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/lit/ - Literature

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2244257 No.2244257 [Reply] [Original]

ITT we post excerpts from our teenage years. Get ready to be embarrassed. Here's a snippet from a modern day Catcher in the Rye I was trying to write:

http://pastebin.com/4BC4XwM7

>> No.2244261

yikes

yikes

>> No.2244263

>>2244261

I know. It's hard to read.

>> No.2244274

How old were you?

>> No.2244278

>>2244274

17.

>> No.2244288

Christ, it's like reading my own stuff when I was 17. I guess what we all thought were our independent voices of teenage angst actually sound depressingly alike.

>> No.2244296

>>2244288

I believe all teenage males have a racist, sex obsessed, dick joke spewing collective conscious they tap into when they express creativity.

>> No.2244304

>>2244257
Try Catcher in the Eye

>> No.2244307

I'm 18 and wrote my angstiest piece a few weeks ago. It's in a .txt file called "emo".

The Tortured Man

Perhaps, He can, through the roofholes, see
what they do, the strange men.
Because the light they shine on me is blinding
& white,
like the noise they blare at me all night.
I cannot see the strange men,
but I think they may be cool.

As they wrench my head up from the bowl,
I may have time to gasp:
"This bowl did not pour the blood that fills it."
But they would not get it. &,
as they lift the breezeblocks from the freezer door,
I might have time to shiver:
"This freezer did not birth the bones it chills."

But when they produce the electric drill,
I will have only time to scream:
"I do not know." & I do not know.
Oh strange cool men: if you must,
drown me, but please spare me the drill.
Oh strange men, oh laughing girl,
will vases remind me of your silhouettes?

>> No.2244320

nothing like tcitr, apart from being in first person.

>> No.2244322

>>2244296

I didn't have a racist, dick joke side but I was embarrassingly whiny.

>> No.2244333

"I got to school at about age 11, just in time for launch. The Proleteria was a hive of noise. Frenchmen sitting together. Sophadmires sitting together. A select few juniors sitting on the seniors. All the blank kids at one table, all the Mexican'ts at another. The blank kids were the loudest, especially the gurners. I don’t know why that is. Their slaughter is like hyenas howling Nirvana. Maybe it’s something about our violent past that every now and then some strange craziness breaks loose and the result is a killing spree. I don’t know. But when I can hear them saved as a bell through the din of the kaftan area, it makes me angry. I wish they would pump the volume up, or just shut the fuck down."

Who the fork routs like this?

>> No.2244338

>>2244333
lol thats more like it!

>> No.2244357

>hive of noise
>hive of noise
>hive of noise

>> No.2244363

>>2244357
Why the emphasis on that? Is it from something?

>> No.2244382

>The Proleteria was a hive of nose. Frenchmen sitting together.
Superior.

>> No.2244383

>>2244363
because it's so bad.

>> No.2244391

I got none of what I wrote when I was younger. But I do remember I once wrote a short story about Commander Keen teaming up with 3 vikings in a spaceship to beat up the entire cast of Super Smash Brothers.

Yeah.

>> No.2244393

i never wrote anything cuz writing is pretentious shit but like one time i wrote a story for school in the 3rd grade and the teacher liked it so much she made me go the 6th grade class and read it in front of them lol but the reason it came out good was cuz i got in trouble and had to sit in the corner during recess and so got to think about what i wanted to write for 15 minutes which if i had done that in class the stupid teacher would have bitched me out and called me lazy

>> No.2244395

i wrote a story in elementary school about me throwing up in the sink and then a weird made up friend with an impossible name eats it

>> No.2244394

When I was in high school, I used to write unbelievably pretentious sonnets about the end of the world and despair and tripping balls and death and stuff. I usually abandoned them before completion because I couldn't resolve them.
Here are some leftover stanzas I never used:

The air upon the Earth begins to sour
As legions' humid breath begets debris
I'm growing tired of waiting for that hour
When all the sky will open up for me

///

My voice and will shall falter for I doubt
That I have ear enough for every sound
On days when little prophecies abound
and word by word the world turns inside out

///

I taste a kind of poison when I speak
And know too well the words are not my own,
But those of wiser men. No one so weak
As I could trust my mind and that alone.

>> No.2244398

it made my teacher laugh so hard he pissed his pants

>> No.2244406

>>2244394
At least you can execute a good metre. The third one is actually an interesting idea for a poem.

>> No.2244757

I just found something from 2008 on my computer. There's a character named Dick Chertoff.
>dat name

>> No.2244827

>>2244383

I've heard worse.

>> No.2245015

>>2244257
>Like hyenas howling on the savanna

Oh man, that's something else. I'll add some of my own teenage tripe when I get back from work, this thread has promise.

>> No.2245064

>>2245015
20 dollars says he watched Lion King not long before penning that line

>> No.2245091

>>2245015
>>2245064

shit, is it really that bad?

>> No.2245106

>>2245091
Its a clear crime against the simile. You could be sentence to up to 3 months literary lock-up.

>> No.2245135

>>2245106

Or, alternatively, 3 months of reading Daniel Steele novels.

>> No.2245146
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2245146

>Ben’s sandwich, a beautiful looking turkey and ham on quality white bread, not that wonder bread shit, was sitting on the table, looking lonely.

>“Wouldn’t want this to go to waste,” I said, reaching for the sandwich.

>> No.2245150

>She had blown him in the girl’s bathroom right before lunch, I could tell. I have a sixth sense for those kinds of things.

Oh god, you should rewrite the sixth sense on this premise

>> No.2245165

>>2245150
The end of the movie pan down to bruce willis's pants, giant stain. He actually blew his load at the beginning.

>> No.2245244

>>2245165
>>2245165

I actually lol'd so unnaturally hard at that. :D

>> No.2245277
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2245277

>I made my way towards my usual table, a little circular affair tucked away in the northeast corner.
>circular affair

>> No.2245940

its like a giant erupting pimple of words

>> No.2245944

>Enjoy these threads
>Post in one one time
>Everyone mocks the shit out of me for something they knew I wrote all those years ago

Feels bad, man. It's like /lit/ gets off on making others feel downtrodden.

>> No.2245950

>>2245944
If you post it knowing that its old and flawed, then you should be ready for it to be mocked, most of us have shit in our history somewhere, I just didn't keep mine.

>> No.2245953

>>2245944
The earth is full of sadists. Such is life.

>> No.2245980
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2245980

I wrote this when I was 17, I don't feel as bad about it as OP does.

Although I should...

>> No.2245981

Oh lordy, the teen years.... I was way to far into poetry in those days. Let me go dig up one of my worst. It ought to be good for a laugh.
Oh man, this is really awful...(copied exactly as it was written)

Gleaming white insanity
sprang from her eyes,
speaking in tongues
like hyenas,
laughing at the blood
dripping from your lips.
Her hand reached out,
blocking the blue glare
as she drank the
black soul eclipse,
drowning herself
in it's poisonous resin.
Smoke curled around
her mind's embrace
and she became one
with herself.

>> No.2245983
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2245983

http://pilgrimofsummer.livejournal.com/

I wrote this when I was 17...

I will never write horror again...

>> No.2245985

>>2245981
hyenas speak in tongues?
she drank the black soul eclipse?
...does masturbation figure into this poem at all?

>> No.2245989

>>2245985
No, no masturbation. I don't think I even really knew how to masturbate properly at that time. But, damn, I did know how to write really fucking horrible poetry.

>> No.2246012

Good morning, fortuitous world! I am the Lolly-Man, dispenser of delicious candy, sent from my bed each day to deliver heavenly sweetness for whoever the fuck’s decided that that’s what I was meant to do. I roll over The Pasty Old Wife And Gluttony-Incarnate each morning onto the dusty floorboards of our beautiful nouveau riche apartment, purchased with the heavy payment of the entrepreneurial Lolly-Man, loved by all. Wiping my feet on the bedsheets so I don’t get my socks dirty. Suited up in a faded orange t-shirt and tight denim shorts. The uniform elegantly encompassed by toe-holed sneakers and my dirty old Nike cap. Off into the world I stroll with my trusty metal trolley.
Rain pisses down outside my palace walls. I consider returning for a jacket, but the image of my Sleeping Beauty, The Pasty Old Wife And Gluttony-Incarnate waking up is more than enough to deter me, and so cold and shivering I go into my bright and winking world.
An hour later I’m at the factory, my sneakers soaked and squeaking, and Mr Lucas stands waiting there for me. He is crusty like the unwashed loins of a limbless bachelor. Every toss of a candy box into my trusty trolley comes with his rhythmic hog-grunts, and each payment with a scowl. Who the fuck doesn’t like candy! One time I asked him. Wide eyes and a contrived laugh in return, no real answer. Maybe I was a little aggressive. But who the fuck doesn’t like candy? Everyone does, and you can fuck yourself if you don’t.

>> No.2246017

>>2246012
This is funny. Is it supposed to be funny? Well done, if so.

>> No.2246035

>>2246017

it is. thankyou!