Martes, Enero 20, 2015

Joseph Conrad's The Secret Sharer- GAY COUNT

What I did with Blackwood, I now do to Joseph Conrad, Mistah Kurtz himself. Again, more decontextualization ahoy.

The story is about a ship captain's first time handling a voyage to on his own, until Leggatt, a sailor who escaped from his own ship, comes on board. Unnerved at first, the young ship captain is forced to hide Leggatt in his cabin, for lack of anything else to do, knowing full well the knowledge of a criminal on board could seriously threaten them both.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the snippets of this book I have posted.

A Census of the Cook Family from Too Many Cooks

IT TAKES A LOT TO MAKE A-No, no, I won't. Being the obsessive person I am, I think I've seen Too Many Cooks about 50 times in the last week alone, combing it for Easter eggs. In my rewatches, I've compiled a list of all the Cook family members and their actors.

People without the surname of Cook are marked with an asterisk.

Ernest Hemingway- Dissing James Jones

Damn, Papa went IN on this motherfucker.

Source: (

Ernest Hemingway- Nobel Peace Prize Acceptance Speech

No writer, who knows the great writers who did not receive the prize, can accept it other than with humility. There is no need to list these writers. Everyone here may make his own list, according to his knowledge, and his conscience. It would be impossible for me to ask the ambassador of my country to read a speech in which a writer said all of the things which are in his heart. Things may not be immediately discernible in what a man writes and, in this sometimes, he is fortunate. But eventually they're quite clear and by these, and the degree of alchemy that he possesses, he will endure or be forgotten. Writing at its best is a lonely life; organizations for writers talliate the writer's loneliness, but I doubt if they improve his writing. He grows in public stature as he sheds his loneliness, and often his work deteriorates. For he does his work alone, and if he is a good writer, he must face eternity (or the lack of it) each day. For a true writer, each book should be a new beginning, where he tries again for something that is beyond attainment.  He should always try for something that has never been done, or that others have tried and failed, then sometimes with good luck, he will succeed. How simple the writing of literature would be if were only necessary to write in another way what has been well-written. It is because we have had such great writers in the past, that a writer is driven far out, past where he can go, out to where no one can help him. I have spoken too long for a writer; a writer should write what he has to say and not speak it. Again I thank you.

Ernest Hemingway- Stream of Consciousness Speech from the magazine snippets of "Banal Story"

I think this would make a great spiel.

Ernest Hemingway- Essay on War and Peace

Here is the book this was written for:

Courtesy of /r/Hemingway

Ernest Hemingway- QUOTES

This man is immortal precisely because of his aphorisms.

Ernest Hemingway- The Epitaph

Best of all he loved the fall
The leaves yellow on the cottonwoods
Leaves floating on the trout streams
and above the hills

The high blue windless skies
now he will be a part of them forever

Ernest Hemingway - Idaho

Ernest Hemingway- TRIVIA

Algernon Blackwood- GAY COUNT

Reading Blackwood, one gets the very distinct sense that he actually liked men. I'm not being a bigot here- whether he intended to or not, there's plenty in his work that could be constituted as "homoerotic." He often had several flattering physical descriptions of his male leads, and even longer descriptions of their closeness to other characters. This closeness of course, is only between two men. Despite some notable female leads (The Lane that Ran East and West, The Touch of Pan, The Empty House's Aunt Julia), the majority of his characters are men, and they happen to be men who are often in situations that have them get close with other men. Without further ado, let me give you some horribly decontextualized, eyebrow-raising snippets from his works to try and paint Algernon Blackwood as Anglo-American horror's LGBT representative. Of course, these examples could simply be my mind jumping to conclusions.

Howard Phillips Lovecraft- Short Story Summaries

And now, for the Horse Power Hateart version.

Algernon Blackwood- The Short Story Summaries

I'm getting rid of plenty of the literature I own that I've already read because that's the demand of me. Whenever I'm finished reading a short story by a great horror writer I really like, I write a short summary of it, so I won't forget what it was about. (Needless to say, by posting this here I am trying to forget about it.) I hope these summaries will be useful for anybody trying to find information about Blackwood.

Miyerkules, Hulyo 30, 2014

pol, regarding two-party paradigms

The left-right paradigm which is so defamed as nonexistent here, is in a way real, but is better defined as the reactionary-progressive paradigm.

The progressive part is the moving actor and the reactionary is, shocking, the reactor. The actor moves steadily forward at an increasing speed, like an object in freefall, while the reaction force increasingly fails to slow it down.

Now, here is the crux of this, and the part you won't here often: As the reaction force fails and the progressive force continues to pick up speed, it eventually becomes too sure of itself, too cocky, it moves too fast, and eventually it will drive the majority of people in society into not only the reaction force, but increasingly, militant and eventually very hostile reaction forces. Society, then, will as a whole, snap back against progressivism, against globalization, and sometimes against urbanization.

You may be asking why any of this is relevant or applies to common life. Particularly it is important because we are on the death spiral for democracy in large parts of the world that we were on 90 years ago. What we are seeing in the right, as it further and further increases it's intolerance for the left, is the later parts of the populist movement. of the 1890s. Groups which I believe to be part of this "new populist block" include Front National, UKIP, Golden Dawn, Ukraine's new government, Swedish Democrats, and others.

Another crux of this point, and a grave prediction: All of these groups will inevitably fail, with perhaps the exception of the Golden Dawn. They are not the final form, but a means to an end, a proof that reactionaries will not win through peace. As this becomes apparent, the narrative of the right in Europe will turn it's praise away from democracy and democratic ideals, as the need to preserve the old way through any means asserts itself. What we will have then, gentlemen, is proper nationalist parties, some terribly similar to those of the 1930s.

A little bit of inspiration from pol

It's all gone wrong, hasn't it? And when you recognize that's it's all gone wrong, they hate you for it. Not just hate you, the wish death and violence upon you. Upon everything that you love and hold dear. All of that tolerance and acceptance goes out the window when you don't want your entire identity defined by your sexual fetishes. When you want to be successful and make something of yourself without excuses or handouts. By God will they hate you. And should you ever want to see the fruits of your labor, to truly OWN what you have wrought with all of that blood and sweat, they will want to see it taken from you. And that's the most sickening thing of all. For all of the noise, all the screaming and whining and yelling they do, it is all to appeal to someone stronger than they and stronger than you to do their dirty work, because their cowardice knows no bounds or limits or shame. You would pray to God for the strength to carry on, and they ridicule and spit at you for it while in the same breath praying to the State to come and smite you, not with lightning or floods or plagues, but with guns and tanks and drones.

So I ask you, my fellow users; is it wrong to hate them? I would say that it is not wrong to hate someone who would seek to silence everything you say, to discredit everything you do, and destroy everything you create. Why humor them as equals at all? The answer is simple, we must elevate them. We must be better, we must be the shining example. Where they seek to tear everything down, we must be the builders, the creators. You must be that shining light on the hill, that Ubermensch, not the biting, spitting child they wish you to be.

We must all be better, if we are to right what has gone wrong. To bring this new dark age asunder from the perverts and liars that would corrupt all that is good in the world. To arms, to arms.

Linggo, Hunyo 01, 2014

True Gold from the Fanfiction generator

This story worked out so well.

A Stigmata In Time

On a holy and holy morning, Jesus sat up on the cross. It was Valentine's Day and he was all alone. His shaft ached in sorrow for the secret love that he could never share. How could he expect Judas to love someone with a holy receptacle?

Godly, he began to recite a poem he had composed. "Ah, my love is like a holy holy might, all on a summer's day. I wish my Judas would nail me, in his own holy way..."

"Do you?" Judas sat down beside Jesus and put his hand on Jesus's palms. "I think that could be arranged."

Jesus gasped godly. "But what about my holy receptacle?"

"I like it," Judas said godly. "I think it's holy."

They came together and their kiss was like to a grain of mustard, which a man having taken, did sow in his field.

"I love you," Jesus said godly.

"I love you too," Judas replied and nailed him.

They bought a lamb, moved in together, and lived godly ever after.


Some juvenile faux-writing

I can't believe how old this piece is-I wrote it back when Wrath of the Lich King had just come out and people were still using the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air meme. It was languishing in one of my many notepad files. I present the Dead Ranger of Bel-Air:

Dead Ranger of Bel-air:

Now this the story about how
My life got switch-swapped went around
And don’t worry ‘bout the blade stuck in yo head
I’ll tell you how I became the one of the undead

In west Quel’thalas, trained and served,
I’m very best pals with the beasts and the birds,
Seeking, hunting, killing them intruders
And hobnobbin’ with the best elven shooters

When the might of Scourge,
Bringin’ the pain,
Tried to get to our ‘chanted fountain
I made one little counter and Arthas got pissed,
He said, “I’ll have to do somethin’ ‘bout that elven bitch.”

I whistled for my troops as the dead came near,
Ghouls and Fiends and Zombies were here,
I anything, I had nothing to say,
But I thought, “For the elves!” “Yo homes, fire away!”

The battle was long, well into the day,
Until Arthas came for me, and then I was slain
He thought a clean kill was way too unfair,
I was raised from the dead, so let the living beware.

Sylvanas: "What in the Forsaken's name?"

Top-tier /lit/ copypasta

/lit/ got it's hands on the Navy SEALS copypasta and subjected it to postmodernism:

A dualist Plato scholar philosophy professor and designer of hydroelectric power stations was teaching a class on RenĂ© Descartes, known metaphysician. ”Before the class begins, you must get on your knees and worship Descartes and accept that his "cogito ergo sum" is the most self-evident idea in the history of humanity, even more evident than "panta rei"!”

At this moment, a brave, patriotic, deep ecologist Heideggerian traditional farmer who had written over 1500 papers on the ontological difference and understood the necessity of a new German beginning for western philosophy and fully supported all hermeneutization of ontology spoke:

”What is that by terms of which this rock can be said to exist, pinhead?” he said in a 19th century rural dialect of German

The arrogant professor smirked quite modernly and smugly replied, “Matter, you stupid postmodernist.”

”Wrong. Matter is just an a posteriori theoretical understanding of reality. If its Being, as you say, is a metaphysical substance… then its Being is a being.”

The professor was visibly shaken, and dropped his chalk and copy of Discourse on the Method. He stormed out of the room crying those dualist crocodile tears. The same tears modernists cry for the “res cogitans” when they jealously try to claw wonder from the world by making it a standing-reserve of resources. There is no doubt that at this point our professor, Aristotle Spinoza, wished he had pulled himself up by his bootstraps and become more than an inauthentic nihilist. He wished so much that he could experience aletheia, but he himself had created metaphysical cages that prevented Being from showing itself!

The students applauded and all enrolled in the university of Freiburg that day and accepted historicity and finitude as the defining characteristics of human existence. An eagle named “Ereigenis” flew into the room and perched atop the portrait of Friedrich Nietzsche and shed a tear on the chalk. Sein und Zeit was read several times, and Being itself was disclosed and propagated authenticity and existential dread throughout the country.

The professor lost his tenure and was fired the next day. He died after being ran over by a motorized fleet of agricultural machinery and nothing happened to him after that because being-towards-death is a condition of possibility for experience.

More where that came from!