u/Fantastic-Tea-6315

Exactly as it says on the tin.

I just barely got done finishing up with the first draft of my novella which came about after playing through the early chapters of Signalis (Protektors and Medical, my beloved), so I decided to expand on the setting of my novel which is more or less... "Lesbians go on a road trip in a mech, meet a stranger and proceeds to go through one hell of a spiritual trip on the way to mystical hole of holes." So decided to explore what the setting looks like outside, for like the average, regular joe which is how we got my current novella.

To say that I overestimated how much this was gonna be a short story, would be like calling a car crash a "minor accident".

So with this free time, i was just thinking, what are y'all working on in the space as of now?

Exactly as it says on the tin.

I just barely got done finishing up with the first draft of my novella which came about after playing through the early chapters of Signalis (Protektors and Medical, my beloved), so I decided to expand on the setting of my novel which is more or less... "Lesbians go on a road trip in a mech, meet a stranger and proceeds to go through one hell of a spiritual trip on the way to mystical hole of holes." So decided to explore what the setting looks like outside, for like the average, regular joe.

To say that I overestimated how much this was gonna be a short story, would be like calling a car crash a "minor accident".

So with this free time, i was just thinking, what are y'all working on in the space as of now?

I get that its in the title, you're reading weird literature that you wouldn't really get anywhere else, but I think there's something deeper I want to be asking. So I wanted to ask, what do you guys think makes Weird Lit so special or why does it attract you so much?

For reference, I have not read much weird literature per-say, as much as I have experienced media that has been fascinating to read and play through. Signalis, for example, is a game that I find myself enjoying thoroughly not just because of its vibes but because of how all the components on a storytelling level ends up coelsecing into an experience that is as painful to experience by the end as it is fascinating to take apart and over-analyze the tragedy of it. Same with Disco Elysium and other games, that I don't think fit the main-stream but end up being bloody fantastic through how each component converges into a single point.

With comics, its sort of the same. I don't know if you would classify stuff like Fire Punch as WeirdLit but its definitely something that pulls you in, imo.

So I ask, what do y'all think makes Weird Lit stand out to you, personally?

I had that same dream.

That very same dream that kept scratching at the back of my mind… almost like a bump in the middle of the night. I stood upon a crescent hill with my eyes overlooking the patterns of oceanic blues, shaping itself, moving like a hush melody. The smells of fresh salt water from the ocean had put me to ease and yet…when I looked upon the black skies with its white visages, I could only help tell tale of a pain that was unfamiliar to me. A sort of pick at the heart, heavy in its weight yet sharp as a blade. My head felt weightless yet were full of a pain… a cosmic pain, the screams of fabrics tearing itself bit by bit as wails of suffering drowned any thought I could have had. They wailed and wailed, searing its deathly paintings into my vessel… yet I could do nothing but watch on as the pains held strong.

There was something… familiar about it.

Something I feel like only the temple of my sanctum could have spoken and understood, yet as I look back, I could not remember. The only memory that could dare compare was that very same memory of my lover. Someone who could do no wrong, yet sinned as much as she breathed. Her hair was as black as the stars yet bled with a sickly red, her eyes a glowing crimson that were more honest than many of the humans. She spoke with a gruff honesty that… admittedly, I did find enticing… yet as we spent more time with one another, her Kirmal had opened itself to me.

I understand her.

The way she would often pace around when she couldn’t think of anything. How the cold metallicness of her hands would brush against mine, slipping and then grasping tightly. The way she’d go on and on about old timey movies that the humans used to make, westerns set in a frontier land not too disimilar to ours. Her eyes would glow and she’d get all excited about it all, it was enough to charm someone as bland as myself.

If they say that machine has no spirit, then how come it feels so real? The cold that leads to warmth? How could one understand such things if one has no spirit? Is this a simple miscalculation? A deception of the mind? An error in our way of being that we deemed as a beauty that is never eternal?

One could not say.