/lit/ - Literature

>>5560540
get good at writing more straightforward prose before you get experimental or write stream of consciousness. Dubliners before Ulysses, etc.

sorry that I don't have much more constructive to say.

These sorts of ridiculously long sentences are very difficult to do well. Get very good at normal length sentences before you experiment like this.

/lit/ pls


Whatever made him special was cruel enough to make him handicapped. In a way, his setback was only temporary but only if he tried very hard. The thing is, unless you do try, nothing comes. If you don't get screwed over doing it, then you are all safe and sound. The tunnels and crossroads his mind was constantly skipping in search of something have become a torture. The never ending battle to find a thought poignant enough to warrant ink use. Inspiration did not come and waiting for it was almost as waiting for salvation. Only difference being, you can die waiting for one and still be more than well off. Thankfully, little did he know it was right about to rain. Drops and little trickling streams of water seemed to make his mind a little more numb than usual and were invaluable aid in calming the sea of thought. Not wanting to pick up where he left off wandering about with no particular direction, he stood up from his creaky wooden chair and decided to walk outside. His raincoat was filled with memories, now was not the time to look through them though. Drenched in midnight sweat and rainwater alike, he strode carefully almost as to not fall. It took a while to come up with a goal of visiting the cliffs. As far as journeys go, this one was quite near, a mile down the road and then a sharp left uphill. Sitting down on the mossy stones overlooking the cliffs made his testicles cold. The realization of being completely naked underneath a skimpy raincoat made his cock swell. Loneliness hit him almost as hard as the monsoon rain, knocking him out and in the water. The only thing he left behind was a shit stain on the stone, and even that was wiped out by persistent rain.

bamp

>>5560540

these statements by the narrator rnt exactly profound or interesting to really read in any way and thats alright if thats the point you're going for but as an excerpt in its own right its doesn't convey the gravity of an innocuous situation that i think's the point. uncouth's a good word hurr but its prolly the only thing that stands out in a passage like this and frankly that's not good enough 2 be a ~dOp33 @$$~ writer man. you seem like ur on a good track though, keep up stuff dawg

>>5561020

the first 2/3rds of this is p. bad and rly disjointed in terms of doing run-on sentences badly and just being awkward but man those last 4 sentences (bar "out and in the water" which could've been shortened to "around" or "buffeting him within the waters") were funnier than i expected. From this you seem better as someone who uses descriptors to imply situations than as a pontificate or w/e. Stick w/ that and work on parsing down what you put forward.

>>5561034
Thank you I will keep working. That was my first take on the problem of writing endeavours that end in nothing written down. It was actually what I was fighting when I started with this little passage. So I should keep the sentences short and precise right?

Jermy’s (+2 ironic appropriation maintains the ideology whether YOU like it or not, pal) got the wambam in his system, got the postmodernity of the season, lookin’ like an ‘ffliction. Can’t get the rusa paloosa off the backs of eighteen cats (-60 I FUCKING LOVE CATS) with wires in their tales to sniff through the flat smoke circles and the horsing around with the livestock. Jermy climbed in Snapchat one day ‘n’ thought he’d kill himself with a flash of penis Palahniuk (+44 the man’s a genius) (+100 SCOOBY-DOO RAPE IN CYBERSPACE) no girls will talk about again, maybe post them neoconservative, like, ‘n’ keep it up while the WASTE keeps building down the streets, in your neighbor’s outhouse (how did Thoreau shit, by the way?). But the neoLiberal optic palmetto bugs are made of very white light ‘n’ come visiting with Santa (+33 fat patriarchal archetype is not the same as imagining an abstract phallus nor being haunted by the signifier phallus which is all getting far to real for you, even if you’re imagining it - imaginary real? horrible thing *SNEEEEEEF*). Keking Keckleons march to the door in the best way they imagine a war (we all know we need one, eh, Herschel?) in ironic loose lipped (+50 vagina imagery) what? Fuck it, BREEDING a sense that the system’s grown stronger in the night. Jermy’s corpse is lying someplace, gotta find it, kill the postmodern ebola (which is only postmodern ‘cause it reminds us of Cholera (Gabby :()). Somewhere in Stockholm with the nobodies they’re milking themselves a vaccine. Poor Jermy’s a martyr. Gone the way o’ poor Denisovich in the hearts of December. But now he’s dead, yeah? He can speak to the system like a revolution, computers goan get made of skin real soon, brother - ‘n’ who’s this asshole, fellow corpse of mine, bleeding here mort de l’auteur? (+50 Can’t kill a woman dead).

>>5561044

shorts good yeah but whats better imo is direct. like that last sentence is rly gr8 b/c its crude w/o being disingenuous - what u put down is garbage in ur own mind but its not even worth acknowledging b/c of the persistent, driving, beating sheet of ur malaise. and although that ideas about as cliche as it comes, if you hone ur ability to succinctly cinch situations like that you can then focus on expanding the range of ur ideas 2 include more ~oRiGiNaL~ or ~gAyY aSsZ~ speculations/refinements/etc.

you'll find even in weird ass avant garde writing that theres usually a system to whats being presented even if it isn't immediately apparent, and from the structure of any system any reader can build a mirroring one to interpret what you put forward. focus on honing your ability to write with an internally consistent system and parse it to a level that resonates with you so it becomes as natural as breathing.

a poem i submitted 2 the new /lit/ story thang:
π

Ross' dissorlution

percusshions percentage
concushions, part eger ep
illypsis episodes from
faggots, gafts of morg
uenduelate graft, SOS
rintacting loint diunctuous,

dinghy Diego danmaku petals'
pastel...

larkabinetymology (no ahnamal winnebago
nad dallapper in temp-oral casin)
i.e., two carcased molargen
tinyands ass clasp loveseat hasty
rac(timid)icks, savaging what lasts

impulsed his OG-eidolon san sepiashoans,
hos gulping convulsed skin tumolts (nawt
you, U'sincullcate august while higher
sept ember proscizetas on SAT once-testic
klerks, meth pay an inexcusable

release for any work of fucking
empathy)
---------------------
sympathology at oddities, never-re
venants clutching cementarry corinthian
hutch hunch symbology support (pi
thagorandian palimpsest)

parking complex thoughts like lay
or layer reyall rogal coup de(x
tryous')r grace

E(lev[it]ate ETA vealoue[ity]y) car(syne)g
o(gue)nery oyerruns

bumping because i would like to see what lits got to offer!!! and i enjoy talking about writing

%D

>>5560540
"Uncouth" in that context is unusual, but not incorrect. Just kinda makes you go "huh". There's not much to say about it, really, other than it's a situation I suppose many people could relate to. There's nothing happening for the most part, but I'm guessing this is from early on, and it's one of those very sincere accounts from the not-quite-right. In which case, it's good for what it is. I'd suggest maybe finding your own voice, which certainly propels along a stream of consciousness piece, which probably sounds very vague and is no help to you whatsoever. Good luck!

>>5561020
I'm not sure if people will agree with me here, and while this is passable, I'd say it could definitely benefit from being in first person. It's obviously very personal, and the over-the-shoulder third can only take you so much of the way. It sounds like we're floating around in this guy's head with small peeks through his eyes to see the outside. All a very abstract situation. Also, aside from a couple grammatical errors you can probably see for yourself, I'd say you don't need to beef up every observation with an analogue/simile/metaphor. Other than that, I'm sure it'll be great.

>>5561052
>Scooby-Doo rape in Cyberspace
Oh. Phuc me.

>>5561063
DEELDHOES. THAT IS TO SHAY, PLASHTICK PENISHES.

>>5561084
We don't need another namefag here, please. Especially not the shitposting quasi-ironic triple exclamation sorts.

>>5561110

nothing i post is ironic

i like writing and reading peoples stuff

why do you think what i posted was #zizekdealdoes???

>>5560540

have you even read this
all of /lit/ is going crazy over it...wtf

>>5555224

Endless lagoon on lukewarm marble.
Thick mist under a cold sun
Lone tree
Dying

Movement disturbs the stillness
Broken tranquility
Life begets
Life

I know that it's severely lacking, but I don't know what to add without breaking it.

>>5561133
It's not all of /lit/. It's one thread people though they'd have fun in. It's a shitty little story with a tweest that makes people laugh. Making people laugh is the second most effective means of getting noticed on /lit/. The first is ironically trying to make people laugh, with something that's not in any way funny. They'll reply saying it's genius. Then everything blows up.

>>5561138

you thought about editing it to make it readable forwards and backwards in each stanza? you can do that by just deleting "the" in the 2nd 1 and rearranging the 1st a smidgen

>>5561148
Yeah. Thanks for the advice. Gonna see if I can make it work.

>>5561138

This is wonderful for your first poem! I like it and the fact that you've never written a poem before adds to that.It's good that you haven't just fallen for the generic poem that starts off being about nature and ends up about some suburban teenager emotional turmoil. It's also good that you haven't done anything ridiculous with symbolism or imagery. It cuts the shit and writes the fucking poem. The criticism I can give, though, is that you're a little too straightforward with expressing emotions. While the imagery does a nice job of expanding on what is said in a compact and dense manner, it was nice in the sense that it was a brief glimpse into your life, rather than a brief experience of your life. I know this sounds cheesey, but you get what I mean? By only revealing a little bit and then letting the underlying meaning of your words explain the rest, whether that be through some type of literary device or what have you, it helps draw the reader in a bit more. Keep writing! You'll get even better.

>>5561162
>>5561138

>>5561138
why are you tripping

>>5561162
W-was it really that obvious that it was my first poem? But thanks for the feedback, I really wasn't expecting anything so positive. And I do get what you mean, I'll keep it in mind for future works. Thanks~

>>5561181
What?

>>5561184
I'm doing it as a way to deal with some severe social anxiety. A few years back I wasn't even able to post anonymously here.

>>5561148
Reworked it a bit. Not perfect, but a lot better.

Endless lagoon on smooth marble
Thick mist under cold sun
Aged tree
Dying

Movement disturbs stillness
Broken tranquility
Life begets
Life

>>5560540
>It happened
no. terrible.

>>5561141

>being this salty

>>5561195

neat lil thang imo. mentally when reading it backwards i'm putting commas @ certain points - do you think you want to experiment w/ that a tad? IDK like it reads

"Dying tree,
Aged sun, cold under mist,
Thick marble, smooth on lagoon,
Endless"

in my head

wut do u think of mine? >>5561063
gay af? who cares?? i love dongers??? "ironic shitposting"????

i would just like opinions and reasons 4 such on it ;__;

Bought some Molly twenty dorra from "The Taker", a former bookstore owner til that went all to shit. Five dorra more 'n last time in my sleezy non-committal days singin' with Jamal under the bridge. That's what we were doing, we were singing and The Taker digging homeward for ol' Molly four years dead. Jamal asked me where his pretzels went and I said I never bought 'em, said fuck off, you've got your beer, 'n' I've got a spine. I bought Molly's spine. He didn't believe me, I said I bought her spine, and he started singin' "I WANT MY BABY BACK" with a 'postrophe "S", all possessive like.

The Taker, he'd done some reading on anatomy in his bookstore days 'n' dealt me Molly from her box so discretely six feet deeply, then buried it again with six new bouquets in apology. I bought her littlest toe one scummy day when Dad was spent of loving and Mom was throwing money from the windows with him screaming, and I'd picked up the notes and bought Molly's littlest toe. I sucked on it back home when I got hungry. Charged me double for her femur and when I asked for her fourth finger I got a "Oh, you a bad bad boy. She can't say no." And no, she couldn't say no, I proposed to her under the bridge with Jamal singin' Cyndi Lauper "AT LAST" with carnations in the Hudson. And now I got her spine, where all that made her mine that swag 'n' grace 'n' swished up lace DAYUM to the Tumblr prom, all 'cross the dashboard. That spine that bent that way was mine and hell I'd love it and kiss it and keep it under the bridge, just me, Jamal 'n' Molly. We don't need no one else.

>>5561201
Honestly? Your poem is way beyond me. I don't get it, although I feel that that is part of the point. I'm not sure how to take the misspellings though. Some of them seem to reference, while others are apparantly just there. In my opinion, you should only misspell in a poem if it serves a purpose and adds to it. All in all it is just a bit too much for me.

As for how to read my poem backwards I will leave at the reader's discretion. Having the reader interact with it rather than just read it adds a lot to it, no?

Trouble woke me. I looked down over the parapet of the projecting garden. A homeless man had come to sleep in an alcove below on the street and a youth had come up and snatched his back pack. The sleeper had woken, and the kid rushed down the street but the man caught his leg. They were both of them emaciated and weak and the fists of the man came down like balls of tossed paper on the boys cheeks. The skin broke in pockmarks at the bone and he cried out for the man to stop. The great lengths of their limbs were cast in shadows up the walls and they were great formless things with a struggle between them more real than either of its parties. A policeman came running and he took the man off the boy, and he beat the man with a stick at the back of the neck and the boy rolled around on the floor. It was an odd light and the boy looked to be grinning. What reason did he have to take the bag if not for laughs? The man was bearing his fists truculent and testing and laughing. He was an old luchador with his son and the policeman was humouring him by hanging from the very large arm. This was the night comedy of Havana. They were all laughing about it. They were laughing about it and there was no bad blood, only the joke and shared indigence. It settled. I took the stairs up to my room and fell asleep, and dreamt some more of Bazoo.

Bamp.

Erasmus' egg is still intact
it quivers in Boston town
so you said when I bid you drop the act
as the lucky ones slowly spin round

>>5562628
From the ferris wheel we witnessed the lights going down
We saw the lights rise up
You said you felt sorry for each distant clown
As each human spy signed up

{for the school publication}
{the burden is raising}

>>5562636
Haif of what is said is what is done
And half of what is real is also true
Each circle that we ran brought us closer to the sun
but its all the same just bn me and you

>>5562642
I know your world is full of friends
like sieve: is full of nothing but I'm sure you can remember
the few.
It was early morning playground I was smiling you were talking
every avalanche was marching
every publication chalk and
I mostly thot that you were
pretty cool.
But just like every other avalanche you cam and then you conquered leaving nothing of the kingdom that you knew

>>5562659
And every pencil that I break is just a flare igniting
--fake--
like a bird in early spring in ancient weather
and every bad joke that I make is just an errand by the lake fetching
new words that were pointless everafter

The myth of beasts is met with hungry laughter
to sing this myth of choice is somewhat sadder
the lines we draw are somewhat less than shelter

I know your world is full of lies in just the way a sieve is full of nothing
I know because you told me sipping lean among the chetsnut trees leering broken seeking gone a-hunting
I know this bc you told me

>>5562689
You said these lies weave tapestires that
seem to be as you lean to see
sad thread or the link to
really something

From that pt on you knew that you had sold me

>>5562708
The lies we draw are somewhat less than shelter
The lies we draw are somewhat less than shelter

>>5562711
Yes his egg is still intact it quivers there in Boston square so you said that faithless night heart racing
eyes below the night toes just inches from the rubble
The stars went round and round and round as two men tried to talk their way past trouble
And we watched as every white lantern
grew stubble
And we watched them advance
and we watched them falter
and we watched them pant
at the neon altar
And these ties that bind are somewhat less than shelter

>>5562723
You
with your avanche
and pearl
Walk thru my guise
this suspended palatial mechanism
my wide eyes and my kngdom in repair
you've found it
that egg
its straight
it needs no reminder
I falter agt your left eyelid and breast
Malcolm Dalglish is in fact the one who left the frost on those brittle lashes
those abstract thighs
And you can further each avalanche on its road
if you only close
those
eyes

Only, I could never do it. The same would always happen, always. I, in my great embarrassment, would quietly retreat to my “Happy zone”, where I’d try my best to ignore others’ insults and my own stupidities. “Just ignore them”, as the teachers say (Although, in my experience, this doesn’t actually stop the abuse. Moreover, it can even intensify it), eventually they would get bored and go back to tearing each other apart. That was their favorite thing in the world I swear. Not a single day would go by without verbal abuse—mostly of the “Your mother” kind—I even wondered if it wasn’t actually hatred what moved them. But, in spite of everything, you’d always see them being friends in the end.

I was the only stranger among them.

>>5562751
I told you when I came I was a stranger
>>5562723
These ties that bind are somewhat less than shelter
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gjCvFNVzIrc
its true that all the men you knew were dealers that said they were through with dealing every time you gave them shelter.

Writing dialogue for teenagers is hard.

“Everybody got all their shit?”

I kept my voice down slightly. There were kids playing in the park, which was only a few yards away. The trees normally muffled all sound, but I wasn’t taking any chances. I didn’t want some 20-something soccer mom to start screaming at me about ruining her children’s language.

To the left of me, my friend Ed nodded, tapping his screwdriver on the edge of his longboard. “We all do. Except James.”

“James’ probably packing it right now,” Connor muttered. His voice was muffled by a gas mask. I had no idea why he put it on early. He of all people should have known that Jim was going to be late.

“I bet you he isn’t even fucking up yet,” Ed said. “He was probably up all night masturbating to weird pornography.”

“You’re implying he could last all night,” I said. “I bet he sees the tentacles or whatever the fuck he’s into, pumps it twice, and finishes.”

Ed snorted. “You think he can get two in?”

“Nah,” Connor said. “He touches it once and boom, he’s done.”

It was at this exact moment that James showed up, careening down the hill on his bike. His tires kicked dirt into the air as he stopped just short of a 1-foot wide concrete trench leading out to the river.

“Hey, look who decided to come!”

James dismounted his bike, letting it fall over on the ground. He hopped down into the small holding area the rest of us were standing in, his sneakers living an imprint in the mud.

“Sorry I’m late. Everybody else here?”

“Pete’s in his car,” I said, gesturing above the concrete wall and towards the parking lot. “Said he was replacing the air filter on his mask, or something.”

“Yeah, I saw him,” James replied, turning to Connor. “You got my gas mask, right?”

Connor tossed one to him. “Yeah. Pete’s got the board.”

>>5563031
“Awesome.”

“Hey, you gonna lock your bike?” Ed asked, gesturing to its dented frame.

“Hell no,” James replied. “If somebody’s stupid enough to steal it they can have it.”

Ed shrugged. “Fair enough.”

“So, Pete gets down here, and we go, right?” I asked.

“Think so. How long do you think this will take?”

“Well...” I bit my lip, trying to mentally calculate the length of our journey. “So we know that the part of the drain where you can stand is, what, 2 miles? So that’s about fifteen or so minutes. Then we get to that one mural of Kanye West, which is where the pipe we’re heading down is.”
“And how long is that pipe?” Ed asked, fiddling with the wheels on his board again.

“What, you think I know?” I asked, shrugging. “If I knew we wouldn’t be going down it. It’s not on any maps, remember?”

“Well, you gotta have some idea, right?”

“It probably just goes to a catch basin somewhere,” James interjected. “Maybe fifty feet, max.”

“It doesn’t,” Connor stated. “We first went down that tunnel, what... six years ago?”

“Seven,” I corrected. “We were just out of sixth grade, on halloween, remember? Back with Tony?”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Connor said, nodding. “We were scared shitless, but we made it. And we’ve been down there like, what, at least sixty times since then?”

“Probably more.”

“And, in all that time, there’s never been any moisture coming out of that.” Connor gave James a pointed look. “Not a drop.”

“Big deal! So it ends in a dead end. Who cares?”

“Well, you, for one,” I said. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have volunteered.”

“Fellas!”
We all jumped, surprised at Pete’s voice. How he moved through the trees so quietly, I’ll never know.

“Why are we all fighting?”

“We’re not fighting,” I said, exasperated. “We’re discussing.”

“Sounds like a fuckin’ fight to me,” Pete muttered. He tossed James’ board to its rightful owner, who caught it easily. “Let’s cool off, alright?”
“Hey, I’m not mad,” James said, raising his arms. “I’m just in this for burgers afterwards.”

“You really wanna get burgers right after going down a storm sewer?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “That water’s full of AIDs and hobo-piss.”

“We’ll shower first, whatever,” James replied, rolling his eyes. “Let’s just go down this stupid tunnel, okay?”

“One last thing.”

Pete held up a finger, then tapped it to his watch.

“I’ve got this alarm set for two and a half hours from now. If we don’t find anything by then, we turn around and leave. Got it?”

I shrugged. “Sure, fine. Can we go now?”

Ed gestured to the concrete hole in the wall behind us. “Sure. Lead the way.”

That's supposed to be the intro. How terrible is it?

>>5563031
>my friend Ed
yeah maybe not

>>5563108
Yeah... You're right. That line was a mistake.