*** I have re-pasted this question because I did not get any answers last time, so I’m trying again***

If you refer to my profile you will see that I am undertaking a grueling task of writing a novel. But ’tis not so grueling, because I am having great fun in doing it. It is a novel from the heart, which, (with no touch of arrogance), for that very reason, do I deem it a wok of admirable and portent quality.

Here are some excerpts. I’ll post some excerpts here and there once in a while to just get a feel of what the masses think. This is my first attempt of such a magnanimous scale. The novel is "autobiographical" but not really. It is confusing to explain.

And yes, I start sentences with ‘and’ and ‘but’. What are you going to do about, kill me?! Here, I’ll hand you Ahab’s harpoon. Do with it what you willeth with it!( get the allegory? )…
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With every step I take the Earth trembles. Although apparently meaningless, this rather simple movement actually has a catastrophic effect on everything surrounding me. Infinite number of particles are being rearranged and moved around. Ants once under the looming shadow of their death either lay slain or scurry among their wake. Imperceptible strands of moss
lay flattened and lifeless. To us, one step is meaningless, void of any special meaning, but to those things below, it is the whole world, a Big Bang all over again. This incredulous phenomena is partly due to the much more elevated plane of living which we "enjoy", and also partly due to the automated inclination of mankind to not acknowledge any of these intricacies of the complex algorithm that orchestrates the very textuality of life…

…Like a giant black veil being lifted and demonstrating the grotesque subhuman gargoyle thing underneath, I have with my own, corrosively peeled the ornate and fanciful aspects of life, peeled them and peeled them, peeled them raw, peeled them so much that they bled. What resulted were incurable scars…

…It is our very design that short-circuits us. this, and death. We try and try to make the right decisions in life, try to choose the right way. But what everyone fails to realize, is that all the paths taken by every human that has ever lived has always converged to the same desolate and desperate chamber of darkness. No matter how hard we pick up the pick-axe, and no matter how hard the gravel that we chip away is, and no matter how narrow the gap we crawl through in the everlasting tunnel to survive is, in the end it is all the same. We are the salves to our own misfortunes, to our own deviation of this intended straight-line path. We are the slaves, eventually to our own death. It is this ironical paradox that has plagued me ever since I had a conscious. There is no exception to this rule, it is inflexible. Outrageously so… And if any featherbrained scientist wants to answer to you about that paradox that I have just undertaken ( and so heroically so, might I add ), claiming to have in his clutches the magical theory of life, you shut the door in front of his face with emphatic resonance…
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Well, what do you think?

You’ll hear more from me as I frequently migrate in and out of my mad thinking hole.

P.S.- these are just short excerpts.
PS2- I know ‘textuality’ is not a word, but I DON’T CARE… I’ll write it just about how I very damn well please…

Thank you all in advance.
I started writing my novel whilst listening to Beethoven’s 3rd. Yeah, I’m strange.

Wow, all three samples are great. The first one is reminiscent of a Joycian style which strives to examine life from radically different perspectives. The imagery in the second one is uncomfortably grotesque, very gripping because it makes me question my own character. The third one is my favorite because of your forthright tone. Good luck writing!