MembreTakeItOrLeaveIt
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- Votre bibliothèque (276)
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- love (2), pyschology (2), brilliant (1), British (1), non-romance romance (1), piero (1), great loves (1), eery (1), graphic guide (1), pity party. biography (1), sentimentalist (1), fleeting (1), aesthetical (1), laurence gane (1), young audiences (1), utter shite (1), pure wit (1), never understanding (1), damnation (1), introducing (1), nietzsche (1), clever (1), science (1), utopia (1), depressing (1), dystopia/utopia (1), healing (1), 19th century literature (1), 20's (1), stream of conciousness (1), passion (1), surreal (1), post-modern (1), metaphysical (1), defiance (1), caustic (1), verbal (1), dandysrus (1)
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- Nuage des mots-clés, Nuage des auteurs, Miroir des mots-clés
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- Inscrit depuis
- Aug 6, 2008
- Nom réel
- Jesse Jaded
- A propos de ma bibliothèque
- I love classic literature, especially the scathing satire of the 1920's. I read a Latin American novel every summer and I'm always reading publications, essays, memoirs etc
Huxley, Murakami, Hesse, Camus, Rimbaud, Sartre, Kafka, Orwell, Wilde - A propos de moi
- Enter Pretentious Info Here:
There is a painting of me impaling myself with the tail end of a pipe; the blood drooping onto a golden spoon curved majestically towards the floor. The pipe, of course resembles one Rene Magritte would paint and the Golden Spoon is in the shape of a Dalí, clearly a distorted golden spoon, unlike the realistically beautiful ones found in a Cézanne, no this spoon resembles something found more in a Matta. In the painting, I’m probably wearing a green t-shirt on which images are splattered that make no tangible sense at first glance, my idealized muscular legs are covered by a pair of black jeans that are most likely tighter than the average jean wearers jeans would be, but considering the average is on the baggier side, these jeans may be considered skinny. Below my pants lie my shoeless feet where the perfect socks are vividly colored with the most exquisite darker shades of green. My facial expression and the surrounding setting of the painting is up to the interpretation of the artist.
In philosophy the search for truth is so ancient it's getting old, in cultural studies everything revolves around the societal construct and biology is thrown out the window, in plain old science a new dogma has been created that everything can be explained through physics and measurements and the earth is a tiny speck that means very little to the rest of the universe.
To me nothing can be explained. To me truth is meaningless. To me meaning is found in nothingness. I have depleted testosterone levels but I can examine a piece of art and derive nothing from it, I have concentration issues and pleasure to me is as fleeting as love is. I'm not a nihilist, an existentialist, an elitist, nor a creationist or any ism. If I was to love, I would love the absurd but isn't it absurd for me to say that? I'm no longer leaving it up to the academy.
But Look what poetry did to me! Maybe Plato's idea to dissociate from art in order to be a citizen of justice was the key after all... - Lieu (géographique)
- Chicago, CA UK
- Page d'accueil
- http://chelifersqod.blogspot.com/
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