young to die, time to try a life on for size!" and with that she returns the microphone to the hostess, and i sigh, this time visibly, and stand, take my coat, and i'm shaking my head as i walk out.

I'm halfway through and this is fucking good. Will finish the rest later I gotta go now.

I don't like it. No substance to it. White guy has deep thoughts about fucking. Fucking boring. Your style isn't much to write home about. Not so much derivative as plain flat. Plain first person present tense. Here and now. Listen to my stream of rumination-type deal. I dunno man. You're asking for attention without being worthy of it. Great prose must either have great style (which usually falls down to either detail or disorientation) or else great subject matter. You know what it sounds like to me? It sounds like you're aping Wallace, his endless digressions, his "would ya look at that?... now consider this" tone, but with none of his verbal erudition. Step outside yourself for a moment. Read some Latin writers. I dunno. Just stop with the ruminations. They have the affect of being deep, pretentious even, without the substance to back. Really, another story about fucking?

i walked up to the Spectral Image that was Once maria. “you don’t get it, do you?” in order to control the sexual tension i felt flowing through my groins, i had to pull out my fidget spinner. funny thing, that. the fidget spiinnrr symbolized american consumerism. its kinda funny how PoC like metastisize in a culture. once theyre there you cant quite shake em out. have you guys read houllebecq? i dont speak french so i need a goodtranslator.

and then she asked “ben what is your name” because she is retarded russian bitch and i tip my baseball cap and whisper my name is jeff

i liked it. read it in the voice of patrick bateman

>>12049313
>>12049342

>>12048783
dante?

>>12049531
what does this have to do with dante?

>>12049446
thanks

>>12047554
>i've got the phone in one hand and a hot totti in another

stopped reading after this terrible mistake: it should be "in the other" not "in another".

>>12050555
um its called postmodernism sweetie

>>12049289
OP here -- never read DFW so I don't get the comparison here. Can you unpack that a bit?

>>12050573
kek

>>12049289
Agree. Op keep writing until you read what you wrote here and cringe. Keep writing.

>>12052169
1. i can only write about things i care about. if you think dating and women are shallow and cliche topics, that's fine. but there are indeed several successful authors whose work i enjoy, who also write about shallow and cliche topics. not every single author is nietzsche, or dostoevsky, or tolstoy.

2. you tell me to keep writing, but i'm not delusional. if this really is shit and i have no hope of ever attaining a substantial audience that will enjoy my writing, then i'd prefer to spend my energy elsewhere and just write 3-4 times a year for my own personal enjoyment.

>>12053484
Use less adverbs (e.g., "I shrug indifferently" rather than "totally indifferently." It's sort of redundant). Better yet, find a verb that already implies indifference. I used to make the same mistake in my writing.

There's also nothing wrong with writing about dating per se, but I would suggest going deeper. Even the most shallow of readers will appreciate depth in the books they read. It feels vapid and like your horniness and apathy is all that defines you. If that's the where the character is in his life, great! Now let's see some development. I realize it's difficult to display that in the brevity of a Czechian pancake flipping image board.

You've got most of the mechanics, so keep working on form and live your life for 5-10 years more before you start writing if you want it to be taken seriously. A longer tenure at life give you a broader perspective. I'm still not there myself.

t. 26 year old bloomer
Inb4 muh Reddit spacing

>>12047554
Oh wow OP you should totally post this for your bachelor's degree. >:) likeeehh.. totally, gurl. >:P

i actually liked it. i was the one who posted that garbage that meaningless garbage earlier (inb4 tfw muh logical positivism) and likeeee :D hey op, i really like your writing style. i m stronger than the average man, so i probably coud rape you cuz i want to cuz youre writing is sooooo good.

HEY ! IT SMEELSS LIKE WEED ON THIS BUS

You've got, like, 5 differnt grammatical failures in the first sentence.
I'm afraid the mark on this one is a solid Yikes

fuck grammar you fucking faggot

hey op it would be much deeper if the dude was black. have him talk about the slave trade

this is goooood