/lit/ - Literature

Novels in which the root of the Satanic malaise of exploitative, psychiatric, artistically informal, architecturally decaying, pseudo-scientifically charlatanic, concrete-filled, tree-felling, long-distance, railroad-based technological, interest capital-based modernity is correctly identified as the molluscular engine of the scatological rose known as woman?

novels of unrelenting misogynistic rage

>>14411513
There is nowhere else.

Medieval economics, yes.

Novels in which descriptions are manifested through unashamedly thesauric dictionary-usage related to grotesque zoological-medicinal jargon.

What no one will tell you is that any decent contemporary literature necessarily refers back to primitive religion. If you are not yet erudite in this regard then become it. Read Diogenes Laertius, Plato, Aristotle, Augustine, Aquinas and so forth. Then start reading biographies of poets, textbooks on metre and form, the actual verse, early attempts at prose (mostly history books, which used to be actually well written/historians used to be genuine intellectuals), biographies of novelists, novels themselves, then just follow the trajectory of the novel up through all the memes and you'll eventually become an erudite person.

>>14401585
Any decent Symbolisms/Impressionisms/Modernisms are meant to be humorous.

His claws as if gloved in silk wrapped themselves around the bower's green foliage like daemon in dance or roses being wound by ivy as he girlishly pouted through the leafy openings toward the flower end at which she sat like a frilled doll encased around the putrid insect of her inner engine, & for not much longer did those awkward fingers wrap themselves like woven silk around that shaded garden in shy chastity and cautious reluctance like fly-imp caught in the snare of the black widow in which is stare was unreciprocated behind that overgrown wall of floral jettison like a deep-sea crustaceanary arachnid slowly creeping across the faecal beds of the vaginal kraken, the grotesque display disappearing in to some distant memory like the occasional still-birth of late pregancies to realise itself as the effeminate life of a lonely ephebos pouting through the filthy alleys of industrial corners away from those silly bowers like the initial & late-realized leaving of the proverbial cave in which the stupid youth had dwelt incarcerated by the putrid stench of the she-arachnid's octopoid musk.