/lit/ - Literature

>>21216068
There are four, as previously stated, foundations on which the european civilization stands, four principles that constitute their individuality or essence. They are the Greek Culture, the Roman Order, the Christian Morality, and English Politics. We do not have to see whether these principles are pleasing to us, each of us personally, or whether they are not pleasing to us. We need to they are and what they are. We need not make use of the foolish reasoning - which, because it is foolish, it can not be reasonable- that we are not christians, or that we aren't english; through the same reasoning we would reject what Ancient Greece and old Rome gave us, since none of us is today a greek from antiquity or a roman from the extinct Rome. It is the civilization built through a series of creations, each of which, for a reason of its own environment and favorable historical circumstances, particularly belongs to a particular nation. Intending to repudiate a civilization-forming principle because it is alien to our nature, either it means that we repudiate the same idea of civilization, which involves transformation and therefore changes in “nature”, or that we deem our nation capable of producing a whole civilization in itself, a concept that can only arise in the brain of a patriotic megalomaniac.

(2/?)

I've recently started a much-needed job in a finance office. How do I find time to work on my poems and essays? I know Pessoa quite liked this kind of life, have any Anons here done anything similar?

Tell me what you want, baby, honey, just tell me what you want
I can get it for you, baby, if you tell me what you want
Go to the store for you, you can go and show me what you want
I'll be funny, I'll be fine, I'll be flirty, I'll be shy
I can surely get you high, it's a feeling just passing by
Just a angel in the night, imagination going wild
I can play 'em like a chime, play the game and pay us mind
I'm just sick of what to sign, I'm the word you can't describe
Dreaming, dreaming, dreaming, dreaming
Dreaming, dreaming in a dream
I'm dreaming, dreaming, dreaming, dreaming
Dreaming, dreaming in a dream
I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming
I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming in a dream
I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming
I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming in a dream

Why does he wear the mask?

>>14016360
>an old world poortucuck
He kind of looked like a based Italian gangster though.

>>13894049
He doesn't hate society, he finds it, like all things in life, an absurd. An absurd he can't escape from.

"I stand up from my chair with a monstrous effort, but I have the impression that I carry it with me and that it’s heavier, for it’s the chair of subjectivity."

>>13083044
“I know not what tomorrow will bring.”

ITT: INFP (i.e. genius) writers.

I guess other (second rate) MBTI types can post in this thread too.

him

>Should I one day take an earthly woman to wife, pray for me the following: that she at any rate be sterile. But also ask, should you pray for me, that I never come to have this hypothetical wife. Only sterility is noble and worthy. Only to kill what never was is lofty, perverse, and absurd.
I literally cannot think of anyone more based than Pessoa

The superior man differs from the inferior man and his animal brothers by the simple trait of irony. Irony is the first sign that our consciousness has become conscious, and it passes through two stages: the one represented by Socrates, when he says, ‘All I know is that I know nothing,’ and the other represented by Sanches,* when he says, ‘I don’t even know if I know nothing.’ In the first stage we dogmatically doubt ourselves, and every superior man arrives there. In the second stage we come to doubt not only ourselves but also our own doubt, and few men have reached that point in the already so long yet short span of time that the human race has beheld the sun and night over the earth’s variegated surface. To know oneself is to err, and the oracle that said ‘Know thyself’ proposed a task more difficult than the labours of Hercules and a riddle murkier than the Sphinx’s. To consciously not know ourselves – that’s the way! And to conscientiously not know ourselves is the active task of irony. I know nothing greater, nor more worthy of the truly great man, than the patient and expressive analysis of the ways in which we don’t know ourselves, the conscious recording of the unconsciousness of our conscious states, the metaphysics of autonomous shadows, the poetry of the twilight of disillusion. But something always eludes us, some analysis or other always gets muddled, and the truth – even if false – is always beyond the next corner. And this is what tires us even more than life (when life tires us) and more than the knowledge and contemplation of life (which always tire us). I stand up from the chair where, propped distractedly against the table, I’ve entertained myself with the narration of these strange impressions. I stand up, propping my body on itself, and walk to the window, higher than the surrounding rooftops, and I watch the city going to sleep in a slow beginning of silence. The large and whitely white moon sadly clarifies the terraced differences in the buildings opposite. The moonlight seems to illuminate icily all the world’s mystery. It seems to reveal everything, and everything is shadows with admixtures of faint light, false and unevenly absurd gaps, inconsistencies of the visible. There’s no breeze, and the mystery seems to loom larger. I feel queasy in my abstract thought. I’ll never write a page that sheds light on me or that sheds light on anything. A wispy cloud hovers hazily over the moon, like a coverture. I’m ignorant, like these rooftops. I’ve failed, like all of nature.

was pessoa right?

who dis?

>i'm so special and smart and nobody even knows

>>7188951
I like this dude

>>7166265