>about to finish 6th Form (I'm 17, at the time)
>total virgin, with a love of all things Gothic, 2edgy4u, and Genre
>writing my very first novel - a kind of "Southwest" (Britain) Gothic affair
>actually pretty proud of it - decaying seaside resorts and pronounced class sensibilities all up in this bitch
>show it to a couple of my friends at school, who pull that whole "you're the best writer ever" shit that friends do
>somehow, a copy finds its way to the hands of a girl I vaguely know
>she's a friend of my ex, and I suspect one of the reasons for a breakup I'm still bitter about
>initially considering being a dick about it, but when I get the hardcopy back, she's scribbled notes all over this bitch
>she hates the protagonist
>the protagonist being a carbon copy of me, of course (just try to tell me you were not the protagonist of your first real attempted novel, you fucking liar)
>not sure how to feel about this
>meet with her for coffee after school, and she tells me why my character sucks
>she patiently edits everything I give her
>one day, after school, she kisses me
>plenty more happens - mainly her rooting out every self-injection in my story, and helping me improve my writing, intercut with stupid teenagers-in-love shit
>we even read to one-another
>she's got a taste for the classics, and I've never read Dante, so I buy a dog-eared copy from a bookshop I will later work at, and we read it together
>she was my first classic
>she finds her way into my writing - not her, so much as characters with her traits (a stoner-tier-chilled girl with wild, out-of-control hair here; a strait-talking, punslinging intellectual with heterochromia there)
>one day, she tells me she's moving to Berlin
>hold the fucking phone
>"I-I'm coming with you."
>I cancel my University application and use my saved money to buy a plane ticket to Berlin
>I fly out a few months after she's moved there
>things are really weird between us, and she confesses she's hooked up with a British expat a few times. He reads her Dante.
>I'm absolutely heartbroken - all I wanted was to live in Berlin with her, write, and laugh, and somebody took that from me
>I lock myself in the bathroom of her apartment and consider the quick way down
>sit and mull it over, and eventually just ring my dad and borrow money to fly back home early
>she writes to me and asks to see me - says she wants to explain why
>burn the letter, delete the novel
Even now - long after I've moved on - she finds her way into my writing. Even now, I can't read the opening lines of Inferno without feeling really melancholic.
Et tu, /lit/?
>in high school
>english teacher comes up to me and asks what I'm reading
>he sees its pynchon and laughs
>"Well aren't you clever reading Pynchon"
i want to say you should've given her the d and moved on, but really this is more substantial. you moved to another country because you loved a girl. there's no higher octane living. and it makes for better stories than shitposting on /lit/.
>high school me
>reading Gravity's Rainbow
>cool english teacher notices
>"wow anon, I've been meaning to read Gravity's Rainbow for a good while. Did you start with The Crying of Lot 49?"
>"no actually this is my first pynchon"
>"jumping in head first I see. Good luck anon."
We also had discussions about Nabokov, Yeats, TS Eliot, and Byron. I'm fairly sure the guy browses 4chan now. Bill, if you're here, your humanities class was the shit. You were always my favorite teacher. Stay golden my dude.
>hurr durr I read complex books about the human condition and struggles of life I would have had no hope of truly appreciating as a friendless dumbass in 11th grade aren't I anonymously patrician guys?
>teacher was this older lady who used to be very smart, taught IB ToK and shit
>now she's gone literally insane, trying to please students all the time and hates the school district
>students take advantage of her and constantly get her off track, passionate rants and shit
>also liked to do impressions
>I'm reading some Derrida book one day in class cause I'm pretentious and think I can understand it
>she sees the book
>"ANON IS THAT DERRIDA"
>uh yeah I guess
>"YOU'RE SO SMART, FIGHT THE SYSTEM LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT DECONSTRUCTIONISM"
>vague notions about tearing down assumptions that go into language and creating a piece of literature
>something like that
>fuck I ain't know Derrida lmao
Every class people got her to talk about Harry Potter or how much she hated the new principle. I don't care what you think of Derrida, that lady really knows some shit, but teaching those kids did something strange to her. :(
>go to coffee shop today.
>translate an Act of one a Lorca play.
>go home. Read some Stranger in a Strange Land.
>translate one of my own plays into English.
>going over to gf's house after she finishes reading a few more chapters of Don Quixote for snuggling.
>work cancelled tomorrow.
>going to do it all again, plus revise a paper for a Theory Conference.
>tfw living the literary life.
>drunkenly call a girl lesbia at a party
>tfw latin teacher makes fun of me for reading Bataille in class
>meet beautiful girl who loves russian literature
>fall in love
>screw things up because inexperienced KV
>resolve to never love again until I've had enough sexual experience to be confident that I could get any girl I want
>once paraphrased sade to try convincing a qt 16 y/o virgin to become my fwb
>once dropped out of hs for a semester so I could spend my time working out and going through anthologies of futurist manifestos and art
>Grew up in a home full of books and only 1 television I almost never watched
>Go to college, discover the Internet
>7 years later, I still get thrills at the thought of starting a new book, but have none of the motivation to actually read
>I now just collect books I know I'll never read
while not strictly a literary related feeling, I also once broke down crying in the bathroom of my local government offices because I was at a cocktail party and some faggot millionaire made fun of my second hand suit. Only time I've cried in years, luckily no one saw me.
Baudelaire once helped convince me to attempt to loose my virginity to a random prostitute but it didn't pan out
feels good being patrician
>Professor asks us who are the best minds of our generation and if they too have been destroyed by "madness"
>Some kid raises his hand and says David Foster Wallace
>Have to hold back from snickering
Can you imagine how lifeless she must have felt inside when she began teaching? She probably dove into teaching with the hopes of literary discussions between her and her students and of seeing her students kindle a passion for literature. After a year or two, though, she has become disillusioned and broken.
Anon, when she saw you reading that book, it must have triggered those feelings that made her want to teach.
I cant believe you took the time to write all that considering how bad it was OP.Her favorite author was Dante? is Dante anyones favorite author? like legitimately, he wrote some decent epic poems but the way he shoehorned his petty personal rivalries and his clumsy storytelling negate any achievements of prose he may have made. Does anyone here consider Dante to be their favorite author?
>I also once broke down crying in the bathroom of my local government offices because I was at a cocktail party and some faggot millionaire made fun of my second hand suit.
punk him by pretending you were wearing it ironically and he wasn't hip enough to "get it", that's what any indie douche in brooklyn would have done if confronted by some trustfund faggot
>Even now, I can't read the opening lines of Inferno without feeling really melancholic.
OP, I think you need to take a look around you. Have you found yourself lost within a forest dark?
I wouldn't say he is my favorite, but I actually enjoyed him adding in his contemporaries. If he hadn't, there would've been a large gap.
>Well, here's the fifth circle of hell...let's keep moving.
>not recognizing the pun of loosing your virginity to a prostitute (in the sense that she is a loose woman, her vagina is probably lose, and to let something loose is to cast it away)
Top pleb. Trying thinking for once.
>>once dropped out of hs for a semester so I could spend my time working out and going through anthologies of futurist manifestos and art
Weren't the futurist manifestos incredibly short?
>tfw you'll never watch a girl fuck a dead horse
>punk him by pretending you were wearing it ironically and he wasn't hip enough to "get it", that's what any indie douche in brooklyn would have done if confronted by some trustfund faggot
I'm not an indie douche tho, just poor. Besides everyone there were trustfund faggots, children of politicians, and so on.
On the bright side I've hooked up with a model and a couple millionaires because of these things so it's not all bad.
When the communist revolution comes he's going to end up dead in a ditch anyways, no reason to paint myself as the bad guy.
Besides I'm 6'1 and a boxer, it's pretty obvious that I'm stronger than him.
>learning Persian for military
>write my first short story in it
>hard as hell
>have to look up simple verbs that I don't even thing about with English because they teach us technical words rather than simple stuff
>can easily write about the Vietnam war or politics of Iran, but not every day stuff
>takes a half an hour to write a tiny short story
>send it to my teacher for some feedback
>she says she loves it, and I'm a great writer
>still scared to write something longer
I was once at an Italian restaurant in my neighborhood and ordered a dessert called a Frittole. It's pronounced "FRIT-to-le." I was exploring poetry at the time, and it suddenly hit me that the name of the dessert was a perfect dactyl. I got ridiculously, improperly excited about this, and kept saying the word "frittole" to myself all the way back to my apartment.
That reminds me of my senior year English teacher. She was fucking crazy about lit and we'd chat about Jonathan Swift and Robert Burns and shit after school, but almost every day in class the other kids would get her on rants about Tom Sawyer and the Transcendentals so they wouldn't have to do work because "OH SENIORITIS IS A THING." Whenever I see her now, we complain about standardized tests and the defunding of curriculars, and how all of the kids in my hometown are flagrantly racist.
>read Crime and Punishment on and off for a year or so
>can never get past the first few chapters, feels simultaneously too anxious and too boring
>finally keep reading
>plow through the book in about a week, can't stop myself from reading it constantly
>that claustrophic anxiety, the cat-and-mouse games, the sheer self-loathing and feeling of being completely trapped, everything about the book is perfect
the pedophile commits suicide following a feverishly erotic dream
>"I'm going to America, tell them I went to America..."
>at a friend's house, everyone's asleep except for me at 3 AM because I only have a few chapters left
he finally admits to his crime not just to the only woman who loves him and wants to save him, but finally to the police
>the woman gives him a small wooden cross
>he goes to prison for a 7 year sentence, but that palpable atmosphere of anxiety is finally gone
>the girl waits for him the whole time
>"But here begins a new account, the account of a man's gradual renewal, the account of his gradual regeneration, his gradual transition from one world to another, his acquaintance with a new, hitherto completely unknown reality. It might make the subject of a new story - but our present story is ended."
I had to go outside at that point. I wish I could better describe the feeling of joy and awe I felt after finishing that book. It was like living through an entire man's life, his suffering and his redemption, that ending was perfect. The book is a masterpiece.
I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness starving hysterical naked dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix angelheaded hipsters searching for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of the night
>First crush, kiss, with amazingly smart adopted girl.
>Years later discover that she was born with an immune deficiency.
>First love, first kiss, lay, dies of cancer at 15
>Develop severe depression for 5 years to this day.
>Graduated high school at 16 because depression matured me to the epitome of ASPD.
>By 17 i had read the entirety of Mein kampf, the old and new covenants of Christianity, Koran, and more, i was searching for answers.
It's been five years and countless dreams of us reunited in ecstasy, these are the worst dreams, I wake reminded of what was taken from us.
I've been writing, fantasizing, a story where we are together again, for the last 2 years, when i first began experimenting with opiates. In my story everything is the same as it was, but she overcame her cancer, she became a successful artist, united again, we live our mundane lives in ataraxia.
Once, my mother and principal forced me to attend therapy once discovered that i had pushed a fellow student down a flight of stairs for stealing my copy of The Cloud Sketcher.
Therapists validate and condemn people to their own idiosyncrasy through the lack of opposition when presented with non-pragmatic ideology.
This is what I've deducted from 2 visits.
>forced to teach a YA book about this Indian kid living on a reservation
>there's a passage about masturbation
>before class starts think it'd be awfully clever to discuss this with the class
>read it aloud
>spilling my spaghetti as I try to explain why I brought it up
>somehow get to discussing my dad and how this sort of stuff would have gotten him in trouble
>everything is falling apart
>co-op teacher scolds me at the end of class
>said what I did was the equivalent of encouraging her three year old daughter to masturbate using the shower nozzle
>some kid reports me
>administration forcibly escorts me out of the school two days later
>college is sympathetic and gives me a new position to finish up in
>abandon education a semester later anyway
I mean, I know I fucked up. But it was all there in the text. The text I was forced to teach the class.
Where did I go so wrong?
OP, how beta you must be to allow other people to exceed youl ?
I never get all these great many posts about /lit/ guys who get schoold by some patrician girl and they fall in love with her, then they have a relationship, and then she leaves them.
But it all starts with OP finding a patrician girl who they admire for being patrician.
Now, women being patrician is no bad thing; the bad thing is anons letting themselves be less proficient than anybody, not just women.
This concerns women as well, when some semi-pleb encounters a semi-patrician, this attracts them to this person and blocks all their rational thinking.
The only solution that has worked for me so far is to strive to always be more patrician than your surroundings. In that was you will not blatantly fall for the next person who reads more than newspapers.
In order not to be a pleb, be a patrician.
>run into old high school friend in hometown
>rekindle our friendship when I find out she is heavy into russian literature, speaks russian, took a semester abroad in st petersburg
>we start hanging out all day every day
>instantly turns sexual and we spend day after day fucking and discussing literature
>she returns to school and my heart instantly drops
>to stay close we mail each other a new book every month, sometimes more often
>still in daily contact, mostly concerning whatever book the other sent us
so this is what it's like to have a patrician lover. feels good just wish she was closer so i could get my dick wet nahmsayin
Channel it, OP.
Joe is getting ready for bed, hanging his tie up, and setting his alarm. Sarah enters from the bathroom. He follows her with a sideways glance, as she swans around the bed, as if she knows she's being watched. She sits on the bed. He walks over to her and his eye is drawn to a bruise on her knee. His heart starts pumping again. A sweat breaks upon his brow. None of this is visible, if not for ultra closeups and ultra sound recording - his demeanor is now cool.
He pretends to caress her leg, and pretends to notice the bruise for the first time.
Joe: Babe, you're bruised again.
Sarah: (sounding nervous/inconspicuous) Oh, I was pushing a filing cabinet with my knee earlier, it was really heavy!
Joe: Oh, babe, what are you like..i'm gonna go clean my teeth.
CUT TO TOILET SHOT. Joe stumbles into the bathroom, sloppily gripping the taps, turning them on full, then Is vomiting in to the toilet toilet. We see his constrained expression, his face red, it's a pain. CUT TO the mirror, Joe is splashing cold water onto his face, cleaning his teeth and staring into the mirror. CUT to: we see Joe entering the bedroom, normal as ever. He climbs into bed and turns around to face the wall. Sarah notices and props herself onto one elbow.
Sarah: babe, what's the matter? Why aren't you hugging me?
Joe: I'm just tired, baby.
Sarah: Come hug me.
Joe: I'm comfy like this.
She shuffles up next to him to wrap her arms around him..
Sarah: Baaaaby. Are you sure you're ok?
Sarah: Are we ok?
Sarah: Am I stressing you out?
Joe: Everybody stresses me out.
>living in college dorm
>have half of a shelf filled with books
>mostly classics and babbys first literary fiction
>a few philosophy tomes that I can barely understand
>some old poetry books I got for free
>omg anon you read such complex books
>anon id love to read those books but theyre probably too hard
>anon ur bookz
>mfw my collection is basically shit
>mfw every other collection I've seen has been YA or required readings for classes
im not even patrician but i guess it's relative :v)
I'm guessing the book was "The absolutely true diary of a part time Indian"? How old were these kids? I tackled that book freshman year in hs no problem and the masturbation part is a good topic of discussion to help understand the book better, provided you can be mature about it.