DFW Worship thread

I mean not as a writer, but as a meme. Through the humble toil of this website, Dave has ascended. What used to be just another voice in the endless and formless dialogue of literature, has become a constant companion, a spiritual guide to all of us. Never before has a writer been so close to us, existentially. We hear the words of his text, yes, but also the memes, murmuring through our lives. We see his face reacting to everyday occurrences: his smile, his divine laugh, and all the other images that have so slowly constructed him in our paltry and dreaming minds. He watches over us all, a tender god reacting and laughing at our antics, channeling our thought and ever shaping our language. We write, we laugh to ourselves at our wit, and we choose a picture of the great Dave to accompany it, perhaps pausing for a brief prayer in his name. We connect to each other not with the pure expression of our thoughts, but with this expression as enframed by the Dave with which it is accompanied. The limits of Dave become also the limits of our language. It is he who shapes our thought in its moments of connection with others. Our conversations are not simply between us, but of an "us" guided together by Dave. He is the gatekeeper of our connection and our loneliness, that which constructs and destroys the boundaries necessary for our sundry existence; that which leads to both the greatest moments of love and the deepest abyss of solipsism; that which gives us meaning to ever reach towards, for connection could not be striven for if there were not disconnection to oppose it. I say this humbly as one of the many profits of Dave, our lord:

May the abiding river of our love and loneliness be ever shaped by your hands, oh Dave; may our yearnings and strivings be ever in your care, and may they dance and rest in your fingers; may our cries ring out to you, and may they ring also to deaf ears; may our tears and laughter sing through our language, and may it echo and peal, or fall damply to the floor; oh Dave, may you give us each other, and may you give us ourselves.

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If he knew how much he meant to us would he have survived?

This is where Dave hanged himself. He nailed his belt to the central cross beam of the patio cover, stood up on a chair and fastened the belt around his neck, duct taped his hands behind his back, then took one last, deep breath. He thought of the letter he left inside for Karen, winced, and momentarily considered going back in to revise it. Behind the the sliding doors his two dogs stared up at him, tails wagging, having nosed the curtain aside that Dave had closed to spare them the confusion of seeing his end. "I'm so sorry", he thought, reflecting on their unselfconscious love, something eternally beyond his grasp. He looked out over the garden, watching the quiet breeze play on the leaves. It all looked so mechanical. Dave shut his eyes hard and clenched his teeth. The sound of a distant lawn mower echoed softly across the patio, followed by the crash of a kicked chair, then muffled barks through glass. And Lo.

I wanted to post about how funny this post was, but then I read and now I just don't feel like it. Good stuff though, OP.

:/

I think I read somewhere that he listened to the big ship by Brian Eno on repeat, so I'll always like him for that.

I unironically like your writing. David would be proud.

pic related

I don't think DT Max is posting on Veeky Forums dude

what?

This seems eerily accurate. Are you one of the dogs?

He was a bit shit, though, innit.

>in an alternate reality David left writing behind, opened that dog shelter, and lived happily ever after

what is going on here

>one of the dogs

>tfw finally tried reading DFW because of Veeky Forums meming
>his short essay on Kafka was IMMENSELY good and managed to articulate perfectly the allure of Kafka which most can't even begin to do
>Consider the Lobster was both entertaining and probably even edifying for those less intelligent than myself
he's not bad, Dave

he had to die, user.
like jesus.
or kurdt cobain.

But can we talk about how DFW did not kill himself because he reached some kind of point of existential despair? I see this shit all the time, people saying stuff on the Internet like "David had a big brain and a big heart...and that unfortunately did him in" or "He paid for that knowledge.." or "He was too good for this world; he saw the pain of this world and couldn't take it." BARF. Give me a break. If David's suicide was his fault in any way, it was hubristic- he thought he could survive making the switch to a more updated medication. People need to read the D.T. Max biography; his life was going in the right direction until he went off Nardil. By all accounts, it's the most disheartening part of his life story- to make all that effort towards meaningful personal change and succeed, only to be shot down by some randomly assigned disease. He wasn't cowardly either. He was just unlucky. It's not like he was the protagonist of Good Old Neon or something.

>BARF
show tits and/or boipussy

"No"

;_;
please write a book you have talent

I'm almost in tears

please stay on Veeky Forums

>reflecting on their unselfconscious love, something eternally beyond his grasp.
that hurt

doggos are /li/ now, right?

Source? Cause that makes me like him even more

Not sure if this is what he's thinking of, but in the pale king there's a scene where a hyper self aware haracter on speed or something is sitting in a room listening to it.

>not including the part of his instant regret & despair at realizing its not what he wanted

It's in his biography that he and a friend would listen to it on repeat and I think they might have got high to it too but not sure.

Thanks, I looked it up too and he had some high praise for it publicly

patrician

i wish dfw could read this

>tfw too afraid to read IJ because i dont want to like it

...

dfw not being good is a meme, just as dfw being good is a meme

how does it feel being a sponge?

This is a really good speculative psychoanalysis of DFW if you are into that sort of thing: timothylachin.com/tag/david-foster-wallace/

I generally agree with , but it seems to me worth considering that the directionality of causation and interplay between psychological and neurochemical states isn't definitively known. The linked essay goes into great detail and makes some convincing points in that regard.

BRAP. Give me a break!

...plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Lolita

... low, low, low, low, low, low, low
Them baggy sweat pants
And the Reebok's with the straps (with the straps)
She turned around and gave that big booty a smack (hey)

>for those less intelligent than myself
pseud