/lit/ - Literature

>>4571045
I have no interest in politics, precisely because it is polluted by all the dichotomies you people have forced upon it. There is no single world view that can exhaust the complexity of the world, and certainly not some fanciful reactionary constructs.

I find you, as any other dogmatic political theorist, tiny.

>>4561332
Yeah right. You just lost all credibility when you mentioned Front National. Those people shouldn't even be classified as "humans".

>>4366621
>une sorte de délire romantique: la chute contient le propos du poème, autant que la forme
Pourquoi pas? C'est pas romantique comme les excès du 19ème, mais ça reste très sensuel, malgré l'ironie.
>on n'échappe quand même pas à l'esprit de son temps.
C'est pas pour ça qu'on écrit?

>>4366614
>Alfred de Musset disait qu'il se levait la nuit pour rayer la moitié des adjectifs dans les textes de George Sand. Vous manque que votre Alfred.
En effet, j'ai tendance à écrire un premier jet assez sommaire, puis y revenir incessamment pour gommer les choses étranges.

>Du calme, Kerouac.
C'est en réaction aux beats (partiellement) que j'ai voulu le texte et sa suite. Je voulais voir si on pouvait encore être sincère (et romantique) malgré l'esprit de son temps.

>>4249548
So yes, I’ve come to the conclusion that I am killing me. It is a rather detestable sensation. The applewaves drowning the wet ball of fire at Santa Ana by five o’clock. Here it sets down early. Here they don’t wander off at night. Country of squares: luxury, peace, and pleasure: there all is order and geometry. Sure. Despair of finitude is due to lack of infinitude. Say it again. Now it’s coming. O it is come now I can in my mouth this moment chew it in my membrane heat flows it. It is come yesterdays like this very second Santa Ana flowing

we walked on the beach I was happy then not having any ringing and tingling in the head music coming from the outside and dead in the inside music of the applewaves caressing gently rolled oceans of hands harvesters of sunlight music of paperlike birdies combing high my thinning hair telling me to hush petting the top of the head Motherly music of all these travellers barefooted the sandtickles the thick waters filling the void in between toes in between the faces halfcircles of full smiles silent fulfilment as the salmonsky empties itself with the music of time an immeasurable bliss I them us with me like me not exactly me but sharing and echoing back me nothing to justify nothing to be had nothing to be spent everything in the music silent. Then the ball died off swallowed by the whalesea. Splash the sound it made ticktock in my brains all resumed when the eggyellow sea battered by the big and flat whisk. She went back to Newzealand back to the mundane el gran teatro del mundo. He went back to Berkeley back to defy geometry with a bunch of pills now that he probably is. The sea turned evilish and yellow. Two yolks mean unborn twins. Hopefully they won’t twitter. Mother needs rest or else. Mother. Two. If you’re two you’re not lonely. If I’m two I’m not alone. Shellshock ringing hissing death at my ears: not silent.

>>4232344
Proust went to my uni.
>mfw his professor at that time deemed that he "wasn't a very bright student"

>>4207054
So... Everything that is critical towards the modern democratic regimes can be labelled "conservative" literature?

Then, what about some old democrats, my friend? Why not label Rousseau a conservative, along with Aristotle, Spinoza, Kant, everyone that didn't like representative regimes?

This is precisely why this chart is utter shit. If you want to discuss conservative authors, fine, just stick with your tasteless Junger or some butthurt Brasillach, don't distort the history of thoughts.

France: Les Confessions, Madame Bovary, Les Fleurs du Mal, Matter and memory, À la recherche du temps perdu

i'm drunk too, i apologise; bear with my lame poetry

love words;

There’s something of the dust in you

The taste of factory pipes
The smell of city wastes

Something

Ferns and concrete
Coal flakes on the skin

Something of the dust in you
A lamppost to the sky
The only tree of the city
She said ‘We should leave the city’
I said ‘We should leave the city’
It was raining the next day.
She said ‘There’s something about the city’
I said ‘There’s something about the city’
The weather was overcast that day
A woman stood on the bridge
Looking down the river
Windswept
She fell
Once there was a big carousel
With wooden horses electric lights and spinning chairs
In the middle of the park around naked trees
The chairs never once spun
Outside the school there would be large fences
After class we would lie against the fences a long time
And watch and talk and laugh and go back to our houses

>>3668720
Should you want someone to talk to about literature and readings, I left you my email in the mail field. I'm kinda well-read, though mostly interested in fictions & English/French lit.

>>3626697
No. It is the opposite.
Read Bergson, you fagget.

>>3592865
I don't see what your argument is. Doing literal readings of literary texts doesn't free you from the problem of interpretation. It's even more vicious: you are unaware that your "realism" is just a social construct, and really there shouldn't be one prevalent style or reading. From there, you chose according to your own beliefs and values, and read the text with your own biases.
That being said, symbolistic literatures are much more interesting and stylistically challenging than realistic writings.

French
lol yes
À la recherche du temps perdu

>>3551413
Writer in France? I'm writing stuffs in French as well, would you like to share some bits?