/lit/ - Literature

>>18864378
original post

>nyc
there may have been a time when it was /lit/. it's pseud central today.

>>18178740

>>17866589
>2021 Disney Manhattan is better than 1985 Manhattan by every metric.

Sure, keep telling yourself that while

>>15345895
Had to read her for one of my mandatory college courses. What is there to say about a black writer writing about being black? Certainly nothing that hasn't been said before. Tedious was an understatement. We ready both Jazz and Beloved. The only thing that made an impression is how even the vulgarity of her works was characterized by mediocrity. Gratuitous focus on flesh and contrived 'plots' you feel you've read a dozen times before in barely varied tropes or forms. Beloved in particular felt like reading a children's story re-adapted for adults, not an interesting way mind you. In the end I just regurgitated what my professor wanted to hear and was glad to have the ordeal behind me. How someone can think they're underrepresented or oppressed when they are sponsored by the state is quite beyond me.

the classic:

>There is a certain technocratic caste in America, typically from a middle class background, who has been able to take advantage of the American university system's social-climbing mechanics and start at management consulting firms/iBanks right out of college. They call themselves type As, who, given the propriety involved in getting employment with such high starting salaries, are tracked to such an extent that they haven't had time in years to do anything besides meet the demands of school/work/networking/self-assigned Aziz-Ansari tv seasons.

>After graduation, they chain-migrate to the same sections of the same "desirable" cities of DC, SF, NYC, Boston, etc. that their boomer parents/media told them were hip. They have relatively large expendable incomes, and their jobs are fluid—moving between other desirable cities every couple years, they cross-pollinate and standardize their ecosystems, forming a sort of country within a country, made up of the former-arts-district habitats and Acela migration routes these future leaders use to play city.

>As other areas of the cities they live in, and other, non-desirable cities, seek to attract them (or even be perceived by them), they transform themselves into the simulated Williamsburg/WeWork host that this civilizationally tumorous biomass feeds on. Marketed and advertised to as the most sought after demographic, veins of commerce spread the cancer, first to main street America and from there to the rest of the world.

trips decides the language i learn and novel i read in it

>>13973199
I've only seen it written about on 4channel:

It's cultural terraforming.

The platonic bugman isn't simply a fully assimilated workerdrone for globohomocorp... He is a man who never had the need to change in order to assimilate to globohomocorp.

C-sectioned into a sterile environment by credentialised alien medical personnel and raised by strivers who had incubated what they intended to be a narcissistic clone of themselves. Rather than the mirror of self affirmation his parents intended to create, they inadvertently brought something far worse into this world. Something... Empty. Something with the smallest possible soul, which occupies the smallest possible corner of the cavernous soul-space inherent to a man with his inherited high IQ that was intended to be tempered by an ethnocultural heritage of altruistic romanticism.

His caretakers' empty loveless platitudes, persistent physical and emotional absences, and fanatical striver dedication to relentless "inclusiveness" and "efficiency" resulted in the utter starvation of the child's solitary soul fragment.

An unclaimed heritage makes its presence felt through a haunting melancholy that propels a fully-souled individual to seek it out, at any price. A weaker-souled individual still feels the call, but weakly... It is easy to drown out with drugs, drink, and other forms of desensitization.

The platonic bugman hears none of this. His soul has been shrunken to a tiny characterless bead that serves only as a mechanically animating force- and nothing more.

The fullest soul sings like wind through the veins of heroes. But the bugman's blood is naught but iron, plasma, and carbon dioxide. Simple elements. Physical blood pumped rhythmically through tissue that is warm, yet remains lifeless.

Completely bereft of emotional, sociocultural and memetic antibodies, his body and mind are fully colonized by the roaming metabacterial influences of the managerialist mileu. There is an Amazon Alexa in his soul cavern.

Inverted panopticon: A ring of corpogovernmentally programmed thought police surrounding a lone man in a cell. But there is no cell, because the man is incapable of considering any alternative.
He is tweeting, and nomming on organic granola.
He am become globohomo, monocultural fagger of worlds.

has the move from a physical to a digital national literary community (at least in the US) been good for american literature, or is it just over for good anyways?

>>12882097
Leftists don't read either, not unless you count harry potter and cherry picked samples that defend their 'reality'.

>>12363034
>choose to sync your npr podcasts

It's cultural terraforming.

The platonic bugman isn't simply a fully assimilated workerdrone for globohomocorp... He is a man who never had the need to change in order to assimilate to globohomocorp.

C-sectioned into a sterile environment by credentialised alien medical personnel and raised by strivers who had incubated what they intended to be a narcissistic clone of themselves. Rather than the mirror of self affirmation his parents intended to create, they inadvertently brought something far worse into this world. Something... Empty. Something with the smallest possible soul, which occupies the smallest possible corner of the cavernous soul-space inherent to a man with his inherited high IQ that was intended to be tempered by an ethnocultural heritage of altruistic romanticism.

His caretakers' empty loveless platitudes, persistent physical and emotional absences, and fanatical striver dedication to relentless "inclusiveness" and "efficiency" resulted in the utter starvation of the child's solitary soul fragment.

An unclaimed heritage makes its presence felt through a haunting melancholy that propels a fully-souled individual to seek it out, at any price. A weaker-souled individual still feels the call, but weakly... It is easy to drown out with drugs, drink, and other forms of desensitization.

The platonic bugman hears none of this. His soul has been shrunken to a tiny characterless bead that serves only as a mechanically animating force- and nothing more.

The fullest soul sings like wind through the veins of heroes. But the bugman's blood is naught but iron, plasma, and carbon dioxide. Simple elements. Physical blood pumped rhythmically through tissue that is warm, yet remains lifeless.

Completely bereft of emotional, sociocultural and memetic antibodies, his body and mind are fully colonized by the roaming metabacterial influences of the managerialist mileu. There is an Amazon Alexa in his soul cavern.

Inverted panopticon: A ring of corpogovernmentally programmed thought police surrounding a lone man in a cell. But there is no cell, because the man is incapable of considering any alternative.
He is tweeting, and nomming on organic granola.
He am become globohomo, monocultural fagger of worlds.

Oh boy, another middle-brow M'bongo Ranjeep-Chen novel about how hard it is being a vaguely brown lesbian cripple living in New York. I can't wait to read about how my soggy knees are keeping transgendered squirrel-kin from competing in international ping-pong tournaments, or how endless clones of Mel Gibson caricatures or crowding minorities out of the Etsy tea-cozie crochet industry.

Fuck this fucking timeline.

>>11869355
This kind of person reads such books.

I think about this literally constantly.