/lit/ - Literature

>>10097695
Testosterone deficiencies.
>>>/d/7624320 is filled with prime examples.

>>10095847
N O R M I E
but it's pretty good, I like the autistic dehumanization of people down to just what they're wearing- I wasn't even aware I did that until right now.

>>10094553
Why?

>>7274489

>some have decided to never love again

As if they could control the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, of Cupid

I want to read a book called Simulacra and Simulation by Baudrillard. The topic interests me. My question is, do I have to read anything prior to truly grasp what he's saying?

This will probably be the hardest text I've ever read, at least I get that impression from the wiki, and I'm not terribly bright or well-read (obviously). I don't want to jump into it if I'm just going to drown. Thanks.

I still need to metrify this, to cut some of the fat and improve the metaphors, but if you guys are willing to take a look.

>A courtesan reflects on the choice of life that took.


The banquets of the past are all mold now, my love, all the doors are closed.
In many beds, love, in so many beds I tried to collect honey,
A bee wearing pearls and diamonds, fancy dresses and shoes,
But still only a confused bee, lost in the wilderness of the world, without a nest.
I searched for the honey of caresses, but got drunk on the sour wine of artificial fondling,
So many times intoxicate myself with the juices of ephemeral contact.
I collected some poor grains of affection-pollen and, desperate, used it to feed myself:
(Rare was to obtain this food in all those nights of evanescent ecstasy)
All this was done with fake smiles, with masks of pleasure used for facial expressions.
So many years, love, so many moons spent with bacchanals that tasted like loneliness.
And these panting carnivals, these sweat baths,
These nights that witnessed strange flesh and strange flesh fuse together in raw knots,
(In ephemeral bouquets of human flesh with no fragrance of tenderness):
All that time the soul within me sat alone in her dark room,
Only a small candle to light it, my true self,
The true self who contemplated my other self, the porcelain cocoon,
Acting like a beast between the sheets, the vain effort of a female that wants to feel loved.
So much wasted time, my love, so much wasted beauty.
So many moons, so many galaxies thrown into the trash, so much wine drunk in vain,
The night champagne that distorted into sour breath in the morning:
All the glories of the world rotting for me when all that I wanted was you, just you.
On those nights all I wanted was your company, to be yours,
And that the chest that pressed my hot breasts were yours,
And that my whispers were slowly poured in your ears,
And that the hands on my hips were your hands,
And that it was your warmth I felt inside my womb,
And that your eyes were the ports where my eyes could dock.
But I did not know I loved you so much, and you did not dare to take myself for you,
And now you get older with her, and she is the one who feels your warm grip on cold nights.
Hand in hand you both walk into the snowy years, together,
I only have useless gold rings in my empty and cold hand.
Yes, yes, my show is now ended, my flowers have withered, and the spring is skimmed in autumn:
I am old, and the clowns and jugglers left the stage;
The fireworks silenced the peacocks of their voices, the sky is dark and frosty;
The chairs were emptied, the lights are out, the theater is a void,
And there is only a thin candle inside of me as companion for the thickening night to come,
The night is growing sooty, and in walk alone into her dark woods:
My little candle soon will be blown, soon, very soon.
And my love will die without being tasted and rot inside the earth like a silent scream,
I'll howl silently for eternity