/lit/ - Literature

>>18611121
How I wish that were true

>Exalts all of the negative aspects of Nietzscheanism

Nothing personal kid

Can you name a writer with as much schizo chad energy as him?

>Here, for example, is a truth to be shouted from the rooftops: any man who surprises his own lover or the mother of his children in the arms of a seducer must kill them both. The dilemma is, in fact, quite simple: if the man who is betrayed were to respect the life of his adversary, he would no longer respect his own. By not killing, he would increase his own reasons for dying. In Sicily, a land that is fortunately rich in violence, though for all that no less civilized, adultery is extremely rare, precisely because the custom of the personal vendetta is prevalent.

Is futurism actually any good, and if so what are some of the best works from it?

old things bad
new thing good!

Vehement god of a steel race,
Automobile thirsting for space
shuffling and trembling in anguish,
pulling at the bit with strident teeth!
O formidable Japanese monster,
with a forge’s eyes,
fed by flames and mineral oils,
hungry for horizons and sidereal preys . . .
I will set free your heart with its diabolical beat
and its gigantic pneumatic tires,
for the dance that you will lead
on the white roads of the world! . . .

I finally release
your metallic bridle,
and voluptuously you rush
into Infinite freedom!
At the barking of your great voice
the setting Sun pursues your speed,
accelerating its bloody palpitation
on the edge of the horizon . . .
It gallops, deep in the woods, down there . . . Look! . . .
But nothing matters, my beautiful demon.
I am at your mercy . . . Take me! . . . Take me! . . .
On the earth, deaf though vibrant with echoes,
under the sky, blind though thick with stars,
I prick my fever and my desire,
my sword against their nostrils! . . .

And from time to time I straighten my back
and feel my vibrating neck
embraced by the fresh velvet arms of the wind . . .
They are your distant arms that cast spells and draw me in,
and the wind is your breath like an abyss,
as you joyfully absorb me, o bottomless Infinite! . . .

Ah! ah! I suddenly see awkward black windmills,
that seem to rush on their wings
of whaled canvas
as though on giant limbs . . .
And now the Mountains are about to throw
mantles of sleepy coolness on my flight.
There, there, at that ambiguous turn! . . .
Mountains, monstrous herds! Mammoths
that trot heavily, bending your immense backs,
you have been surpassed, drowned
in a gray tangle of fog! . . .
And I hear the vague echoing noise
of your fabulous seven-league boots
pounding on the roads! . . .

O Mountains with fresh azure mantles! . . .
Beautiful rivers breathing in the beatific moonlight! . . .
Shadowy valleys! I pass you at full gallop
on this crazed monster!
Stars, my stars, do you hear
its precipitous steps? . . .

Do you hear its voice, breaking with rage . . .
its explosive voice, barking, barking . . .
and the thunder of its steel lungs
crashing endlessly into the precipice? . . .
I accept your provocation, o my stars! . . .
Faster, faster! . . . Without repose, without pause! . . .
Let go of the breaks! . . . Can you not? . . .
Crush them! . . .
And multiply the beats of the motor’s pulse!

Hurray! No more contact with this disgusting earth!
I can finally detach myself and supply fly
on the intoxicating fullness of the planets
that swells forth in the great bed of the sky.