/lit/ - Literature

[Anonymous No.14582869]

ITT: dump your shit and rate others

This is something I wrote last year but never finished it.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1XA49v82HScNhsb3MWyATHJ_64HiPfsAvWmWuB3KQojE/edit?usp=sharing

[Anonymous No.14582944]

meh.

[Anonymous No.14582982]

Although the lonely person had been alone all his life he had never felt it. He had not had friends throughout childhood, or college, and now at his job was still alone. He didn't mind this - in fact, he was completely uninterested in people - until one day he returned home to his apartment, turned on the lights, and in that newly illuminated room realized it was dreadfully empty.
He knew why he wasn't interested in people. A tragic event during his childhood (one so tragic he couldn't speak or write about it, except for, perhaps, in a parenthetical aside) killed all of his interest in people. What he didn't know was why this interest in people had suddenly returned. He tried waiting a few days to see if it would go away. But it wouldn't. He caught himself watching TV for no other reason than to see another face. He would look out his window and watch planes go by in the night sky. He imagined himself on those planes, holding hands with some girl, waiting to land in Venice or Maui or Tokyo.
The loneliness was a hungry animal inside of him, and it kept growing stronger. He stopped going to work because he was afraid it might burst out of his chest and maul someone. He was afraid it might control him, and cause him to do something stupid, like make small talk. He had never once spoken to a coworker. He rarely even looked at their faces. It was too late now, he thought, to suddenly walk up to one of them and talk to them. What would he say? Would he ask them their names? After three years of silence? This would have terrified them.

[Anonymous No.14582994]

The sky was a foreign object, strange in its poise. Rain fell to the earth ceaselessly the last few days, making everything uniform in its wetness. Looking out now, he realized he had forgotten how gentle a vista could be – a cerulean wash, fragile and eternal. Every good briefing should include a weather forecast, and his was no different. Sixty to eighty-five percent chance of rain over the next week, at least until the following Monday. It was Wednesday. Carlo had been walking through the rain, only stopping to pitch his tent and rest for the night in the driest spots he could find, usually under the big oaks that lined the trail, or, if he was lucky, in a rocky alcove. Still, the contents of his green nylon expedition backpack suffered from various degrees of wetness, culminating in an added weight of water that made the pack sag down to the backs of his thighs. Here was undue pressure on an already expended lower back.

[Anonymous No.14583039]

>>14582982

[Anonymous No.14583046]

>>14582869
Have you even edited it? It reads like a first draft. Also consider that narratives have a point. I know you wrote that last year, but it wanders into nothing and was not very interesting. Have a point before writing, and please do some reading and editing before inflicting your first drafts.

>>14582982
Generic. Faceless.

>>14582994
Reads like modern pop scifi. 'Realized he had forgotten' is cliche. Cool descriptions. Infinitely more interesting than the other guys.

Mine, poetry from 5 months ago:
While I ran through my estate I saw
enclosed among the tall pine and rain
while water droplets fell, cold and raw;
a doe nosing among mossy rocks.

Stepping with the dignity of youth
she turned to face me and I could see
that she knew things I could not quite yet.
Then she laughed at our disparity.

It was not like the laughter of crows.
Her laughter was not as upsetting.
There are some things a doe thinks it knows.
But I understand the laughing crows.

She bounded into my white garden
a place I would soon run away to.
I hoped to see but now I warrant
that she will bound away, before me.

My garden in the clearing awaits;
following the pathway of a dream,
like I awoke from something wistful;
a phantom song of what this might bring.

It is not like the laughter of crows
to celebrate unknown misfortune;
laughing before Fate's cruelty shows.
But I understand the laughing crows.
Long ago I learned what makes them laugh;
things you cannot and will not know

[Anonymous No.14583087]

>>14583046
It wasn't edited. And I wanted to figure out the point as I wrote, but eventually, the interest was lost.

[Anonymous No.14583230]

>>14583039
>>14583046
>Generic. Faceless.
:( could you at least say why?

[Anonymous No.14583292]

>>14582869
This is basically a 'Billy and the Clown' fan-fic if you know Sam Hyde's (pic related)comedy at all.
I have over 11k words written so far. So this is just the 1st Chapter. It is a WIP.

My Name is Jazz, A Zyber Punx Story

Chapter 1: Her name is Jazz
Her name is Jazz. You might look at her and see just an ordinary 15-year-old girl. But trust me, she’s not like those other girls. This is the chronicle of the greatest hero that ever lived and how she saved the universe.
In 2027 in the glowing neon rain of Neo Tokyo, then still known as San Francisco, is born our hero. Her mothers named her Jazz, after the music playing during the sweet sex, they had well conceiving her, specifically Miles Davis’s classic album ‘Bitches Brew’. They raised her as all good people are, Catholic. Jazz would often play the role of bully at school; she knew full well that it was Gods will that she be the golden light to guide the flock. Her presence in the hallways commanded respect. Other students knew to stand aside as she walked by them. Only Smokey her submissive girlfriend and her chosen few, which she referred to as “The Golden Ones” could follow her around to classes, talk to her at recess, and sit with her at lunch. Which consisted mostly of reprocessed protein-fuel and tall healthy glasses of boiling hot high-fructose corn syrup. But Jazz was special and would demand an extra glass with all her meals, and on Friday which was tomato souse colored like substance on bread with toppings day (not legally allowed to be called the food know as pizza) she would always get an extra slice.
In gym class, she always was team captain, and would often double as referee. As she knew the rules of every sport and game better than everyone. Sometimes the teachers would even let her instruct class, and if she made a mistake obviously, she was right, and the old useless textbooks must have been misprinted.
But for now, we start our hero’s tale and gaze upon the greatest story ever told. We enter a stadium, masses of fans come from far and wide to observe fine athletic skill. To marvel at the grandiosity of competition and to gather in community with the sisterhood of all people in their hearts. Here from a bird's-eye view, we see our shining start Jazz, about to enter the story. She dons jet black hair, slicked back and held with a beret. Plaid denim overalls and a red shirt marks her as a trend setter of fashions and modes. Proudly she dons her new blue suede combat boots, she stands gilded with dangling gold bracelets, hoop earrings, and a spiked dog collar. Upon which is writ, in proud letters “Slut”.

[Anonymous No.14583315]

The auditory function of a conch shell is a fun little gimmick: press an ear to the anus of its canal and experience the unsullied serenity of ocean waves. Sound waves. White noise. In that sense, conch shells are the closest relatives of another commonplace beach prop—indecomposable, plastic water bottles—because they both package and commodify banal and abundant things, like water and qualia. Corporations should stick with commodifying things that are scarcer and more remarkable, like prickly pear juice or non-artificial companionship. But to return to the central point: the auricular entropy contained by the conch shell fills nearly any space, the difficulty of discerning it varying depending on the density of silence in the room or the level of one’s unfocus. It is more abundant than water. Even more seldom is the roar of turbulent atmosphere so abrasive that you must surrender all of your attention to it. I can vividly reconstruct the frames of time when I forced the glass door away from its center of gravity, briefly battled a retiring hinge and the reluctant breeze frolicking opposite my condensing handprint, my sneakers brushing against the grimy tiled floors of that baneful, claustrophobic vestibule (it’s almost as if the purpose that these redundant spaces serve in buildings such as the one my quaint glass closet—almost a metre in width!—adorned is to give a supermarket sized sample of the social and emotional boxing-in that will soon be experienced by the passengers of these asinine fucking transitional spaces), to enter the frame of a painting. A landscape of sound methodically constructed by the wind. The fortified trees swayed and parted like blades of grass; concerned undergraduates fought against the gale, yet none of it compared to the awe elicited by the column of aerial sound consummating in my ears. The sound will continue to haunt me; it is not pleasant nor distressing, but evokes a primal state of being—that of an incorporeal auditor of nature’s essence.

[Anonymous No.14583318]

>>14582869
>>14582982
>>14582994
>>14583046
>>14583292
i give all of these a 12 out of 10. may you all becume the next mark twain.

[Anonymous No.14583346]

>>14582982
Good but it needs some color or lack of color if you want to really make it dark. It really flat right now.

>>14582994
its like thing happen and then thats it. still its not bad

>>14583046
this is just you being horny?

[Anonymous No.14583360]

>>14583318
:^)

Chapter 2 (1/?)

Chapter 2: The baseball pie
Apple pie! Hot apple pie! Hollered the apple pie saleswoman. Jazz loved coming to the baseball games where there was always so much going on, and so many delicious treats for her to gobble on. She loved to twirl her tongue around lollipops, and the spiced milk, well that she could chug on for hours. But of all the goodie treats at the baseball, the best was the world-famous baseball pie. Made with real apple flavoring, crushed apple candies would be boiled, oxidized and layered with sassafras leaves. Baked to a red-hot glow the sugar glass would be the mask for the various candies and salts which made up the world-famous pie. She couldn't wait for her mom’s to buy her some. All the excitement for pie almost made her forget, the carnival! WOW! A two-for-one deal, after the baseball her mom’s would take her to the carnival. Jazz thought fondly of there home. Images of its greatness passed through here head. She thought of the scaffolding clad towers dress the skyline of the behemoth city, its canals were bloated with filth. Billboard's flashed screaming their advertisements for products which the eager masses consumed with pride. Everyone enjoyed playing the social game of stuffing their high rent, small space apartments with useless plastics. Only to gain temporary prestige amongst their peers. Truly this Utopia was the end of history, the peak of civilization. Above the masses within gilded towers live the rightful nobles. There divine right was unquestioned by the docile hordes. These Queens wood from time-to-time Grace their subjects who's their enlightened presence. How grateful they were to Glimpse such Majesty Out in the streets good beer buzz the marketplaces money changing hand one woman eats help me Bowl protein protoplasm a delicious delicacy gift it to them by what ought to be these demigoddesses. Over there another woman dressed in a neon blue wolf costume, performs a live street art peace in which she sings the praises of these rightful nobles. Carnival dancers and trapeze artists swing from high ropes dipping so low as to almost touch the ground. Gaping maud spectators would gasp as it seemed the trapeze artist might be injured, they never did. At the port sailor women had just arrived home, their ships come home from the Great War. Truly the city was a spectacle a labyrinth of amazement. The Great arena, The Library of Approved Facts, the historic Tower of Gods True Love, these landmarks doted the city and truly were wonders for the ages.

[Anonymous No.14583372]

>>14583315
This is good

Chapter 2 (2/?)

She was so excited she didn't know what to do. Deciding that awkwardly standing in a crowd of strangers looking like a juvenile wasn't the best idea she went to go catch up with Louise, her cool mom. She didn't much care for Ralvata, her ugly mean mom. Ralvata was always tickling her feet and grabbing at her ankles in the shower. One time she sprained an ankle because her mom had pulled on them too hard.
But now it was time for what they had come here for, to watch some of The Baseball and eat hot apple pie. When Jazz went to find her seat, she found her sister instead. Her older sister Pepper had a real shit-eating grin on her face. Jazz wouldn't stand for any of that “What do you want now?!” she barked and gave her sister a good thwack on her left temple. “Oh, if only I could swap places with you Jazz, Mom and Mom love you so much more than I, anyways I wanted to invite your curiosity with this notebook I stole. I’ll read aloud.” Quote in the voice of a troubled British man. “Twas last Sunday I came to know that my Marybelle had passed. At least the Lord is with her no- “Jazz interrupted with a solid punch to peppers groin. “Sorry keep reading” she lied. Just as pepper was about to pick up where she left off a Dub-step cover of ‘My Secret little Secret’ burst out loud. It was Jazz’s new ring tone she had only spent a mere 75 NeoYen on it, 3 months’ salary, super affordable. The song ‘My Secret little Secret’ was by Jessica Toxic, the hottest most popular pop star. All the cool girls listen to her while they smoked cigars in the school bathroom. The song was about how Miss toxic let her dog give her oral sex. Jazz was proud to own such a ring tone. Jazz answered her digi-talk, short for digital talk. It was Ralvata. She briefly had a flashback to getting her feet tickled in the shower. She closed the call immediately. Stop for a second to gaze at her Madam president Hillary Clinton wallpaper, then resume jabbering to Pepper.
“Come now wench, let’s go watch the baseball” commanded Jazz. Pepper followed behind and rambled on and on, something about a hidden island and non-female humans? Hogwash she thought. No such thing as hidden Islands or non-female humans. Once more pepper was entrenched inside a world of fantasy. She was always an odd one that Pepper. Why just last week she had tried to help out Grazelfrump, the family’s state-issued hag whore. Every family was given one.
Years ago, a microbiologist by the name Zephyrqueenbaznat Johnson III had found a way to splice human DNA with that of a goatfish, to create the hag-whore. A goatfish is a half goat, half fish, half post office employee. The honor of creating the goatfish went to Zephyrqueenbaznat Johnson II, her own mother. So, the whole ordeal was starting to become a family legacy, which put a lot of pressure on Zephyrqueenbaznat Johnson IV. Made even worse by the fact that her true passion was rock gardening.

[Anonymous No.14583525]

>>14583315
I liked it. I didn't understand some of the phrases, so I will try to clarify. Possibly it's just that I didn't get them, but maybe this can also help you rethink some of them:

> the auditory function
If you are using 'function' as it is used in physics and maths, i.e. a kind of a transformation of the input to produce the output, I would use 'acoustic function' because it's the sound wave that is modified in the shell, not any part of hearing

> the auricular entropy
here, conversely, I would use 'auditory entropy', meaning entropy pertaining to hearing, instead of entropy pertaining to ears

> I forced the glass door away from its center of gravity
this doesn't make sense physically since the center of gravity moves with the door, which probably you are fully aware of, but I wanted to make sure. This creates a cartoonish image for me, like a cartoon character whose eyes are left behind in a rapid take-off, or something like that, when a door's center of gravity is left behind when you move it (which maybe you intended)