Is there anything on earth more dull than the wafflings of a French nihilist?

Tadpole of Tomakin (Reply)
Mon 23 Jan 12 (12:49pm)

This is all a bit emo really.

Jicks of Adelaide (Reply)
Mon 23 Jan 12 (02:18pm)

This is complete, so called, elitist, nonsense that ignores the basic purpose of communication - the ‘’ kiss’’ principle,
I fail to see any worthwhile purpose in this pseudo intellectual premise that denies this obvious truth. What opinion is he trying to give - that selfish insular introspective loners are just that even if they have family or a country.
Take the classic , a sight inclination of the cranium is as adequate as a spasmodic movement of the eyelid to an equine quadruped devoid of its optical capacity.
I admit I was impressed at age around eleven when I first heard this kind of stuff.
This is why the world speaks English and the French are never taken seriously by anyone.
Buck up Andrew!

baht at of Deception Bay (Reply)
Mon 23 Jan 12 (02:43pm)

babyfinland posted:
juan goyistoso ftw

did u read state of siege assuming u mean juan goytisolo

The first hiccup of his usurpation was the second bottle. It slithered past the incisors, a Mamba of zooanthropic vengeance, exuding a peaty pathos, a 12-year-old blurt of inhumation, to crash against the pharynx which had held, Cincinattus-esque, against so many lucre-hefted Caledonian tides, but which on this first day of a coming future teetered and fell, a single twin tower, a meat WTC, revealing in its nude Lucretism the weakness of the West. The belch of flame engulfed us all. It was the end of everything. In all the great conurbations of the trembling Occident, we took a step backward, appalled and sickened by that belch of the grave.

The pharynx: une rose en steak, a cellwall sturdy yet preemptively extinguished like Harold’s at Hastings, stood revealed as mere jello against the Cullodenic onslaught of dissolution, literal, Balrogian, galvanic. Its first insolent anthem was a belch of Gehennan digestic juices screaming Jihad. Their chthonic conturbation overwhelmed Oxbridge, Fleet Street, and obliterated the Canary Wharf of his voice.

Yet the loyal were slow to assign verity to the dispersing cloud of thanatos, the radius of Terror, the red circle of total destruction mapped by that hiccup, for more than a pharynx wobbled in the scales. This was the pharynx that, like Lady Gaga’s meat dress, shielded multitudes from the unspeakable. This voicebox shimmered wetly as impassable barrier to the desert hordes, a blood-gorged sahel holding back the sands of the Sahara, each grain incised with Koranic verses promising death. It was as if, in a documentary produced by Elburzian deities for our demoralization, we were watching in slow motion as an infiltrated grain of sand slipped through security, evaded the metal detectors unturned to silicate, however fanatical, and by stearine mimicry of the Western smile, was assigned a seat on that precious pharynx, economy class no doubt but deadly enough for all its demotic parsimony, and once strapped in, the safety video mournfully complete, the seat-belt sign turned off, this alien silicate, this Horda of fundamentalism, left its seat on the pharynx and migrated throatward, recruiting comrades among the notoriously perverted tribes of the lower throat, the upper Nile, the treacherous Nubia of a now utterly vulnerable Egypt: his very head.

babyfinland posted:

jools posted:

babyfinland posted:
juan goyistoso ftw

did u read state of siege assuming u mean juan goytisolo

ya that guy but no i didnt

oh okay, its the only book of his ive read. its good