/lit/ - Literature

>>15657490
I honestly thought that was just the way things go back then.
>It's heavily implied that someone in the Glanton gang is raping and murdering them
Yeah I could see that, and I definitely remember the parts you bring up about the tent, the chained girl, and the circus gal.

>>15654896
I didn't even mention racial slurs, retard. If you have even the slightest hint of being racist from, say, a third party who wants to ruin your livelihood (even if you are not racist to any extent), that isn't so much social repercussions as it is outright malice. Whether it's oppression or not, the current trend to having hurt feelings over words and wanting to destroy someone's life over it is ridiculous. And the thing is it's only getting worse, and you faggots cheer for it.

>>13617240
>beauty of the male body
>picture of a man that looks like a woman
uh huh

>>11481022
>I am a virgin. I will die a virgin. My death will be a death that would have been considered sad if it had occurred perhaps fifteen years before. There will be grief, but all the agonies that my progenitors might pass into (and they are the only people in this entire world who even know of my existence) will be underpinned by this indomitable truth: it is a mercy that he is gone. The quantity of my existence stands only as a component for perpetuating the tortuous quality of the cheap jest that constitutes its vapid manifestation. My virginity has become the gorgon against which all my faculties rise only to be turned to stone; but this is no silent stone, this is not the stone of Plotinus that stands as the antithesis of the Intellectual Principle--for while yet stone I still feel the mind's unscrupulous lacerations and all that grieves the very fibers of its being. The spirit is dimmed each time a girl passes before the mechanism of sight that some pitiless god has glued to my body. Even the ugly, unshaven, modernity enthralled women with clowns' hair and bodies desecrated with tattoos which map out upon fastfood fed bodies the vapid cliches that coagulate to form their mind, even these paralyze the life in me. Masturbation has become merely the corpse of a habit that no longer instills pleasure, no longer even succeeds in distracting, but is only the dull libidinal twitch of a mind faced with the irrepressible impossibility of its reality, while lacking the courage to galvanize itself towards rectification. In the end I do not seek repentance. The decimated husk of my ego drifts towards the only gray shore its virginity-shackled mind can still vaguely form, still vaguely know as whisper or faint wriggling worm in an unclear wound--worm's whisper out of a wound that clears: Death. Here is the Telos to which the entirety of my Dasein has been speeding. Here I shall sink at last, unrequited, into the tentacles of Annihilation's amnesia. My humiliation slowly becomes seething hatred for all who embody that element of the opposite sex, and my soul's relentless cry for something beyond suicide slowly twists itself into ever more feverish fetishes that the internet can happily supply an outlet for. At last, the inconsequential blip that referenced Myself whenever it imagined 'I Am' shall find, not rest, but an end to the sequence of caustic images that only ever taunted it into further depths of Hell's sardonic pitch. No prostitute can relieve me of my virginity, for it has become a magnificently metaphysical lesion that I lack the medicine or Savior's name to remove and, like that man at the pool of Bethesda, take up my carpet and walk into the world again