Earl of Rochester

[Anonymous No.21929645]

Is he the most based writer?

[Anonymous No.21929680]

>>21929645
much.

I've come to think that that painting is an allusion to Thoth, the monkey god, who was supposed to "interpret all wisdom" to Maat (divine intelligence) ... and the inherent joke of this inside old egyptian religion... being a satire in and of itself.

[Anonymous No.21929700]

>>21929645
Actually, 2/2 from >>21929680

I've described him as a kind of "moralist saint", given how 'much' of satire - which is portrayed as if it's smut - is usually just an honest appraisal of a thing, dragging some sordid reality into plain sight.

Rochesters, 'satire against mankind' is probably the best example of this, but the old Romans, Martial or Juvenal perhaps, also do the same thing. Martial anyway, Juvenal is too sophistic for my taste.

[Anonymous No.21929775]

>>21929645
You can just tell this guy was a closeted homosexual

[Anonymous No.21929793]

>>21929645
Best English poet of his generation.

[Anonymous No.21930269]

I've actually just spent some time reading his letters to his wife, which are really quite sweet, though no doubt written from whorehouse.

So what's the reason libertines in England we're just kinder then their French counterparts. It wasn't so much about dominance and the suffering of women.

That's why Etherege's Man of Mode it's such a great play (And based on Rochester). For all their necessary selfishness these people are quite kind.

[Anonymous No.21931001]

>>21929775
There was no closet or gay or straight in those days, boys were dressed in dresses until they came of age and earned their trousers, and boys were fucked by other boys as a matter of soldierly distinction amongst the middle class.

[Anonymous No.21931008]

>>21930269
>Etherege's Man of Mode
ha i've never read this, good recommendation

[Anonymous No.21931286]

>>21929775
>closeted
"...I storm and I roar, and I fall in a rage,
and missing my whore, I bugger my page."

[Anonymous No.21931442]

>>21931286
exaaaaactly

but here's an updated version,

Regime de Poultrone, Verse One
I rise about 7, and I blame all the Jews;
I imagine I'm in Call of Duty and the next thing I do,
I call for my Mummy when for in need of a snack
I stumble in silence ("when's Dad coming back?"),
my Mum hasn't shaved today and she's watching the Telly,
"get it yourself," she says heaving her belly,
then I fall in a roar albeit inside my head
and I go over the things that I wish that I'd said
as I fumble 'round kitchen dinette for some pops
then after failing to locate them I go to the shops
as I'm walking in silence with my head held right down
a young couple walks past and one of them's brown,
I seethe in my head as I purchase my breakfast,
one chocolate bar, red bull and a small can of dr. pepper
with my pocket money that what is left from the dole,
and I stumble back home even slower than before,
when I arrive back at Mums I find she's fall'n fast asleep
and I cringe at the sound of a fart or a queef,
I lumber upstairs and go back to my room,
my name's Random Westerner and I'm Forty Two.


non. ianuari.