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/lit/ - Literature

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File: 19 KB, 196x300, Story-of-the-Eye-196x300.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]
14015020 No.14015020 [Reply] [Original]

Nigga the fuck did I just read

>> No.14015053

>>14015020
You tell me

>> No.14015140

>>14015020
(sit) milk (me) fun fun eye pee doki doki le bigge cocké du garçon plz eggs on my toilet

>> No.14015160

The most religious work of the 20th century

>> No.14015227

>>14015020
the ultimate coomer manifesto

>> No.14015233

>>14015020
The proto-coomer

>> No.14015244

postmodern neomarxist french wank

>> No.14015252

>>14015244
It's pre-postmodernism. But still franch wank, literally.

>> No.14015481

>>14015252
Not literally, figuratively.

>> No.14016254

>>14015020
Pussy milk.

>> No.14016541
File: 335 KB, 2800x1622, john green.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]
14016541

>>14015020

>All in all, Story of the Eye is a typical piece of “French extremity,” to cite the film genre, a narrative tradition almost unchanged since the days of Sade, whose books I have never succeeded in finishing, and which continues onscreen today. Mechanically reversing the traditional pieties of the west like flipping a series of switches, the devotees of extremity have created a pious tradition of their own, carried on to a stultifying extent in the institutions of culture, particularly the art world and some wings of academe.

>I am not a gelded-eyed Apollonian myself and have written with admiration in just the last few weeks of writers such as H. P. Lovecraft, Seamus Heaney, William Butler Yeats, and Gjertrud Schnackenberg who perceive inhuman powers at work in the cosmos and in society and disparage any weak sentimentalism that would evade this fact. But these disparate writers do not pretend that the human condition can be one of simply melding with the anti-light of the black sun and disappearing up our own orifice in an ecstatic worship of the void; from Lovecraft’s rationalism to Schnackenberg’s Christianity, to say nothing of Yeats’s unforgettably articulated inner conflict between the needs of the flesh and the desires of the soul, these writers chart what actually is: the void, yes, but also every attempt to fill it or redeem it or see ourselves in it, all those human drives from reason to love that exist alongside or in tension with the will to annihilate ourselves or another.

>Bataille, and perhaps “French extremity” in general, is without this tension, without this dialectic, and so, for me, does not rise to the level of literature, however well it may function as a book of one hand—or one thought.

>> No.14016549

>>14015227
>>14015233
I love cooming

>> No.14016639

>>14015252
>>14015481
Both. He probably coomed multiple times while writing and reading it.

>> No.14016662

>>14015020
je ... je ... je suis ... je suis ... je suis ...... JE SUIS LE COOOOOOOOOOOMÉEEEEEEEEEEE

>> No.14016690

>>14016662
Mon DIEU, la parte maudite de le coomé est souverain......