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/lit/ board - Literature - October 2014

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How do you feel about the arguments for knowledge of the external world expressed by Moore? As much as I try to see his point, it really does seem as though he is simply saying that the burden of proof should be on skeptics in this case. Is that misconstruing his reasoning?
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Can anyone who's versed in British Idealism explain the basics of the school and Bradley?
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Single best book written by an African American that retained the use of ebonics?
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I should have been a pair of ragged claws Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
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The Irony of Wallace~ The flotsam of post modernism remains on the banks of the beach. Tides of style and lingo and gesticulations and performance infect new participants, the young, who have no need to dig into the roots or dive into the ocean of ontology for they too are but the remnants of sunken vessels, vehicles that drowned by trying to drive on water. The young are everywhere. Melted skin dangles off the bones of sixty or more years because she wants to wear this bikini for the rest of her life, because she is 'young at heart'. The irony of Wallace is that knowing 'this is water' didn't stop him from driving into that deep sea. The noose was an anchor that made sure he wasn't to wash on shore ever again. Wallace took his life because he tried driving instead of swimming, and the irony is that this genius knew all along that 'this is water'. Tan orange wrinkled skin wrapped by fabric floss, does she not know how disgusting she looks? She is the God of decades past, an emblem of driving on water, drowning in a sea of vehicles. I look up from the ocean. This submarine is cozy. The water is beautiful.
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>tfw I will probably wrote my first novella on college life of the solitude with living out a female companion Also, /zeeburggeneral/ thread:
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Alright /lit/ I need help. I'm supposed to do a marxism literary analysis of a short story and I chose the Shoemaker and the Devil. I don't want the essay written for me only what should go into it. Inb4 underage b& i'm an 18 year old Senior. Inb4 not your personal army this is an anon asking for help
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Any good works of fiction on corporate espionage?
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Has anyone here read anything by Rolf Dobelli? Thoughts? I just read about him interviewing with journalists from The Guardian, talking about the detrimental effects of consuming news media. Sounds like an interesting person with interesting, well thought-out, well articulated theories, wondering about any opinions on him/his works/recommendations, etc. Thanks.
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I wrote the beginning to a story over the past few days and am not sure what to think of it, I'd appreciate some critiques and your opinions regarding whether or not it's worth continuing. Thanks. https://docs.google.com/document/d/1drNwAQ2GII0DqBZ_TLXytMjbE2BStV3E0lnVj-yhEE0/edit?usp=sharing
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So I wrote this on a whim after reading a copypasta about cheetos. Anyone willing to take it apart? “I say we take off and nuke the entire site from orbit. It's the only way to be sure.” “Stop talking to me.” “We’re gonna have to do it quickly, before it wak…” “nyeeeEEEEEESSSSSSssssss…” The faint, yet unmistakeably feral growling interrupts Jackson, a morbidly obese, schizophrenic African American man, midsentence. A sweat-soaked wad of fabric, a hankerchief once, falls onto the cardboard box at his feet, the scintillating droplets staining the surface dark brown as they landed. Dark, hostile eyes stare up through holes punched into the cardboard box as the growling develops into an inhuman crescendo of roars, screams and moans, the reverberations becoming a tangible vibration against Jackson’s unusally flawless ebony skin. A yellow and brown spotted claw rips through the cardboard from beneath the sopping wet handkerchief, revealing a crouching cheetah shrouded in a pungent orange mist. Thousands of years of biological instinct kicking in, a dark red fire courses through Jackson’s veins as he dead sprints away from his natural predator, his overhanging paunch, atrophied muscles and gelatinous tush no obstacle as his legs pump at the speed of a Formula 1 racer travelling at 30 kilometers per hour. “Are we far enough away?” “STOP TALKING TO ME” “Coz I can still smell the ch…” As he loses consciousness for the last time, he hears a nasal, upbeat voice say “they’re dangerously cheesy.”
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Do we not err when we accuse successful people of being overconfident? e.g. the commercially and critically successful phenomenon of Kanye West. Surely if someone becomes successful then they could not have aimed above what they were capable of, and thus were modest. If you do aim above then you will either fail miserably and have nothing, or be paralysed by the enormity of the task. Did any philosopher consider that?
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Hey /lit/ Any suggestions for fictocriticism? Trying not to jump to conclusions. Trying to see why it is even being read. Failing hard. All I can see... "fictocriticism": >phd candidate at nowhere uni (aus/can) >compiled/printed all blogs >submitted as doctoral dissertation
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I'm trying to write some characters right now, and while I have the ides of what I want to happen in the story, I've realized that some of my characters don't have any motivation to be doing what they're doing. Are there any books I should read that could help me with writing characters? or even tips would be great.
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>tfw you can't wait to pick up from where you left off Z
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There floated a hum, dual tone, all around the house, inside and outside. It wasn't a plane, it wasn't the landscape artists, it wasn't a car or my sons white noise machine. It was distant hum, at it source, the horn of God, a ridiculously beautiful and monotonous song. And then slowly it fell, and the sounds of the earth were risen again. Sounds I had ignored, but in this moment of curiosity was raised to my full attention; the wind breathing through the leaves, birds chattering, a wave from an engine turning the corner, then falling away, the wind again, the leaves, the birds, a word from the house next door, the wind rising, and falling. I have things to do today.
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Portuguese guys give me your insights on this "trecho". Os dois homens avançaram. Debaixo dos seus passos, de caule quebrado, as flores pendiam, descendentes, como se tomadas num cansaço ligeiro. “Chegamos”, disse a primeira voz –ajoelhou-se, em análise, como num nascimento. Diante dos seus olhos, o último exemplar da rosa agitava-se. “Colhemo-la”, inquiriu a segunda voz –afastando-se sem esperar pela resposta, afogando os olhos em água, num cinismo quase frívolo e de indiferença. “Poderíamos sem piedade fazê-lo, porque embora saudável, está só. Claro que não nos cabe extinguir o que não criámos, mas, em boa verdade, quem extingue fica, na história, como aquele que extinguiu”, respondeu o homem –enquanto esperava um movimento que enunciasse uma posição, ou um ataque de precipitação por iniciativa alheia. Não esperou muito. Enegrecida pela sombra do homem com tronco mais hirto, a Rosa, como em pavor mas pelo vento, fora atirada para trás, porém, não se dessoterrando. Então, a mão, como se de Deus, colhendo, exerceu leve força. Depois, o vulto, soerguendo-se, fitava o que possuía. Na palma, a gota de sangue desfalecida escorria: não do homem, por picado, mas da rosa, por chorar todos os seus antepassados...
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You guys are all here because you like reading but are all STEM majors in school right? I mean no one here would be stupid enough to actually major in English, Literature, Philosophy, or Classics anymore right? Right dudes?

NORTH KOREA /LIT TAKEOVER

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This was a great book and incredible new insight on North Korea from an every day point of view. Unfortunately it is not actually written by a North Korean so I don't know how relatable it is to real life. I also really enjoyed Nothing To Envy. What are some other novels of everyday life in North Korea (Already read the gulag books like Escape from Camp 14)
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