and hey science museum
change my name to Gay Pejorative
babyfinland posted:
change my name to Gay Pejorative
BreederFinland
i'm not as hard as i could be but i think that fake-fascism (Fauxism)? will be better for my moral and spiritual development than glue sniffing
i can already do drugs quite easily but i need the Will to Power.
I'm ready to get Hard....
i can already do drugs quite easily but i need the Will to Power.
I'm ready to get Hard....
[account deactivated]
howd you manage to find an even more unreadable text color for quotes
bland posting is the proletarian foundation for bourgeois gay nazi revolutionary decadence
read some fiction if u want intelligent things. noone cares about this bland shit. and not funnys
Ironicwarcriminal posted:
i'm not as hard as i could be but i think that fake-fascism (Fauxism)? will be better for my moral and spiritual development than glue sniffing
i can already do drugs quite easily but i need the Will to Power.
I'm ready to get Hard....
yes.. yEs! Im Hard already Brother
Im currently on a train into the city for my birthday drinks. I got two exes, a girl i like, and an acquaintances gf who i think likes me are coming. I gotta hard up to navigatw this social minefield! Wish me luck and sorry khamsek for posting about my boring life ill come back tomorrow and defend the bnp lol
[account deactivated]
Im milking it, this is my birthday party
hahahaha, jesus man, that sounds like an amazing time. good luck, and it'll own no matter what, just keep that inmind
happy birthday IWC
hey do you know about jg thirwell. is he a thing in ozzylandia
hey do you know about jg thirwell. is he a thing in ozzylandia
tpaine posted:
haha look how gay i made you all be.
bump for looooool and win XD
things happen so fast at the 'zzone, and now im gay individual with no krew to run with
animedad you can join my faction we're p much 'hip hop thread faction' anyways at this point neways
the hip hop thread is a bunch of white nerds posting rap videos
im not white im aryan please be more sensitive
im cool w/ that. high five
[account deactivated]
no crews no masters. smash the state
im not a white nerd. i'm 1/16 inuit asshole
Cormac McCarthy is ill - I'm going on a binge of re-reading all his books. It's been years.
read nikanor teratologen and u will never read that swill agin
i didn't realize that assisted living was translated from swedish. how much of the language you so enjoy deserves to be attributed to teratologen vs his tranny (industry term for translator)
supposedly it was written in a dialect which she (yea its a gal haha) translated into 'good' english. she is also from texas or so it says in her preface and considered for a bit putting in some texas accent but decided not to. but no, actually, the way it's constructed, i think a lot of it is teratologen himself. it'd be hard to explain but if you read it it'll make perfect sense
Stieg Larsson may have believed Sweden was infected with sinister conspiracies, but Nikanor Teratologen fears the evildoers probably live openly right next door.
Taken at face value, Mr. Teratologen’s misleadingly titled Assisted Living can only lead a literal minded reader to condemn the novel as despicable, repulsive, and morally repugnant.
Its main character is an incontinent, elderly (born the same day as Heinrich Himmler) yet puerile, militantly male chauvinist, female-phobic gay man who is also a pro-Nazi Aryan supremacist, an anti-intellectual bibliophile with an avid interest in European philosophy and post-modernist literature and theory, a substance abuser, an incestuous pedophile, a murderer, and a cannibal (!) living in rural northeast Sweden.
Indeed, as Stig Saeterbakken points out in the book’s afterword, were the details of the narrative not completely implausible and its two-dimensional characters not cartoonlike, the book would be unreadable.
On the other hand, because it is so over the top and its horrors so exaggerated, readers who appreciate warped, gallows humor may find parts of it funny despite the pervasive evil. Mr. Saeterbakken also reminds us that the reason we read horror stories and fairy tales is because they shock and disturb us, though few readers of those genres have ever encountered a character as Satanic as Mr. Teratologen’s Holger Holmlund (note the alliteration of the Hs as in Vladimir Nabokov’s pedophile protagonist Humbert Humbert), a.k.a. Grandpa Geezer.
An example of the book’s humor and of Mr. Holmlund’s Satanic evil is found in the following paragraph that describes his driving during a visit to Skellefteå, a local city:
“When the pedestrians thought they were safe, Grandpa did a burnout and hit two old women. They arced through the air clutching their handbags . . . Then Grandpa drove up on the sidewalk and hit a carriage. Mother Cluck threw herself into the street. ‘Crazed Driver’ is what the headline will say, but what’s wrong with having a little fun so long as you’re only hurting other people?”
Sometimes Grandpa Geezer is the butt of the joke, such as the scene where a missionary rings the doorbell just when the tall, lean, and limber Mr. Holmlund is sitting in a puddle of urine performing auto-fellatio (his favorite form of masturbation). The missionary asks his orphan grandson Helge if his guardian is at home, to which the boy replies, “Yes, but he’s busy blowing himself.”
The book’s main text is Helge’s account of his life as his maternal grandfather’s ward, companion, sex slave, and serial murder spree accomplice, a manuscript found among the eleven-year-old’s possessions by a friend of the author (whom Mr. Teratologen describes as a “dear friend with exquisitely cruel tastes . . . a man of both honor and lust”) who had kidnapped, raped, murdered, and butchered the lad.
Knowing from the start how young Helge will die lends a certain poignancy to chilling scenes such as the one in which, following his grandfather’s orders, he lifts the remains of a boy his own age off a meat-hook, carries the cadaver up out of the cellar and into the backyard, lifts it onto his grandpa’s two meter long barbeque, and bastes it while it grills.
The failure of the police to trace Mr. Holmlund’s murder victims to his basement meat locker, and of truant officers and/or foster care caseworkers to look in on Helge are examples of the book’s above mentioned implausibilities; yet Mr. Holmlund does relate that the psychiatrists who’ve examined him “think I’m ‘an evil, phallic narcissist’ with ‘necrophiliac tendencies’ . . . A ‘schizophrenic solipsist’ filled with ‘demonic rage, an insane thirst for revenge, and a wild contempt for the entire human race’ . . .”
If so how did he ever get custody of a child? Answers are provided in the epilogue where a social worker claims to have received little support from the police who are described as half-wits unaware of fingerprints much less more advanced forensic techniques and who could never find corroborating witnesses.
In the main text Helge describes his relationship with his grandpa: “Being Grandpa’s child is like playing Russian roulette. Fear was doing a number on me, but there was no point in asking for help. I’m more afraid of Grandpa than anything else; that’s because I crave his love.”
The text would have been written when Helge was nine or ten, but its erudite, crude yet sophisticated prose style influenced by the Marquis de Sade, H. P. Lovecraft , Henry Miller, William Burroughs, Charles Bukowski, and its frequent use of ellipses in the manner of Louis-Ferdinand Céline—especially since he did not attend school and his grandfather discouraged him from reading (because it makes one soft-hearted, “Think and feel as little as possible, always be happy and gay! he commanded”)—is another implausibility; even its clever misspellings, entire phases spelled as one word, and ungrammatical sentence structure are winks and nods from the author to the reader. Interspersed amid the bigoted rants, abusive sex, and horrific violence are beautiful descriptions of northern Sweden’s nature and landscapes that can only be the work of a mature writer.
“Luther’s and Hitler’s table talk had nothing on Grandpa’s . . . his head’s a real randomgenerator.” Indeed, the names dropped by Grandpa Geezer are so numerous and arcane that each chapter ends with a glossary. Even highly educated readers may find that the glossaries include fewer than half the unfamiliar words and names.
Readers planning to apply to graduate school who look up every one of the book’s recondite words in the dictionary and commit their definitions to memory will probably improve their verbal GRE scores. Intellectually curious readers who look up every obscure name in Wikipedia and read each article in full will acquire quite an esoteric education touching on most of the disciplines in the humanities, natural and social sciences, including the biographies of several prominent writers who like Mr. Céline had fascist sympathies and collaborationist pasts as well as some of the middle-level S.S. officers who implemented the Holocaust in particular sectors of Eastern Europe.
Grandpa Geezer’s discourses are generously seasoned with racial and anti-Semitic epithets, but his most intense hatred is directed at women. Late in the novel during a magical-realist episode set on a friend’s farm his female-phobia takes the form of a barnyard animal with multiple vaginas all over its body.
Early in the novel he relates to Helge his belief in a mythological age in Sweden’s pre-history when northern Sweden was inhabited entirely by men who enjoyed a Dionysian lifestyle. Here is an excerpt condensed from his eight-page rant:
“. . . we trusted our luckystars . . . saw to ourselves . . . we were racially pure and clean shaven all over . . . We men knew how to enjoy each other . . . liked being together . . . there weren’t too many of us . . . five thousand at most . . .
“—But evil was brewing . . . something was coming . . . something that would destroy our world forever . . .
“—Was it women?
“—It was women! The inferior race! Three openings! Snakeless crotches! . . . Darkness covered the land . . .
“—They spread like the plague . . . like gangrene . . . we were used to having things our own way, no regular mealtimes . . . letting it all hang out . . . minding our own business . . . no curfews, no responsibilities . . . just whim and will and almighty nature . . . God in heaven, if only the coastguard had blown them out of the water! Before it was too late . . . they got beneath our skin with gooeyeyedloveydoveyness . . . stumpylegged, narrowshouldered, steatopygic monsters with repulsively swollen breasts . . . How could respectable barbarians soil their cocks with that?!
“—One word, the foulest word there ever was, began to make the rounds: Cunt . . . they had cunts, people said, like little furry animals, smoother and softer than anuses, not as heathenishly narrow . . . All who tried it were sold . . . the Wound, the gaping, bloody, festering sore that wouldn’t close . . . They used cunts to take Norrland from us!
“. . . They were like lemmings! Modern men with real jobs and sound minds! fawning, prudish, lecherous cunts!...They brainwashed wounded prisoners of war and little boys alike! Taught them to love pussy! and everything else that makes life a living hell! Work! Sobriety! God and church! Law and order! . . . After the invasion of the caitiffs and shrews life became what it is now…predictable . . . mundane . . . soulless . . . They killed fantasy, honor, and ecstasy . . .”
Helge relates another of his grandpa’s orations, “For three whole days and nights all he did was sing the praises of massmurderers everywhere. He seemed to know most of them personally.”
And later he quizzes Helge,
“—What are the sevendeadlysins?”
“—Humility, generosity, chastity, modesty . . .”
“—More!”
“. . . bulimia! Meekness and productivity!”
The sex scenes in Assisted Living are nearly all predatory and nonreciprocal; either Mr. Holmlund is inflicting it on someone else or receiving it in like manner. He gets especially aroused when he sees fear in the eyes of his prey, which may appeal to readers of BDSM erotica and to women who enjoy reading about gay sex in the way straight men enjoy watching faux lesbian pornography (after all, the novel is anything but true to life), but most gay men will not recognize their own sex lives in these scenes.
Sadly, Assisted Living may appeal to literal minded, closeted and conflicted political and religious conservatives who see in Grandpa Geezer confirmation of their worst fears about their own sexuality.
With its cartoon-like characters and esoteric references this book’s most likely readers are socially awkward, intellectually curious geeks who frequent comic book conventions and have a taste for the bizarre and grotesque. Readers who have been victims of incest, pedophilia, or violent crime will probably want to avoid Assisted Living.
Taken at face value, Mr. Teratologen’s misleadingly titled Assisted Living can only lead a literal minded reader to condemn the novel as despicable, repulsive, and morally repugnant.
Its main character is an incontinent, elderly (born the same day as Heinrich Himmler) yet puerile, militantly male chauvinist, female-phobic gay man who is also a pro-Nazi Aryan supremacist, an anti-intellectual bibliophile with an avid interest in European philosophy and post-modernist literature and theory, a substance abuser, an incestuous pedophile, a murderer, and a cannibal (!) living in rural northeast Sweden.
Indeed, as Stig Saeterbakken points out in the book’s afterword, were the details of the narrative not completely implausible and its two-dimensional characters not cartoonlike, the book would be unreadable.
On the other hand, because it is so over the top and its horrors so exaggerated, readers who appreciate warped, gallows humor may find parts of it funny despite the pervasive evil. Mr. Saeterbakken also reminds us that the reason we read horror stories and fairy tales is because they shock and disturb us, though few readers of those genres have ever encountered a character as Satanic as Mr. Teratologen’s Holger Holmlund (note the alliteration of the Hs as in Vladimir Nabokov’s pedophile protagonist Humbert Humbert), a.k.a. Grandpa Geezer.
An example of the book’s humor and of Mr. Holmlund’s Satanic evil is found in the following paragraph that describes his driving during a visit to Skellefteå, a local city:
“When the pedestrians thought they were safe, Grandpa did a burnout and hit two old women. They arced through the air clutching their handbags . . . Then Grandpa drove up on the sidewalk and hit a carriage. Mother Cluck threw herself into the street. ‘Crazed Driver’ is what the headline will say, but what’s wrong with having a little fun so long as you’re only hurting other people?”
Sometimes Grandpa Geezer is the butt of the joke, such as the scene where a missionary rings the doorbell just when the tall, lean, and limber Mr. Holmlund is sitting in a puddle of urine performing auto-fellatio (his favorite form of masturbation). The missionary asks his orphan grandson Helge if his guardian is at home, to which the boy replies, “Yes, but he’s busy blowing himself.”
The book’s main text is Helge’s account of his life as his maternal grandfather’s ward, companion, sex slave, and serial murder spree accomplice, a manuscript found among the eleven-year-old’s possessions by a friend of the author (whom Mr. Teratologen describes as a “dear friend with exquisitely cruel tastes . . . a man of both honor and lust”) who had kidnapped, raped, murdered, and butchered the lad.
Knowing from the start how young Helge will die lends a certain poignancy to chilling scenes such as the one in which, following his grandfather’s orders, he lifts the remains of a boy his own age off a meat-hook, carries the cadaver up out of the cellar and into the backyard, lifts it onto his grandpa’s two meter long barbeque, and bastes it while it grills.
The failure of the police to trace Mr. Holmlund’s murder victims to his basement meat locker, and of truant officers and/or foster care caseworkers to look in on Helge are examples of the book’s above mentioned implausibilities; yet Mr. Holmlund does relate that the psychiatrists who’ve examined him “think I’m ‘an evil, phallic narcissist’ with ‘necrophiliac tendencies’ . . . A ‘schizophrenic solipsist’ filled with ‘demonic rage, an insane thirst for revenge, and a wild contempt for the entire human race’ . . .”
If so how did he ever get custody of a child? Answers are provided in the epilogue where a social worker claims to have received little support from the police who are described as half-wits unaware of fingerprints much less more advanced forensic techniques and who could never find corroborating witnesses.
In the main text Helge describes his relationship with his grandpa: “Being Grandpa’s child is like playing Russian roulette. Fear was doing a number on me, but there was no point in asking for help. I’m more afraid of Grandpa than anything else; that’s because I crave his love.”
The text would have been written when Helge was nine or ten, but its erudite, crude yet sophisticated prose style influenced by the Marquis de Sade, H. P. Lovecraft , Henry Miller, William Burroughs, Charles Bukowski, and its frequent use of ellipses in the manner of Louis-Ferdinand Céline—especially since he did not attend school and his grandfather discouraged him from reading (because it makes one soft-hearted, “Think and feel as little as possible, always be happy and gay! he commanded”)—is another implausibility; even its clever misspellings, entire phases spelled as one word, and ungrammatical sentence structure are winks and nods from the author to the reader. Interspersed amid the bigoted rants, abusive sex, and horrific violence are beautiful descriptions of northern Sweden’s nature and landscapes that can only be the work of a mature writer.
“Luther’s and Hitler’s table talk had nothing on Grandpa’s . . . his head’s a real randomgenerator.” Indeed, the names dropped by Grandpa Geezer are so numerous and arcane that each chapter ends with a glossary. Even highly educated readers may find that the glossaries include fewer than half the unfamiliar words and names.
Readers planning to apply to graduate school who look up every one of the book’s recondite words in the dictionary and commit their definitions to memory will probably improve their verbal GRE scores. Intellectually curious readers who look up every obscure name in Wikipedia and read each article in full will acquire quite an esoteric education touching on most of the disciplines in the humanities, natural and social sciences, including the biographies of several prominent writers who like Mr. Céline had fascist sympathies and collaborationist pasts as well as some of the middle-level S.S. officers who implemented the Holocaust in particular sectors of Eastern Europe.
Grandpa Geezer’s discourses are generously seasoned with racial and anti-Semitic epithets, but his most intense hatred is directed at women. Late in the novel during a magical-realist episode set on a friend’s farm his female-phobia takes the form of a barnyard animal with multiple vaginas all over its body.
Early in the novel he relates to Helge his belief in a mythological age in Sweden’s pre-history when northern Sweden was inhabited entirely by men who enjoyed a Dionysian lifestyle. Here is an excerpt condensed from his eight-page rant:
“. . . we trusted our luckystars . . . saw to ourselves . . . we were racially pure and clean shaven all over . . . We men knew how to enjoy each other . . . liked being together . . . there weren’t too many of us . . . five thousand at most . . .
“—But evil was brewing . . . something was coming . . . something that would destroy our world forever . . .
“—Was it women?
“—It was women! The inferior race! Three openings! Snakeless crotches! . . . Darkness covered the land . . .
“—They spread like the plague . . . like gangrene . . . we were used to having things our own way, no regular mealtimes . . . letting it all hang out . . . minding our own business . . . no curfews, no responsibilities . . . just whim and will and almighty nature . . . God in heaven, if only the coastguard had blown them out of the water! Before it was too late . . . they got beneath our skin with gooeyeyedloveydoveyness . . . stumpylegged, narrowshouldered, steatopygic monsters with repulsively swollen breasts . . . How could respectable barbarians soil their cocks with that?!
“—One word, the foulest word there ever was, began to make the rounds: Cunt . . . they had cunts, people said, like little furry animals, smoother and softer than anuses, not as heathenishly narrow . . . All who tried it were sold . . . the Wound, the gaping, bloody, festering sore that wouldn’t close . . . They used cunts to take Norrland from us!
“. . . They were like lemmings! Modern men with real jobs and sound minds! fawning, prudish, lecherous cunts!...They brainwashed wounded prisoners of war and little boys alike! Taught them to love pussy! and everything else that makes life a living hell! Work! Sobriety! God and church! Law and order! . . . After the invasion of the caitiffs and shrews life became what it is now…predictable . . . mundane . . . soulless . . . They killed fantasy, honor, and ecstasy . . .”
Helge relates another of his grandpa’s orations, “For three whole days and nights all he did was sing the praises of massmurderers everywhere. He seemed to know most of them personally.”
And later he quizzes Helge,
“—What are the sevendeadlysins?”
“—Humility, generosity, chastity, modesty . . .”
“—More!”
“. . . bulimia! Meekness and productivity!”
The sex scenes in Assisted Living are nearly all predatory and nonreciprocal; either Mr. Holmlund is inflicting it on someone else or receiving it in like manner. He gets especially aroused when he sees fear in the eyes of his prey, which may appeal to readers of BDSM erotica and to women who enjoy reading about gay sex in the way straight men enjoy watching faux lesbian pornography (after all, the novel is anything but true to life), but most gay men will not recognize their own sex lives in these scenes.
Sadly, Assisted Living may appeal to literal minded, closeted and conflicted political and religious conservatives who see in Grandpa Geezer confirmation of their worst fears about their own sexuality.
With its cartoon-like characters and esoteric references this book’s most likely readers are socially awkward, intellectually curious geeks who frequent comic book conventions and have a taste for the bizarre and grotesque. Readers who have been victims of incest, pedophilia, or violent crime will probably want to avoid Assisted Living.
lol i'm not sure if that review is really good or really bad. it surely doesn't seem to even acknowledge the incredible amount of irony in the text
attribution: http://nyjournalofbooks.com/review/assisted-living
the fundamental misreading i think a lot of people are going to make is this comparison to sade. sade's scenes serve an entirely different purpose than the ones in assisted living . . . also i don't see the lovecraft, bukowski, or miller. maybe some burroughs but not really, actually none at all on second thought. and sade is minimal. this guy reads like a funnier celine, the misanthropy is turned to an even higher level but it crosses over into absurdity, whereas celine's was very forthright
my roommate is a big redditor and as i was surfing around the waste land today as i occasionally do once a week i came across one of his posts. always interesting to find people's unironic impressions of me:
roommate posted:
My communist room mate doesn't believe in democracy. It isn't just an economic system.someone else posted:
Yes it is. You can be a capitalist and not believe in democracy also.
Communism is a system of economics that dictates that the means of production and resulting profits are shared by the people.roommate posted:
He says democracy legitimizes capitalist elites and are a sham. I'm not saying he is right, but he is a strong Stalinist, and I have always had sympatheised with socialist ideals of fair employment and that sort. But being as liberal as I am, when he called Obama a Republican and a corporate whore, well, lets just say my sympathies stopped.
thats creepy dude
also youre roommate is right lol communism is supposed to be (substantively) democratic
i guess now i know why hes been a bit frosty to me recently
babyfinland posted:
also youre roommate is right lol communism is supposed to be (substantively) democratic
it sounds like his roommate was a-ok with ditching democracy until it involved being rude to obama
yeah obviously babyfinland, but there's a distinct difference between formal democracy and substantive democracy, and i only criticized the former; something i've tried to explain before but obviously didn't stick. you're really flailing over yourself to attack me when you conflate "hey this is the impression my lib roommate has of my political views" with "here's my political views"
babyfinland posted:
also youre roommate is right lol communism is supposed to be (substantively) democratic
heh, maybe fantasy-land trot-communism. but here, in the real world, a vanguard party and strong military is required to protect the country from foreign, outside, threats to the well-being of the people.
the other week in a conversation with my roommates i offhandedly mentioned that "obviously we're living in an objectively evil empire." they were shocked and i was kind of confused until i remembered oh yeah my political beliefs are basically insane