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/lit/ - Literature


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15452747 No.15452747 [Reply] [Original]

Do you ever just come across an everyday object, like the lock on a door, and fall into a feeling of surreality when you actually consider it for a little moment? Or maybe you consider someone who features prominently in your life and think: “Who is this person?” Is there a name for this?

>> No.15452756
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15452756

>>15452747
fuck

>> No.15452780
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15452780

get in the car

>> No.15452798

>>15452747
Only Fools and Horses was fucking based. That is all.

>> No.15452799

>>15452780
Kek this made me laugh but I don’t get it.

>> No.15454151

disassociation. I experience it often. It's fascinating.

>> No.15454241

>>15452798
Oi del boy n rodney .ive watched every episode

>> No.15454269

>>15452747

A lot, OP

Schizophrenia runs in my family, and a psych said I might have very mild autistic traits

>> No.15454296

>>15454151
This. It starts with wondering how everything around me is clearly manufactured, fake and then it starts feeling fake. Fun fact, when you type in this experience into Google they tell you about the suicide hotline, apparently it's a symptom of some mental illnesses.

>> No.15454304

>>15452747
>I often find myself inexplicably struck by the poetics of found texts. I am drawn to things which were not quite meant for the world of literature (or perhaps it is only that they are things I have come across by accident, since a reader in this digital age often digests so much information abutting and introducing a text before they actually come to read the real text at all) or passages which have shone ebulliently beyond the reach of their original intentions. I am struck by the power of certain historical anecdotes, details of history books or entries in encyclopedias, of the definitions contained in antiquated dictionaries which demonstrate something of a bygone faith, the genealogies of the bible when they are read aloud in the manner of an incantatory prayer, and instructions as to the mastery of a complicated or archaic instrument whose use has become redundant. As a boy I would carry home oddly shaped or glittering, worthless rocks. I had no place to put them and could not justify their accumulation, yet I could not resist. The poetic allure of mysterious objects (“The aim of literature [...] is the creation of a strange object covered with fur which breaks your heart,”) has bewitched me from the day I formed my first memory. It was a piece of driftwood half submerged in the Kansas River that vaguely looked to me like the head of Medusa and which I felt sure had once rested on the shore of a land where there were men and women who had never heard the word America, never had to wear clothes or brush their teeth, and had no knowledge of the rapid mechanization of the universe. Genesis says that mankind was formed from dust, womankind from bone. The Norse say that the first man and woman were once driftwood. There is a kind of kaleidoscopic fragmentation in modern literature—whose shoulders are weighed heavily by sagging time—that is working its spidery hypnosis over me. I do not know why and perhaps the process of the unaccountable bewildering is what has gotten its powerful hooks in me. I began to read, first because I loved stories, and then once again because I did not feel I understood the world, and thought books would teach me. Now I think I do it for more than just the things I’ve mentioned, but I’m not sure how to verbalize what it is.

>> No.15454330

>>15454304
That's neat and apparently a /lit/ original?

>> No.15454354

>>15454304
someone sum it up for me i cant read

>> No.15454392

>>15452747
Sometimes the mind transcends the apparent reality and realises its true inability to comprehend the Noumena. Ironically, in that one brief moment, that surrealness you feel brings you in union with the real, absolute universe, where you experience it not through understanding (which is ultimately impossible) but rather by becoming one with the absurd, un-narrative truth that is the actual mode of existence. In due time the superego will reassert nominal control of your conscious experience and your enlightenment will be lost, but treasure these fleeting, naked moments whenever you so happen to experience them.

>> No.15454405

>>15454354
it's just a comfy anon posting about found objects that i saved from a "write what's on your mind" thread, he's even a pretty good writer.

>> No.15454534

>>15454304
nice

>> No.15454543

>>15452747
i know this feel. welcome to the schizoposter's augmented sensuatily world

>> No.15454586

>>15452747
I once saw my hand and I felt deeply disconnected from it, like it was a strange body. It took me a few minutes to realize that the form of the hand, a normal hand, is natural and there's nothing wrong with it. It was so alienating.

>> No.15454641

>>15452747
Yeah its called autism

>> No.15454789

Mishima mentions this in Frolic of the Beasts

>> No.15454803

I get this if I look at myself in the mirror for longer than maybe 10 seconds

>> No.15454808

That sounds like the kind of thing Proust would devote a few hundred pages to

>> No.15454882

>>15452747
>Do you ever just come across an everyday object, like the lock on a door, and fall into a feeling of surreality when you actually consider it for a little moment?
Only my hands

>> No.15454974

>>15452747
disassociation, as some one said. You´d probably do best with trying to let in as much as beauty in your life as possible. And therapy

>> No.15455567

>>15452747
Why are all these anons saying this person is mentally ill?
This is something every human does if they ever stop to consider something for more than two seconds.

>> No.15455746

>>15454296
Can't become too aware.