Ever met or communicated with a writer you like?

[Anonymous No.10582920]

I just met Don DeLillo outside of an apartment building in NYC. He has completely lost his mind and appeared to be suffering from dementia. He was smoking a cigarette. I told him I liked Libra and Underworld and that Mao II was shit. He kept repeating: “it comes down to a sound, a color...” and “thank you, thank you,” and “sound and color, color and sound,” ad nauseam.

I don’t care if you believe me. It was incredibly sad.

[Anonymous No.10583221]

>>10582920
I exchanged emails a few times with a writer I like. He's moderately popular in Canada, but probably unheard of elsewhere. He said something along the lines of "thoughtful, intelligent letters like yours make a writers day"

[Anonymous No.10583227]

I replied to a post made by Thomas Pynchon on the 4channel literature board

[Anonymous No.10583237]

>>10582920
i've been on the other side of this, and it's super hard to respond to. it doesn't feel like you're talking to a human, really.

[Anonymous No.10583248]

>>10583227
He said "writer you like"

[Anonymous No.10583249]

The OP is bait but this thread has potential. Hoping for serious replies.

[Anonymous No.10583314]

I sent a letter to Harold Bloom. I asked him what his favorite book he's read that was published after 2010. No response. I sent him another letter, telling him that it was ok because I'm sure he has a big backlog, so I downed it to any books after 2000. No response! So I walked by foot all the way to Yale University, hoping to ask him why he doesn't like reading modern literature. I happened to catch him in the courtyard of the Sterling library, he looked thoroughly absorbed in a small book. I asked him what it was, and he looked up with a confused grin. "I am reading, my young friend, Emily Dickinson. She is truly the master of the impalpable dread we all theologically feel when questioned by old age and similar maladies." I called it out as faggot shit, and ripped the book from his hands, and as he lunged forward to save the book, I ripped pages out and put one in my mouth. He yelled manically that it was a copy of dickinson with footnotes by Hart Crane from his youth, and that I had eaten and destroyed a major part of American homosexual history. Little did he know I was wearing my sister's panties and had a fresh load of my tall boyfriend's cum in my boypussy. One must destroy to create.

Also he said that his favorite book written after 2010 was a new english translation of Paul Celan

[Anonymous No.10583324]

>>10583314

[Anonymous No.10583350]

>>10583314
not bad

[Anonymous No.10583363]

>>10583314
kek

[Anonymous No.10583373]

I emailed Jonathan Safran Foer and he replied a month later (after I emailed him again to ask if he received the previous email) accusing me of writing an email that was inconsiderately long and being a "worryingly delusional" person. He asked me not to email him and and it really wasn't the reaction I was hoping for.

>Dear Mr. Safran-Foer / Jonathan, Please don't continue beyond this sentence if you are busy or otherwise distracted with more pressing matters. You kept reading? Great! Well first for introductions. My name's [my name] and I've read your first two books. Everything Is Illuminated wasn't great in my opinion but Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close really was a gripping read. I digress. The reason for my writing you today is to inquire as to whether you could provide for me any advice that you would have given to yourself at a younger age when you were writing your first novel and no-doubt dreaming of literary (and other) success? Wow, still haven't introduced myself, huh. Well, here's the slim. I'm 23 years old and I recently graduated from university with a degree in English Literature. Suffice to say I've struggled to find a job but I have in the time I have been unemployed written a novel that I am confident will have a major effect on the literary world should it find a publisher willing to give it a chance. Here's when you come in, Jon (do you mind me calling you that?). I have discovered your address via legal means online and I am wondering whether you would be willing to receive my manuscript in its entirety, along with a synopsis (I'll even throw in my author photo for free!) and first of all give me your feedback on it and then, providing you enjoy it to pass it on to your friends in the publishing world (I know how well-connected you folks are) so that I can avoid the dreaded slush pile of doom! Anyways, so let me know asap and I can have the manuscript on your straw 'Welcome' mat by the end of the week. If you'd rather I hand it to you in person and take some time to discuss our respective views on literature contemporary and otherwise I would love to visit your office at [his university address] and spend a few hours shooting the lit (see what I did there?). So let me know Jon and we can then discuss the next step of our correspondence. Thanking you again and again, [my name].

[Anonymous No.10583425]

>>10583373
I'm going to say this is good bait but in the tiny chance it's not (this is /lit/) then that is worryingly delusional

[Anonymous No.10583658]

>>10583425
I've read this before but they had John Green as the author.

[Anonymous No.10583664]

>>10583373
>I emailed Jonathan Safran Foer and he replied a month later (after I emailed him again to ask if he received the previous email) accusing me of writing an email that was inconsiderately long and being a "worryingly delusional" person. He asked me not to email him and and it really wasn't the reaction I was hoping for.
>>Dear Mr. Safran-Foer / Jonathan, Please don't continue beyond this sentence if you are busy or otherwise distracted with more pressing matters. You kept reading? Great! Well first for introductions. My name's [my name] and I've read your first two books. Everything Is Illuminated wasn't great in my opinion but Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close really was a gripping read. I digress. The reason for my writing you today is to inquire as to whether you could provide for me any advice that you would have given to yourself at a younger age when you were writing your first novel and no-doubt dreaming of literary (and other) success? Wow, still haven't introduced myself, huh. Well, here's the slim. I'm 23 years old and I recently graduated from university with a degree in English Literature. Suffice to say I've struggled to find a job but I have in the time I have been unemployed written a novel that I am confident will have a major effect on the literary world should it find a publisher willing to give it a chance. Here's when you come in, Jon (do you mind me calling you that?). I have discovered your address via legal means online and I am wondering whether you would be willing to receive my manuscript in its entirety, along with a synopsis (I'll even throw in my author photo for free!) and first of all give me your feedback on it and then, providing you enjoy it to pass it on to your friends in the publishing world (I know how well-connected you folks are) so that I can avoid the dreaded slush pile of doom! Anyways, so let me know asap and I can have the manuscript on your straw 'Welcome' mat by the end of the week. If you'd rather I hand it to you in person and take some time to discuss our respective views on literature contemporary and otherwise I would love to visit your office at [his university address] and spend a few hours shooting the lit (see what I did there?). So let me know Jon and we can then discuss the next step of our correspondence. Thanking you again and again, [my name].

sweet jesus

you posted this before

can't tell if copy pasta or real

[Anonymous No.10583803]

I live in the same town as a Kilgore Trout. He's the boss of all the paper deliveries so he hasn't written in a while

[Anonymous No.10583836]

>>10582920
I hunted DeLillo down in a small suburb in New York (I could see the beauty of his work in his face) and offered to do chores around the house for him so he can focus solely on completing his unfinished novel. He lectured me on his picture on his book covers and then cucked me promptly afterwards. He started talking about perception and dots or some shit and vaguely sounded like he was citing Wittgenstein or his French twin. He disappeared one day after forcing me to listen to him read all of Hemingway's works in logarithmic order and I haven't seen him since him since. He was mumbling about capitalism and terrorism and Fox News the last time I saw him. I can verify I still live in his house: the walls have stapled pieces of computer paper with lists of words grouped together according to syllable stress; there are doubles and further repetitions of course.

[Anonymous No.10583884]

Several authors teach at my university, but they're all terrible.

[Anonymous No.10583952]

Why would you tell an artist one of their works is shit when having just met them? You must be really autistic.

[Anonymous No.10583962]

>>10582920
This. I saw DeLillo walking out of a Kroger with the ankles of his socks practically overflowing with Milkyway bars. Dude's lost his fucking mind.

[Anonymous No.10583968]

>>10582920
I took a creative nonfiction course with David Wallace at Ponoma back in '94. We weren't allowed to show anyone our essays outside of the class for some reason. He seemed naturally intelligent, didnt need to look at any notes or textbooks or prepare for any lectures, he just knew his stuff and was super casual.

I saw him talking to a girl on campus one day. He uncharacteristically wore a Fila sweatsuit, the kind that looks like it's made from the same material as parachutes, and trainer sneakers with a matching bandana. That was his pussy hunt outfit apparently. Several times a week, same outfit, I'd see him hitting on women in it. I once saw him wearing it while carrying an identical outfit from the dry cleaners, he had like 4 sets of same Fila sweatsuit.

I asked him about it in class and he said we aren't allowed to discuss anything unrelated to class while inside class, the same way we can't show anyone outside of cass our essays. A student called out "but Dostoevsky isn't in this class and last week you talked about replicating his black tea obsession to test its affects on your own writing". Wallace stared blankly at the student with dead eyes for 30 seconds in dead silence then said "you just got knocked down a full letter grade. Any other smart asses? Didn't think so." and pushed up his glasses with his index finger.

I remember telling myself this guy will either be super successful or kill himself.

[Anonymous No.10583978]

>>10583221
Stewart Mclean sent me the exact same email.

[Anonymous No.10584002]

I email Nick Land sometimes and sometimes he responds and sometimes he ignores me.

[Anonymous No.10584076]

>>10583658
It's an /mu/ copypasta. Someone actually sent this to John Maus.

[Anonymous No.10584131]

I emailed my favorite songwriter:
>When you were younger, did you like Kierkegaard?

He (surprising me) emailed back:
>Sadly, he was dead long before I was born. I love my assumptions of what he was on about, 'sickness unto death' etc

I'd like to email him again, but I'm worried that I might discover the truth of what Sam Johnson (in a Platonic tradition) meant when he said:
>Those whom the appearance of virtue, or the evidence of genius, have tempted to a nearer knowledge of the writer in whose performances they may be found, have indeed had frequent reason to repent their curiosity.
or, put more simply:
>A man writes much better than he lives.

[Anonymous No.10584268]

[Anonymous No.10584367]

>>10583314
You fucked up mentioning Celan, loser

[Anonymous No.10584375]

>>10583314
Is that you earhart

[Anonymous No.10584417]

Christ in heaven save my soul for on this world it seems that it is true that all men must suffer. It's a humoungous suffering which is loaded on my shoulders though it is not quite clear to me what i am suffering for. It is a vague thing, a shadow perhaps? but i am not sure of that because my senses can not catch it. It is probably inside me like a darn nsect spreading it's wings and 20 legs cozily out and tapping on my innards creating moments of panic and confusion and most importantly a thorough anxiety that stems from my insides but in truth stems from this particular insect which with it's spikey legs injures my innards and lets to internal bleedings but the bleedings are just a conceptualization of the suffering inside my self, inside my physical body of innards and bones which are integrated into my corpse when i'm alive but leave marks to be found by archeologists when i die in the open wilderness perhaps? It is hard to answer thee questions but my suffering is all too great for hearth my god, and just enough to get into heaven as i was aussured by my priest. I was hitting the perfect suffering rations for christianity and that made me ease up and no longer be drowned in some supermonstrous flow of panic that overtwhelms me at night and leaves me with intense waves of heat and anxieousness and maing me twist and turn and flex and move and hurt hurt hurt by my spineconstantly as the darkness falls down on my eyes but even dwelling in what seems to be anneverending darkness my mind can not rest and it is as if the murmuring of demonds was being injected into my head, a malicious whispering, delivering evil words but no t the ssoothing singing of angels into my head at all times until from the whispering a thought emerges, summoned by them, an evil thought with no other intent but to destroy and a single of these thoughts will send me into the absolute abyss. All that i had taken fr granted will collapse with this single thought and as it strikes me, overwhelms me, splits my self apart and annihilates any kind of conviction or ignorance i had built up to handle the world, i realize the absurdity of my fate. Waking up, falling asleep, waking up, falling asleep, waking up, falling asleep, waking up, falling asleep and so on and so on and so on and so on until i die until i end this pitiful existance of mine. God knows what could have become of me if there had been an educator to utilize my talents for my potential is not to be underestimated but sadly the times of grand education have been over for dozens and dozens of years, more than a century ago even if we are to trust our good friend and educator just through his tongue nietzsche, nietzsche who is my only true friend i must admit. Nietzsche who knew the abyss, he who knew the abyss but who's will and who's instinct prevailed against all dangers of crumbling to disease. He was a prophet indeed, a holy man who will foreverial stand out in history as the untimely one, the holy untimely one.

[Anonymous No.10584469]

Sundwelling Jupiter sat on a stone in the wilderness of siberia with a single blade of grass being the center of his gentle blue eyes of an angel with a heart even too great for the world of our holy lord. The blade of grass was to be seen. Originally bashful it unfolded slowly as it gained trust to gentleyed sundweller jupiter who sat on the stone in the wilderness of syberia because had been left by his wife and she took their children and disappeared foreverial into the west for she had heard of many stories of better lives in these areas but he was tied to a promise he made long ago. Beneath this stone was buried a friend of his who had killed himself at an age in which an early death out of love signified a grand heart and a truthful passion like at no other age. It had been a good death was the consensus of those with appreciation of hearts and mans folly in the surrounding towns but sundweller jupiters gentle eyes told a different story than that. They told a story of a misguided young man who had been more intent on the grandly empty gesture of self-sacrifice than on the really hard thing: To overcome fear, anxiety and lazyness, to overcome ignorance as to conquer his love who had waited for a long time for him to wake up from his self-satisfied slumber but who, as time passed, was forced to accept that it was unlikely to happen and then moved on. Feeling betrayed the friend went into raptures of suffering, but they were done with sharp eyes which observed the reactions of the surroundings very clearly and never were able to give up on on the thrill of being seen as one who suffers and so gentleeyed jupiter was telling his friend, being a soul filled to the brim with honesty and care, he was unsettled by this miserable charade of his friend. And so he said: Friend, what are thee doing? And the firend said: My heart has been broken. My Heart has been broken and aimed with sad eyes at the ground which covers mother earth so lovingly. Gentleyed jupiter who enjoys dwelling in the sun reached down and picked up some soil and said: Your girl is waiting for you my friend. But my friend sat down and then he laid down miserably and said: she knows where to find me. She moved away from me. She betrayed my feelings and he grabbed soil and let it fall down on his face and i thought: Careful there may be dangerous infections in the soil. And sundwelling jupiter said: She left for she wanted you to come after her. And he said: No. She wants to forget me, she wants to get rid of me. She got rid of me. he said and started munching the soil. I took some salt and threw it on his face and said do you want some pepper but blue eyed jupiter whispered. Salt won't be helping in whatsoever so i shrugged with significations and said: I didn't ask you, did i? But Jupiters friend said: Relax the two of you, do not get into arguments. My fading life is not worth the hassle and he started crying fakely i think. And Sundwelling Jupiter with the gentle eyes responded:

[Anonymous No.10584485]

>>10583314
Proud of you.

[Anonymous No.10584496]

>>10582920
I met Yogi Berra once. He gave me the best advice I'd ever asked for. Does that count?

[Anonymous No.10584528]

>>10583968
classic

[Anonymous No.10584541]

I saw Thomas Pynchon at a grocery store in New York yesterday. I told him how cool it was to meet him in person, but I didn’t want to be a douche and bother him and ask him for photos or anything.
He said, “Oh, like you’re doing now?”
I was taken aback, and all I could say was “Huh?” but he kept cutting me off and going “huh? huh? huh?” and closing his hand shut in front of my face. I walked away and continued with my shopping, and I heard him chuckle as I walked off. When I came to pay for my stuff up front I saw him trying to walk out the doors with like fifteen Milky Ways in his hands without paying.
The girl at the counter was very nice about it and professional, and was like “Sir, you need to pay for those first.” At first he kept pretending to be tired and not hear her, but eventually turned back around and brought them to the counter.
When she took one of the bars and started scanning it multiple times, he stopped her and told her to scan them each individually “to prevent any electrical infetterence,” and then turned around and winked at me. I don’t even think that’s a word. After she scanned each bar and put them in a bag and started to say the price, he kept interrupting her by yawning really loudly.

[Anonymous No.10584594]

Gentleeyed jupiter went east eating berries and the likes and drinking water from rivers and lakes or from friendly people in siberia who were generous and splendidly friendly to him who was from a long distance detectable as a heartbroken traveller searching for a place to die but they were wrong. Sundwelling Jupiter with the blue eyes was looking for a new home, a place to start over. Of course had considered to end his existance with all the events which had taken place in the last few years but there was something propelling him to a new attempt at life, even at age 40 which in truth is no age, which in truth is the date when one can claim no longer to be an amateur or a child and so he wnadered to the east and he wandered through endless slopes which led him deeper and deeper and he would slowly walk down ridges and pci flowers and smell on them and he'd bath in the rivers of russia with a heart as pure as gold though is the purity of gold worth more than the purity of say anything else in the word if just the gradient of purity is to be measured? Soon a large and grand forest was piling itself up in front of his gentle blue eyes who with calmness were seeing the forest. Jupiter sat down and saw the forest for days at some points his eyes even burned and he would fall asleep from exhaustion and even after days jupiter wouldn't have been able to tell what he had been seeing but when he begun seeing the forest he was tired and exhausted and felt a great bitterness inside his heart and a will to resign and lie down foreverial on the ground and merge with the soil but as he was seeing something inwardly stirred greatly and after the few days of seeing it started to energize him enough to start moving, to move his limbs in coordinated matters and so our friend walked to the forest with rejuvenated spirits and a sincere curiosity for the wonders of this strange forest. Not so dense at first it grew pretty dense quickly and it semt as the only way through it were only cinematically arranged pasages while the rest was expressionistically closed down in configurations which spelled if not danger at a non-human power being at work in designing this place. But he was not scared though he missed the sun and then he reached a bald circle area surrounded by pine trees and he sat down there and saw his surroundings when then a family of birds was eating worms the young child bird said to mother and father: father and mother what is this? he said with beautiful curiosity and tremors of excitement at this new creature appearing right in front of his home and the father ruspered himself and said: This, good Lautario, is a human. Heeman said the little bird in comical manners and sang hooman hooman and the father and the mother laughed and the human turned around for he heard the singing of a young bird and then the little lautario saw for the first time of his life the face of a human and was struck with a sense of beauty for lautario was a beautiful men, his

[Anonymous No.10584600]

face sculpted by the great artist named sadness , there being two eyes who spoke of a most truthful gentleness and gave the face a grand impression of both wisdom and understanding and so lautario grew excited and said: mother, mother the eyes of the hooman are so beautiful! and the mother said: Lautario these are the gentle eyes of jupiter and young lautario said: Gentil? What's gentil and the mother looked at the father who ruspered himself and said: Gentle? Well, my dear son lautario who will be a beautiful singer as i am assured of for i have never such a voice at such a young age with such beautitudes and such an imaginative mind for melody and harmony: Gentle... that means when a person is nice and caring and careful about others and gentle eyes this means that this niceness towards those who are not him is expressed, it's visible in the way his eyes are formed. he said and looked at mother for approval and mother herself trying to understand was nodding slowly and then sang gentle and then little lautario started jumping and sang very excitedly with tremours round the clock he shouted: GENTIL GENTIL GENTIL and then laughed and jumped down the tree and flapped it's wings together and flew a bit and sang GENTIL and all the animals dwelling in the trees and watching Lauratio and his family and Jupiter were laughing and from there one Jupiter was known as Gentil in the forest of the east and Lauration landed in the hand of Gentil and gentil was moved a little bit by how the feet of Lauratio fell on his hand and he was reminded to be careful for lauratio was a frail young bird with an overexcited heart and so gentil said: And who are you little bird? and the bird said bashfully: I am lauratio. And Gentil said: Hello Lauratio, i am glad to have met you in this beautiful forest of yours, i am a homeless traveller, my name is gentil. and lauratio giggled and shouted two times gentil into the woods with the animals looking at each other with renewed appreciation and great love and gentil said: Show me this forest of yours, lauratio. Perhaps you can guide me to a place where i can start my new life but lauratio was too shy and flew away but Gentil knew that Lauratio was never too far away and was a bashful companion in the shadows who ever again sang the song of gentil to the leaves of the trees as to make them grow green and fresh and rise up with the summer sun into the sky until it was autumn and the greens grew dry and ungreen and crumbled and feel down and then crublemed but untilthen Lauratio sang the song of gentil and was a friend in secret but Gentil himself had settled down next to al ite stream and from dead wood he had found he built a sporadic hut and everytime he deided to do anything he saw an image of JFK nodding parrovingly to his new plans but what gentil could not escape was the tiredness in his heart. While he was glad that he was left to himself in the woods he nonetheless wished to finally regain some vitality and will to l

[Anonymous No.10584618]

>>10583314
Kek

[Anonymous No.10584628]

>>10583314
>One must destroy to create
Audibly keked

[Anonymous No.10584646]

>>10583968
I know it’s pasta, but i believe it

[Anonymous No.10584647]

>>10582920
it all comes down to the sound of flesh pashing against yours, and the PARTICULAR shade of color of your afro-american lover...'s chungawunga

[Anonymous No.10584660]

>>10583373
>You kept reading? Great!
>Well, here's the slim.
>to inquire as to whether you could provide for me any
>Wow, still haven't introduced myself, huh.
>I have discovered your address via legal means online
>I'll even throw in my author photo for free!
>providing you enjoy it
>the dreaded slush pile of doom!
>hand it to you in person and take some etime to discuss our respective views on literature contemporary and otherwise I would love to visit your office at [his university address] and spend a few hours shooting the lit (see what I did there?)
>Thanking you again and again

My God anon, well done.

[Anonymous No.10584681]

>>10583968
>tfw you'll never be able to write subtle understated humor like this

[Anonymous No.10584737]

>>10582920
I saw Michel Houellebecq at a grocery store in Los Angeles yesterday. I told him how cool it was to meet him in person, but I didn’t want to be a douche and bother him and ask him for photos or anything.
He said, “Oh, like you’re doing now?”
I was taken aback, and all I could say was “Huh?” but he kept cutting me off and going “huh? huh? huh?” and closing his hand shut in front of my face. I walked away and continued with my shopping, and I heard him chuckle as I walked off. When I came to pay for my stuff up front I saw him trying to walk out the doors with like fifteen bottles of whiskey in his hands without paying.
The girl at the counter was very nice about it and professional, and was like “Sir, you need to pay for those first.” At first he kept pretending to be tired and not hear her, but eventually turned back around and brought them to the counter.
When she took one of the bottles and started scanning it multiple times, he stopped her and told her to scan them each individually “to prevent any atomising infetterence,” and then turned around and winked at me. I don’t even think that’s a word. After she scanned each bottle and put them in a bag and started to say the price, he kept interrupting her by yawning really loudly.

[Anonymous No.10584772]

>>10583664
i think it's a /mu/ pasta from some dude who claimed to have emailed john maus

[Anonymous No.10584805]

A year ago I saw Salman Rushdie alone in a restaurant. I approached him, and he offered me a seat. He ordered Salmon and when the waiter asked how he wanted it cooked, he said "rusty" and elbowed me. When we were half way done eating he switched forks with me and asked if I'd heard of periodontal disease. When we finished eating he gave me the check and then said he was just kidding, but didn't take it back, so I paid. I went to the bathroom and while I was peeing Salman walked in and slapped me on my bottom, in between the cheeks, and then washed his hands. I said goodbye and left, but he kept walking with me, like we were going the same way, until I got to my apartment. That night I woke up to noises outside and saw Salman arm wrestling with a homeless man. He won and crawled into the box the homeless man sleeps in. When I left the next morning the homeless man was wearing Salman's clothes. I have no idea what happened.

[Anonymous No.10584831]

>>10582920
Op he was talking about this, I wrote a poem about it for you;


All is sound of choatic clatter
All color is captured to die
Who knows when the feet chatter, as the wind runs silenty by

Who posses the ideas of entropy in our flowers, and seeks this death at a hairs breadth?

All sound is a bunch of clatter in the solar color of this nights sky.
All who reigns knows the pain that allows us to ponder on this laundered power.

We seak this beast, the one in charge of our tease, at the tip of our teeth we chime in holy beat

[Anonymous No.10584871]

>>10583968
>Ponoma
So glad this has remained since the first pasta

[Anonymous No.10584901]

itt pastas and effort-posting dummies

[Anonymous No.10584918]

>>10584901
>effort-posting
God forbid a few posts out of the thousands of retarded ones actually have effort put into them.

[Anonymous No.10585165]

I met Tao Lin and got a picture. He was very nice, but pretty awkward, seemed kinda uncomfortable. When we were starting to walk away from each other I asked him to hook me up with Mira, jokingly, and he laughed and then went to a straight face, and then I laughed confirming the joke, so he continued laughing.

[Anonymous No.10585174]

>>10585165
Jesus, behind-the-scenes info on him always makes my skin crawl.

[Anonymous No.10585203]

>>10582920
Not a pasta or funny but yeah, one of my favorite writers is a minor guy in SFFG who I had some contact with over the years on a forum. The guy's writing was a huge impact on me, but I've since studied all his sources and come to realize how much he stole. It makes his work no less grand to a layman, but it is diminished in my eyes.

I contacted him on facebook and it turns out he's a raging commie Democrat. Never touch your idols, kids, the gold will come off on your hands.

[Anonymous No.10585287]

>>10584805
Hahah
Where is this from

[Anonymous No.10585466]

>>10584737
>to prevent any atomising infetterence

[Anonymous No.10585498]

>>10583373
this is bait

[Anonymous No.10585651]

>>10583314
lol

[Anonymous No.10585679]

I had my work published by Frederick Barthelme (Donald Barthelme's brother) when he was running the Mississippi review. I'm a fan of his short fiction. Pretty cool.

I've also met Amy Gerstler a couple of times through a teacher of mine. She's sweet.

[Anonymous No.10585737]

>>10585203
>commie
>Democrat
I hate the political discourse in this country

[Anonymous No.10585746]

>>10585737
blame the libtards