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Does /lit/ ever write their favorite quotes outside for the public to read?

Is "sci-fi for grownups" a dead genre?
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>fiction for adults
And anime is for adults, too.

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>Infinity War is the most ambitious crossover event in his-
Memes aside, is this any good?

Shut the fuck up retard.
there is literally no reason to read the tractatus today. it was completely obliterated by wittgenstein himself several decades ago.
That's like saying one shouldn't read The Stranger because Camus moved away from the thoughts expressed in that book later on in his life.
WTF? He just quoted one aphoric sentence of TLP and just went full buddhism after that. There is no crossover in this.

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Any books with christian theme that isn't the Bible? I dunno, like Confessions and such.
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avoid ol dustyyevsky, he was a cryptoathiest

>nearly any book written

Fixed for you both.
Quite the list.

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>revives Socratic dialogue.
heh, nothin personal kid.
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>look friends, I'm celebrating my two year anniversary on the Mongolian throat singing website
about bonobos!
Very true. Its called being openminded, agreeable and a good conversationalist. Even if you dont necessarily agree with your opponent you can still try to find commonalities in your viewpoints and encourage the other part to explain their reasoning. This makes the other part feel valued and you dont seem like a total douche.
Joe understands these things, which is exactly the reason why hes become a minor celebrity just by talking shit. You dont, and thats why all your friends avoid you.
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Aesthetic shitposting? Excuse me, would you be so kind to point out exactly what was so, as you say, "aesthetic" about those horrendous archaic posts? Are you stupid? Or perhaps ironically stupid?
Joe Rogan is one of the most important people of our times


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How do I improve my grammar?
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I'm going through this book now. It helps to know what everything is called so that you know what to search for if you're ever stuck.
People call my writing "awkward", whatever that means
Learn latin
All /lit/‘s books suck except Warriner’s Grammar
And by Warriner’s Grammar I mean just grammar in general, traditional and modern
this, its pretty much useless in itself, but the focus on grammar teaches you English grammar, it also improves your vocabulary and makes you able to guess what unknown words mean without having to consult a dictionary.
^OP gets it
>go to law school
>law is a field where they put geniuses, Cardozo e.g.
>no more bullshit
>what does this fucking case mean?
>listen to English majors get pummeled
>idiots are talking about shit from Flannery O’Connor course!
>be me, all I know is grammar, stone cold, and math and science
>know grammar like Michael Jackson knows dance moves and secluded spots near summer camps
>don’t give a shit about classroom participation
>all I do is write down every fuckng thing the prof says, like that four-eyed Chink in Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother
>guess who’s laughing now, ROUND EYES

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>Why yes of course my good sir I hate Marx, no, I haven't read him...but /lit/ says he's bad and reddit likes him!
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no one cares, Reddit likes you so what you just said is wrong
What the fuck is that photo?!?
the perfect body for rope burns
>why yes, I do believe a semiotic to be far more apt than a dialectic
>how did you know?
I've never read marx but I've read a lot of criticism of him mostly in political books that feel like they have to shit on marx at some point

>It makes some sense that the writers most devoted to detailing life’s mundanity would seek to escape from that same grinding everydayness. In fact, the drug narrative arises around the beginning of modern self-disclosure. Consider Thomas de Quincey’s “Confessions of an English Opium Eater,” which was published in the eighteen-twenties, and which frames a tell-all account as an instructive, morally edifying story. Today, de Quincey’s project endures, on the Internet, as the trip report, a form that was often incorporated by Alt-Lit writers in their work. Reading about the warped experiences of others, we reconsider whether our own perspective is natural or fixed. Old ideals of art suggest that we should work for such revelations—that there’s something too easy about a chemically induced heightening. The value of “Liveblog,” and books like it, is to help us view that judgment with suspicion.

>If autofiction provides the thrills and little voyeurisms of immediacy, if the trip provides a possible guide to transcendence, then perhaps Boyle’s work is an attempt at synthesis. The result could be called a fiction of the Internet—a representation of an infinitely extending and seemingly available world. The idea that the private lives of others are accessible online, transparent and ready to be clicked into, is a commonplace in our culture. “Liveblog” is a new kind of story, about how we arrange those lives for public inspection. It pushes that inspection to an extreme, in the hopes that, by choosing to give over everything, it might be possible, for a moment, to regain a sliver of agency. Writing it all down isn’t a new consciousness, exactly, but it might allow you to see yourself in a new way. All you have to do is open a document and begin.

>by choosing to give over everything, it might be possible, for a moment, to regain a sliver of agency
t. someone who wants to steal my data
w-what are you saying, target-kun... w-we only want to share your spontaneity with the world...

t. not the NSA
>12:22AM: bathwater is running. i’m just going ot do this until forever. ate half of some kind of pill, 1 mg Xanax ithink. ate other one […]

>foamy soapy bubbles keep avalanching down my toes back into the tub

>Candlelight makes the bath arguably more than the source of bubbles or your choice of crackers

>my feet are most fetching when in low light like this. They look like a molecular gastronomy dessert with the bubbles spooned atop my dark blue toes. I need to feed them to someone.

>ookkk anoth athter xaanxn at some e oo==ibe, ijay sruffl is going to better e=vetter i know

>1:12AM: woke in mostly empty bathtub. very cold. drain wouldn’t close so i just sat on it and refilled tub with hot water. when i woke felt obsessed with finding candy i had been eating but i guess i ate it all. flopped around trying to always be covered in hot water, thinking ‘sexy seal’ and ‘sprinkle princess’ and pictured someone tossing me a fish and this is what would get me into the maxim top 100 hottest women or whatever. because enough seals voted me in.

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ITT: Books literally only you have read.
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Julian Rios - Larva
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It's not great
Colaborate with religious institutions, acquire curreny
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that nigga blew up few years back, fun book

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I'm looking for a youtube review video posted here last month where the intro had the guy playing the scene from silence of the lambs.

I want it.
I need it.

book to explain this
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I live there and I like the way it looks, especially from the inside

You guys are a bunch of regressive losers. The ROM building looks like any number of early 20th century U of T buildings that are immediately adjacent to it. The Lee-Chin crystal gives it character and has utility on the inside as well
You're kind of right, but wouldn't you say this heterogeneity is a by product of the temporal nature of urban development and the multiplicity of the powers involved in it? No city was ever a coherent whole, it has always multiple forces acting through it, leaving their different marks. And those marks accumulate and overlap through time in the fabric of the city.
Look at the historic center of Rome nothing is more incoherent than that but I bet most of the people finding this kind of architecture ugly would find Rome beautiful (which it is but too crowded by tourists)
The real issue here is passeism and denial, rejection of anything new. To be perfectly fair I'll add this :

Rethink the whole decor or be forever haunted by the specter of the separation between art and decor : the decorative.
Beautiful pieces of architecture, witnesses of a superior degree of organic conscience, change into decorative elements by their isolated status - beautiful singularities sunk into an environment which is not in unison.
The environmental decor is made as a memory testifying the eternal divorce between the ideal of an integral ornament confined to a few avant-garde buildings and the anarchy of the city which vows those to be, at best, elements of the city decor with no rationality other than its own history. The decorative becomes the anticipation of what should have been the decor if it had resulted from a general drafting. The avant-garde is always conjugated in a past tense of the future.
Look at this degenerate atheist trying to teach others about their religion.

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What are your opinions on Allen Ginsberg? Is he one of the American GOATs or a hack fraud? Pic related is a recent /pol/ thread I just made for the keks.
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>one of the American GOATs or a hack fraud?

As illustrated by mediocrity's favorite revolutionaries The Clash and their song Ghetto Defendant.
His early stuff is great, but he became a caricature of himself later on.
Kek you made that /pol/ thread because of my thread and then made this when it's still up
lmao you got me

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If you like Kierkegaard you will like this book!
I didn’t like it
Babby’s first existential crisis
It was shit.

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Write what's on your (literary) mind. Personal, thoughts, anecdotes and inspirations
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I have been feeling for the past little while very detached, not distant necessarily, but like each part of each day doesn't flow on from the other. Like I wake up and I'm suddenly in a new chapter. I used to think a lot about how miserable my life was, and now I don't think about it. Not much has changed, I just don't think so much in general. I'm not sure if this is a sign of me maturing, or a sign of me losing my attachment to life. What's the difference, maybe.

My house is so cold and my bones ache constantly.

Auto pilot on through until I'm 45 years old and miserable with a belt round my neck, I guess.
The Land of Oppurtunity.

You step off the ship, followed by a hundred others, following two hundred more. You step onto dry land, for the first time in many months, voyaging on a decaying ship over a cold, uncaring, unforgiving sea. You stand on the harbour and are swept into the ravenous stampede of the hundredfold others, searching for food, searching for shelter. And your whole world is the smoke and the fog and the stench in the air you must breathe. The air you share with hundreds and thousands of others, wild-eyed and starving. Dying. Dying all the time, and never realizing it.

The streets are not paved with gold. The great copper woman, crowned in ardour, torch held aloft, once looked welcomed. Now her back is turned from you. She has already forgotten you, staring out across the sea. And the city is big and loud and it stinks like the black pit and you realize that you are dying. Since the moment of your birth, you have been dying. The whole time, and never realizing it.

With that, you join the stampede, get swept into the sway and are heard of no more.
You look at an artwork, and instantly you will have a feeling about it - It's well-done; you dislike it; there's certain colours and shapes going on. For sure you can study it more in-depth, but there will always be this first short impression. Writing seems so different from that. Upon glancing, it's just text, letters. You need to take it in wholly to form an opinion. Besides this different notion of grasping, this also makes progress harder to see. You look at a painting from now and from 2015 - you will likely see improvements, or a change of style. But how do you determine the same within writing? What even makes 'good' writing? Is it different when it's a poem, a short story, a novel? Can a painting even be compared to the vastness of a novel? Sometimes I think it would have been easier if my passion lay within painting.
Klinghoffer is a must-listen.

Sometimes I like to think about creative writing as "mind painting." You are providing instructions for the construction of a simulated world in the reader's brain. This is more of the case for writing that tells a story rather than merely exposits information.

Good writing is that which achieves its intended effect. It produces an aesthetic impression, it conveys an idea to satisfaction. I favor the Wittgensteinian notion that language is a tool, that words and phrases are instruments that yield measurable changes in other people or in yourself.

Fiction however has more dimensionality than a painting. A painting is static, and because of the function of the visual sense, it's entire content can be taken in at one glimpse. (Only to be analyzed into its visual components on further detailed inspection.)

A novel on the other hand has temporal extension. We pass through it like the present passes through time, at each moment constructing the most recent scene and then passing on to the next. The images that we see in a novel in the imagination, are the same images that painters put down on the canvas, except they are employed for a different purpose.

For the painter the images are fodder for painting. For the novelist they form part of a chain of images that produce the world of the novel, and exist only in the reader's head or the author's imagination.

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