things you saved from /lit/

[Anonymous No.18462899]

"I wrote a short story about you, but it's in the past. And you're older, much older. I hope you keep writing. It's the best thing we can do."

[Anonymous No.18462908]

>>18462899
I saved a poem called 'Eggshells' which an anon wrote because I thought it was pretty.

[Anonymous No.18463701]

"(T)here are no finished memories, for they accompany the human being to the end and are like a never-failing nourishment on which he depends. The representation that strives for a conclusion must come to terms with this. But what about the question of the truth and veracity of memories, a question that always occupies and must occupy the reader, because representation cannot be a free play of the imagination? It cannot be and yet it strives to be, because memory without imagination is not even conceivable. This dilemma will present itself differently in the life of every human being. For there are no ready-made truths, independent of us, which are at everyone's disposal as circulating coins, or are ready for us in some storehouse. I do not own the truth as I own a house or land, and I cannot lease it, therefore I cannot appear before the public as its owner or tenant. The reason for this lies first of all in the fact that truth is something common, which is not easy to understand. For neither can the individual lay claim to it, nor can the multitude appropriate it effortlessly."

[Anonymous No.18463707]

>>18462899
>Jack looked to his mother, she was out of her chair, walking along the beach, her sundress flowing and her hat nearly flying off her head. Jack noticed his father appearing out of the tree line. How was he not sweating in his suit? Jack didn't know. His father began to talk with his mother. It seemed like he was giving really bad news. His mother waved for Jack to get ready to leave.
>Jack was ready, the sun was really hot and he felt his skin beginning to burn. He reached into the ocean one last time before going home. Hoping to find something fun, perhaps another toy like last time. His hand dug through the sand, pluming the water with white. His fingers grasped onto something warm but smooth. He pulled it out, a cylindrical brass tube, tapered at the top. On the bottom was a silver button. Jack knew what this was, he always found them at the beach, nothing fun. He dropped the rifle casing and made his way to his mother, who was now crying

[Anonymous No.18463731]

Ah, Anon. My dearest old friend. I am still alive and quite well, thank you. Have not had a chance to read those Tao Lin novels of which you speak, as I am residing in a remote location south of ______________. But, there is a Starbucks so no complaints lol — just a little lonely — but as they say, leaders don’t have friends. Such a shame that I became so hated by the modern world, people whose generation I had no affect on. Though your government is very good at what it does, and that is spreading lies and propaganda. There was no holocaust — those body stash pictures were just captured prisoners and war criminals. A certain… Alphabet soup agency just wanted my country’s insanely sick black technology for their own. That new iPhone? It’s rubbish. Don’t get me started on Play Station. I had a better console in my underground lair over half a century ago until Force Recon stormed my bunker and I had to haul ass. You should know I still look the same, if not younger… my heart still kicks like a drum,. You would not believe the advances we had in age reversal even in the 40s, and were going to give it to my Aryan kingdom, until your suits snatched it away from me so they could profit off engineered sickness and “natural causes.” It’s good to hear from you, as always, and I wish you and the /lit/ gang all the best. I am very intriqued by this shitposting that you guys do a lot. Stop by __________ some time, and I might just take you for a ride in my old Vril disk anti grav space ship. Truly yours,

Adolf Hitler

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