No.249977
a bunch of words
No.249982
>“Shut up before you make me puke! Maybe you’ve got a pretty house. So
what? And maybe you’re not a bad old guy. Smart, and refined, and
everything just right. But smug, man, so sure of your place. So sure that you
fit right in. With everything around you. Like this village of yours, with its
twenty generations of ancestors just like you. Twenty generations without a
conscience, without a heart. What a family tree! And now here you are, the
last, perfect branch. Because you are, you’re perfect. And that’s why I hate
you. That’s why I’m going to bring them here, tomorrow. The grubbiest
ones in the bunch. Here, to your house. You’re nothing to them, you and all
you stand for. Your world doesn’t mean a thing. They won’t even try to
understand it. They’ll be tired, man. Tired and cold. And they’ll build a fire
with your big wooden door. And they’ll crap all over your terrace, and wipe
their hands on your shelves full of books. And they’ll spit out your wine,
and eat with their fingers from all that nice pewter hanging inside on your
wall. Then they’ll squat on their heels and watch your easy chairs go up in
smoke. And they’ll use your fancy bedsheets to pretty themselves up in. All
your things will lose their meaning. Your meaning, man. What’s beautiful
won’t be, what’s useful they’ll laugh at, what’s useless they won’t even
bother with. Nothing’s going to be worth a thing. Except maybe a piece of
string on the floor. And they’ll fight over it, and tear the whole damn place
apart. … Yes, it’s going to be tremendous! So go on, beat it. Fuck off!”
Kek, its kraykray how he predicted pajeets taking over 50 years ago
No.249984
>>249982this triggers the german
No.249989
>>249984its okay, the libtard was dealt with in the very next paragraph
>I’ve always led a rather quiet life. A professor of literature who loved his work, that’s all. No war ever called me to serve, and, frankly, the spectacle of pointless butchery makes me ill. I wouldn’t have made a very good soldier, I’m afraid. Still, had I been with Actius, once upon a time, I think I would have reveled in killing my share of Hun. And with the likes of Charles Martel, and Godfrey of Bouillon, and Baldwin the Leper, I’m sure I would have shown a certain zeal in poking my blade through Arab flesh. I might have fallen before Byzantium, fighting by Constantine Dragasès’s side. But God, what a horde of Turks I would have cut down before I gasped my last! Besides, when a man is convinced of his cause, he doesn’t die quite so easily! See, there I am, springing back to life in the ranks of the Teutons, hacking the Slav to shreds. And there, leaving Rhodes with Villiers de l’Isle-Adam and his peerless little band, my white cloak blazoned with the cross, my sword dripping blood. Then sailing with Don Juan of Austria, off to even the score at Lepanto. Ah, what a splendid slaughter! … But soon there’s nothing left for me to do. A few trifling skirmishes now and again, none of them too well thought of these days. Like the War Between the States, when my side is defeated and I join the Ku Klux Klan to murder myself some blacks. A nasty business, I admit. Not quite so bad with Kitchener, though, skewering the Mahdi’s Moslem fanatics, spilling their guts. … But the rest is all current events, a sad little joke. Most of it has already slipped my mind. Perhaps I’ve done my bit, killing a pinch of Oriental at the Berlin gates. A dash of Vietcong here, of Mau Mau there. A touch of Algerian rebel to boot. At worst, some leftist or other, finished off in a police van, or some vicious Black Panther. Yes, it’s all become so terribly ugly. No fanfares anymore, no flags, no hosannas … Oh well, you’ll have to excuse an old professor’s pedantic prattle. But you see, I too have stopped thinking and just want to tell you where I stand. You’re right, I’ve never killed a soul. Much less any of the types I’ve just conjured up, all of them standing here before me, at last, in your flesh, all rolled into one. But now I’m going to live those battles over, all at once, those battles that I feel so much a part of, deep in my soul, and I’m going to act them out, right here, all by myself, with one single shot. Like this!Wow, hes literally me!
No.250228
>For the rice, no problem, no need to be told. There was only one solution. Every Indian knew it well. With no cow droppings at hand, our seagoing horde would have to burn its own, prepared by a tried and true peasant technique known for three thousand years. And so, the decks became weird workshops, where hands deft at molding this curious coal—children, for the most part, down on their haunches—took each new batch of turds, kneaded and shaped them, pressing out the liquid, and rolling them out into little round briquettes, like the kind we used to burn in our stoves not very long ago. The tropical sun did the rest, heating the sheet-metal decks, where the crowd had left great spaces, like giant drying racks, with thousands of the putrid mounds spread out to bake and harden into fuel. Other children, quick and clever, kept them supplied, eyes peeled for anyone, man or woman, poised in the humanoid fecal position. Zip! zip! There they were, hands flashing between two outspread thighs, grabbing the precious substance and trotting it off to the dung rollers while it was hot … All of which explains how the fleet kept cooking its rice, and why it spread the horrible stench our reporter friend mentioned (and which, by the way, caused many a head to be scratched on certain foreign vessels miles downwind).
do pajeets really
No.250236
Another bantculture moment
>Escaping from the massacre and captured by the janissaries, he was brought to Mahomet with two of his sons, two young boys of unusual beauty, “that Grecian beauty,” wrote the historian Doukas, “that inspired so many centuries of artists and poets.” Now, the Grand Turk had a liking for young boys in general, and the two sons of Notaras in particular. But for some strange reason, in the midst of the carnage, he wanted them willing, and brought to his great silk bed by their father.
No.250244
>>250236>Maiden A BitchIs this worth watching? I know nothing about this animu except that it's vaguely pretty edgy sometimes
…and that ozen is top tier
No.250245
also yes madokanon does this
No.250248
>>250244the author is a based pdf file so yes
No.250249
>>250248dude this is just like the citadel
No.250254
>>250244the author is a based pdf file so yes
also this bitch has a crossdressing pet shota, although you should watch it for based peeing and pooping naked children
No.250785
Done, finna read the turner diaries next
No.251330
>>250785>turner diaries
It's the most schizophrenic shit in the universe, read it as a comedy and not a guidebook imo
how was camp of the saints doe
No.251354
Lmao so thats where the day of the rope came from
No.251662
>A Beckettian character, who may or may not be trapped in a room with four baskets full of infants, focuses obsessively on a single sentence "I fuck babies."
kekaroo, its bantish
No.251669
>>251665ugh i wanted to say G E G
No.251674
>>251672is this sissy hypno
No.254096
>>254089
actually its japanese but theres no engrish translation apparently
No.254099
>>254088I thought iramqi looked like this
No.259507
>He felt the same about his Rembrandts, which he examined now and then on the quiet; and it is of course true that, just as the loveliest melody in the world becomes unbearably vulgar once the public start humming it and the barrel-organs playing it, so the work of art that appeals to charlatans, endears itself to fools, and is not content to arouse the enthusiasm of a few connoisseurs, is thereby polluted in the eyes of the initiate and becomes commonplace, almost repulsive. This sort of promiscuous admiration was in fact one of the most painful thorns in his flesh, for unaccountable vogues had utterly spoilt certain books and pictures for him that he had once held dear; confronted with the approbation of the mob, he always ended up by discovering some hitherto imperceptible blemish, and promptly rejected them, at the same hitherto imperceptible blemish, and promptly rejected them, at the sametime wondering whether his flair was not deserting him, his taste getting blunted.
Hes literally me bruh
No.259511
>>259507words too complicated
No.261561
>‘Your hair has fallen out – your only good feature;A cruel storm has stripped the foliage of spring.
Each temple misses its natural shade
And a bare expanse grins under worn stubble.
Oh, the gods, the gods cheat us!
Our Youth’s first glories are Youth’s first forfeits.
>Poor boy,One moment your hair
Was shining gold
And you were more beautiful
Than Phoebus or his sister.
Now you are shinier
Than a bronze
Or the round cap
Of a mushroom after rain.
You run nervously
From the laughter of ladies.
Death’s sooner than you think,
You must believe –
See now, Death has begun at the top.’
Bruh the romans had burnz
No.261739
A Jew may adore his god in the sty
And pour out his woes in the ears of the sky,
But unless he will shorten his scabbard to see
That the tip of his penis will always hang free,
He’ll be driven from home to a city in Greece
And spend all his Sabbaths – eating in peace.
No.261741
Before my birth the gods, they say,Discussed what sex I’d be.
‘Boy!’ said Phoebus; ‘Girl!’ said Mars;
Said Juno, ‘I disagree.’
So I was born hermaphrodite,
But how was I to die?
The goddess was first with the answer:
‘The sword!’ Said Mars, ‘The cross!’
But Phoebus decided on drowning.
So I had to die of them all.
A tree hung over a stream,
Wearing my sword, I climbed –
A slip, we were driven together:
My feet caught in a branch,
My head dipped into the stream –
Not woman, not man, yet both:
River and Sword and Cross.
No.266339
>Silence comes in, sculptured by spoken dreams, by pain-voices of the rocketbombed next door, Lord of the Night’s children, voices hung upon the ward’s stagnant medicinal air. Praying to their Master: sooner or later an abreaction, each one, all over this frost and harrowed city…''The quick repetition of these ideas within two pages, here, seems to dig @ the idea that Pynchon is
inferring that the aural psychical effects of the bombing victims come after the fact of death just as
the bombs sound come after their delivery. In other words, b/c of the instantaneous nature of their
death there is much psychic energy that is let off which affects the environment afterward, ie. all
over the frost & harrowed city.''
No.266343
i havent read these
>>261561>>261739>>261741>>266339yet, but today i dont have lettuce so i used seaweed in my sandwhich
No.267148
>‘It’s not that. All I’m saying is that you’re a little brain-dead right now. I look at the girls in my class, and there’s something, like, mercenary about them. I mean, I don’t even understand some of the things they’re into.There’s this girl in the class ahead of me who just got kicked out of school for working at an S&M club. Can you believe that? I’ve started to think I’ll find myself a nice girl from Kazakhstan or somewhere. anguage might be a problem, but—’
>‘Kazakhstan?’
>‘The women there are supposed to be beautiful, with really excellent
personalities.’
Were japanaryans nuking with this one, r/bbc?
No.267162
>>267148Whalestan
No.267184
Finna do a little review on books i have read since the beginning of this year methinks:
Albert Camus - The plague: pretty kino book about existentialism and plague and shit like that, it kinda reminded me of Texhnolyze the anime and Pathologic the videogame for obvious reasons to people who are acquainted with both of those works. Although i think The Stranger is still his better work, Plague was way more bleak and hopeless imo.
Jean Raspail - Camp of saints: georgedish kino which managed to predict the jeet uprising 60 or so years before it happened, the prose was okay too although the characters werent really that interesting i think, they werent badly written either.
The cult of the black cube: a short little book outlining the history of Saturn worshipping with a couple of rituals thrown in, felt kinda new age-y cuz the author combined several different gods into one but otherwise pretty trad on other points.
Isabella Panfido - Venice Noir: A collection of short stories about different islands of Venice, it wasnt offensively bad but i hardly remember anything about it, the prose was a bit purplish and clumsy too.
William Shakespeare - The Merchant of Venice: Now heres a real Venetian kino with enough antisemitism added into the mix to base a 4th reich on this little play. As far as plays go its not my favourite, not even among brother's 'Spearean ones, but the parts where the noble lady made her wooers undergo a trial for her hand was pretty funny. Shylock was pretty cool too.
Jack Vance - Dying Earth trilogy (theres 4 books in it but i didnt read the last one): Pretty funny dark (post-apocalyptic) fantasy books, first one is a collection of (largely) unconnected short stories, the next 2 are united by having a single protagonist, a rogue and conman named Cugel, he was pretty charismatic and amoral antihero which i liked i think.
Michel Houellebecq - Submission: a novel about France electing a muslim president and becoming a caliphate also with some commentary on Huysmans, its a bit like camp of saints but less apocalyptic and makes frighteningly more sense. The prose was nice too although i didnt really care for descriptions of main character having sex with various women throughout the book, but as i was told its a staple of the author.
Jose Donoso - Obscene bird of night: one of the most schizophrenic books ive read in recent times, took me over 2 weeks to finish i think, its a pretty hard read since the structure is largely unformatted and schizophrenic in nature but makes up for a nice narrative. I didnt like how deformed freaks killed the aryan (chilean) ubermensch in the end though, he didnt deserve it.
Arnold J. Toynbee - World and the west: a short little book about the world (duh) and its relationship with the west divided into several sections such as Russia and the west, China and the west, middle east and the west etc. The message largely ended up being "The west that doesnt kill you makes you stronger" or something along those lines.
Joris-Karl Huysmans - A Rebours: a novel called the peak of decadentism or something. It was pretty cool i think cuz they described a lot of different aesthetical concepts and shit. Not much of the story though. Also the hero is literally me, and it also proves that neets existed in all times or something. Although the concept were different back then.
Petronius - The Satyricon: One of the highlights of 2026 for me so far, very witty and funnily written, it was also interesting to take a look into the lives of ancient romans without veneer of georgedish propaganda about it.
Gustave Flaubert - Temptations of Saint Anthony: Cool book. Very imaginative. The story basically follows Saint Anthony as the Devil tries to seduce him with different things, first food, then riches, then women, then heretics. The heresiarchs section is by far the most interesting one, describing over a dozen of different heresies and shit, although the one chapter where devil takes him into space for a flight read strangely modern.
Rachilde - Monsieur Venus: A story about a 'noko and his rich GF who likes to pretend to be a man. Noko ends up getting laid with her hussar friend who later stabs him to death, nuff said. His gf then excavates his corpse and makes a wax image of him using various body pieces.
Georges Batailles - My mother, Madame Edwarda, The dead man: My mother which made up the majority of this collection was one of his better G E M mies, it was about some unfortunate son whose mother is a hoe and after his father dies she still keeps hoeing and also sets up her son with various other hoes whom she gotten laid with before (the hoes). Batailles is the only one who gets "transgressive" literature imho, its always a fun time reading him.
Vladimir Nabokos - Lolita: Dont like Nabby much. Lolita was his usual stuff, i remember dropping it 10 pages in long time ago but this time i pulled through to the end and it wasnt as bad as it felt like on the first time, especially after the overlong introduction when the main character finally gets to see the eponymous Lolita.
Ryu Murakami - Almost transparent blue: Japanese college students take drugs and have sex. Nuff said. Also main characters gets fucked by BLACK BVLLS and sucks their dihs as well.
Ryu Murakami - In the miso soup: Japanese sex tourism guide gets hired by filthy gaijin and things get weird. Ends up on a bit of a nothing burger.
J.W. Ocker - Cult following: Basically an overview of a couple of dozen different cults, i learned about a couple of more obscure ones but the rest of the book was pretty boring.
Ryu Murakami - Audition: Middle-aged man tries to find a gf 5 years after his wife died. Gone wrong, and the psycho who cozied up to him kills his dog and saws off his leg. Fortunately the man's son stabs her in the neck killing her. fuck and kill woe-men.