Archived threads in /lit/ - Literature - 522. page
- Home
- Board: /lit/ - Literature
- Reading: Archived threads in /lit/ - Literature - 522. page
I'll start:
It was a lonely day at the White House for Hillary. Bill Clinton had yet another “appointment” with his intern, and Hillary was getting tired of it. She didn’t know what was up with Lewinsky, but whenever the young intern helped Bill at a diplomatic event, for example, Hillary always thought that there was a little more helping going on behind the scenes. She couldn’t blame him, her husband had a very busy work life, and due to the often confidential nature of these meetings, she wasn’t ever allowed in. Of course, as much as Hillary hated to admit it, Bill knew how bad she was with technology.
He didn’t even trust her with his own email account, saying something about “she’ll probably store it on an insecure server” or whatever. Hillary didn’t care about servers and how secure they were, that’s why she never tipped them. She always thought they were called waiters too, but that thought went out of her mind as a handsome, strapping man (unlike her husband, she thought to herself), walked inside the bedroom Hillary was thinking in.
“Ma’am, just here to pass on a message from Bill. He’ll be staying late in the Oral-- ahem, Oval Office today. He said that he needs to provide ‘dictation’ to his secretary.” the burly black guy said to Hillary. She finally rested her gaze on the big guy, and realized who it was. It was Mandingo, the black man that Bill added as part of his wife's’ entourage, after some political commentators noted that there was not a single person of color on the FLOTUS Secret Service detail.
“Oh, so you’re Mandingo?” asked Hillary. “My husband talked a lot about you, said you weren’t just some guy hired because of affirmative action. And now,” Hillary said, conspicuously looking at his beautifully detailed and toned muscles, “I can finally see why. Those talking heads were right, I really do need a black me on-- er, with me.”
Mandingo was curious. Hillary was looking pretty flustered, and was blushing furiously. “Obviously,” Mandingo thought to himself, “she probably wants to fuck. But there’s only one way to find out for sure.”
“So, Hillary. You really think those talking heads were right about me? Well, since you seem to value them so much, how about we get to talking head ourselves?” Mandingo said, with a domineering attitude that made Hillary want him even more than she already did. But Hillary needed to ‘seal the deal’, so to speak, and unzipping the masculine agent’s pants, said:
“Looks like I’m about to give you some secret service.”
Still incomplete
I turn my head around and see behind
a barrage of uncounted centuries
congesting in their endless file the course
of history, pages of the almanac,
extending to the furthest reaches of
recorded time, where paper frays and frames
the forms of kings, and mounds of plebeian dust
ride the backwards-floating wind of time.
In the primal bush in golden sunshine robed,
perspiring blackened topsoil underneath
to cool the crib, the little feet of lizards
now long returned to loam and dirt would drag
their little bellies through the oozing mud
and scrawl across the land in scurried streaks
a city in relief embossed in dirt,
winding its ways through the swaying tallgrass,
until the primal simian learned that if
he tucked his throbbing thumb against the rock
cupped in his foregathered dactyls, it would
repel the haul of gravity and taste
the glassy higher air unsullied still
by smoke and breath, and fly to where it pleased
him that it fly to hammer muck from meat
and speckle red his ragged face through art of
slaughter. The blood of grassland peasantry
made flush the lining of the arteries
that plotted lines awry about his face,
and on his temple set a bony crown,
and fed the marrows of his kingly bones;
the bulbous mouth, the downy cheeks, the squat
phallus resting in its matted nest, like
the monkey-king upon his fleshly throne.
Of morbid curiosity I chase
with eyes the lives of my progenitor,
and deep within my chest the drum begins
to beat at sight of savagery to match
the savagery forever etched upon
my cardiac wall. What in me is human,
whatever masculine, testosterone
trails afire, descended the lines from him.
But what in me is human had been boiled
and fused together in bubbling womb-water:
the primal male had swum towards the female
and had cocooned himself within her, sharing
blood and spirit to build a progeny, like
the baby hominid that stood just slightly
taller than his hulking parents and shuffled
around the shelter that his mother built him.
Giotto’s Campanile Beckons
With a pounding heart I lie in my bed,
Thinking of any possible way
To end myself in my dark and empty room,
I look through my drawer
And try to discern if the quantity of eliquid in my possession
Is enough to stop my heart,
The bathroom is calling me,
I will lie on the tiled floor and rub
The sweet glycerine nectar all over my nubile torso
And hope for a speedy demise,
I hope that I don’t experience the unpleasantness of vomiting,
For my stomach is filled with the oily pastas of the mensa,
I scrounge the interwebs for the symptoms of nicotine overdose,
The experience sounds rather miserable,
Perhaps there’s another way,
Maybe I’ll stroll on down to the stairwell
At the end of the hall,
And figure out a way to position my body
So that I land on my head
Upon my ultimate plop,
Is it true?
Do you pass out before you reach the ground?
Or will my last experience
Be marked by unfathomable pain?
Oh God!
I hope that I don’t survive!
Three floors plus the basement,
Then the smooth comfort of the cold marble floor,
The ultimate peace,
But is the distance adequate?
Ah, the possibility of survival is too high,
The odds are in my favor,
But stranger things have happened,
I can not withstand the humiliation of survival,
I can not look into the pitiful faces of
Those that once loved me,
After they find out what I wanted to do to them,
Will they be offended or filled with pity
At the thought that I cared so little for them?
Perhaps I’ll suffocate myself,
I place the long-sleve of my newly received
Class of 2019 T-shirt over my mouth and nose,
Then I hold my breath to the gentle tune of
A Sunny Day in Glasgow,
These moaning choruses suit my death well,
The pain increases as my brain pleads for O2,
My heart makes its last attempts to fuel me
And then begins to slow,
On the verge of passing out I realize,
That after I pass out
My body will automatically begin breathing again,
In a passive state where I am not its sovereign,
And I will only awake with mild brain damage,
This effort is futile,
I am a coward,
I don’t have the adequate means to stop
The endless murmurings of my consciousness,
I want to stop completely but the
Margin for error is too wide,
I look out of my small third story window,
Along the horizon I spot the Campanile,
Like a great Gothic antenna
The tower beckons to me with open arms,
Spread wide as the arms of our
Archaic Judean savior,
Perhaps he is my savior after all,
If only there were midnight tourist climbs
To the apex of the famed tower,
What a view that would be,
A perfect panorama
For the closing shot of my miserable narrative,
>>8021398
Part II:
Tomorrow I will avoid my usual actions,
Upon my rising from this cursed bed
I will go straight to Giotto’s Campanile,
I fear that I will not finish the meditative march
Up its winding marble stairs,
The fear will exponentially grow as I ascend,
The faces of those that
I am about to cause distress
Are mentally projected on the stone walls
Surrounding the staircase,
WIll I become a suffering tomato
Upon the final plop?
Not a chance,
This plan is foolproof,
My greatest fear is that when I rise
And enter the breeze of the Florentine morn,
My decision will be postponed once again,
I will no longer be thinking rationally,
I will go on and suffer,
As I did every day before this dreadful night,
I will go through my usual motions,
I will act for those that require my acting,
I will attempt just as hard as I did in my prior days
To care,
To feel affection,
To feel empathy,
To care if any of my fellow flesh-sacks
Cease to exist,
Sometimes I get a glimpse into
Some sort of emotion and I wonder,
Do they all feel this way
All of the time?
Oh, how I envy them!
When I am touched by the smallest
Drop of true affection I revel,
I feel like a real person,
I feel that at least something in
This dreadful place has just
The slightest semblance of significance.
I feel my pulse beating fast.
In and out of my heart flowed my rainbow blood.
is this worth reading? i was wondering..
>>8020844
Yes, it is worth reading.
Got turned down for a job at this shithole about an hour ago
>be me, 1st class degree in English lit
>go into town
>see staff wanted notice in store
oh sweet i was looking for some part time work
>ask for manager
>he starts quizzing me on what books I read
"well mainly classics, I love Russian and German lit but my taste goes way beyond that"
>his smile visibly disappears
>asks what contemporary authors I like
this devolves into me just parroting the /lit/ recommended reading list
>asks my favorite book
Crime and Punishment
>he rolls his fucking eyes
>"Sorry anon were looking for people with criteria that you just don't fit and you don't have the experience"
I even dropped a joke about it being a "Catch 22" that I can't work there to gain the experience but he didn't go for it
Did your guys meme opinions on books just cost me a job?
kill yourself
no, your autism cost you a job.
>>8020397
rude
Any tips or important things to remember for a senior taking the AP language test tomorrow?my teacher says she believes in me, but I wanna be sure
>>8020253
Don't be a tard on the multiple choice; don't spend all your time writing your thesis; make sure you answer the prompt; don't bother being particularly poignant; lastly, on the rhetorical analysis essay, which, I've noticed, is what students have the hardest time on, instead of just listing off rhetorical devices and strategies, always--ALWAYS--provide an actual analysis.
>>8020253
Don't show up
>>8020296
Thanks bro! how did you do on it before?
Modern or Post-Modern?
she cute
it's a shame all poems are bad
Medieval.
>>8020241
the bifurcated middle
what are the best books about third reich /lit?
>>8020237
Eichmann in Jerusalem is pretty good.
>>8020258
This and the Evans Trilogy.
Shirer if you want the opinion of someone on the ground. Guderian's autobiography on the military.
>>8020237
The holocaust did not happen.
Most of books related to the third reich are political propaganda.
Set the record straight this was a socialist,nationalist and very populist party. It almost merged with the national socialists at one point to put it that way and had the same idealists of that party. and anti-semitism was VERY strong at europe at this time even with figures you wouldn't expect at all and a core part of socialism even,it has always been strong in europe and has only dissipated very recently due to the leftist media so you have to understand how ordinary those sentiments where.
Lately I have run across a few books and poems with mad characters and I want more.
Here's my list:
1. Bottom's Dream for Midsummers Nights Dream
2. Tom a Bedlam
3. Child of God - McCarthy
4.The Lost Scrapbook - Dara
5.The Recognitions - Gaddis
Give recs please
>>8019788
Define 'mad caracter' ?
>>8019788
the alice in wonderland
>>8019796
have you read the works I listed? Someone who makes no sense, or is heavily obsessive, the old definition of mad
Why do people like Shakespeare? he seems pretty mediocre.
>>8019763
yEAH DUDE, i TOTALLY AGREE. Ayn Rand is my favorite author too!
>>8019763
'Thou' and 'thee' get every female's panties wet. Go on, just try using them instead of 'you' when chatting up a chickadee. Throw in some 'verily's too and you'll be set.
What should I read before reading Gender Trouble by Judith Butler?
Problem Child 2: The Novelization
>>8019506
I've heard she was heavily influenced by Foucault.
>>8019567
i heard that foucault was a girl
What was the deal with the ending? The story literally just stops. Am I missing something?
>>8018998
turn to the first page
>>8018998
Emotive arc >>> narrative arc
Also the story is finished, you can read about it online - although it's mostly theories and they are very speculative.
>>8018998
Big Dave always liked to leave people hanging.
ITT: Life changing books.
I'm partial to Wallace Wattles myself.
>>8018972
This meme is forced and not dank. I feel violated looking at this.
Would DFW like him?
I dont know, who is he, and is he sincere?
i hate you, you are destructing /lit/
>>8018362
A famous Russian tennis player.
Besides The Man who Would Be King this is the only book I've ever just stopped reading abruptly.
It's so boring. How is anyone expected to gain anything from the experience of reading if all your doing is forcing yourself through the drivel to be able to say you "got it".
There's a line between challenging the reader by making them really examine what's being written instead of being distracted by prose and just creating a bland read and this book definitely crossed it.
/lit/ is usually right but you guys really bungled this one.
It has a really nice prose, don't you think?
I also thought it to be very cozy.
>>8018265
you're shit
you're objectively a shit person
you know nothing of the minds of others and have no wish to know
plottist cunt
>>8018265
>being distracted by prose
What?
Literally what is the point of "post-modern literary techniques" when Delillo can convey all those sentiments and themes in simple, non-meme language?
The book was garbage, friendo.
This is the kind of shit that gets laughed at by Pynchos. Short declarative sentences about fake disaffected New York life. Fuck off.
poolillo is poo my pooey friend
Seriously though, anyone read it yet?of course not...
>Fantasy
Selected: http://i.imgur.com/3v2oXAY.jpg
General: http://i.imgur.com/igBYngL.jpg
Flowchart: http://i.imgur.com/uykqKJn.jpg
>Sci-Fi
Selected: http://i.imgur.com/A96mTQX.jpg
General: http://i.imgur.com/r55ODlL.jpg/ http://i.imgur.com/gNTrDmc.jpg
>>8018137
First for gay, rape and incest
>>8017997
It was Elantris actually for some points.
DELET THIS!!!!!!
