/lit/ - Literature

continued:
There’s probably never a good reason to make a bonfire out of a university, and even though we didn’t start it, we didn’t try to stop it, and we certainly hadn’t discouraged the act either. The sad thing was it would probably be the second accidental act of arson the three of us committed this week. You know that old saying, we we’re stuck between a rock and a hard place, I think that’s a pretty good place to start explaining why this happened. But first I need just one more inhale, because this whole burning college thing is really starting to make me paranoid, and that’s probably not the weed’s fault.
Smoke in a dry mouth kind of sucks, but hey, when you’re stressed, having your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth is the least of your worries. I chase the stress with a slow drag. Beautiful euphoria.

continued:
So if I had to say what the hard place was, I guess that was my home life. It was a black hole of manhood. The thing had started swirling the day my grandfather forgot who we all were and when to eat. Dementia is pretty much a mental castration. Suddenly the seventy plus years of experience you built up as a patriarch mean nothing to anyone, all because you enjoy eating microwavable pancakes in a soup bowl full maple syrup and spiked with just a little dairy creamer. Then suddenly you can’t piss in your toilet because your penis gets its own kind of dementia, and your ass and heart follow suit. You lose a ton of weight, because you are never hungry, you can’t remember who your grandkids are and suddenly everyone is always telling you what to do even though you used to wipe their asses. All you really want is to be left the hell alone to exist as your own man, but society says an eighty two year old has to behave like an angel even if he forgets the civil rights movement happened.
I admit that this is a major character flaw, but I try to laugh off my Grandfather’s painful and drawn out end. I just try to recall those times when he would hit on women old women in the nursing home, or when he wouldn’t remember what things were, like napkins, but he’d get away with it by cursing or calling me a name. There were some pretty wonderful times left in Pascal despite the dementia, though it’s pretty hard to forget your war hero grandpa leaning his head back with his eyes half open because he’s so drugged out on painkillers. I remember seeing him hooked up to those machines, the ones he just plain did not trust, not after what he believed they had done to his body. And who could blame him, that asshole doctor had used those machines to tell him he wasn’t fit to live on his own anymore.

continued:
I take another drag as Jack walks over to me, “Holy shit I can’t believe it, twice in one week, this is not good,” he relented.
“It’s all your fucking fault you realize that right?” I say to him without looking into his eyes, his damn piercing eyes that are impossible to lie to.
“Fuck you, I didn’t say to do it, I said to take a fucking stand, who would’ve thought my words could have been taken to mean this,” he countered.
“What the fuck were we thinking,” I say taking another drag on the cigarette.
Things didn’t get better for my home life when my dad lost his job. I guess when you stop tangibly paying the bills that means you don’t deserve respect anymore, because my mother walked all over him for losing that job. The place had made him miserable, and when the bastards had finally fired him, he was too broken a man to fight them for it. They tossed him severance pay and it was enough for us to survive on and more. At this point it wouldn’t have mattered to me, I was practically on my own at this point, it didn’t matter if Dad could pay for college for me, because that was his idea of my responsibility. That was the kind of thing that made us men, our ability to fend for ourselves, and don’t misinterpret that as some kind of sexist statement.

continued:

My dad had been my example of what a man should be from the moment I laid eyes on him as a child. He should be bold, strong, respectful, independent and self-sacrificing for the one’s he loved. God knows that he sacrificed a lot being my dad, being proud of the nerdy fat kid. I’ve always wanted to be like him, well. the him I saw when I was just two, but this version of him, this debased shell of himself. Making lunches in the morning and doing housework while my mother went to work. Sitting in his chair half numb to the world watching men give their lives on the history channel. My dad had always been a WWII buff; I think I understand why now.
Unexpectedly my ideas of manhood were deteriorating at age eighteen. My grandfather succumbing to mental illness and dependence upon others, and my father left to bleed out his manhood from the knife wound left by…
“Shit, Dude, we better get out of here,” Jack said sounding worried for the first time I could remember.
“It’s kind of beautiful isn’t it?” I said entranced by the burning emblem of teenage rebellion and frustration, “I mean its fucking retarded, but… beautiful in its own way.”
The hard place was growing up. I don’t mean taking on responsibilities or even living on my own. It was seeing that the world I thought I knew becoming a place completely different from my childish perception. It was learning that honesty and truth meant nothing anymore.

continued:
It started with college applications, the complex layered lie. They wanted to know what interested me, what really drove me in my life. Which was fine, but do it in 250 words or less. List relevant extracurriculars. Describe what you can offer an University of 10,000 plus people. Get recommendations from at least two adults that will lie about what they think you are. I was a good student, but that didn’t stop this from being fake. It was bullshit. My mom said it was an exercise in creative truth telling, but she was always looking for the best way to say something.
An inhale. The distinct sound of crumpling as the fire burned closer to my mouth. Holding it in for all it was worth and letting it out slowly to really feel the nicotine.
I had always wanted to be a writer. I wanted to tell the truth in a creative way. But not like this. This was obstruction. I don’t know who Wally Burnside is reading that application. Walter R. Burnside wanted to be a journalist because he had an interest in investigative journalism. He watched Bryan Williams, Katie Couric, and Anderson Cooper. He read the New York times daily, and every issue of Newsweek since he was twelve. Even the week he got the flu and was hypersensitive to light.

continued:
Wally wanted to be a journalist because from an early age he had always wanted to know why things were. Why he was pushed around for being smart. Why people at school didn’t like him. Why he felt so miserable when his first girlfriend dumped him. He enjoyed reading about people who were truth seekers. His heroes were Nick Carraway, Asher Lev, and Hunter S. Thompson. If he was going to be a journalist, it was going to be Gonzo. He was going to find the American Dream out there somehow.
But that’s not going to get you anywhere applying for college. You go with the fake stuff” because it sounds good on paper. A nice little white lie. In the end it comes out to an equation anyway. How impressive your personal essay sounds, added to the number of letters of recommendation, multiplied by the prestige level of the person(s) who wrote the letter(s), added to the number of extracurricular to the power of the prestige the activities hold, multiplied by the GPA, and divided by the perceived excitement you feel toward attending the university. Depending on the final tabulations your whole life story, condensed and creatively interpreted, came down to either a yes or no answer.
I found the whole thing disagreeable. I don’t really believe I ever wanted to go to college. I was being dragged and pulled, kicking and screaming, toward it by…

continued:
“NO WALLY THIS IS NOT FUCKING BEAUTIFUL, YOU MISTY EYED…LITTLE…FUCK! We don’t have time for this. Get your ass back in the car and let’s get out of here,” Jack screamed from the car. This was Jack’s fault. I think he felt guilty. You see no one wants to take responsibility for their actions, but even fewer want to take responsibility for the actions taken by others who respond to your words.
“You wanted this. Didn’t you? Jack?” I said, completely uncertain of the sincerity of the whole situation. How much had really been meant by Jack. The two fires. The drinking. The drugs. The vandalism. The speeches. I wasn’t sure of my own sincerity, but I knew in my heart that as the red fires danced with the blue of night sky, I couldn’t help but see the American Dream burning like bright beacon. But that could have been the pot.
In hindsight musing about this whole thing is not giving me a lot of time to get the fuck out of here before the police start searching for someone to blame. Our gas-coated hands were certainly guilty of something. I got in the car. My car. My blue Crapwagon Jetta with a loose clutch and an interior that reeked of crayons. I love this thing. I turn the key and it struggles to ignite, but then it roars in triumph. I throw the beast into gear and start driving away.

continued:
I look to Jack, his face contorting with worry, guilt, and pain. It was a weird sight. A rare moment of weakness for Jack. Maybe he realizes what is coming next better than I do. I have to admit this Death Star is really getting to me. I could use a glass of water. I can’t focus. But I need to. This stuff is too important. Or maybe it isn’t. Maybe this whole journey is a load of childish crap. But it feels so genuine. More genuine than anything I’ve ever done.
Jack looks at me, trying to convey some last thought I’m sure, but it escapes communication in our mutual drug-induced state. I turn onto Tributary Road, the road that runs through the entirety of Hunterslo, along the Ohio River, and branches out to connect our slice of normalcy to the strange wilderness of everywhere else. I could tell what Jack wanted, one last trip on the road where we felt liberated, before we were silenced forever by…

it does suck, but so do trip-fags. so whatever.

I hate this fucker so much, come on lit tell this faggot what a piece of shit he is

>>1594325
seriously? come on why does it suck.

How about you write something and we'll tell you how much better it is.

>>1594332
because it gives you an identity on an anonymous board, which basically makes you look like a retarded teenage attention-whore.

You sure this isn't something you wrote? It seems a lot of trouble to just insult somebody you hate... on an anonymous board he might not even visit.

I think you're just an attention whore expecting us to tell you "It doesn't suck, it's pretty good" so you feel good about yourself.

no seriously I could give a fuck about my tripfag status. Why does the thing suck? Also, of course he's going to see this, he lurks /lit/ all the time.

I want to see how the tripfag writes. Something tells me he needs to take the log out of his own eye...

your reverse psychology or whatever is down-right awful. pay more attention to my posts on this site and see how it's done.

>>1594360
>WAH! give me justification for my own prejudices
Your thread just backfired tripfag - how does it feel?

>>1594371
fine I am an attention whore who wants constructive criticism now tell me why it sucks.

>>1594388

Dude, when Ty relegates you to FUCKING TOLD status, it's time to hang up and go back to bed for the day.

So basically no one can tell me why this sucks so I guess its really good and requires no work. Thanks for nothing il/lit/erate faggots

>>1594409
Try being more pretentious, as that will get you more posts.

>>1594414
I thought it might but it seems no one actually has any capacity for criticism.

inb4 OP's room-mate is actually his own work he's desperately trying to get critiqued because irl no one gives a shit about him.

enjoy being a terrible writer OP faggot

I really do believe this is your roommate's work and you're trying to embarrass him.

But your own writing is probably shit, and you seem like a bad person.
Plus you're a trifpfag, so fuck off.

>>1594440
I lol'd

>>1594447
no it's mine I was hoping to get ruthless criticism, but this failed miserably. Whatever, I guess I'll join a workshop like a normal functioning member of society instead of giving a shit about tripfags.

>>1594454
If you'd said that we would have given you some.
But your low self esteem made you lie about it being your roommates, on an Anonymous board, while using a Trip.

You have deeper problems, my boy.

>>1594464
indeed, I thought that anonymous boards were full of ruthless people that only needed goading to be effective critics. I misjudged you /lit/ and I am sincerely sorry. Yes I am insecure, but I know that about myself. I know I am not a professional writer, but I nonetheless thought I might be able to get legitimate criticism about this particular piece of work. However I went about it the wrong way and am ashamed for being such a worthless faggot. I'm probably going to an hero right now.

Oh well why didnt you just say that it was something you wrote in the first place?
Were you to emberessed to say it was yours cause you know its bad? Thats pathetic dude...
Also another question did you bother to rework it and look at the writing style etc. or is it just something you wrote an hour ago and posted it?

Why are you so mean op? :(

It's quite comparative to Palahniuk in that the writer's voice is quite simple and keeps a fourth gade reading level vocabulary. You need content to be as engaging as Palahniuk. Otherwise work on you voice, but I'd rather an hero than workshop.

Either a) you're using reverse-psychology to get good reviews which would suck because it shows you genuinely cannot get a good comment any way

or b) you're a dick who goes through other people's stuff and uploads it onto sites without their permission

Either way, I am not giving you the time of day to read this.

>>1594477
I chose Palahniuk as a voice basis because the character of Wally is inherently childish and coming to terms with maturity. I wrote it this way because I am childish and fearful of maturity (as can be seen by my posting on a 4chan board) but realizing that I gave the character a situation to grave to really run from. I wasn't looking for positive comments, I know its nowhere near done, but I thought if I posted as I did you would be more willing to be harsh and constructive. I apologize for offending all of you clearly good chaps.

OP confirmed for huge faggot.

>>1594454
Best way to get ruthless criticism on an anonymous imageboard is to present something as your own work, that you're really proud of. People will rip it to shreds because they know it'll hurt you (and in your case because it really, really fucking deserves it). You'd have been far better being honest.

>>1594473
I have reworked it about 4 times after getting crits from friends, but I wanted more crits than just people I know, as they tend to be too nice or not really constructive.

>>1594493
OP is always a faggot. this is not a new discovery.

>>1594501
Definitely confirmed.

>>1594504
again, the faggotry was obvious

>>1594509
Super confirmed.