It seems I write like David Foster Wallace

While surfing reddit.com, I found a funny picture:

Immediately, I thought I’d have to give this “I Write Like” website a try, and so I entered in the following text from Chapter 75 (Feeling) of my own novel “H is for Heuristic“:

The woman beside Byron was warm, but unyielding and still. She was dressed in the jeans and sweater that she had left the cabin in, but that didn’t stop Byron from reaching out to touch and caress her unresponsive body.

As much as he wanted her to be the woman he loved again, he didn’t mind if her body didn’t move right now. It was so good to have her close again. He snuggled up next to her and gratefully took the heat she shed while charging.

His hands eventually found their way to her breasts and her vagina. He had great hopes of bringing her systems back on-line to enjoy this with him. He resolved to be as appreciative as he could of his hosts – Mike and his fembots. They were the only ones who could help him get Heather back.

Over in the other room, Love was in the air. If not Love, then Lust. Mike had emerged from the washroom to one of the finest things he could see. Even though he had seen it dozens of times now, it still sent those magical shivers of pure pleasure all through his body.

Tammy was dressed up in black satin and lace lingerie. Garter, suspenders, nylons, high-cut panties – the works. Her hands were on her hips, and her facemask was set in an expression as blank as she knew how to make.

Mike grinned and nearly drooled at the sight of his woman doing her best to turn him on. His erection shot to attention as he let it out of the fly of his boxers.

Tammy did her robot act like a human woman simply could not. She moved as stiffly and jerkily as she had seen the maidbot move back at Robot Lab Six. In fact, her whole act was based on that particular model.

Thanks to her high-quality speaker, the true-to-life sounds of whirring servos accompanied her every stiff, mechanical move. And just like the maidbots, Tammy emitted a gloriously constant stream of coldly computerised tones, beeps, buzzes and clicks.

Mike had to hold on to his cock on the way over, he was so turned on.

Tammy turned her head stiffly to look his way. She made the motorised whirring sounds through her speaker as she did. Then she turned her body just as stiffly. She kept her head unmoving and aimed right at him.

Hmmmm… is it getting hot in here or is it just me?

My perversions aside, I submitted the text and was informed that I write like David Foster Wallace.

I would be rather proud of that were it not for one thing.  I mean, come on.  Look at the original pic!  That website’s algorithm can’t be very complex or accurate.

But anyway, I own and have read a very fascinating book by David Foster Wallace.  It’s called “Everything and More” and is about “the history of infinity”.  I wish I could understand more deeply such topics, and mathematical subjects in general.  That’s one thing I really don’t like about myself.  I find mathematical concepts extremely interesting, but I can’t add two numbers in my head.  I’m terrible at actually performing math.

Oh well.  It was rather sad to read the Wikipedia article about the late Mr. Wallace.  I did not know that he had killed himself back in 2008.  He suffered from depression for over 20 years apparently.  I did too, and I’m only alive today because I found a way out of it, which was to embrace and enjoy my fembot fetish and to be proud of my ability to write enough of a story to call it a novel.  I really can say that I am no longer depressed, and that I “cured” myself without any help from anyone else.

But that’s probably an extremely rare occurrence.  I do remember what it’s like to want to kill myself every second of every day.  I tried twice.  Good thing for me that I failed.

And honestly, I’m torn on the issue of suicide.  Who’s to say that someone who is suicidal shouldn’t kill themselves?  No one can make that choice but them, I say.  I do think it’s sad when someone kills themselves, but no one but them knows the whole story.  We can try to persuade them not to do it, we can tell them that things aren’t so bleak, and we can plead with them to stay.  But ultimately if we are to be free, then we must be free to decide when we will go.  Hunter S. Thompson comes to mind.

All I can do now is be thankful that I found a way out of my own depression.  I don’t mean that I just alleviated it, I mean that I ended it.  It worked out better for me that I ended my depression than my life.  But others?  No one knows but them.  I’d like to say that this is a world where everyone should feel valued and loved, but it simply is not.  The world is a horrible place when you inspect it.

But some random java script function on some random website told me I write like an award winning author, so it can’t be that bad, right?