/lit/ - Literature

I.
Heigh, ho! -
It's off to gnosis we go, said Stubblebine's syzygos.
Heigh ho! -
From UT's underground nuclear facilities
upon past the cape-arena where the suitor sought his own city:
Oh, Dauid huios, ol' oily Davidovitch was cross when he crossed the river on the way to the Cross,
because there was no
river -
to cross.
And there was no
cross -
to bear.
But cross he did and cross we must the same, O my teacher, my teacher - Stubblebine!
II.
Heigh, ho! -
Meat annoy ya? meat annoy ya?
Heigh, ho! -
Out of the land of weighed qualia,
where the maiden's reduced life slid its way in to more noble
Alcestian dirges,
free of Persians and pirates and such-like
sundries as they befit later stages of the withering surface-state Biome,
Daphne dies by his own art
But surface-state girls live again through it:
truly not the stuff of women,
but of eunuchs
and of girls reading by candlelight.
Let's leave this land,
out of the Stubblebine's bythus
past Mytilene, back up Athenaze,
Where INSCOM's own sotadic whore Basedster will be toppled
through his own maculation of our Mysteries.
Oh, Dauid huios, ol' oily Davidovitch was cross when he crossed his river on the way to the Cross,
because there was no
river -
to cross.
And there was no
cross -
to bear.
But cross he did and cross we must the same, O teacher, my teacher - Stubblebine!
III.
Abraxas! -
Heigh ho!
Abraxas! -
Oh, the Earth - it shakes! See, the firmament - it quakes!
But Stubblebine's bythus remains silent all the same.
Silence on the bythus, my teacher, as we make our way
back up from UT's underground nuclear facilities
To render mute Basedster's en-thymations.
Oh David huios, ol' oily Davidovitch was cross when he crossed his river on the way to the Cross,
because there was no
river -
to cross.
And there was no cross -
to bear.
But cross he did and cross we must the same, O teacher, my teacher - Stubblebine!

O Stubblebine! my Stubblebine! our fearful trip is done;
This syzygos has weather’d every hylic, the prize we sought is won;
Gnosis is near, the hautbois I hear, the cherubs all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the kobold grim and daring:
But O Stubblebine! Stubblebine! Stubblebine!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck the Demiurge lies,
Fallen cold and dead!
O Stubblebine! my Stubblebine! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the circle is squared —for you the hautbois trills:
For you lustration's cathartic breath itself unsheaths—for you the firmament a-crowding:
For you they call, the hylic mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Stubblebine! dear father!
Your arm beneath his head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
The Demiurge's fallen cold and dead!

The Demiurge does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
Beezelbub does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
And Stubblebine, with gleeful tread,
Walks the deck where hylics lie,
Fallen cold and - dead!

"Interface with palantiri
on the surface of the deep",
said General Stubblebine, adjusting his skirt on his way to the Klan meeting.
Tehom, tehom on the bythus, my teacher Stubblebine, the Godhead rattled back wrapped in the ruah,
right as rain.
"Deep computing off the coast of Halifax.
Halifax - where those thick-thighed Polynesian ghosts of yore
haunt my Stubblebine dreams with shanty screech-ins",
said General Stubblebine, adjusting his skirt on his way to the Klan meeting.
Tehom, tehom on the bythus, my teacher Stubblebine, the Godhead rattled back wrapped in the ruah,
right as rain.
"Paper woods and North clip - clip to back to the West when St. Elmo's fire
comes screechin' down the plain - and we passencore re-arrive our side the scraggy is-thymus - oh, oh
the same breast! the same heart! -
- and crass, the old isthymus that falters and splits this war, this our cloak of justice given to foulest
sin! -
of Oklahoma, down to UT's
underground nuclear facilities
to anamach our phallermic poleme
to anagraph to the graph of our dreams,
grotesque and pittoresque
to katabate to Hieronic and ironic
wells of Procopean catenas,
deep in the heart of Texas".
Tehom, tehom on the bythus, my teacher Stubblebine, the Godhead rattled back wrapped in the ruah,
right as rain.
This is the Pleroma of General Stubblebine.

A man sits twixt the fallen colonnades,
Where rows of merchants peddled Grecian wares,
among the shadows of old Persian lairs,
Whereunder wanders of afar had laid.

Our mouths are laden with a lowly air,
our lips, with honey of its wild disregard:
Our even tempers are caprice's ward,
Who old mistress Reason fails t’ ensnare.

Moulded honey's muck on mouths makes dumb,
Those cities most serene in West and East,
Though her stench lures out those unknown beasts,
That gnaw for might or quickest death to come.

Perceive it now!
The stench of our ferment! —
Lips in sweetened silence sicken lore,
Allow our deeds the wrath of foulest war,
Unto ruin, whither words since went.

Perceive it now!
The wanton din of brutes! —
Foul calls to death in poisoned piety's fray,
The mercen’ry prayer is but an ass' bray,
For what his hoary sages built, — he loots.

>>17529782
erschaudender A*glo Begriff-Fetischismus

>>17530133
Yes. Also checked.

>>17530083
a diagamma (eng. w) still retained in many indo-euro languages. For example:
>gr. wergon (later ergon) - dt. werk - eng. work

>>17529959
Why did you take interest in this particular fragment? It's rather esoteric/academic bric-a-brac.

>>17529908
The latter. Impossible to know, however, without the rest of the poem, which is lost (for now). My go-to reference for Sappho fragments (D. 112 L.-P. 164 Apollon. Dysc. de pron. 107, 12 Schneide) provides the same text. The study of fragments is a dreadful cottage industry. Spend your time with more worthwhile pursuits anon.

>>17528520
cringe

>>17528445
παρ' ἡμῖν - among us (we Greeks)
ἐγένετο- came into existence (gignomai, imperfect)
ἡμεῖς ἐπαιδεύσαμεν- we (Romans) taught

>>17527504
>a hottie like Beauvoir
kek

>>17527463
*μᾶλλον

>>17525850
Also that's some rather Hellenising Latin, anon.
>ibant loquentes de amore
instead: inceperunt loqui de amore
>prius apud nos fiebat amor: clarum est quod haec sunt
instead: (causal "quod" appears only in the Middle Ages) - enim (≃μὲν) nos primum invenimus amorem: Hoc sic esse (omnibus) patet.
>uera dicis, o optime, sed prius nos et feminas amorem docuimus
instead: Recte (ὀρθῶς) dicis, optume, attamen nos primum docuimus amorem feminas.

There are also several good quips from the Philogelos that are actually funny: for instance, the scholar who after almost drowning vowed to never enter the water again until he had learned how to swim.

>>17525807
High iq post

>>17525850
No, it's not. I read it somewhere in an anthology of Philologenwitze and ventured to translate some of them into Greek.

>>17524474
You could toss every "work" of "literature" produced in the last and in this century into a massive conflagration and let them all burn away into sweet nothingness and it would have no impact upon the coming course of world history, except, perhaps, that it might briefly raise the average global temperature for a few minutes. Everything worth saying has already been said once. Burn it and it will creep back like a greedy mold only to be burned again.

>There arrives that precarious instant when one's philosophy, spread out into the smallest corners of existence, seems to move away from the joy of its fertilization: those strings of chance observations, the elaborate justifications which attend them, complementing each other in tone, in color as they accumulate. How naive now seem these endless graspings for form, with all their diversions, and boyish joys--they are first breaths of life in one's philosophy, and are content to relish in the feeling of inhaling, exhaling, unaffected by the life which they sustain. How the search sheds its innocence, though not its happiness--as so many thoughts converge, the mould which their appearance had shaped beginning to solidify--philosophy as a feat of endurance, knowing when to end.
>At a certain point, the principled repudiation of a thing, that strong pose that says 'it can be done without', turns upon itself and becomes more connected to what it repudiates than its strictest adherents.
>The one most willing to accept all opinions has none by which to be offended.
>The disciples of Zadig: "Question all and everything“- so speak today's half-thinkers, mockingbirds of the soul. More accurately rendered: “Question all and everything most opposed to this idea of questioning, so as to further the easy certitude that this questioning affords you."
>Our age: All is permissible, save the limitation of that which is permissible.
>Of Bad Performers: What offends us most about bad performers is not their badness, but the endless variety of attempts to cloak it-that is, the recognition of their badness.
>Of novelty and dilettantes: Behind innovation sleeps insecurity undisturbed.
>Of Æsthetics: Aesthetics is the favorite haunt of the worst artists. If one cannot create beauty, one at least feels compelled to draw its shadow.
What does /lit/ think of my writing?

>>16958686
>owellerino

>>16957413

>>16956522
Checked. Tony went to the bodega.
>Tony’s father left the family
>And the Long Island city projects,
>Leaving a mongrel-skinny Puertorriqueño boy
>Nine years old
>Who had to find work.
>Makengo the Cuban
>Let him work at the bodega
Who else had to read this shit?

>>16957356
>Tolkien is a consummate novelist

>>16957978
>discovering incredible secrets from the past
Epic post, Morty. Buuuurp.

>>16958362
Sounds like you like bludgeoning chickens