Privacy by Danielle Chelosky (new story!)>A folder on her laptop held the stories she was not allowed to publish. One boy forbade her because there was an entire paragraph about his dick size (it was complimentary, she didn’t understand the problem). Another was worried his girlfriend would end up finding it. Another said he would cancel her for invasion of privacy. >These were rare instances. Mostly boys were flattered, considered it an ego boost, no matter how they were portrayed. People in general liked to be immortalized. In a way, she resented their narcissism, like they couldn’t appreciate what she’d written because they were just staring at themselves.>The truth was whatever reaction the boys offered was not what she wanted, even if they lavished her with praise, called her a genius, it was never enough. She thought of writing as not just a plea to be seen but a plea to be loved. It never seemed to have the effect that she yearned for, probably because it was impossible. Maybe, she thought, if she killed herself then her words would take on a new, heavier meaning.>She used to think that a boy being mad about a story she’d written about him meant the writing had done its job. It touched a nerve; it was controversial and had a direct impact on real life. Then she decided that mindset was banal, stupid. She thought her writing was at its weakest when it was a weapon.>On the internet she stalked a writer she had once done a literary reading with. During the reading he had spoken candidly about his sex addiction, and his girlfriend at the time stomped off. Now he was dating a different writer and they were constantly writing about their relationship, hosting readings where they read about each other with each other, publishing the history of their love in glossy magazines that paid by the word. She felt put off by this masturbatory spectacle. Like she couldn’t imagine anyone caring about it or finding it as anything other than insufferable. She wondered how one could make interesting art if they viewed their life as a project—then isn’t the project about the project, not about life?
>But people had made similar criticisms about her work. Maybe they were right, she thought. The folder on her laptop of unpublished stories seemed to tease her. Publish me in a dramatic way, it whispered, or delete me forever. Both enticed her equally. Publishing would be fucked up, it would be devoting herself to art despite the consequences, it would bring her attention; deleting would be a radical act of compassion, it would be deciding that respecting people in her life was more important than her work, it would be like setting fire to her own words and watching them burn into ash.>She closed her laptop and went out to get drunk.Discuss. It seems like she's doing some self-reflection on her own writing, because the writing she criticizes is exactly her own. She only documents her sex life, and as she writes "She felt put off by this masturbatory spectacle. Like she couldn’t imagine anyone caring about it or finding it as anything other than insufferable. She wondered how one could make interesting art if they viewed their life as a project—then isn’t the project about the project, not about life?"
Buy an ad shill
>>24962028>>24962029She's a self pitying alcoholic. The most insufferable kind. This bleeds heavily into her work to it's detriment.
>>24962060Her home life sounds pretty fucked up if she wasn't exaggerating it in Pregaming Grief. Her brother was a fucked up psycho who tried to kill her multiple times. He tried to bash her head in with her own typewriter. You can't really blame her for being an alcoholic.
>brown iPhone third worlder simps for mid jewess who can only write about her pussy and how no one will ever lover her because she is a drunken harlot who fucks anyone with a pulse and a pencillocked thread
>>24962028Tits or gtfo
bad girl by Danielle Chelosky (one of my favorites)>When bunnies want to hump someone, they hop around the person in circles, sometimes spraying piss, staining clothes and skin. I considered doing this with you, without the piss of course, but after completing one revolution around you like the moon around the sun, you said, “What the fuck are you doing?” It was in that ridiculing tone you often use, the kind a pet owner uses for a stupid pet, which I guess I should’ve expected. I said, “I don’t know.” We didn’t fuck that night. You wouldn’t permit it, I didn’t deserve it. Instead, we got really drunk off gin and took ketamine and dissociated together. I told myself this was more intimate than sex, the way we were lying beside each other on the floor, immobile and mute, face muscles too heavy to move. This was all I ever wanted—to be doomed beside you forever. I thought about how disgusting I was that you didn’t even want to use my body. I was small and young and full of heat. I was stupid and worthless and desperate. I was depressed in the morning when I could move again. I deserved to be cursed with paralysis, to be stuck in a wheelchair that you could push around proudly, feeling good about yourself. But I knew you would never feel good about yourself and you didn’t want to. You preferred the bad reputation you held, how girls who ran to you were blamed for getting involved with you, how you were so past redemption that you couldn’t even be blamed anymore.>I knew all about you before we met, knew that you were so hated that it made you a celebrity. How bad could you really be? I wanted to know. I hated myself and needed some kind of punishment. I was objectively pathetic. I’d wake up around eleven when my Lexapro alarm went off. After swallowing the tablet, I spent a half hour doing guided meditation through my app that cost me $13 a month as it encouraged me to repeat my self-constructed mantra: “I am good. I am alive. I am good. I am alive.” I couldn’t think of anything else. It often occurred to me that most of my life was spent fantasizing about death. But this didn’t seem like a bad thing to me. At least I wasn’t fantasizing about fame or love.
>>24962842>Around noon, I clocked in for my remote job writing clickbait articles. It’s Extreme Underboob Summer Thanks To Risqué A-Listers Like Katy Perry, Beyonce. Selena Gomez Turns Her Boyfriend’s Cake Into A Seriously NSFW Moment. Why Kylie Jenner Crying Over ‘Nasty’ Comments About Her Looks Is Problematic. Megan Thee Stallion Claims She Has The Best Tits And Ass On Instagram In Latest Thirst Trap. My articles were littered with typos and casual misinformation but it’s not like anyone read them anyway. While I typed, I daydreamt about working a job that actually provided something useful for this world. I thought even flipping greasy patties at McDonald’s would be more fulfilling than the bullshit I was doing. I could fix the ice cream machine when it was broken, make children and undisciplined adults happy.>By the time my shift was over it was nearly nighttime and I climbed into bed. Under the sheets, I watched ASMR videos on my phone, where college girls whispered comforting words like, “You are safe.” Sometimes I picked the oddly specific ones, like ASMR Cranial Nerve Exam But Not Good Results. Shady Doctor Makes Top Secret Experiments on You. These girls were magicians of sorts, able to conjure a gaze that convinced me that we were having direct eye contact. Sometimes they snuck into my dreams, and we kissed innocently, and I’d wake up feeling heartbroken that it had all been fake. They were the only people I’d ever loved, but they were not people, they were mirages manufactured by my brain.>You, though—you were a mirage manufactured by whispers and Instagram posts and warnings. And then you appeared in my vision, materializing into just another person at the bar pretending to listen to a writer reading something boring off a piece of paper into a microphone, and you sipped your gin and tonic, met my eyes across the room, and mimed shooting yourself in the head. I laughed and the people around me laughed too, thinking I was laughing at what the writer had read, but I hadn’t listened past the first sentence. The writer looked caught off guard and continued reading, and it turned out we had been laughing during a part that described her father’s death.
>>24962844>Later that night, those very fingers with which you made into a pretend gun were in my mouth, and the metaphor was right there, how you could’ve blown my brains out. But you didn’t, you did something worse, you invited me over again and again, and I returned every few days like an inmate being let out of my cell, you were both my escape and my prison. Soon enough I stopped working and was evicted from my apartment and living in your bed. Instead of ASMR, I fell asleep hearing you describe all of the things you didn’t like about me: how I was unemployed, how I went days without showering, how I ate too much and made a mess throwing it up, how I had never told a good joke, how I didn’t have any friends. What was the difference, though, between insults and truths? I preferred those affronts to affirmations; I wanted to believe I, like you, was past redemption. I was relieved when you handcuffed me to the radiator and left me there for twenty-six hours. My mistakes washed away in piss that streamed from me onto your floor, and further faded when you yelled at me for being disgusting, for not holding it in. I was a bad girl. Thank you thank you. That’s all I ever wanted to be.
She is no Sophie Kemp with words, that’s for sure.
This is all so pretentious and ugly, some people aren't really artists they are just people that create something that could pass as art to a robot but not to a real person and they create this because they have nothing better to do
>>24962853So Sophie Kemp's book is actually worth reading? Paradise Logic? Maybe it's because Sophie is ugly that she has literary talent.
>>24962868It has the occasional vulgar streak but I quite enjoyed it overall, and it is more consistent throughout than Levy's (First) book. Though here too the more heavily stylized sections, like the opening, are the most interesting imo.Maybe.
>>24962842just emcel fembot things
>>24963045>An emcel, or emotional celibate, is a person who is unable to pair-bond with a partner. They would like to have medium or long term romantic relationships, but their relationships do not last long due to their own insecurities, promiscuity, or other reasons. The term can apply to both men and women, but it is usually used to refer to a woman due to the ease with which women can become emcels.>Someone can be an emcel due to trauma or serial emotional rejection, among other causes.>An emcel can sometimes be characterized by sanpaku inferior eyes, a deep or no-tone voice, birth control usage, impulsive travel, left-wing political beliefs, and interest in astrology.
>>24962868mogged by a poster
what’s with this board and it’s obsession with gassed up mid… there are girls working behind the counter at any strip mall in flyover country 10x hotter than this saggy titted strumpet.YOU’RE GAY.
>>24963162The girl at the strip mall doesn't have the intellectual mind that Danielle Chelosky has. Here's what her music, film, and book tastes are https://www.daniellechelosky.com/things-i-likeDo you understand now? What random bimbo or random hot girl is a fan of Céline, Houellebecq, William Burroughs, Anaïs Nin, Henry Miller, Marquis de Sade. Danielle is actually someone you could discuss literature with and intellectually spar with. That's the appeal you stupid fucking virgin chud.
I guess I'm the only person on /lit/ who likes Danielle...
>>24962142>typewriter
>>24962868She needs to start juggling those khazar milkers
>>24963677Well, she is a saggy-titted Jew who writes about being a used up slut. Wonder what you expected.
>>24963677>better than Ezra vibes>you're living with her nowGood. Slurp the puss off that screen.
do your job, jannies. instaban the poster that makes these threads
>>24963712The thread very clearly asks you to discuss the two stories posted in this thread.
Show hairy pits, legs, asshole.
>>24962028So much negativity. I really admire people who put themselves out there. Walt Whitman wrote his own reviews. Even took a review from Emerson on earlier poems to use on later poems. In this world you have to promote yourself. To Danielle - your writing is beautiful and you are an artist. To the ALPHA anon with the beautiful dick - you know how happy you made this gay anon from that thread a few days ago. Don’t listen to these incel non-readers and non-sex-havers polluting this thread with their negativity.
>>24963712To further what this anon said: This creature does not belong here. I've seen endless threads about it over the last few weeks. Do your jobs and get rid of this self-promotional nonsense.>>24963731This is just a way to get around the rules.
>>24964091>/lit/ is for the discussion of literature>someone tries to discuss contemporary literature>NOOO NOT LIKE THATkys, which is also story by Danielle Chelosky that you should readhttps://charm-school.net/daniellechelosky-kms
>>24962028>>24962029Utter dogshit
>>24963712>>24964091It's a thread about books and their author you boot-licking faggots
>gf found the Danielle Chelosky folder with over 120 photos of Danielle's thirst traps
>>24963259>believes Chelosky's pretentious pseudtaste claims>calls Anon stupid
BREAKING NEWSDanielle is losing her Pynchon virginity!
>>24964946See >>24963736
>>24963259>Danielle is actually someone you could discuss literature with and intellectually spar with
>unattractive>poor writing>desperateGood lord this is depressing.
>>24965202She understands Houellebecq better than you.
>>24965295Don't know anything about either of these people, but damn he's seething. Why's he feuding with some twenty-something?
>>24965313Because she wrote this piece of fiction earlier this monthHouellebecq by Danielle Chelosky>He apologized, said he’d had too much to drink. He withdrew, his body no longer on top of hers, replaced with the view from his big windows again, the endless mosaic of windows on black buildings, rows of squares, some lit up but most not. Music blared on his flat-screen television, bluetooth from her phone, which charged behind her. She checked the time—three a.m. She could’ve continued drinking, but it was evident the night was over. That’s usually what a soft dick indicates. She wasn’t too disappointed by his flaccidness; if anything she was relieved, wondering when and why she’d decided he was who she wanted. He was forty-seven and worked in tech but his hair wasn’t grey and his skin had no wrinkles. Several times she’d asked if he’d had surgery but he said no. She was fascinated but also turned off. What was the point of fucking an older man if there were no signs of wear? What was the point of fucking an older man when his name was Kyle? He paid for her car home and she scurried off, down the carpeted hallway and the elevator, then walking past the man at the front desk as her stockings fell, a polyester puddle at her ankles. Out the revolving door, up cement stairs, there the SUV was, waiting for her. The driver mispronounced her name, and she said, yes. >The stockings were her dead grandmother’s, handed to her in sealed packages in a plastic bag along with some jewelry and clothes. She’d placed the small silver watch on her nightstand and when it was really quiet she could hear it ticking. It was a brutal winter and she was often in bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the passage of time. She read some books by Houellebecq and often found herself relating more to the disgruntled old men than the promiscuous young women they slept with. She underlined the sentence, “Anything can happen in life, especially nothing.”>When she was drunk, she liked to bombard men with the random question, “Are you mad at me?” Lately, without conscious decision, she’d shifted to asking, “Do you think I’m pretty?” It was a more obvious admission of desperation; it was like being on her knees. Outside Penn Station at four in the morning, she posed this prompt to the man selling soft pretzels. He answered that she was gorgeous and had a beautiful body. She handed him a twenty-dollar bill and told him to keep the change, but when he requested a hug she ran off.
>>24965319>There were a lot of people who were older than her and seemed to be doing a bad job at life. They were crashing out on the internet; they were doing lots and lots of drugs; they were ruining friendships; they were losing their jobs; they were joining cults; they were attempting suicide; they were crashing cars; they were spewing hatred and nonsense. She was just drinking and fucking too much, which didn’t seem like such a bad thing. Sometimes it could be a bad thing, like when she drank herself into an epileptic episode, but usually it was fine. She liked to talk shit about the people crashing out and destroying their lives because she felt superior to them. She was bad at life, but not that bad.
>>24965313I don‘t know but however pathetic the display is I‘m at least convinced he understands Houellebecq better than her.
>>24965322Except he makes the caveat of "only Houellebecq books which actually count" by which he meant Houellebecq's first two novels. So he admits she is right, and that the majority of his novels feature old-men-young-women relationships. It's kind of pathetic.
>>24965325I‘m not following any of this but will continue granting the assumption of greater knowledge to the guy who elaborated instead of trying to play snappy retort online.
>>24965295>She understands HouellebecqIs that… supposed to be impressive? Drink this.
>>24964238He looks like a passable male
>>24965408>attractive woman is a trannyYou're just outing yourself as finding trannies attractive.
>>24965469He has a horse face, blobular skinnyfat body, and stringy, rough black hair in the picture that anon referred to. And can only make himself marginally more attractive under ideal lighting and camera angles by dressing well (like an autogynephile.)
>>24962028Nice tits, awful writing.Would rape.
>>24962847gross fatty desu
>>24965321More arm hair and mustache pics please.
>>24965957
>>24962028I'm not reading anything written by a kikess.
>>24963259This was literally me this summer except I just sat in the grass and didn't look like a tranny
>this bitch>Honor Levy>Sally RooneyWhat is it with the modern state of literature trying to put over such utterly mid bitches whose writing wouldn't have been published in the New Yorker 40 years ago?Is it just a sublimated desperation for pussy? Do people promote these women because they want to fuck them?They're all too skinny for me, maybe that's why I'm immune to their charms and can see them as the mediocrities they are.
women cannot write about suffering because they can not experience suffering beyond a surface level as in getting stung by a bee for example
looks a bit like my ex. she is a sweetheart but had a very hard upbringing. alcoholic, and extremely smart. I wish her and I wish this internet woman the best
>>24962028It will start being interesting when she stops writing about writing and writers.
>>24963259literally one of the most cringe-inducing photos I have ever seenjust imagine posing like this
>>24963259>Céline, Houellebecq, William Burroughs, Anaïs Nin, Henry Miller, Marquis de SadeMy fiance has better taste since she likes Tolstoy and Borges
>>24967134>posingThat's a candid shot
>>24967153>fiancé>implying it's a manGAY
brehs...a new Danielle just dropped...
danielle heads we feastin good
>>24962028Why does this incel troon keep posting himself on this board? No one is thirsting for you, we can smell your unwashed balls through the screen.
