/lit/ - Literature

>>20890526
Hawthorne

>>20890526
Woolf, Brautigan, Plath, Thompson, Wallace, Fisher, Hemingway, etc.

>>20890526
Kino. Bergman's best in my humble opinion

Death is a meme. Now THIS is scary.

>>20890526
Tolstoy

>>20890526
what kinda dumb fucking question is that? EVERYONE is afraid of death. those who say they aren't are lying through their teeth.

>>20890526
Humans believe it's better to resign ourselves to death since we don't get a choice in the matter. Some people will even get stockholmed into worshipping or defending this abuser.

>>20890542
Kek

>>20890526
>It's evident through Hamlet that Shakespeare wasn't.
How did you get that from Hamlet? The whole death soliloquy was basically overthinking death.

>>20890548
The brain freaks me out. I hate how slimy it is and how much power it has over perception. Imagine having that thing cut open while living over getting a bullet through it. Ewwww

>>20890921
Okay, it's just namedropping. Happy now?

>>20890526
Kafka

>>20890526
Socrates was in fact afraid in Plato's portrayal, but he powered through his fear. You may also like Kierkegaard.

>>20890547
No way, Wild Strawberries is his best. Seventh Seal suffers a lot from the whole. But it does have some amazing scenes within there.

>>20891831
You are stupid and ignorant

Persona mogs

>>20890526
Realising that life is a mental prison and that escaping it through death, is the final redpill. Philosophers that are worth a damn accepted this.

>>20890526
>Which writers/philosophers were afraid of death?
Everyone.

>>20890547
Summer With Monika for me.

>>20890526
Anyone that says they:
- aren’t afraid of death
- are happy every day
- never ruminate on the past
Is some combination of actively delusional and/or trying to sell you something.

>>20890548
Is it weird that if I got brain cancer my #1 priority would be to get all evidence of the diagnosis destroyed and taking whatever steps necessary for it to not be discovered post-mortem so that people wouldn’t consider it proof that I had gone crazy?

>>20890526


AUBADE

I work all day, and get half-drunk at night.
Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare.
In time the curtain-edges will grow light.
Till then I see what’s really always there:
Unresting death, a whole day nearer now,
Making all thought impossible but how
And where and when I shall myself die.
Arid interrogation: yet the dread
Of dying, and being dead,
Flashes afresh to hold and horrify.

The mind blanks at the glare. Not in remorse
— The good not done, the love not given, time
Torn off unused — nor wretchedly because
An only life can take so long to climb
Clear of its wrong beginnings, and may never;
But at the total emptiness for ever,
The sure extinction that we travel to
And shall be lost in always. Not to be here,
Not to be anywhere,
And soon; nothing more terrible, nothing more true.

This is a special way of being afraid
No trick dispels. Religion used to try,
That vast moth-eaten musical brocade
Created to pretend we never die,
And specious stuff that says No rational being
Can fear a thing it will not feel, not seeing
That this is what we fear — no sight, no sound,
No touch or taste or smell, nothing to think with,
Nothing to love or link with,
The anaesthetic from which none come round.

And so it stays just on the edge of vision,
A small unfocused blur, a standing chill
That slows each impulse down to indecision.
Most things may never happen: this one will,
And realisation of it rages out
In furnace-fear when we are caught without
People or drink. Courage is no good:
It means not scaring others. Being brave
Lets no one off the grave.
Death is no different whined at than withstood.

Slowly light strengthens, and the room takes shape.
It stands plain as a wardrobe, what we know,
Have always known, know that we can’t escape,
Yet can’t accept. One side will have to go.
Meanwhile telephones crouch, getting ready to ring
In locked-up offices, and all the uncaring
Intricate rented world begins to rouse.
The sky is white as clay, with no sun.
Work has to be done.
Postmen like doctors go from house to house.

— Philip Larkin

>>20890553
This. /thread

>>20892080
was gonna say larkin, great poem

>>20890547
For me its Virgin Spring

>>20892072
Based.

This can't be emphasised enough: don't believe their lies. Existence is necessarily, even if you don't consider it wholly bad, as I do, filled with ups and downs that really can't be ameliorated in any certain fashion; we simply have to deal with it as best as we can.

>>20890526
Kikeregard was terrified of death

>>20890559
I unironically look forward to death you fucking pussy