/lit/ - Literature

>>9676617
>Stimulants like adderall are not an accepted part part of the literary process. They lack even the romantic connotations of opium, brandy, and other traditional specifics. Since you get adderall from a doctor and can use it without losing all your teeth, non-speed freak society makes a distinction between it and the “crank” used by overworked criminals. But as creative Viagra, the use of drugs like provigil and adderall are, I believe, frowned upon by society. They always were. Freud never quite lived down his early essays advocating blow as an effective treatment for the blahs. It was considered a sign of intellectual corruption in Dylan Thomas to get hammered before pouring forth his mighty line. Johnson was said to drink thirty to forty cups of strong tea a day. Steven King wrote half of his books on sustained cocaine binges, to the point that he remembers less about the plot of Cujo than I do. Howl was composed by Alan Ginsberg behind a cloud of smoke. And then there’s Dick, a genius whose considerable corpus was written when he was out of his mind on amphetamines.

https://medium.com/@ozerskytv/the-need-for-speed-6c135c3255db

Nick Land gets added to this category imho. But he wrote his own coda:

>The ruin crawls onwards, going nowhere. It had lived through some extraordinary multiple of all the intelligence it will ever know, in that abject interzone, turned on some infernal spit, torched by self-disgust yet blessed by parodic luxuries of gnosis (codes, number patterns, messages of the Outside, neo-calendric schedules, Amxna mappings, Qwernomic constructions ...). It begged for eternal fires to incinerate its sins. There was no depth of loathsome self-abasement it did not fathom. This was spiritual nausea dilated to the dimensions of religion. If you romanticize vileness, I promise, you lie. Such unimagined abundances of cosmic secrecy, and such shit.

>Vauung seems to think there are lessons to be learnt from this despicable mess. It describes a labyrinth which is nothing but an intricate hall of mirrors, losing you in an 'unconscious' which is magnificent beyond comprehension yet indistinguishable from an elaborate trap. If this is Karma it's not just pain (who fears that?) but ruinous constriction and preprogrammed futility. To burn is one thing. To grovel and beg to burn quite another. Religion here is merely the opportunity to hate yourself infinitely.