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/lit/ - Literature

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20632460 No.20632460 [Reply] [Original]

I have been wondering how exactly I should get from here:

>John likes kitty cats and pee pee poo poo. John plays with his pee pee poo poo in the sandbox.

To here:

>A screaming comes across the sky. It has happened before, but there is nothing to compare it to now.

>It is too late. The Evacuation still proceeds, but it's all theatre. There are no lights inside the cars. No light anywhere. Above him lift girders old as an iron queen, and glass somewhere far above that would let the light of day through. But it's night. He's afraid of the way the glass will fall—soon—it will be a spectacle: the fall of a crystal palace. But coming down in total blackout, without one glint of light, only great invisible crashing.

>Inside the carriage, which is built on several levels, he sits in velveteen darkness, with nothing to smoke, feeling metal nearer and farther rub and connect, steam escaping in puffs, a vibration in the carriage's frame, a poising, an uneasiness, all the others pressed in around, feeble ones, second sheep, all out of luck and time: drunks, old veterans still in shock from ordnance 20 years obsolete, hustlers in city clothes, derelicts, exhausted women with more children than it seems could belong to anyone, stacked about among the rest of the things to be carried out to salvation. Only the nearer faces are visible at all, and at that only as half-silvered images in a view finder, green-stained VIP faces remembered behind bulletproof windows speeding through the city...

Yes, my aim is to write like Pynchon; nay, to BE Pynchon. And be Pynchon I shall, O my brothers and sisters. Let us embark on this grand road of discovery together so that we may ALL be Pynchons.

>> No.20632638

Good for you, I am stealing everything you've wrote

>> No.20632697

>>20632638
NONONONON

>> No.20632847
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20632847

>>20632460

>> No.20632855

>>20632460
>Yes, my aim is to write like Pynchon; nay, to BE Pynchon. And be Pynchon I shall, O my brothers and sisters. Let us embark on this grand road of discovery together so that we may ALL be Pynchons.
so far you're moving backwards

>> No.20632873

>>20632460
I don't know but perhaps learn to be more figurative in your descriptions of actions, events, spaces, etc. through the use of allegories, metaphors and so on. Try to make some connections that only the sort of creative minds can thus giving a poetic sense to it.
It's hard to explain since to me, this comes naturally and even then, it's not as good as the examples you posted (maybe if I'm drunk or inspired).

>> No.20632968

>>20632460
>John likes kitty cats and pee pee poo poo. John plays with his pee pee poo poo in the sandbox.
Poo poo feels good. John rubs it between his fingers to feel good. Kitty smiles as John rubs warm poop over his body.
As the poo poo penetrates his scars he hears the voices of the dead accusing John. They torture him as punishment for what he did. John likes kitty cats and pee pee poo poo.

>> No.20633363
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20633363

>has the Pynchposting gone too far?

>> No.20633414
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20633414

>>20632638
He is thinking that it's quite sad that they are all here at all, really, and he's come to tell them they're going to lose the whole country, all of the country, and some of them are still waving goodbye, but mostly they're just blank, and distant, and horribly hopeful—the blood will finally come to them... Or they'll be back at it, in another war; they'll be, somehow, protected by iron walls and gunpowder, the ones that never get near anybody.

They're all so loud; shouting... Losing sleep, he thinks. No hope, really. But that's not their fault. It's not their fault, no one to blame.

Drunken, straggling versions of themselves in a bag or too old or crippled to run, some with face slashed and fevered in the light of a candle, some speaking into the cold purple silence of the windows in mysterious voices that don't make sense, all putting their selfish, terrified fears into the darkness, right into his empty car, choking him with their arms about his shoulders, their hands up, hurling...

>> No.20633431

>>20632968
Scatology and eschatology.

>> No.20633562

>>20633431
John is completely insane with the insanity providing an escape from a much more horrible reality. The writing style becomes retarded depending on how much he's coping like he's shutting off his brain.