Archived threads in /lit/ - Literature - 4889. page

>>7361801
you forgot 'I am a necrophile'

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>>7361801
>dfw no df

>>7361996
I love the alive him

I want something that goes deep into art and the philosophy behind it. What is art? How can it have such an effect on me? etc
also im not interested in the history of art, more the emotional effect it has on me and why.

What does /lit recomend?

>>7361746
>oh cool this guy seems to have decent ta-
>ulysses(absolute utter shit)
nevermind then :)

I want something that goes deep into the pussy and the uterus behind it. What is the pussy? How can it have such an effect on me? etc
also im not interested in the history of the pussy, more the emotional effect it has on me and why.

implying a eurasian unitarian would want his book translated into the language of the enemy

welcome to geopolitics freak

bump~

Dugin is based as fuck.

Fuck America and its fag empire.

>>7361677
I like Danielewski though.

I like the idea, but haven't seen it used well.

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Every work considered a bench mark of literature is experimental.

It is frowned upon because amateurs try their hand at it and end up sucking. Most of the time. Also 90% of the population do not want to read experimental, it just does not sell. Only after a experimental gets big will it sell, which again, for new authors is a HUGE gamble. Etc.

Of course if you mean some kind of huge step in experimental literature. Like how it is structured outside of the prose, like you say white space and the like. It just is very, very hard to do well. And then the presentation is very different, it is no longer sold as a 'book' per-se. Or whatever.

But in general, I totally agree with you. It would be very interesting if someone or a group were to come along and have the ability/resources, to experiment with how a book is structured (fonts/space/etc).

You are to beta to understand most likely

>>7361676
Not an authority on this by any means, but if I remember correctly, often the death the book refers to is in Japanese the 'Ego Death', so as to mean you need to be humble senpai.

You are a tool for you lord. Live as if you are dead so that if you must die for him you can do so without effort. You do not get to choose death as in I'm going to choose to have pancakes for dinner. You have to die when the circumstances call for it.

I have no idea what you mean when you talk about metaphorical battlefields, it was pretty straight reading.

How often do you go out and experience stuff?

I've had fantastic time with couch-surfing, if that helps.

That suffering you make yourself do is comfy known suffering, not some sort of overcoming fears, for example.

Depression is this generation's war wounds. Everyone wants a fucking medal for it

>>7361652
that's very insincere of you OP

>>7361583
jodete.

>>7361583
White people are better at being africans than africans even, is there anything we can't do?

>>7361554
Just post it Hat

edshr ottoa ah t fryy pthtts taan that mammaenl ilenkidada

Oh Christ no—Margot Weard, court stenographer for the Calgary Courts Centre, slapped the last key and realized that it didn't seem to mean anything at all. How could it? The way the words were, almost as if the springs were stuck for good. Immediately raising a hand, her middle finger projecting slightly forward because that was just how it went when she spread them, Margot interrupted the proceedings. Her bun was pulled back so tightly that it sagged, drooping like an old nose to the collar of her common, unfashionable pant suit. A paper bag crinkled in the gallery. There was something in the air. Maybe a breakfast sandwich. Or a hashbrown.
—Sorry, your Honour.
—Weard?
—Yes, there’s something wrong with the stenograph.
—Eh?
—I'm sorry, you're Honour. My stenograph. The buttons are sticking.
She pressed one and it stuck the way she said it would.
Hoarse Honourable Dan leaned forward and peered from under his bifocals and over the birch paneling of the court’s bench, his boozy, boiled nose slipping through the adjustable nose pads of his Browlines. Forgetting the recent installation of the first bulletproof bench in Canada, a practise adopted from American federal courtrooms, Dan bumped his head against the glass, disturbing dust and the pomp of his office.
Dan was an old egg with old, nearly failing organs and he was yoked to a middle aged and very difficult Taiwanese lady who gave excellent head but didn't cook very well. He’d found her online through some oriental dot com bubble site that had long since gone under after a well publicized venereal scandal. Dan’s wife was named Jasmine and he hadn't loved her since I don't know, maybe last Christmas but maybe longer, maybe never. It was just that she could be such a cow. Yesterday it was the program on the television. Too much white people stuff. HBO is so sad. I role the funny men. This morning it had been something about his very well maintained gutters or a possibly dying tree or a broken machine in the basement or the yard hat he didn't know how to fix or even what it did. “Jesus, go ahead, put on that ugry wig. Show it to someone that respects you. I wirr carr a man that knows how.” Dan had reached for her elbow. “No, fuck you, soft man,” returning to a product review on her iPad. She spent her days hiding from her white, elderly neighbours, making purchases and teasing delivery boys with her soft skin and acceptable English.

Dan glanced at Margots tight, motherly bosom and breathed heavily. It wasn't so much that he'd been bothered by the interruption. It was just that she was supposed to type. It was how she had put her hand up. She was the room, he thought. Rooms don't have hands. She was the room and she was made of birch and why couldn't she just go along with it and type.
His long lips opened.
—Margot, I’m sorry, but I don't know what a xenograph is. I'm a judge. You’ll have to ask someone else. He addressed the gallery. Does anyone here know how to fix a xenograph? No, I don't know what it is either. I'm sorry, Miss Weard. There's nobody available to fix your xenograph. Now if we could…
They closed again, curling tightly. He thought about his wife, his life.
An almost silent Asshole and whispered dicks dripped possibly unheard from a dry, anonymous mouth while several frowning brows turned outside towards the halatious sundog seen through the outer pane’s hoarfrost. They saw what looked like a boy falling from the sky but it was probably just a bird. A few dared to glance back at the judge through his bulletproof chamber and considered what it would be like to be as old as Dan. Is it difficult to wash wrinkles? What happens when you can’t get out of the bathtub? Is it just a matter of waiting for something that you won't remember? How much do you forget? Some folks were still looking outside, over the foothills and towards the crags of the Canadian Rockies. God damn I think that was a boy. They checked their phones and hoped everything was okay. Those sitting closest to the window ruminated over the dried flies and bumblebees that lined the frame of the woven wire screens. Had they always been there? Why do they dry out like that? Does the window cook them, maybe buzzing too close and too often to the magnified sun. At the other end of the room, the sister of the accused swiped to refresh. She was deaf and volunteered at the Good Listeners Society, a text-based suicide relief service for the phonetically challenged, stutterers, lispers, and the like. The smell of hashbrowns flared nostrils and the whiff of a common thought channelled through the famished and the fearing. Who could that be and What if they get caught and Didn’t they read the sign—No Food.

>>reddit
>>reddit

>>7361532
that is not a book.

>>7361514
Shakespeare has a fucking 'your mom' joke in it

>>7361446
tl;dr

cool picture tho. I just wanted to post it because im getting into dwarf fortress.

>>7361446
>showing someones day to day mundane thoughts for no artistic value
>toilet humour
>mysoginy
>teenage boy protagonist

What are you even trying to make the reader feel besides bored?

>>7362500
>bored

you nailed it

>>7361436

OP, stop trying to shill your own trash.

>>7361436
No, this is trash.

>>7361436
People who fucking write prose with a few rhymes and puns then call it poetry should be beat the fuck up.

Take advantage of the medium ffs

>>7361417
Both.
>tfw I am Ignatius

>>7361417
All fedoras are autistic to some extent. Ignatius is an autist before his time. A Diogenes of autism

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>>7361417
he is proto-lit.

Nice moar

Trash

>>7361253
It feels awkward to me because you're not using parallel structure.

I'd personally revise it to be more like:

>For the past five years, Brandon Cooper had lived in a warzone in which death could appear around any corner, patience was not a virtue, footsteps meant trouble, silence meant even bigger trouble, and camping, for any reason, was a mortal sin; this is to say that Brandon was the infamous xChaosWolfx, snack-food devourer and Counter-Strike: Global Offensive player to the bitter fucking end.

>>7361213
Drieu la Rochelle
Montherlant
Le Maistre
Barrès
Mauriac
[Céline]

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>>7361218

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>>7361213
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Doctrine_of_Fascism

Why did Max Stirner pick his pen name?

His real name was Johann Kaspar Schmidt

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>>7361195
Read and judge for yourself.

Kaspar the friendly spook.

Yes OP, yes.