/lit/ - Literature

[Anonymous No.6193337]

>dfw shit posting david foster wallace is only a brief glimpse of joy in a world of immense pain and depression

[Anonymous No.6193343]

>>6193337
He would be happy to bring you this joy.

[Anonymous No.6193347]

Re-evaluate your life.

[Anonymous No.6193355]

>>6193347
>Implying I have evaluated it in the first place

>>6193343
I feel he would be disgusted to see pictures of himself everywhere. But maybe he would appreciate the absurdity of it.

>dfw your dank memes are sweaty

[Anonymous No.6193358]

Daily reminder that sincere shitposting is still shitposting.

[Anonymous No.6193384]

>>6193355
>I feel he would be disgusted to see pictures of himself everywhere. But maybe he would appreciate the absurdity of it.

As a guy suicided for depression imho he would be happy to bring joy to autistic depressed tards all around the world

[Anonymous No.6193843]

>no-one wants to post in your fun thread

why live

[Anonymous No.6193853]

>>6193347
oh man what a burn i'm perspiring

[Anonymous No.6193868]

Daddio Filsballo Wallomp

[Anonymous No.6193872]

Wavid Doster Fallace

[Anonymous No.6193890]

>>6193337

>dfw I missed quads

[Anonymous No.6193901]

>>6193337
Interesting as punk.

[Anonymous No.6193913]

RIP Dave <3 u

[Anonymous No.6193935]

>>6193337
whelp

[Anonymous No.6193944]

>dfw dfw didn't get to see himself become a 4chan meme
Do you think if he had hung on a little while longer we could have saved him?

[Anonymous No.6193974]

>>6193944
i doubt he would have known about /lit/

[Anonymous No.6193977]

>>6193944

I wonder what DFW would have made of the internet. Imagine if he wrote a novel about the internet.

[Anonymous No.6194033]

>>6193977
couldn't even handle email, much less some mongolian autism support website

>At the time, he didn’t have email in his house. “If I can get out,” he says, “they can get in.”

[Anonymous No.6194038]

>>6193977
The Internet existed in 2008

[Anonymous No.6194049]

>>6194038

Yes. It did. But not in the same way we know it. It wasn't so widespread.

Obviously it existed in 2008 you dense prick. There is even an archive of dfw in a chat room so well done.

[Anonymous No.6194051]

>>6193944
>implying that youtube video isn't hard evidence that dfw predicted reaction images years before any of you faggots were shitposting
>implying dfw wasn't living 20+ years in the future his entire career
>implying dfw didn't consciously choose to live on through shitty youtube screencaps

[Anonymous No.6194063]

>>6193944
Dubs - The Art of Getting Dubs On the Image Board 4chan

[Anonymous No.6194068]

>>6193843
Meme on, sweet prince

[Anonymous No.6194081]

>>6194033
He emailed his mom to ask her for opinion on grammar on a very regular basis.

[Anonymous No.6194086]

>>6194049
Why are you so mad? We're all meming yogether in peace

[Anonymous No.6194099]

>>6193944
A real human meme and a real hero

[Anonymous No.6194401]

>>6194081
> exchanging GBP for grammar advice

maybe he WAS on 4chan

[Anonymous No.6195517]

>>6194401

>dfw no chicken tendies

[Anonymous No.6195540]

"perspiration"

bump

[Anonymous No.6195555]

should i read infinite jest?

[Anonymous No.6195567]

>>6195517
>>6194099
>>6194068
>>6194063
>>6194049
>>6193901
>>6193890
>>6193843
>>6193355
>>6193337
is he getting ready for blastoff or something?

[Anonymous No.6195719]

>>6195555
No, don't.

[Anonymous No.6195793]

>>6195555
Yes. David's fictional America with no internet and virtual reality porn is a better description of the times then any other novel.

[Anonymous No.6195927]

>>6193977
All he would do is add [citation needed] to wiki articles.

[Anonymous No.6196807]

>>6195927

If DFW was born in our generation he would probably just get really high and edit grammatical errors on Wikipedia articles haha

[Anonymous No.6196871]

>>6194033
> oh god that filename
Ma Nigga

[Anonymous No.6196896]

>>6196807
How much did he smoke? For how long? Was it his entire life?

[Anonymous No.6196901]

>>6193358
Oh, I-I-I am sorry oh righteous one. Forgive me.

[Anonymous No.6197371]

>>6196871
Strickly 4 the heads

[Anonymous No.6198731]

>>6196896

In an interview with his sister she says he smoked a lot in college and he prob gave up after that.

[Anonymous No.6198790]

DFW is so beloved on /lit/ because of the persona which he exuded, that of a hypersensitive, socially awkward and pretentious beta; relatable to very many a poster. Ultimately it was his ambition to become such an icon with his suicide. He looked to people like Kurt Cobain, and O Toole as precedents that such a thing would happen, for he knew he would not be canonical by the quality of his writings, he was keenly aware that as aesthetic objects, Harold Bloom was absolutely correct in his critical judgement.

[Anonymous No.6198939]

>>6198790

Or maybe because he's a good writer. Stop over-analyzing you idiot.

[Anonymous No.6199260]

>>6193337

[Anonymous No.6199295]

[Anonymous No.6199313]

[Anonymous No.6199339]

[Anonymous No.6199392]

we have reached ultimate shitpost.

[Anonymous No.6199422]

>he doesn't use footnotes

[Anonymous No.6199430]

>>6199392
>>6199422

[Anonymous No.6199439]

>>6199422

>he fell for the jest and actually read the footnotes

hahahahahahahahahaha

[Anonymous No.6200911]

>>6199439
>>6199430
>>6199339
>>6199313
>>6199295
>>6199260
>>6195517
>>6194099
>>6194068
>>6194063
>>6194049
>>6193935
>>6193901
>>6193890
>>6193843
>>6193355
>>6193337

The Many Faces of David Foster Wallace: the Thread

[Anonymous No.6200916]

>>6193337
Le corbruiser came for him.
Like mephistofaleese.
Or papa Giovanni.

[Anonymous No.6201451]

>>6200911
A Portrait of the Autist as a Young Man

[Anonymous No.6201514]

>>6199339
that fucking filename.

[Anonymous No.6201713]

>>6193355
he's so qt in that interview though even with the oceans of sweat

[Anonymous No.6201748]

>>6193913
those dsls

[« Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ » !r0r5njLmV. No.6201752]

>>6193337
>in a world of immense pain and depression
>not freeing yourself from existential unpleasantness via nibbana

Ya'll motherfuckers need Buddha

[Anonymous No.6201757]

>>6196896
>>6198731

ok weak ass entry level dfw fanboys, he went to rehab for weed (---the chapter in ij based on the obsessive pothead is basically him)

[Anonymous No.6201764]

>>6201752

>Giving in to a higher power
Go home Gately

[Anonymous No.6201791]

>>6198790
it's the most retarded idea i've ever heard
>i'm gonna kill myself to get more famous
>i'm really gonna love all the attention I get (that i'm 100% sure i'll receive) when I'm dead and don't exist

[Anonymous No.6201817]

>>6193977
>>6194038
>>6194049
it's funny cos internet's existence might have had to do with his actual depression getting even worse

[Anonymous No.6202033]

>>6201817

[Citation needed]

[Anonymous No.6202035]

>>6202033
>might have had
>goes with le citation maymay
jesus.

[Anonymous No.6202062]

>>6202035

My point is just that it's unwise to make claims, with or without qualifiers, with no evidence whatsoever.

[Anonymous No.6202071]

>>6201757
>going to rehab for weed

[Anonymous No.6202073]

>>6202062
>qualifiers
>evidence
You just need to know a liiiiitle bit of DFW's beliefs, what he feared, what he wrote about

Not to mention that the damn word used was 'might', just like a n y t h i n g in the world 'might' be related to his suicide if we insist, now let's not dig even deeper into pointless semiotics

[Anonymous No.6202139]

>>6202073

Well then tell me where the internet ties into his beliefs! I'm intrigued but I prefer to have support with any claim about his suicide.

[Anonymous No.6202367]

>>6202139
He disliked technology, obsession with it, cheap entertainment...

Internet is all of that in a nutshell, horrid and monocultural

DFW's depression was purely biological, no external factor could be really crucial to it, but if some things could bring him even lower, that would be the realization of his fears fulfilling slowly

[Anonymous No.6202819]

>dfw When Gately is visited by the wraith and wonders why the wraith isn't visiting Hal, his conclusion that it may drive Hal mad is an unveiled reference to Hamlet. IE: Hamlet is visted by his father's ghost and goes mad (to some degree) as a consequence

[Anonymous No.6202832]

>>6201757
I thought he was an alcoholic.

[Anonymous No.6203845]

DAVID
FOSTER
W A L L A C E
A
L
L
A
C
E

[The cats No.6204378]

[Anonymous No.6204414]

D

[Anonymous No.6204444]

A

[Anonymous No.6204445]

V

[Anonymous No.6204457]

>>6204445

[Anonymous No.6204463]

>>6204457
D

[Anonymous No.6205509]

>>6204444
>dfw quints

[Anonymous No.6206212]

>>6193337
>dfw

[Anonymous No.6207653]

dude that guy's chick was hot

[Anonymous No.6208041]

I watched the interview for the first time the other day. Well, I skipped around back and forth. I thought it was so cute when he was talking about how he doesn't think his works would translate well into German, and then he uses the word "icky" and then wonders if there is a translation for the word icky. I really wish I could have been his friend.

Did the cameraman know what "pontificating" means?

[Anonymous No.6208064]

[Anonymous No.6208136]

The man is dead.

[Anonymous No.6208147]

>>6208136
Nah

[Anonymous No.6208162]

>>6208064
He lives on in Meme Football

[Anonymous No.6208179]

>>6208147

>dfw it took 31 minutes and 2 seconds for someone to repost your OC

[Anonymous No.6208610]

>>6208179
Merchandise when

[Anonymous No.6208640]

So how about that Jonathan Franzen? Did you like Strong Motion? Is it better than The Corrections?

[Anonymous No.6208752]

[Anonymous No.6209062]

>>6195555
Its over-rated on /lit/ but still very good.

[Anonymous No.6209114]

>>6208640
I'm only reading Freedom now because it popped up on the library catalogue when I'd typed up David Foster Wallace.

>>6208752
>dfw
>not watching television at other people's parties

[Anonymous No.6209995]

>>6202832
he was but it was somehow weed that was the bigger issue? idk I haven't read the bio since it came out

[Anonymous No.6210000]

>>6208752
>>6209114
omg

[Anonymous No.6210007]

>Infinite Jest
>it ends

[Anonymous No.6210260]

>>6208752
surprisingly accurate

[Anonymous No.6210539]

>>6208752
hilarious. got any more?

[Anonymous No.6210544]

no bandanna gtfo

[Anonymous No.6210565]

>dfw you will never be a hard-core syntax weenie

[Anonymous No.6212631]

Bump for dfw

[Anonymous No.6212645]

can i please use your shower?

[Anonymous No.6212689]

>>6193358
10/10

[Anonymous No.6212707]

>>6212645
I would say yes, then I would steal his clothes replace them with a cute schoolgirl outfit and force him to come out like that, heehee.

[Anonymous No.6212710]

>Open up interview this picture is from
>"I know that Wittgenstein believed that only the most serious issues could be discussed as jokes"
>mfw we are making jokes about dfw in this thread

[Anonymous No.6212733]

>>6212710
he cant even pronounce wittgenstein

[Anonymous No.6212751]

>>6212733
How are you supposed to pronounce Wittgenstein?

[Anonymous No.6213716]

[Anonymous No.6213794]

>>6212733
lel fuck you, you know he's being all phonetically Germanic and pretentious

[Anonymous No.6213824]

>dfw i read dfw as tfw

[Anonymous No.6213827]

>>6208610
that looks hella tight
would cop 10/10

[Anonymous No.6213970]

>>6201713
>that interview
How many drugs do you think he was on, on that day?

[Anonymous No.6213983]

>>6213970

it seemed like he wasn't even on his antidepressants tbh

[Anonymous No.6214014]

Can you guys please rate my David Foster Wallace fanfiction?

It's called Post Modernism: The Final Chapter

David Foster Wallace and Tao Lin stood around their elaborately footnoted map of Thomas Pynchon’s house.
“Are you sure about this David?”
“Dammit Tao, we’ve been over this again, how can we become the world’s greatest pomo authors if Thomas Pynchon’s still alive?”
“I know, but eliminating his map?”
David Foster Wallace slapped Tao Lin in his chubby little face.
“Are you in, or are you out?”
“Uhh- I don’t-“
“You called your book Eeeee Eee Eeeee Tao, Eeeee Eee Eeeee. How can you succeed in a world where Pynchon exists with a title like Eeeee Eee Eeeee?”
Tao Lin clenched his fists.
“I’m in David. But if you ever mention Eeeee Eee Eeeee again, I’ll end you”

Crickets chirped outside Tao Lin’s Toyota Camry.
“Here’s the place.”
In front of them stood the imposing walls of Thomas Pynchon’s fortress of solitude.
“Get the rope.” Said David as he stepped out of the car. Tao Lin hurried to the car’s boot, and pulled out a long black thread of rope. He chucked it to David who attached a metal hook to its end. He then threw the hook over the walls and it stuck tight. He yanked it, then started to shimmy up, leaping over the wall and landing with a tennis-shoe silenced thump.
“The coast’s clear.”
With this, Tao Lin also scalled the wall, He rolled over to David Foster Wallace and took out their map. Wallace took out his LED light and shone it over the diagram.
“The backdoor’s over there. Once we get in it’s through the kitchen, up the stairs, down the hallway and then it’s match-point for Thomas.”
Keeping low, they moved at a crawl towards the sturdy stone alcove of Pynchon’s back doorstep.
“Jiggy the door Tao.”
Tao Lin took out a styrofoam Starbucks cup. Cracking it open, he took out a lockpick and screwdriver.
“This is easy David.”
“Almost too easy Tao. If Pynchon’s security this lax, I’m surprised that Burroughs didn’t bet us to the punch decades ago.”
The door soundlessly swung open and they crawled inside.
“Get down David.” Cried Tao Lin and he threw David Foster Wallace to the ground. In the air above them flashed three deadly crossbow bolts, which slammed into the door with a meaty thunk.
Above them, the intercom crackled into life.
“Welcome to my home Mr. Wallace. You must be over the rainbow to step foot in my domain”
Tao Lin was looking around frantically.
“The jig’s up, David lets get out of this here.”
“I’m not ready to give up now Tao.”
“You’re lucky to be alive! Come on, the Pale King will sell fine on its own.”
“Don’t bring up The Pale King Tao, don’t you ever mention the Pale King!”
With that David Foster Wallace barreled through the kitchen.

Continue?

[Anonymous No.6214039]

>>6214014

“Dammit.”
“You better help your friend Tao-Lin, or he might find himself in a world of pain.”
Ahead, Tao Lin could hear David’s frantic cries for help. Taking out his knife out of its boot holder, Tao Lin turned the corner to find David Foster Wallace in the slimy grip of a giant octopus.
“This wasn’t in the plan David!”
“Give me the knife!” cried David Foster Wallace as he viciously gouged at the octopus’s eyes with his one free hand
Tao Lin threw the knife and it whirled through the air. David caught the knife in one hand and tore it through the octopuses’ fleshy ‘head’. Writhing in pain, the octopus wheeled in pain, dropping the writer onto his feet. Tao Lin leapt forward with his icepick, and with one swift move thrust it into the octopus’ brain.
“This is so going in my blog.”
The housetrained kraken spasmed on the floor for a full minute, then stood still.
“You might be the most impressive writers yet.”
“You’re not as smart as you think you are Pynchon.” Cried back DFW.
“I never said I was smart, only creative!”
With a mechanical click, the floor beneath Tao Lin and David Foster Wallace swung in like a trapdoor. David desperately grasped for the ledge, and Tao Lin managed to grab his hanging ankle, leaving them both hanging precariously from the side. Looking down they could see vicious metal stakes sticking through the basement’s cold concrete floor. Scattered around the room was a number of skeletons, the one directly below them still wearing a cowboy hat.
“Cormac. Pynchon you bastard!”
“Tao, even my serving arm can’t keep us from falling from much longer. You have to do something now.”
Tao struggled to pull himself upwards to see anything that might save them.
“The octopus!”
Taking their rope, Tao Lin threw it with all his might. Above he heard the claw sink into the octopus’ flesh. With a ferocious pull he sent the octopus flying past them and into the basement below. With that Tao Lin jumped off the wall and landed on the octopus’ thick body, the metal spikes unable to reach him.
“Come on down David.”
Once David Foster Wallace was too standing on Pynchon’s pet octopus, Tao Lin threw the hook back up, where it stuck fast on the staircase’s bannister. Swinging across a row of spikes and pulling themselves up, the side of the basement’s wall the carefully ascended the stairs.

[Anonymous No.6214042]

>>6214039
At the end of the pictured lined corridor was Thomas Pynchon’s room, and beneath the floor, crude black smoke was flowing out. A rumbling started to shake the house.
“What the hell’s he hiding in there?”
“I don’t know Tao, but from the feel of things it’s gonna be a lot harder to eliminate his map the longer we wait here.
With that David took a step forward. As he put his foot down, a vicious throwing star feel out of a picture’s mouth, skimming the glass of David’s glasses.
“Dammit!”
Looking down at the floor where David Foster Wallace’s foot had rested, Tao Lin saw a sea of tiles, each one with a piece of fruit drawn on in steady, identical hand.
“You steeped on an apple.”
“Apple, apple- Of course!” cried DFW and he leapt forward, hopping from one leg to another.
“The bananas Tao, only steep on the bananas!” he shouted over his shoulder, getting ever closer to Pynchon’s door. A red glow flickered underneath now, and the closer they got the louder the noise became, and when Tao Lin joined DFW by the entrance to Pynchon’s inner abode, it was an ear-filling roar.
“Lets do this.”
Bursting through the door, Tao Lin and David were confronted by the giant metal arrow of a V2 rocket sticking jutting up through the floor. Settled in a leather armchair bolted floor level, was Thomas Pynchon, his head hidden behind a darkly tinted goldfish bowl, a chilling grin drawn on in crimson pen.
“I’d love to stay and chat with the only authors who’ve ever made it this far, but as you can see, I have a flight to catch.”
Laughing manically, the V2 started to slowly ascend, stabbing through the room’s high ceiling like it was made of paper.
“Goodbye David, Mr Tao!” cried Pynchon as he left them behind in a storm of black exhaust.
Coughing and shielding their faces from the searing heat, David Foster Wallace and Tao Lin could only stand helplessly as their enemy made his escape.
“After all this, we couldn’t even lay a finger on the guy!” cursed Tao Lin, bringing his fists to his face in rage.
“It’s not over yet Tao.”
David Foster Wallace ran to the window and ripped it open. He reached down to his belt and pulled up a gleaming black pistol.
“Give up David, there’s no way you can hit him now.”
“I hit service lines smaller then this back in Indy.” David replied, squinting up at the rocket’s thruster-lit outline. Sweat soaked his bandana. He steadied his hands and fired.
Tao Lin and David stood in silence for a moment, holding their breaths, and in the next instant the dazzling orange explosion of Pynchon’s rocket lit up the night. Splitting into pieces it fell to land sizzling in the ocean below.
“Write in hell you bastard.” Muttered David Foster Wallace and he let the gun fall to the garden below.

Fin.

[Anonymous No.6214061]

I am procrastinating on /lit/ and reading a DFW fanfiction with more words than I've produced this entire week.

Such is my life.

[Anonymous No.6214094]

>>6214042
10/10 amazing thank you

[Anonymous No.6214124]

>>6214061
You can read the alt-universe retelling too, though DFW's more of a side character in this one.

Unsheathes katana.
Sheathes katana.
Unsheathes katana.
Unsheathes vengeance!

Lord Tao Lin teleported behind the man who killed his father.
“Any last words?”
“bahaha.” Laughed David Foster Wallace.
“What’s so funny, dead man?” Grinned Tao.
“So you still believe the lie that Pynchon told you the day that Harold Bloom died.”
“You can’t wiggle your way out of this with your words Wallace.”
“Fufufu, I don’t need words to do that!”
David Foster Wallace’s bandana flew off and revealed his blood red Shirugen.
“What, since when were you?” cried Tao Lin.
“Enough, I am in a room surrounded by heads and bodies. Dead heads and bodies!” cried DFW.
“David Book-su, Serve of Ten Million Tennis Balls!”
A thousand junior tennis players materialized around Tao Lin, balls at the ready.
“Dodge this you pretentious hipster.”
A giant ball of yellow energy exploded into existence.
BOOM
There before DFW’s feet lay the shattered remains of Tao Lin’s macbook.
“At least there won’t be any post-humus novels.”
“You better hope your hard-drive’s intact David.”
David Foster Wallace turned around to see Tao Lin standing behind him, and as he did, the ninja of vengeance thrust his katana into his heart.
“H-how?”
“It might have taken the last of my book-su, but I was able to dodge your final technique.”
“I’m glad it was you Tao.”
“Tell me who really killed my Father David.”
“Of course.” Smiled David “all stories need a climax.”
“The man who killed your father was-”
David Foster Wallace died.
“You couldn’t even leave me a foot-note.” Muttered Tao Lin as he shut DFW’s eyes.
“Do you really need a foot-note?”

[Anonymous No.6214128]

>>6214094
Support from people like you is why I'm able to keep writing.

>>6214124
Descending in a bolt of lightening was Stephan King.
“How could you kill the entire post-modernism clan you bastard!”
“I didn’t kill them Tao,” smirked King, “The American reading public did. Their shit taste killed Harold Bloom, not me! Now Tao, abandon your post-modernism and embrace your audience.”
“That’s where you’re wrong King. A true author writes for himself, not the public.”
“Such outdated ideals! If you can’t accept the future, you should accept your death like Wallace.”
“David Foster Wallace might’ve been my enemy, but he was an author to the end, unlike you.”
“So I take it you reject my offer.”
“I’ll be a writer till the day I die Stephan.”
“Then your career ends today!”

Mother, Father, thought Tao Lin. Even if this is my final battle, give me the strength to fight to the end!

Tao Lin rushed towards Stephan King, katana in one hand and the other a bundled fist.
“Such power, show me all you’ve got!” cried Stephan King.
Tao Lin struck, fist over sword, and a storm of sparks flew.
“You’re fast Tao Lin.”
Stephan King swung his sword so hard the ground underneath Tao Lin cracked.
“But if your power is spent on such a underselling author as David, you are a speck compared to me!”
With that Stephan King’s split into a dozen parts and they all flew towards Tao-Lin.
“What do you think of my ghost-writers Tao?”
Tao-Lin could only grunt as he struggled to deflect the storm of steel.
Tao
David?
Use my… bandana, so that I can do good yet
Tao Lin saw DFW’s bandana lying just a few feet away.
Thank you for everything Taipai II: The Electric Boogaloo thought Tao Lin as he threw his manuscript into the wind. The blades cut them into a million pieces in a second, but by then Tao-Lin had leapt backwards and held DFW’s bandana in his hands.
“Eeeee eeeee eeeee” said Tao Lin and he summoned his final book-su, Salinger’s Heir. With a cry of mighty power, Tao-Lin willed the World Trade Center into being overhead.
“I-impossible!” screamed Stephan King, and he sent out a thousand inky black tentacles to stop the Towers’ descent. With this Tao-Lin sprinted towards Stephan King, his katana Revanche unsheathed to show its gleaming true form.
“I am an author, like my father before me.” He said as he cut Stephan King’s head in half. As he sheathed his katana, the WTCs fell to the ground, crushing the evil that was Stephan King.
“To my parents, to all the children.”
Thank you.

[Anonymous No.6214141]

>>6214042
10/10 fantastic read

[Anonymous No.6214296]

>>6201764
> ywn get shot defending the Prettiest GOAT

[Anonymous No.6214319]

>>6213716
>I hope the interview tomorrow goes well
Evrytim.

[Anonymous No.6214368]

So I get up for school,

I have my trusty TI-83 calcy,

my newly purchased Lamy Safari fountain pen filled to the brim with Serenity Blue ink (Waterman),

my jeans that allow me to sport a healthy bulge,

Nexus 5 filled with a plethora of Greek Classics,

And class was canceled.

You stupid shit cucks sit at home all day, I've been up all night and I'm still smiling.

So what? You make a meme out of depression. Oh, Hemingway was dank but there were no memes during his time. I have memes, I'm depressed just like Hemingway, "Why Can't I Be Dank?". So you make depression a meme so you can feel like you're dank. Well here's the tipping point: You're not dank and you never will be. You would suffocate yourself with toothpicks if you lived a single second in Hemingway's shoes. You also wouldn't produce and works close to the legacy he's left, and you're a little cuck shit.