Veeky Forums has ruined my life

Veeky Forums has ruined my life.

Before I begin my story, I just want to say: I am not stupid. I’ve gotten good grades my whole life. I’ve always worked hard and still believe that success is a matter of determination, not luck or natural talent. So no matter how foolish I sound, spare me the lectures.

About a year ago I was entering my junior year of college as a business major. I’d transferred colleges and moved across the country to rural New England. And for once in my life things were going well. I had an internship at a good investing bank. I had gotten over my oneitis and found a loving (if plain) girlfriend. I had a small circle of friends I’d drink shitty beer with and watch sports or stoner comedies every weekend.

That fall, I decided to take a class on literature as an extracurricular. I’d been browsing Veeky Forums and going to the gym, so I figured I’d stop by Veeky Forums for help on my essays.

One thread caught my eye: Reactionary Philosophy Thread. At first was repulsed, but curiosity got the better of me. It was like forbidden knowledge. I’d always had doubts about the modern world, about the liberal atmosphere I’d grown up in, but when I opened that thread it was like all these previously vague and undefined thoughts and desires snapped into focus.

If only I could have just closed the thread, and buried those thoughts. If I had known where that rabbit hole would take me I would have ended it there, cut out the cancer before it took over the body.

But I didn’t.

I started to read through the western canon, and spent my nights posting on Veeky Forums. Everything I had once drawn pleasure from began to disgust me. I’d watch my friends smoking pot and secretly I’d want to vomit. I started to wonder about my girlfriend’s sexual history, or the fact that she so willingly had pre-marital sex with me. I could barely focus on my classes, as I’d seethe with rage at my professor’s hidden agendas.

One day I left my laptop open, to a thread on Veeky Forums. I came back from the bathroom to find my roommates circled around it, giggling and whispering. When I got angry at them, they all began to chant “Brendan’s a Nazi” and laugh.

That night they threw a party. I tried to act as if nothing happened. But an irreparable rift had already opened. I could see it in the way everyone looked at me. At one point, when everyone was doing shots, I realized how degenerate the whole situation was - the clothing was so revealing, the music so primitive, the alcohol sickly sweet and uncultured. Nauseous, I retreated to my room, and locked the door.

For the next two weeks I stayed in my room. I ignored my girlfriend’s calls, and broke up over text. I didn’t go to any of my classes. I quit my internship. I taped my window shade shut and lived in darkness, never sure if it was day or night. I sat by my desk and read Dante’s Inferno, filling the room with cigarette smoke. The time I wasn’t reading I was browsing Veeky Forums.

I had an idea. I began to type up a screenplay, like a man possessed. I felt like I was channeling spirits.

Love your blog

and... and?

Keep going lad

My blog my dude. Sounds like you are gonna make it.

maybe you should go back to your old life philosophy you retard

Do you still have what you wrote?

Two weeks later I emerged. I had completed a script. I hadn’t written in years, and yet I felt like I had produced a masterpiece. It didn’t even feel like a creative act, it felt like I was revealing something that had always been there.

But it came at a toll. I had lost a lot of weight, and I had a dark rash all over my face when I shaved off my beard. Worse yet, my penis was infected, and the doctor had to perform an emergency circumcision. It was upsetting but I thought of it as a sacrifice for my art.

My script was an action adventure version of Dante’s Inferno, where the hero must fight through the circles of hell to get back his bride. The different circles would reflect different aspects of modern, degenerate society.

I knew two people in the movie business. I had a friend of a friend who knew Wes Anderson, and gave me his secretary’s phone number. I had also met Max Landis, but we had a personal falling out. I pulled up his twitter page but all I saw was “You Have Been Blocked By This User”.

I knew Max’s address and needed someone in LA to deliver my script. I wracked my brain, and the best I could think of was Andria, the girl I was hopelessly in love with in high school. Fate had brought me full circle, I thought. Surely she’d read the script and be impressed.

I packed up my car and headed for the city.

lit didnt ruin your life, it was your incompetence by leaving your laptop open

>claims to have adopted an outlook that allows him to see what is truly good and virtuous in life
>claims to regret it

????

Didn't know this was a comedy

>I am not stupid. I’ve gotten good grades my whole life. I’ve always worked hard and still believe that success is a matter of determination
What?

Yeah, ignorance plus propaganda can really do a number on a person's head, I'm sorry you had to go through that.

After my first few calls, Wes Anderson’s secretary refused to pick up. I paced around on the sidewalk, fuming with anger, looking up at the brownstone in the hopes that Mr. Anderson would throw open a window and invite me up. After a few hours I gave up and left a copy of my script on his doorstep.

Over the next week I drove from New York to LA. It was like a fresh start. I blasted classical music and took in the grandeur of the American West. It occurred to me that I should change my name – I was a completely new self, why not make it official?

I arrived in LA late at night and crashed on an old friend’s couch.

The next day was a Saturday – I texted Andria and asked if she had any success getting my script to Landis. To my surprise, she said yes. She said that Max wanted to see me at a party later that day.

My blood was pumping with excitement. Three weeks ago I had been a nobody. Now I was going to a party in Beverly Hills, pitching my script to a celebrity. It was like some great cosmic benevolence had aligned in my favor.

It all made perfect sense to me. If the movie blew up, it would mean a whole generation inspired to read the western canon. An entire generation exposed to the sinfulness of modern society. Maybe the script was given to me in an act of divine intervention. Maybe it was the catalyst for the redemption of western civilization.

...

How did you get a whole party full of degenerates into your grandparents' cabin in Norway? Also, you're writing a bad Sartre novel not anything based on Dante.

This is water.

I went out and bought myself new clothes – black pants, black boots, and a black turtleneck sweater. I bought some flowers and went to Max Landis’s house.

I had imagined a mansion but it was more of a shitty raised ranch. The lawn was patchy and riddled with garbage. It was around sunset.

I went around back to find the place packed. I had expected a more “Hollywood” crowd, but instead it just seemed like a mix of druggies, hypebeast teenagers, and washed up bleached blonde women in their mid-30s. Through the crowd I saw Andria.

I approached her and smiled. She smiled back. For a moment it seemed that everything would work out – that my fantasies were being realized. I started talking to her but she seemed… off. Evasive. I asked her if she’d read my script.

At that moment, Max Landis appeared and put his arm around her. They kissed. I ground my teeth with rage.

“Oh hey, Brendan, right?” Max said. He was holding my script in his hand. “Is this yours? Look, I gotta be honest buddy… it’s shit. Total shit. A hack job. No studio will want this.”

People were noticing now. The yard went silent.

Max walked over to the grill, and threw my script into the flames. In a moment of irrationality, I ran over and tried to pull it out, but only succeeded in knocking it over and sending hot coals across the grass. My hands were burnt in the process.

“The worst thing I’ve ever read,” he continued, smirking.

Now understand something. I was a boxer in high school. I’ve fallen out of shape since I entered college but I can still punch with some force.

I turned and slugged him directly in the nose. I could feel the cartilage crumple like wet cardboard. Blood flew everywhere.

He responded by kicking me in the crotch. I winced hard, as I could feel the stitches coming undone. Warm blood poured over my freshly shaved ballsack.

I grabbed him by his shitty undercut and punched him directly in the gut. He pulled away hard and I could feel it ripping from his scalp, leaving me with a handful of badly dyed hair. I dropped it and shoved him into the pool.

As I turned to leave, one of his crusty friends hit me in the face with a golf club. Dazed, I stumbled, then ran to my car. I tasted blood filling my mouth. Upon further inspection, several of my teeth were loose, and a couple fell out. I drove to a nearby strip mall, pulled into the parking lot, and cried.

I was at wits end. Suddenly I realized how stupid my whole journey had been. It was like I drove to the hospital and called my parents. A week later I was on a flight back to Massachusetts.

I lost my internship. I failed all my classes and had to drop out. I tried to reconnect with my ex but she’s blocked me on all social media. My friends all think I’m a nazi and none of them will talk to me. I have nothing left.

Thanks for nothing Veeky Forums. You ruined my life.

>Wes Anderson directs a film about neoreactionary thought
>Main character described as "quirky, film lauded by 35 year old post-hipsters for "unconventional" color palette and "whimsical" framing
>set in Hell
God dam OP this is solid fan fiction

You should write a screenplay about this, OP. Real or not.

I'd direct it for you and help fund it, I've never done it before but it sounds like fun.

THIS is of course your lit bit. Not a script but a novella. Have (you) read Huysmann's La Bas (The Depths)? Every third chapter or so is one portion of a characters' (intercalated) history of Gilles de Rais (Bluebeard) and it works well both on its own and as a further indication of that character-author's personality-- precisely the way (you) save your script (assuming it exists) while supplying your own directorial details, etc. What you've written here- beefed up considerably- is your framing device, etc.
Can't help but feel youve had this idea already. Rock on. True or False, youll be fine.

Is this the Hero's Journey/Monomyth?

>Call to Adventure (or maybe Supernatural Aid)
finding /lit
>Crossing the first threshhold
breakdown at party
>Belly of the Whale
in room for two weeks
>Road of trials
literal road trip to Wes Anderson and then to LA
>Meeting with the Goddess/Woman as Temptress
meeting his crush
>Atonement with Father
confronting max landis for some reason
>Apotheosis
Has breakdown in car after fight
>Magic Flight
flight back home
>Rescue from Without
calls parents for help

lmfao

Great thread

>Everything I had once drawn pleasure from began to disgust me. I’d watch my friends smoking pot and secretly I’d want to vomit. I started to wonder about my girlfriend’s sexual history, or the fact that she so willingly had pre-marital sex with me. I could barely focus on my classes, as I’d seethe with rage at my professor’s hidden agendas.

This hits a little too close to home. I feel like I'm a teetering on the edge of being a full blown fascist.

Been there, done that.

If you can get over that hill, the NazBol gang is waiting.

It's kind of ironic that this is the literature board where people talk about reading books but there is just no fucking way I will ever ever ever be assed to read all this shit

gross

Way I see it bud, you're a bona fide hero. You keep doing you.

Read this user, it will help.

If the world may be thought of as a certain definite quantity of force and as a certain definite number of centers of force-and every other representation remains indefinite and therefore useless-it follows that, in the great dice game of existence, it must pass through a calculable number of combinations. In infinite time, every possible combination would at some time or another be realized; more; it would be realized an infinite number of times. And since between every combination and its next recurrence all other possible combinations would have to take place, and each of these combinations conditions the entire sequence of combinations in the same series, a circular movement of absolutely identical series is thus demonstrated. The world as a circular movement that has already repeated itself infinitely often and plays its game in infinitum.


The eternal hourglass of existence is turned over and over, and you with it, a dust grain of dust. Would you not throw yourself down and gnash your teeth and curse the demon who spoke thus? Or did you once experience a tremendous moment when you would have answered him, "You are a god, and never have I heard anything more godly". If this though were to gain possession of you, it would change you, as you are, or perhaps crush you. The question in each and every thing, "Do you want this once more and innumerable times more?" would weigh upon your actions as the greatest stress. Or how well disposed would you have to become to yourself and to life to crave nothing more fervently than this ultimate eternal confirmation and seal?

Here's another one:
HOW THE "TRUE WORLD" FINALLY BECAME A FABLE
1. The true world — attainable for the sage, the pious, the virtuous man; he lives in it, he is it.
(The oldest form of the idea, relatively sensible, simple, and persuasive. A circumlocution for the
sentence, "I, Plato, am the truth.")

2. The true world — unattainable for now, but promised for the sage, the pious, the virtuous man ("for
the sinner who repents").
(Progress of the idea: it becomes more subtle, insidious, incomprehensible — it becomes
female, it becomes Christian.)

3. The true world — unattainable, indemonstrable, unpromisable; but the very thought of it — a
consolation, an obligation, an imperative.
(At bottom, the old sun, but seen through mist and skepticism. The idea has become elusive,
pale, Nordic, Königsbergian.)

4. The true world — unattainable? At any rate, unattained. And being unattained, also unknown.
Consequently, not consoling, redeeming, or obligating: how could something unknown obligate us?
(Gray morning. The first yawn of reason. The cockcrow of positivism.)

5. The "true" world — an idea which is no longer good for anything, not even obligating — an idea which
has become useless and superfluous — consequently, a refuted idea: let us abolish it!
(Bright day; breakfast; return of bon sens and cheerfulness; Plato's embarrassed blush;
pandemonium of all free spirits.)

6. The true world — we have abolished. What world has remained? The apparent one perhaps? But no!
With the true world we have also abolished the apparent one.
(Noon; moment of the briefest shadow; end of the longest error; high point of humanity; incipit zarathustra)

Funny story, OP. I give it a 5/10, it wasn't amazing but it felt like it was worth the time.

I've been rethinking the reactionary stuff ever since that junkie mashed my teeth with a golf club. I don't have any dental insurance and my teeth are really badly fucked up. I look like a homeless person. If I lived in a country with some basic healthcare guarantees I wouldn't be permanently fucked like this.

this smells like copypasta, and and even if it's not it's way too on-point to be genuine
on the off chance this is genuine: philosophy is shit
all of it
some of it is useful shit, but because it's shit, you should not ingest too much of it at once, and you should at least mix up what flavor of shit you take in
if you couldn't figure that out on your own then it's not anyone else's fault what happened to you
it's definitely not anyone else's fault you got obsessed or just decided to shun everything
also
>reactionary
this fucking faggot
if you're not proactive you should get out of the way of people who are

>philosophy is shit
>all of it
Yawn

if you'd not stopped reading there I think you'd have something else to say

What the fuck are you on about? Does philosophy actually inspire you to write this indian-music-listening,-hookah-smoking-quack crock?
Nice image, though. Saved.

>/lit

How do you even end up like this from lit?

I went through a period of my life where I was so miserable I only ate because it ended the stomach pains but I really don't see how you can end up like OP's story.

When I read Dante's Inferno my impression was that he was a whiny bitch; people that complain about there being too much fun or that pleasure is "immoral" ought to be drowned.

>Before I begin my story
Stopped reading there.

This Novel Light of Awe

Except the blaze is real.

Warms my heart, and
makes me hot headed.

The dog is on the chain.
Left to die in smoke and flames.

A community is brought back together.
By the lightening strike into the mountain.

A promise is kept, and none believe it to be anything but madness.

That is the end.

Brendon, you've no honour. Start lifting, respect women and go to church.

I will never respect women

What's with all the Veeky Forums-Veeky Forums crossover lately?

Please, for me?
Let me tell you a story.
Amy was a sweet girl with no self-confidence. She was born into a modern society, she had a mum and a dad, they were normal people, but haven't put much thought into raising her. So Amy is now 16 and Ben asks her out. He looks nice and respectable, and her girlfriends tell her that she's lucky because Ben is popular, so she goes for it. But Ben is a wanker who doesn't respect women. Amy gives him her virginity and ful trust, but after a couple of weeks, he's bored, because he can have any girl, so he ends it. Amy is miserable for a couple of months, but eventually, she gets over it. Not long after, she meets a new guy. She's no longer a virgin, so nothing's stopping her to sleep with him. But now she is realising that this guy is nothing special, so she ends it.
Five years later, Amy has had a dozen boyfriends, none good enough. She doesn't even see the good one any more and she's lost all hope, so she keeps on jumping in and out of relationships just for the sake of it.
Amy is every girl today.
Because a woman's self-respect comes out of men respecting them.
So respect women if you want to see them prosper. Be a man.

rofl

>Before I begin my story, I just want to say: I am not stupid. I’ve gotten good grades my whole life.
LMAO. Stopped reading there, brainlet.

All of this blog is shit and cringey, especially the weak minded start where you become euphoric and enlightened by reading a few books. Prose isnt great either, though you probably weren't going for that. If this is your first real attempt at fiction, it's bad.

Not him, but if women are so easily broken by a predictable action, it would surely make people less likely to respect them.

I don't have time to read this whole story, but I just wanted to say that I'm a big fan of this line of deranged, severely tormented Wojaks I've been seeing a lot recently.

vacuously true as per the incorrect premise