/lit/ - Literature

>160 gre verbal
am i a brainlet /lit/

>>14466432
I reddit spaced AAAAAAAAA

> When you find out your good friend likes political comedty

>>10100229

so anon, how is that dissertation coming along?

>x? x!

“Nate Ruess, Eminem, Bach, and Passenger who else…” Beatrice thought out loud as she prepared for her first day at the call center. She packed only the essentials out of fear of being robbed, her phone, twenty in cash for lunch, and identification. While mid-town was known as a higher class business district, down-town consisted of section eight housing. At the very end of the main avenue was an old estate split into six different apartments. Beatrice lived on the first floor, in a one bedroom apartment with six other people. She hoped for a reply from University Residence Life soon, but until then data-mining would be her prerogative.

“They were quiet this morning.” Beatrice whispered into her phone, when a soothing motherly voice replied “Take advantage of it. I’ll see you at the station. Kisses.” While she rarely had a good night’s sleep, last night felt like a miracle. Despite the trash and broken homes Beatrice found herself skipping, then jogging, and finally running to the train station down Magnusson Avenue. The faded dead roses hanging from untended vines only spurred her on. She thought that there was a certain beauty in death, while not too eager to embrace it, Beatrice found herself in the position of a silent admirer.

Part of a larger work I'm writing. Would appreciate any input.

>>7959673

"Journey to the end of the night"

"The worst part is wondering how you’ll find the strength tomorrow
to go on doing what you did today and have been doing for much
too long, where you’ll find the strength for all that stupid running around, those projects that come to nothing, those attempts to escape from crushing necessity, which always founder and serve only to convince you one more time that destiny is implacable, that every night will find you down and out, crushed by the dread of more and more sordid and insecure tomorrows. And maybe it’s treacherous old age coming on, threatening the worst. Not much music left inside us for life to dance to. Our youth has gone to the ends of the earth to die in the silence of the truth. And where, I ask you, can a man escape to, when he hasn’t enough madness left inside him? The truth is an endless death agony. The truth is death. You have to choose: death or lies. I’ve never been able to kill myself.”