/lit/ - Literature

[Anonymous No.19192593]

When the ticking of a watch breaks the silence of eternity, arousing you out of serene contemplation, how can you help resenting the absurdity of time, its march into the future, and all the nonsense about evolution and progress? Why go forward, why live in time? The sudden revelation of time at such moments, conferring upon it a crushing preeminence otherwise nonexistent, is the fruit of a strong contempt for life, an unwillingness to go on. If this revelation happens at night, the sensation of unutterable loneliness is added to the absurdity of time, because then, far from the crowd, you face time alone, the two of you caught in an irreducible duality. Time, in this nocturnal desolation, is no longer populated with actions and objects: it becomes an evergrowing nothingness, a dilating void, a threat from beyond. Silence resounds then with the mournful clamor of bells knelling for a dead universe. Only he who has separated time from existence lives this drama: fleeing the latter, he is crushed by the former. And he feels how time, like death, gains ground.

[Anonymous No.19192600]

My dad made a risotto today, I added some powdered parmesan because I am a fiend

[Anonymous No.19192611]

>>19192600
oh I forgot to add: it was really tasty without the added cheese, but as mentioned before I sometimes like to do things my own way

anyways OP, you can just cry it out and it'll get better by itself 8/10 times

[Anonymous No.19192645]

I accumulate the past, constantly making out of it and casting into it the present, without giving it a chance to exhaust its own duration. To live is to suffer the sorcery of the possible; but when I see in the possible itself the past that is to come, then everything turns into potential bygones, and there is no longer any present, any future. What I discern in each moment is its exhaustion, its death-rattle, and not the transition to the next moment. I generate dead time, wallowing in the asphyxia of becoming.

Other people fall into time; I have fallen out of it.
The eternity that set itself above time gives way to that other eternity which lies beneath, a sterile zone where I can desire only one thing: to reinstate time, to get back into it at any price, to appropriate a piece of it, to give myself the illusion of a place of my own.
But time is sealed off, time is out of reach; and it is the impossibility of penetrating it which constitutes this negative eternity, this wrong eternity.

Emil Cioran, THE OUT FALL OF TIME from Fall Into Time

[Anonymous No.19194133]

Bump

[Anonymous No.19194817]

> not available in print under$100
> only had a pdf on libgen
I want to read but I refuse

[Anonymous No.19195284]

>>19194817
read the pdf coward

[Anonymous No.19195351]

The Trouble with Reading Cioran

[Anonymous No.19196068]

>>19192600
you should add it anyway and also butter.