Discussing the craft, the subtle nuances of lit and wit

Evening, Veeky Forums.

This is a forum right? Where the academics and philosophers gather in public form in order to discuss the currents of the subject? Let's do that.

What sort of themes do you want to see in future literature? What themes and plots have intrigued you books you've read in the past?

I'd like to see more self-fulfilling/defeating prophecy, so I'm writing a book about it. I've finished the first draft of the first book, and I've been writing the second draft for the past few weeks. It's one of those small beginnings, everything goes to pot, everything spirals out of control type books.

Books I've read recently that intrigued me? War of the Worlds. It's been sitting in an omnibus on my shelf for the past four or five years and I finally got around to reading it. What a beautiful ending, an example of deus ex machina that I can get behind. Has anyone else read it?
Does anyone else appreciate the way Wells built up the stakes and tension rapidly near the end with the conversation with the artilleryman, only to end it with a unexpected twist he only foreshadowed within the last few chapters? Or do you think it was contrived?

Hell, let's talk! I've read almost everything, let's talk about stuff, yeh? Let's talk about anything!

BREASTS

Let's talk about how much women and nonwhites are inferior to me as a white man

Perhaps you're right. If we look at the establishment of society as a whole, it's been men that led the charge. Sure, maybe it's been shaky at best, and apocalyptic at worst, but the human race has been chugging along as a somewhat cohesive system for the past several thousand years, and now we've given woman rights, and accepted the inevitability of diversity and multiculturalism, and we're seeing the collapse of the society of men ever, and the seeds of a genuine apocalypse have already been sown.

But I doubt it. It's just a chink in the gears right now. We'll stabilize, and women and men and blacks and whites and everyone else will find their place and we'll all be happy for another iteration. Or we won't. Maybe we'll destroy ourselves in pursuit of an egalitarian impossibility.

Let's face it, I'm simply inherently superior to those insects

it's only a matter of time before gender becomes irrelevant, just like race.

few thousand years down the line we'll all be tan-skinned brown-eyed unisexuals. accept it and move on.

Yes, I enjoy them too.

I'll accept it when it comes to pass. Don't tell me you're the sort to cross a bridge before you come to it? It's far more likely we'll decimate ourselves and revert to a primitive state, in which case we'll be forced to do all of this again, and in that genetic and sexual diversification will resume a more orthodox course. Don't assume this immoral tryst we live can last forever. The further we diverge from normalcy the longer we'll have to go to return to it, and a great deal of us will be incapable of coping, thus the large loss of life associated with apocalypses, which is what we're approaching. Perhaps not an apocalypse, which implies a religious connotation, which I don't mean to overtly state (though it is of that nature: the corruption of the soul, namely) but more or less a holocaust. But I digress.

Perhaps you're right, maybe we will become soup, at least here on Earth. But I intend to form an enclave of traditionalists where regular binary humanity can continue unabated. You're push for bizarre evolutionary permutations only serves to further bastardize the human genome and push us closer to genetic homogeneity. The same will die off even as the enclave of individualism pushes on, perhaps on another planet.

Women and niggers are inferior to us as white men

Forgot my picture.

Nice filename, pédé.

Who hurt you, friend? Tell me your story, for my love for you knows no bounds, and your hatred only draws me closer to you. Tell me, friend...

>who hurt you?

so much summer in so few posts.

Who hurt you?

>I've read almost everything
What do you think of Enochian Magic?

Nice one.

Nobody, it wasn't mean. Just wanted to make my little French joke. I like this post.

What do you do on Veeky Forums, anyway? Is this where you post vacuous anecdotes about your seniority complex mingled with only moderately clever images you downloaded off the internet? Is this how hard you have to work to distance yourself from everyone else?

Tell me friend... WHO HURT YOU?

Oh, sorry brother. I haven't been on Veeky Forums in a few years, and I just naturally reverted to my defensive state.

just kys out of Veeky Forums you colossal fucking faggot

holy shit

I'm just fucking proud to be white

I don't really consider grimoires books, desu senpai. Neither do I apocrypha or esoteria, unless it's lighthearted fiction. I've seen too much negative impact from The Urantia Book and Dianetics. Now speculative fiction, that is my absolute favorite. I'll look into Enochian Magic, though. Enoch is my favourite character from the predilluvian ancient world.

Ouch. You hurt me.

Pleb test: what are your favorite novels?

Actually, I really want to ask, and so confident am I behind my infiniwall The Firmament™, that I will do so with confidence and unafraid of your abject cynicism...

What are you doing on Veeky Forums? I'm trying to visualize the type of person you might be, the type of person who sits on his computer all day and does nothing constructive and then wonders why he isn't getting anywhere in life, and I just can't figure you out?

Who hurt you? No, I care not. Who are you, mystery man? You're dark and seductive persona intrigues me...

My guilty pleasure is Lord of the Rings, but I like Catch-22 and The Great Gatsby equally. I also like Robinson Crusoe, The Martian Chronicles, and Watership Down.

I absolutely hate Catcher in the Rye. Holden Caufield was the most annoying, unrelatable wretch I ever read about.

No problem, I was the one who bit.

Mommy and I are glad for you.

Impressive, I'm sure you hurt him.

>This is a forum right? Where the academics and philosophers gather in public form in order to discuss the currents of the subject?


wew lad

incorrect. It's only a matter of time before genetic modification allows the rich to be blond hair blue eyed super smart super strong super beautiful Ubermensch and everyone else is fucked.

Never thought about it.
Hope there will be some revolution if it's the case. With resistance and its rare but necessary Ubermensch elements. By the way, smells like demografic chaos.

I guess I'll just talk to myself. It's not like I have anything else to lose on an anonymous image board.
It had been a rather uneventful day so far. From the claustrophobic confines of my private cabin, I enjoyed moderate solitude despite the teeming masses of passengers and crew bustling and floating by in the halls outside.
E7-227 was on the starboard spine of the vessel, and only three meters of honeycomb wafer layers crowded with maintenance ducts and shipguts separated my room from the mechanical drive system that conserved kinetic energy within the millions of miles of twisted cable and spoolings. Every now and then, the acoustic reverberations of one of the spools discharging could be heard, a sound like the plucking of a colossal rubber band or a quarter-meter thick guitar string. The sound was oddly serene, and always served to keep me calm whenever I was awake in my room.
Hesh, my roommate, came into the room. He tumbled around for a moment, but with only a few cubic meters to maneuver he was quickly against the other wall, huffing and puffing and holding on for dear life to the handbar as he hovered in zero gravity. He was obviously drunk, his face was flush and his dark hair a tousled, sweaty mess.
“Hello, Hesh.” I said.
“Kash.” He said, burping to punctuate.
“Did you bring me anything?” I asked.
“What?” Hesh asked.
“Vodka? Whiskey?” I asked.
“No.” He said simply, reorienting and propelling himself onto his bunk. He pulled the covers over himself and buckled in, and in a moment, he was asleep.

I sighed. Hesh was friend, but not a best friend. We talked occasionally in those weeks when we were awake from the icy grip of stasis, but our conversations were rather mundane, considering our rather boring life aboard the Telamon-05. We were only awake a week or two every ten years, and we'd been drifting, looking for a rock to stand on for the past twenty-seven hundred.
Earth was gone, and the only hope was out here in the abyss. The Telamon had diverged from the diasporic fleet with the other Telamon Colony Ships, but we'd diverged from them too after sixteen hundred years, figuring our chances would be better and perhaps one of us at least would find a planet we could terraform within a reasonable time frame. Twenty-seven hundred years, and maybe six percent of the two-point-seven million on board still held out hope. It was seeming more and more like there was nothing out here, so the lot of us were really settling into interstellar life, figuring we'd die with the ship in twenty thousand years or so, when the systems died and the water couldn't be recycled anymore.
Hobbies were your bread and butter on the Telamon if you expected any sort of meaningful existence aside from drinking and drugs, which were plentiful in the abjection of steerage. I kept an old analog television in my bunk box, a small twenty-eight inch antenna TV with wooden sides that had somehow stowed away on the ship along with the rest of the refugees from our old life. I had a few harmonizers and frequency modulators that I'd wired up to the thing, and I always enjoyed messing around with the space fuzz that came in on the screen, seeing what strange sounds and images I could pull from the electromagnetic noise of interstellar space.
In the back of my mind, I had another hope. Maybe I'd catch an old TV broadcast from Earth one day, an episode of Seinfeld or even an old football game. The hope was about as grim as those naive pseudo scientists who used to scan for aliens at SETI, but it was a hope. Presently, there I was, one hand on the handbar beside my bunk, the other hand turning the dial on the modulator attached to the TV that I had strapped in to my bunk.

Square wave, white noise, odd beep, bloop. Fade to black, sparkle specks, and that lonely howling of dead air. Illuminated by the flickering light of the ray-tube display, I must've seemed the splitting image of a 20th century school boy glued to the living room set waiting for anything new to come on, and then it happened. On November 14th, 5454, the white noise resolved into something else...
The screen crackled and popped, and the picture skewed and distorted as I tried desperately to bring the image into focus. I couldn't believe my eyes. It was a man! A man, where before I could only pull stray pinpricks of light and streaks of static. Suddenly, the picture was clear save for the occasional tearing around the borders of the screen. The man stood clear as crystal before a podium, and his mouth was moving, he was saying something. I could hear his voice dimly through the speakers, and I put my ear up to the box and listened closely. It was some sort of garbled mess, then I turned up the volume to see if I couldn't pull anything out of it.
The man became audible, “-Even now we have top men at work discovering a solution to our need. New chemical formulas to produce viable proteins for consumption, and a new starch powder if we can synthesize a new precursor.”
I heard a voice off screen, that of a frantic and panicked sounding woman. The man winced at her words.
“Your child will eat. We will find a solution in the meantime. Considerations are being taken as to whether or not we should unfreeze the cattle-” the man said, but he was interrupted by someone screaming.
The man ducked behind the podium as a crack and a report was heard in the background, the telltale call of a firearm. A spark of light reflected off the metal backdrop of the scene, and the man was seen floating out from behind the podium, trying to swim away in the zero gravity. The signal was coming from another ship...

The sound coming from the television became a symphony of screams and gunshots, and the man who was speaking at the podium made it only to the very age of the screen before a bullet caught him in the shoulder, spinning him around violently in midair and causing tiny orbs of blood to hang suspended. Another shot rang out, and the man's head split in two, showering half of the camera with blood and obscuring the view of the screen.
“The captain is dead!” someone called out.
More screams.
The camera was dislodged from whatever secured it to it's tripod, and it floated freely, panning around the chaotic scene with one half of the view completely obscured by blood. It was another ship to be sure, and the camera turned to reveal a thousand people in shabby clothes floating about in zero gravity, screaming and dying as unknown assailants fired upon them from off-screen. A dead woman floated by the camera, her face gaunt and skeletal, covered with grime.
“What is this?” I heard a voice behind me.
I turned to see Hesh across the tiny cabin, sitting up in his bunk and staring at the screen over my shoulder, “A recording?” he asked, “A movie?”
I swallowed hard, “No.”
“Then what?” he asked.
“It's us...” I said.

is this really just a meme? seems very thought provoking to be random shit from the internet.