/lit/ - Literature

[Anonymous No.10463650]

>open book
>starts with a description of the weather

[Anonymous No.10463676]

>implying it wasn't essential for me, the reader, to know it was, indeed, a dark and stormy night...

[Anonymous No.10463682]

You know, statistically speaking, 70% of all people conversing with one another right now are remarking on their weather.

[Anonymous No.10463692]

>Past the flannel plains and blacktop graphs and skylines of canted rust, and past the tobacco-brown river overhung with weeping trees and coins of sunlight through them on the water downriver, to the place beyond the windbreak, where untilled fields simmer shrilly in the A.M. heat: shattercane, lambsquarter, cutgrass, saw brier, nutgrass, jimsonweed, wild mint, dandelion, foxtail, spinecabbage, goldenrod, creeping charlie, butterprint, nightshade, ragweed, wild oat, vetch, butcher grass, invaginate volunteer beans, all heads nodding in a soft morning breeze like a mother's hand on your cheek. An arrow of starlings fired from the windbreak's thatch. The glitter of dew that stays where it is and steams all day. A sunflower, four more, one bowed, and horses in the distance standing rigid as toys. All nodding. Electric sounds of insects at their business. Ale-colored sunshine and pale sky and whorls of cirrus so high they cast no shadow. Insects all business all the time. Quartz and chert and schist and chondrite iron scabs in granite. Very old land. Look around you. The horizon trembling, shapeless. We are all of us brothers.

when is he coming back bros
I miss him so fucking much

[Anonymous No.10463698]

I fucking love environment-describing-books.
>ITT: people who want to read nothing but a series of verbs

[Anonymous No.10463736]

Rain pelted the window, dotting its outer coating in bulbous vacuoles that stretch light into peculiar contortions, pencils of spheres refracting the orthogonal tapestries of concrete into projections alien, those that transfer the mind to foreign realities mitigated by light beyond the latticed glass that Hayuri glares at from her desk. Logging in extra hours, she sat after the hustle of feet battered the carpets, the oscillating office lights showing their dire need for a change, replacement, to rectify the Tokyo dirge with light. Dusk brought its violet exploding across the horizon, pelting the dark clouds with the last spectacles until a night of feverish comforts, padded chairs, blue glows to the face, furtive, shame-inducing consumption of carnal sights through screens all gives to a day renewed to the fast frequency of this now benign feeling of time folding on itself, connecting like plasmic sinew, together, entrapping her in some astral caul, where ambivalence is cultivated like tobacco, and days just seem an unabated sequence of day/night, white/black, pill capsules sticking to dry morning lips and the hum of the Mita Line's train the only maternal comfort.

[Anonymous No.10464934]

>>10463736
Damn. I like. Won at
>caul

[Anonymous No.10464956]

>>10463736
OH LOOK ITS THE NEW PYNCHON NOVEL

[Anonymous No.10464969]

That air, that laid beneath the linden crowns had swayed itself forth over the brown heath and the thirsty fields; it had been baked by the sun and dusted by the roads, but now it had been cleansed by the heavy foliage, tempered by the cool linden leaves, and the aroma of the linden’s yellow flowers had made it moist and given it mass. Now it laid and blinked quietly and blissfully up into the light green arch, caressed by the softly stirring leaves and by the flutter of white-gold butterfly wings.

Those human lips, that breathed this air were swellingly full and fresh, the bosom they raised was young and slight. The bosom was slight, and the foot was slight, the waist was slender, as was her figure, and there was a certain meager strength in the whole of her stature. Lush was only the strong, darkish gold hair, that was half tied in a knot and half hanging loose; for the small, dark blue, velvet hat, had slipped off, and now hung around the neck in its knotted chin-band down along her back as a small cowl of a monk.

[Anonymous No.10465016]

>>10463650
Probably a SOCOfag who hasn't ever experienced another environment.

[Anonymous No.10465408]

>>10463692
It's a shame he didn't do more of this sort of writing