/lit/ - Literature

[Sir Duncan Crumb (His Lordship) No.22368971]

what, ho, cunts! The previous debate subject was a disaster, so I have even less expectations for this one:

Writers writing their dreams, and the error of this.

I recognize that with lack of practice comes extreme lack of skill and originality; I wrote my first book at age 10 and it was shit, it was a gathering up of local media images which had sponged into my preformed brain, and an iteration of these things, copying what I had gleaned. Nothing more. I do not think I comprehended this until perhaps 16 and realized the error, but I do not think I became able to write "on my own" - that is: with no influence at all or audience in mind to tailor to - until I was at least 28.

My point here is that that brain takes a long time to break away from the influences around it to be able to truly perceive with clarity and speak and think with ones own senses; having sandblasted away all external influences, and I do not believe anybody readily comes to this; for variety of obvious reasons why (culture-conform, marketing), but herein is the reasoning why 'we' assay 100% of given media and within the first sentence of scene we can predict the ending and the story, as for those self-same reasons which have gone into the influence of he writer, consciously (they have tailored themselves with psychological trickery to snare the brain like a fish in a hook) or unconsciously (they are deeply enthralled to the influences and their brain remains like a sponge).


I have noticed that most of the most informative authors that I found some sense in, throughout my entire adult life, happened to be men who were not jobbing writers, but who were other things, and who wrote merely for their own amusement. I think this is a key in the development in rhetoric as to detect and cauterize that "debased orator" within the self, as it does show that real cognizance in the sense of the society of polymaths of the future that one can only think at all when the sterilizing influences have been peeled away in slabs of bloody flesh - when one truly does not care.

I am reminded, somewhat more deeply of the Roman concept of Virtue which was a knife.

it is thus, i have come to conclude, with satire and virtue; the greatest saints are the satirists, the greatest homily is mockery of the absurd ever-present idiocies that go-on in the land of idiots.

[Sir Duncan Crumb (His Lordship) No.22368992]

ha

for the esoteric:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Parazonium

it is wide at the hilt end, then comes to a point.

riddle.