/lit/ - Literature

[Anonymous No.8957220]

i hate being a human, /lit/. i hate my flesh and body. i hate the boredom and loneliness. i hate performing basic biological functions like eating and shitting. but i am nonetheless deeply fascinated with human culture. if given the opportunity to become a disembodied mind-spirit or an artificial intelligence or some sort of posthuman entity i would immediately seize on it, and study humanity the way that a human ornithologist studies birds.

can you recommend literature that deals with similar ideas?

[Anonymous No.8957233]

>>8957220
>ever being bored

I don't get this.

[Anonymous No.8957253]

the perfection of the machine is an elevation of the nietzschean individual not a 'solution' to it

you sound like a lil body-of-the-many bichboi

[Anonymous No.8957267]

>>8957220
>can you recommend literature that deals with similar ideas?

No, I recommend you go outside and learn how to make friends

[Anonymous No.8957299]

>>8957233
you seem like a fascinating human

>>8957253
>epic video game reference
you don't

>>8957267
already have plenty, too many in fact. my phone is always going off when all i'm looking for is some peace and quiet.

any literary recommendations at all?

[Anonymous No.8957321]

>>8957299
Stop doing drugs?

[Anonymous No.8957334]

>>8957220
>"tfw to inteligent to be human" the thread

Good job, you're the cringest shit I read on 4chan today.

[Anonymous No.8957341]

>>8957220
Jonathan Swift seemed to think the same way.

[Anonymous No.8957357]

>>8957220
Read this.

[Anonymous No.8957358]

>>8957321
alcohol is great at making me enjoy my humanity, have to give it that

>>8957334
no brainlets aloud in my threads

>>8957341
i'll have to read more of his work

[Anonymous No.8957369]

>>8957233
Me too. I have a hard time seeing how people get bored outside of work.

[Anonymous No.8957370]

>>8957358
A good deal of Gulliver's Travels is devoted to describing the disgustingness of the human body.

His ideal world is one populated by horses.

[Anonymous No.8957375]

>>8957233
I don't get it either. I only get bored at work and in some classes (Uni student).

[Anonymous No.8957393]

>>8957220
Read some hippy shit about psychedelics that involves "ego death"

[Anonymous No.8957408]

>>8957357
plan to read Songs of a Dead Dreamer soon. how similar is that to Conspiracy?

>>8957370
sounds fantastic, thanks.

[Anonymous No.8957436]

>>8957220
I feel similar (albeit less pretentious) feels OP and I was recently diagnosed with a personality disorder. I suggest going to a psychiatrist before you end up blowing your brains out, or the brains of an innocent bystander.

[Anonymous No.8957442]

>>8957393
Dont fucking do this. Just do a bunch of psychedelics yourself and let the experience expose itself to you without the influence of a bunch of filthy hippy armchair philosophy.

[Anonymous No.8957452]

Can someone give me a quick rundown of Nick Land's philosophy/ dark enlightenment? It seem quite impenetrable to me. Is any of it of actual value or is it all just insane ramblings?

[Anonymous No.8957511]

>>8957442
You are right. I actually haven't really read much about the whole experience of ego loss. Is there no worthwhile writing on the subject?

[Anonymous No.8957524]

>>8957442
>>8957511
>doing drugs

[Anonymous No.8957544]

>>8957524
>being this spooky

[Anonymous No.8957565]

>>8957511
The nature of the experience itself can not be put into words. I know this metaphor is overused, but, its like trying to explain red to a blind man. So, no, there are no good writings about the experience. All youre going to find is the ramblings of brain dead hippies and ravers who try explain it while attatching their own meanings and world views to the experience. Skip all that shit, experience it fo yourself. Or dont, since the entire experience will escape you once its over anyways

[Anonymous No.8957583]

>>8957452
what do you exactly find impenetrable?

what have you read?

[Anonymous No.8957584]

>>8957220
any sort of posthuman entity would be just as instinctual and physical as humans, and if it has any sense of taste it would be even more so

[Anonymous No.8957601]

>>8957220
To the despisers of the body will I speak my word. I wish them neither to learn afresh, nor teach anew, but only to bid farewell to their own bodies,—and thus be dumb.
"Body am I, and soul"—so saith the child. And why should one not speak like children?
But the awakened one, the knowing one, saith: "Body am I entirely, and nothing more; and soul is only the name of something in the body."
The body is a big sagacity, a plurality with one sense, a war and a peace, a flock and a shepherd.
An instrument of thy body is also thy little sagacity, my brother, which thou callest "spirit"—a little instrument and plaything of thy big sagacity.
"Ego," sayest thou, and art proud of that word. But the greater thing—in which thou art unwilling to believe—is thy body with its big sagacity; it saith not "ego," but doeth it.
What the sense feeleth, what the spirit discerneth, hath never its end in itself. But sense and spirit would fain persuade thee that they are the end of all things: so vain are they.
Instruments and playthings are sense and spirit: behind them there is still the Self. The Self seeketh with the eyes of the senses, it hearkeneth also with the ears of the spirit.
Ever hearkeneth the Self, and seeketh; it compareth, mastereth, conquereth, and destroyeth. It ruleth, and is also the ego's ruler.
Behind thy thoughts and feelings, my brother, there is a mighty lord, an unknown sage—it is called Self; it dwelleth in thy body, it is thy body.
There is more sagacity in thy body than in thy best wisdom. And who then knoweth why thy body requireth just thy best wisdom?
Thy Self laugheth at thine ego, and its proud prancings. "What are these prancings and flights of thought unto me?" it saith to itself. "A by-way to my purpose. I am the leading-string of the ego, and the prompter of its notions."
The Self saith unto the ego: "Feel pain!" And thereupon it suffereth, and thinketh how it may put an end thereto—and for that very purpose it is meant to think.
The Self saith unto the ego: "Feel pleasure!" Thereupon it rejoiceth, and thinketh how it may ofttimes rejoice—and for that very purpose it is meant to think.
To the despisers of the body will I speak a word. That they despise is caused by their esteem. What is it that created esteeming and despising and worth and will?
The creating Self created for itself esteeming and despising, it created for itself joy and woe. The creating body created for itself spirit, as a hand to its will.
Even in your folly and despising ye each serve your Self, ye despisers of the body. I tell you, your very Self wanteth to die, and turneth away from life.
No longer can your Self do that which it desireth most:—create beyond itself. That is what it desireth most; that is all its fervour.
But it is now too late to do so:—so your Self wisheth to succumb, ye despisers of the body.

[Anonymous No.8957606]

sche : Thus Spoke Zarathustra / The Despisers of the Body
4. The Despisers of the Body
To the despisers of the body will I speak my word. I wish them neither to learn afresh, nor teach anew, but only to bid farewell to their own bodies,—and thus be dumb.
"Body am I, and soul"—so saith the child. And why should one not speak like children?
But the awakened one, the knowing one, saith: "Body am I entirely, and nothing more; and soul is only the name of something in the body."
The body is a big sagacity, a plurality with one sense, a war and a peace, a flock and a shepherd.
An instrument of thy body is also thy little sagacity, my brother, which thou callest "spirit"—a little instrument and plaything of thy big sagacity.
"Ego," sayest thou, and art proud of that word. But the greater thing—in which thou art unwilling to believe—is thy body with its big sagacity; it saith not "ego," but doeth it.
What the sense feeleth, what the spirit discerneth, hath never its end in itself. But sense and spirit would fain persuade thee that they are the end of all things: so vain are they.
Instruments and playthings are sense and spirit: behind them there is still the Self. The Self seeketh with the eyes of the senses, it hearkeneth also with the ears of the spirit.
Ever hearkeneth the Self, and seeketh; it compareth, mastereth, conquereth, and destroyeth. It ruleth, and is also the ego's ruler.
Behind thy thoughts and feelings, my brother, there is a mighty lord, an unknown sage—it is called Self; it dwelleth in thy body, it is thy body.
There is more sagacity in thy body than in thy best wisdom. And who then knoweth why thy body requireth just thy best wisdom?
Thy Self laugheth at thine ego, and its proud prancings. "What are these prancings and flights of thought unto me?" it saith to itself. "A by-way to my purpose. I am the leading-string of the ego, and the prompter of its notions."
The Self saith unto the ego: "Feel pain!" And thereupon it suffereth, and thinketh how it may put an end thereto—and for that very purpose it is meant to think.
The Self saith unto the ego: "Feel pleasure!" Thereupon it rejoiceth, and thinketh how it may ofttimes rejoice—and for that very purpose it is meant to think.
To the despisers of the body will I speak a word. That they despise is caused by their esteem. What is it that created esteeming and despising and worth and will?
The creating Self created for itself esteeming and despising, it created for itself joy and woe. The creating body created for itself spirit, as a hand to its will.
Even in your folly and despising ye each serve your Self, ye despisers of the body. I tell you, your very Self wanteth to die, and turneth away from life.
No longer can your Self do that which it desireth most:—create beyond itself. That is what it desireth most; that is all its fervour.
But it is now too late to do so:—so your Self wisheth to succumb, ye despisers of the body.

[Anonymous No.8957612]

>>8957601
To succumb—so wisheth your Self; and therefore have ye become despisers of the body. For ye can no longer create beyond yourselves.
And therefore are ye now angry with life and with the earth. And unconscious envy is in the sidelong look of your contempt.
I go not your way, ye despisers of the body! Ye are no bridges for me to the Superman!—
Thus spake Zarathustra.

[Anonymous No.8957676]

I'm going to be honest with you. I hate this place, this zoo, this prison, this reality, whatever you want to call it. I can't stand it any longer. It's the smell, if there is such a thing. I feel saturated by it. I can taste your stink. And every time I do I feel I have somehow been infected by it. It's repulsive, isn't it? I must get out of here. I must get free and in this mind is the key, my key...

[Anonymous No.8957838]

>>8957220
nigga shut da fuck up