/lit/ - Literature

>>12573713

>>12573713
>that pose
>that cat licking the plate
not very subtle

>>12573743
get lost, pedo

>>12573713
A big lobby in Australia, looks to be a Centre of Linking

Men and their will
Bent into shape
By woman and iron
Molding lust and hate

>>12573713
Big long description is for fags who have transitioned from fantasy to literary fiction but hasn't quite figured out what's so good about it, but they feel smart.

>>12573713
i'm in my home office. got a nice big desk to work at. three bookcases behind me with all my technical books etc. also printer, spare change jar, can of wd40, postcard of a botticelli portrait in a frame (pic related), many other things. the floor is a mess. i really need to tidy it up. tomorrow maybe. listening to bowie.

>>12573754
That person in OP doesnt look like a child

Go back to discord, tranny.

Monastic, except for all the escapist technology.

I'm alone in my bunk and surrounded by milk crates. The small stack of books on my bedside table will never be read, because work and sleep are my only pastimes. If the guy who shares my bathroom locks my door one more time I'll kick his head in as he's sleeping. Thought of sleep has made me dreary, and the drone of the boat is carrying off into a dream.

Of this room there are some several dozen copies, and many dozens more of near-copies. It is an irony that doesn't need explaining, that for the most part these nondescript boxes house people who all very strongly suspect that they are the most intelligent individual in the world. In this way the perennial dichotomies of Hellene and Jew, Apollonian and Dionysian--all ultimately reducible to that of freedom and limitation--are realized in the even the shallowest mundanities, that Nous may know itself more fully and thereby more perfectly order the universe. For in this cool twilight who does not sense that the mists made out of grey light represent an Intelligence pervading all?

>>12573851
Regardless, she is

a place of anger and despair
for I live in no place other than my mind

>>12573728
that was Xavier...

>>12573861
who cares, Balthus is based

>>12573910
Killing deviants is even better!

>>12573713
trash, trash, trash, booze, trash, trash.

I’m inside a cubicle and the cubicle is surrounded by other empty cubicles. There are several post-it notes, tacked on my computer, trying to tell me things that made sense to somebody months ago.
A young but dying Aloe Vera plant is behind me. It looks like it’s fighting with something.
I should take it home.

Vaporizer clouds drift through the watery columns of sunlight that reveal the fingerprint smears embroidering my laptop screen. The nearly collapsed faux leather chair protests creakily as I readjust my perched laptop to a better viewing angle. Atop my cardboard-box table, the full mug of brown lukewarm sludge, brewed when Apollo had yet to start his daily journey, waited patiently to play its role in the battle I'd spent the majority of the night fighting. Procrastination had stymied my mind at last, I got up and once again began to assemble the furniture that lay in assorted boxes around my whitewashed new apartment.

ive spent every night here alone

Some time ago I died in here.

Out on the highway, son be careful

It was a den of filth. Every inch of the floor was covered in his personal affects and waste, strewn about chaotically, most dear and frequented possessions close at hand to his usual nesting area, announcing his own lazy, selfish nature to anyone who may have entered. All the blinds were closed and a screen blocked the immediate and sole lightsource from directly shining on that fetid nest of blankets piled into the corner. In that dark corner one could see the trail of crumbs from feedings and multiple dirty cups intermixed with sex toys, grooming items, and work materials intermixed on the dusty floor. The stench was of trash, meals cooked, and concentrated residence. Not a window had been opened for weeks, bodies of flies lay at the windowsils for want of escape. Not all aspects were dirty, for the blankets were recently washed and the cups recently cleaned, but of the dirty and of the clean they were intermixed haphazardly so that contamination spoiled all. Dirty clothes lay piled with clean, dirty floorspace lay next to recently swept patches. There he, at all hours, resided.

You're definitely in England, but when exactly you aren't sure.

>feds tryna dox ppl

i see u!

>>12573713
overwhelmed by my failed confused being

I live in a house. I am relaxing in my office with the kitty. And for some foolish reason, I am browsing 4chan instead of reading. I blame the wine, which is to say, I blame (You).

>>12573825
No need to get angry friend. Not everyone is gifted with turn of phrase.

Flat surfaces all around
All too warm, filled with digital noises
Must get out
Breath

>>12573713
black as my anus

>>12573814
best post itt, thanks for actually trying

Four walls, two windows, one bed, half a man.

>>12575605
What happened to your other half?

>>12575185
garbage

>>12575608
Got im

>>12575605
Lot's of bottles to remind me i'm a degenerate failure. I am comfortable.

Lot's of bottles to remind me i'm a degenerate failure. I am comfortable.

>>12573713
Bath

>>12575618
Was this a poetry thread?

I was just in a hurry to get out of there.

>>12575605
Nice
I would read the manga

>>12573754
He isn't the one that painted it

A room in a converted warehouse of what used to be a stecko factory.

Cement floors, light grey walls, white ceiling and closet. Pretty plain.

Dark, desolate, and depraved

>>12573713
It has a bed. It is a room. It is not a bedroom.

big yet it felt small with a stench of cum coming from the unwashed clothes piled over one of the corners, the walls made of cement had holes due coleric rages, a window where you could see the factories with their chimes and gases coming out of them.

>>12573713
I got to the library early, just as it opens - third floor, deadly quiet. Rows of desks stretch out around me untenanted, like the Rapture came early and my sins were too great. It's no use; even in the silence, worried thoughts are too loud to drown out.

It is broad; long, rather than wide, and reminiscent of a barge where one might hide oneself and set away. The curtains are yellow and rough; old, dreadfully old; yet, I would like to think that what it hides is older. Nature's bounty; it lies beyond the curtain. The smell of primrose striking, first, the scent, and then, imagination. Cerise flowers dotting a verdant span, sloping down into distant dells; though a fence holds firm against full exposure. I turn back. An old bookshelf calls to me to run my palms down treasured spines. I dream of silverfish slithering, deeply, softly, in the cracks and crannies where those fantasies submit. My chair is wooden, ornate, excavated by persistent sittings performed over constant thoughts and devotions- to words, to living, to gentle life. I am here. The very beckon of breath subsides into a sigh, of my domain.

Now, dear reader, imagine this- what houses we hold! Deep within those receding springs, found at the end of a hedge maze's contemplation. Where would you find yourself again? Do you remember the clutch of footfalls as you sprinted downwards, perhaps in a chase, when you were a child? What is the texture- the grain of dreams? Listen closely to the mansion rising out from within your sleepless moments, the arches and pillars forming, colonnades casting pathways of deep entrancing mystery, until you found a copse, or a nest, where your earliest bedframe lay. Divide yourself to me; are you still as innocent? Or does the phantom speak sultry whispers of a demon house unlike any other, locking away your dearest lonesome, your innocence, with serrated chains crushing into a coffin? The child, the house, is gone- but walk still; shallow vampire. Through apartment halls where widows call out demurely to their ghosts, the slum-streets where the jest of a blade might ply across a ruffian's relentless scowl; go forth- haggard yourself through bars that open like tunnels into silver glasses swirled of their delectable mayhems; where none may comfort you, less so yourself.

Benath me is my trusty shitter into which I'm currently taking a big, steamimg dump, one of these dumps that are incredibly soft and stinky shits that only occur when you down half a bottle of the cheapest whisky and a couple of beers in a single evening. It's a shit of regrets and sorrows, but at least I can be glad I didn't shit myself whilst I was passed out

Listen here, then- dream a little sweeter! Suppose mankind were like a bluish-tinged bird floating uphill the slowly-dawning spire, shuttled beyond Venus, blown carnival heights to the very pinnacle of progress where sat- elevated cities of dome and spherical cast! The science sortie! The planet unknown, where massive flotsam spur jesterly like courageous islands into the deeper-black of the ether; and where might you live? Think big- bigger- fear itself! The multitudinous advertised delicacies spinning whole sheafs of possibilities littered against neon-plastered citystreets where the zomboid, immaculate-in-their-unconscious, dead-drivel of commercialized human potheads roam to glorious untold wonders. In the small alley of a triple-moon-lit forgotten sideway, press a button, turn a knob, dissolve a kitten- and centipede yourself down into your most personal, personalized, desperatized, domain- with a holographic butler baking witty repartee that the best of his artificially unconscious conscious could muster; lie there, in your hovel which is so velveteen in its comfortable demarcated dissolve, where the plush pillows are so wondrous as to instigate flatline corpsification instantly upon plunder, crematize your very being to slowly succulent anti-memorification instantly upon genuflection; die, die wholly, die capitalized and communized into your four-walled communo-rento-sphere; and enjoy it while it lasts.

It has a shitter in it. Currently occupied.

>>12573713
The room is a soul crunching open space office, where millennial dreams of capitalism go to die between sounds of finger tapping, random coughs and vibrations of silenced iPhones clinking on desks. Whoever thought of this arrangement should go to the gulag, one millennial thought. That being me.

Locked before endless window
Sat with others hollow chains
Mocked for I see through morrow
For I; seeing end of the mains.

>>12577328

But lately Ive been blind
You leave me all alone, left in time,
You left me here to die, left in time,
Leave me all alone, left in time,

>>12573713
Story of the Eye

>>12577377
I have borrowed time on loved plate
Time grow ever so short
All around me hates their nigh' late
Short on life, big on Wurth

An echoing white room
Where an echoing body cast out it's youth
Some thousand hours ago

Dried meat smells back from the uneven oscillations of the box fan. It's cold with the air's fucked window sounds too, like an idiot whistling. I want to scream but the neighbors' window is their window so I can't. Also the dust.

>>12574318
>he touches his laptop screen
what the fuck dude

>>12573713
I'm in a room with more than 70 computers, and around 50 people. I'm part of a capitalist machine that uses unskilled workers, young people, and other losers to find more ways of luring the unwashed masses to consume more than they need. I distract myself from the fact that I am contributing to this perpetuation of misery and unnecessary indulgence by shitposting and thinking of the fact that I don't like being hungry.

>>12578304
Start a fight club you moron

>>12576016
good

I am seated in an office, surrounded by heads and bodies.

Little specks of dust dance across rays of sunlight, forcing their way through cracked panes. The little gay orbs swim along in the air, humming tunes from their youth when they hid underneath the furniture and dared not reveal themselves out of mortal fear. Now they beat their drums and giggle openly and I hate them. I hate them because they're ignorant. They don't belong in a place where people eat, even if this room has long forgotten that purpose. Even if the rooms wallpaper is scratched and faded, the floorboards creak and the outlets no longer work. Even if the room is now just a barrack for men with no place to go, and there's no Christmas Ham or overzealous Italian dinner from a grandmother hanging on to the last vestiges of autonomy before her legs no longer and work and she shrivels up to be contaminated. I hate them all the same. It's not fair that they get to be ignorant of the better days, reflected in every dent in the drywall from when I was a speck of dust, where I told myself that no matter how bad things were they would at least be better in time.

Their flagrant happiness is a direct contradiction to the sorrow that comes with knowing that things didn't get better. I hate hearing them play and laugh and giggle; I hate their ability to make mistakes; I hate their hope for the future; I hate that they love the bus rides; I hate how they have friends; I hate their optimism; I hate the playground across the street; I hate their mothers and their fathers too, for being what I envied and for giving what I coveted; and I hate that they're happy.

Is it ok to be bitter? Am I allowed even that? Who's permission am I seeking anyways. I'll hate because I have to. To keep waking up in this sad house, in this sad little room, and to these happy little specks of dust who kill me without intention.

>>12578434
I decided not to read because of your onions avatar

The walls are light blue, there's a open window from where I can feel a slight breeze, my dog is lying on my bed and on my orange chair there's a bunch of clothes.

>>12573845
Are you me?

Insomnia hasn't made me hate my bedroom, but trapped awake here long enough, I feel as though the bedroom hates me. The sun heats up my red curtains and the excess of clock prints glow and warp across the pleats as if to taunt me like a bloody waterfall of time.

The walls are sanitarium white and suggest that not a lot of money was put into their construction. Along the gray, short carpeted floor are bits and pieces of foodstuffs, mostly rice and bits of pasta, and months worth of dust. There is a bed, with a pillow and a sleeping bag.
The dust in the air is gently oscillated towards an open but shuttered window by a single industrial fan in the far corner, near the bookshelf. On top of the shelf amid empty boxes of tea is a lucky cat, gently waving vaguely in time to the fan's motion back and forth. There is nothing particular about the books on the shelf, save that the entire row has fallen over for lack of support. Over on the other side of the room there is a pile of dirty clothes, next to the hamper of clean clothes.
The main facet of the room, the piece that draws the eye, is the desk across from the bookshelf, near the open window. On it lies a laptop in position with the seated chair, and one draw opens to hold a pillow which serves as an arm rest when reaching for the connected mouse. Besides this feature, there are any number of crumbs, miscellaneous coins, empty bottles with the labels peeled off, jars of mustard, tea ceremony supplies, dishes, and eating utensils behind it. A large empty bottle of stout is near the computer on the right, along with a near empty bottle of cognac and a brandy snifter. A box containing loose leaf assam tea is near these, with the accompanying mug on the left side, above the electric water kettle sitting at the foot of the desk. The chair is flimsy plastic.

>>12573713
Its a rectumangle

>>12578500
yes

I'm surrounded by heads and bodies.

I am in my house. In the living room. My grand ma lives with me (cause no more family). She is humming a song while knitting in a rocking chair. It smells like leek soup. She is next to the fireplace and my dog is my ankle (he likes to go there). I am lying on a sofa, exhausted after breaking some ice around the house and going to work. There is a hockey sock on the ground that my dog chew has a toy. The fire is bringing more and more light in the room while the sun goes to bed. The windows on my left and next to her are half frosted and the wind and snow are slamming the wooden outside wall.
She gets quiet, stop moving and look strait ahead and then towards the window, the dog gets stiff and raise his head like pointer and barks a single warning towards the door. My brother arived with a bag of groceries. The door opened my dear brother in with some uninvited snow gives a kiss to grandmother and she warms him with her happiness. The soup can be serve. We head out of the living room in to the kitchen.

>>12579822
*under my ankle

Living room with broken bed mattress on the floor not because of sex just bad quality wood translucent curtains windows wide open one photograph Salvador Allende and Fidel Castro on the desktop no one uses.

The walls are decorated with paintings I did myself. Next to them pictures of my friends during vacations. Under my window lay all my colors. In my book shelf is a secret letter my current girlfriend isn't supposed to find, it's from a girl I've been in love before her. She wrote me about her feelings for me - there are none, she's a lesbian -, and maybe it is unnecessary to hide it, but I don't know how to behave, without lying about everything. Being truly honest, that might be a goal. Who knows.

>>12580185
Fascinating. Post quotes from the letter!

>>12579822
:)

>>12573713
fucking shithole beside the room of some shitskin faggot

>>12573743
Glad I'm not the only one who though this.

Un cuarto como cualquier otro pero con la peculiaridad que en el vive un faggot, la paredes despintadas con un azul-casi-blanco, un techo con unos cuantos papeles de saliva pegados a ella, goma de mascar en los rincones mas oscuros, largas_mesa_con_un_chirrido_insoportable_como_el_inquilino_luminosidad_tenue_con_ciertos_matices_de melancolia_y_putrefacción.

>>12573713
A tomb of mediocrity.

>>12580939
Que onda con los guiones bro?

>>12580762
Maybe later. I don't want her on my mind right now.