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/lit/ - Literature

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10276398 No.10276398 [Reply] [Original]

As I've said: Nihilism, cynicism, hedonism and constant 4th-wall breaking are no longer edgy, but now that they're used as gimmicks in most media, why do people in America believe postmodernism to be any different than what's come before; or why can't everyone see that the themes in American culture haven't changed, and that American /lit never truly goes too far - or far enough - in exploring Nihilism, cynicism, or hedonism? American culture is so much appearance and not unsettling the status quo, that no profound works can be made to address these philosophies that would deviate from the norm. That's why American culture is always the highest and truest form of pretension, and why Postmodernism has never been fully expressed there beyond the vaudevillian antics of a few.

>> No.10276408
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10276408

Picrelated is your post in distilled form. Go away from my board with your /int/ardation, faggot.

>> No.10276433
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10276433

>american
>culture

>> No.10276499

/lit top 100 without Americans: the best possible list /lit/ could make. Like DFW is any better than Charles Brockden Brown. Americans can never detach from their current culture, can never think beyond what their choices appear as to others. They're all just empty vessels waiting for someone to come along to speak for them.

>> No.10276527

My state is not destitute of tranquillity. The sentiment that dictates my feelings is not hope. Futurity has no power over my thoughts. To all that is to come I am perfectly indifferent. With regard to myself, I have nothing more to fear. Fate has done its worst. Henceforth, I am callous to misfortune.
I address no supplication to the Deity. The power that governs the course of human affairs has chosen his path. The decree that ascertained the condition of my life, admits of no recal. No doubt it squares with the maxims of eternal equity. That is neither to be questioned nor denied by me. It suffices that the past is exempt from mutation. The storm that tore up our happiness, and changed into dreariness and desert the blooming scene of our existence, is lulled into grim repose; but not until the victim was transfixed and mangled; till every obstacle was dissipated by its rage; till every remnant of good was wrested from our grasp and exterminated.