/lit/ - Literature

Estás bien, Twinshia? Your posts are always weird but seeing you post porn and in spanish is sort of worrying. If you need to talk we're here for you. How is your journey through Heidegger going? Have you finished? Did you consider followng wiht his student Gadamer?

>>7547192
The text is not pornographic.
I was not concerning myself with Heidegger in particular, you just happened to notice I was influenced by some of his writing after only partially reading my thread. I am currently 1100 pages in to the first of 4 European History books. I don't just read philosophy.

>>7547192
also,
ese fue un texto interesante. hay un contexto? es algo que debería googlear para encontrar?

>>7547208
I'm aware it's not, but the pic is something mods would ban you for. I once got banned for a pic where the only "dangerous" content was a clearly covered penis and I still got a week ban. be careful.
I still want to know if this was something you wrote or a quote from something.

>>7547209
argentineneonazibbz@reich.de

>>7547227
That would ruin the fun.
Hint above.

>>7547240
Oh, I just checked. I'm sorry I haven't memorized all of his writing to recognize it out of context, context is a pretty big thing.
Were you aiming for something in particular? /ñ/ threads are too small to make whatever plan you had viable. If anything I checked the references, I hope that's enough.

>>7547300
Did you read my last thread?

>>7547311
No, I'm only here because I'm visiting my mother, I've given up on having internet at home and only go on-line for college/job stuff. It would be weird to check 4chan at some friend's home or in a gas station. I'm checking warosu but nothing that could make sense.

Good luck following that joke or reference.

>>7547353
Our means of articulation has been truncated knowingly and we have been left with a bed and a bucket. This shrivelled anemone does not realise its own reality- a drifting between Pandaemonium and Silence, the former leading to humiliation, embarassment and ash. We have known this before and will know it again[...] a continuity that rests between neither life nor death, where speech is spat but no meaning is derived. This relief that we have sought in Lucifer- this "coming home" that we suppose we have attained in removing ourselves of the literature we were never going to understand. Hasn't life already ended and these are simply the jettisoned apparitions that have drifted up to the seraphim? Aren't these mounds of flesh paralysed in to motion? [And unheard confessions] that result in charity to lost creatures- charity as opposed to humiliation and ash. And from said ash the imposition of a flicker through which we find salvation. In these reduced structures[...] movement has ceased and we have been spoken to from above. Salvation is[...] genuine forgiveness from your superiours and genuine veneration of your creations- and the forgiveness of your inferiours for the crime of your creations- [where the former does not occur and will not occur, the latter remains constant where the subject is not silent]. But it is already too late. The Crime has been committed. These facades from which we jump have disintegrated and allowed a sky. This scrambling upon the precipice which we imagine we have achieved in humiliating ourselves- are these not the thrones we desired? Wither or bloom- Fire or fire. This humiliation is all we ever knew and is all we ever will know.

Ayyyy lmao Argentina.

Aguante Juan Jose Saer.

>>7547361
Thanks, that was nice. Did you miss the first sentence when pasting or you prefer it without it?
Still, I'm not fully sure what did I just read but I liked it. Have you been working in short fictions, twinshia? I think you used to post poems in the critique threads, I'd like to see your version of a narrative.

>>7547409
It sounded sort of "highschooly", for lack of a better term. You probably don't know what Tesco is, anyway.

>Have you been working in short fictions, twinshia?
I scribble occasionally.

>I think you used to post poems in the critique threads
I seem to remember my last "poem" received no responses but one saying it was abysmal after I corrected the misspelling of strata, so I decided to no longer post them here.

>>7547426
your stuff is pretty hard to follow, usually that's the best kind of poetry but it seems that now people want simplicity in their poetry. on the other hand short stories tend to conjure that rare type of reader that is willing to make an effort to re read and reconsider. I personallly just want to see what kind of narratives you would make keeping your generla style.

On the other hand when you go for pure theory it becomes too hard to know what is thesis and what is flourish. I like my continentals like any warm blooded anon but there is a limit to how much effort I put when lurking.

>>7547437
This was that "poem".
A bit turgid.

-

Fifteen Epiphanies of the Harbinger

Preface

There are no enemies, only me's I have given names and kicked around.

These songs are not entertainment, they are crusades against ennui. They are philosophical in so far as they need to be, scientific or romantic in so far as they need to be, iambic or homeric in so far as they need to be. They are names I have given to wafers of time. They are cries of despair, prayers, anxiety, insecurity and feelings of hopelessness. They are ageing pieces of paper and charcoal, ephemeral photons shot against a plastic screen and scribblings of an uninitiated child. They have known and know paralysis. They are epiphanies, overheated washing machines, potentially stale creampuffs, days, perfumes, klangs, reiterations of my spectre, asmodeic nymphs at a cafe check out and the product of trivial spasms.

They are a maze you need to search in order to find the origin of your misfortune.

I

"Move or be moved"
Ezra is the long-haired toad
in the schoolyard of reassembled Greek symbols.

To me all poets are lambs I wish to reduce.
A writer is a delayed geisha who
has learned to conceal her degeneracy
and blend with the upper classes.

II

Time is a stew perpetually
boiling. Its Geisha's tell (tall) tales. THOSE
GYPSIES! As collateral they provide
faculties of their physiognomy:
As mammary is to haut so
canto is to ink and scroll and when they
fall early, grow old and their organs
dissipate, disintegrate, like the
petal after spring, a new mistress is sought.

Fallen petals, forget your previous
notions, but keep an upright gait.
If you walk down this corridor, the
tributaries of paralysis
will be fought. What will you become when
the shell has fully filled with mucal
womb juice and the yolk of genetic
information? What genre of reserved
Blick will your Antlitz metamorphose
in a black and white photograph?

What form are you paralysed in to
inhabiting? How will your organs
interact with your surroundings and
find its place within the atomic
shroud? We are not unlike students reading
for the first time a most difficult text.

III

Ennui is a limbless sea urchin asexually
reproducing working class shrimp.

IV

Time is a catholic girl slowly
clothing herself in nakedness.
Time is a cumming whore in the shape of
a little girl. Time is a pair of
fish guts strewn across a white beach.

Time won't tell me, move its lips, to sound
the words I want to hear. Time floats in
stasis, a fat ox blocking a merchant's path,
its hairy mass fixed irretrievably
in the atomic shroud.

As a boy, time's idea was a river
bent positively yonder
on a fixed axis. The wafers
of time and her physiognomies
never saw my neural activity
in their cosmic police boxes.

V

There is an idea of a me who fervently
searches through the labyrinth
of my own solipsistic thoughtspace.
But that is a me that belongs to
the annals of the wafers of time.

[cont.]

>>7547467
VI

To me they are all islands of flesh.
Feyries who have forgotten origins.
They move or are moved by established stratums.

The island that is your idea is a feyry of glowing
skin and from your caverns trickles juice
and from your illumined flesh I abstract
abdomena: a glowing wafer of time.

Given the choice to taste the canals
of your cunt, drift through the annals of
your Venice with a gondola-
Offered this choice I would accept to add
to my register of infinite wafers.

The question was answered even before
it befell me. I was too engaged to hear.
These islands of skin become
me as they are imprinted on my disc.

VII

Yellow crust that grows across my eyes
diverts the faculties I control.
Supine geisha are my surroundings:
A human'd blouse reiterated.

VIII

When I sleep other lives are here beside,
boyish floating fleshy things beside.
I am focused on an Antlitz long,
a wafer of time that dwells and dwells.

IX

When I think of children, I anger.
They are islands of stochastic noise.

X

On my retina is fired verses
of an inexpressible labyrinth.

XI

Unclean phenomena leave me in
a funhouse of schizophrenia.

XII

There are no me's, only enemies
I have given names and kicked around.
When they bit me it was because I
wanted them to and when they bled it
was also in my being ignorant
that their ideas became vessels
of rigormortis.

XIII

Whenever I make oolong, the centre of all
culture is the perfumed wafts of oriental tea.

XIV

I wish I was a photograph of
an upper class german woman
in her mid twenties.

XV

I am not in control
of my own nervous system.
I am a novice among novices
who move but are in a state
of mental paralysis. I will try
to tame you, organic wires
which circle my spectre like
the motherboard of a personal computer.

I will tire in my project.
I will know days and perfumes
and Klangs. I will not have seen
another spectre even
when it would seem so at a café
check-out, where asmodeic nymphs
are eating toast. I will hire to projects
and I will know their banal limb movements.
I will know prayers of which there
are many sorts. I will know doubt
and its antithesis. I will know glances
and spit-strewn Antlitzes and I will
know needless spite, unnecessary
feelings and the labyrinth of misinformed insight.

>>7547472
*strata

A-G-L-O-W-I-N-G-W-A-F-E-R-O-F-T-I-M-E

I'm not sure what is going on

>>7547472
Well, that was an experience. I'm not sure I found everything I was supposed to get, but I ended up re reading a few chapters and maybe grasping the idea and rhythm you were going for at least. You can't get mad that /lit/ doesn't apreciate this, it's not something you'd want to read among shitposters and angry people trying to prove they are right.

>>7547488
at this point I feel you should consider leaving that correction intentionally as a note at the end, something in you seems to keep you doing that.

I'm curious

Don't leave me curious

Who's OP and what is this? That last paragraph is very pretty.

Twinshia, I'm sort of in love with you, or at least the persona you have in /lit/. Can I get to know anything else about you? I don't want to pretend and try to extract information from you, and if you don't want to share anything just don't. It would make me very happy to know more about you but I don't want to make you unhappy through that.

>>7547586
Mon berceau s'adossait à la bibliothèque,
Babel sombre, où roman, science, fabliau,
Tout, la cendre latine et la poussière grecque,
Se mêlaient. J'était haut comme un in-folio.
Deux voix me parlaient. L'une, insidieuse et ferme,
Disait: «La Terre est un gâteau plein de douceur;
Je puis (et ton plaisir serait alors sans terme!)
Te faire un appétit d'une égale grosseur.»
Et l'autre: «Viens! oh! viens voyager dans les rêves,
Au delà du possible, au delà du connu!»
Et celle-là chantait comme le vent des grèves,
Fantôme vagissant, on ne sait d'où venu,
Qui caresse l'oreille et cependant l'effraie.
Je te répondis: «Oui! douce voix!» C'est d'alors
Que date ce qu'on peut, hélas! nommer ma plaie
Et ma fatalité. Derrière les décors
De l'existence immense, au plus noir de l'abîme,
Je vois distinctement des mondes singuliers,
Et, de ma clairvoyance extatique victime,
Je traîne des serpents qui mordent mes souliers.
Et c'est depuis ce temps que, pareil aux prophètes,
J'aime si tendrement le désert et la mer;
Que je ris dans les deuils et pleure dans les fêtes,
Et trouve un goût suave au vin le plus amer;
Que je prends très souvent les faits pour des mensonges,
Et que, les yeux au ciel, je tombe dans des trous.
Mais la voix me console et dit: «Garde tes songes:
Les sages n'en ont pas d'aussi beaux que les fous!»

>>7547608
Personally I always found Yves Bonnefoy as my favorite french poet,I guess you have a brighter love for life than mine.
You're making me love you more, whoever you are.

>>7547507
>>7547547
twinshia threads are a bit like that, no one is entirely sure what her deal is but you learn to apreciate what you get