Any fans of late 1800s-early 1900s decadent literature?
I have loved anything involved with the "movement," the precursors, the results, etc.
Huysmans, Stenbock, Baudelaire, Rimbaud, Wilde, on and on. All so wonderful!
Of course so many artists involved in the scene are wonderful as well; Beardsley, Rops, etc.
Just read anything written by republicans.
"Truth hurts"? You think I'm trying to defend republicans in >>3? I'm not american, and my personal beliefs are more left-wing than either party there. But that has nothing to do with this.
I was pointing out that >>2 hadn't got the slightest clue what >>1 was talking about, and was just using the fact that he thought "decadent" sounded sort of negative to launch into a completely unrelated and non-sensical political attack that has no place in this thread or on this board.
PS: I'm too dumb to manage to set my name to the right post number.
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Oh, no! Shitty posts are here!
I managed to stop it. Please escape to another thread.
Hurry! Hurry! Don't worry about me!
DAZAI OSAMU!!!!!!!!!!!!
If anything republicans wouldn't like >>1's decadent literature
>>8
All of the burai-ha relations are gorgeously decadent.
Sakunosuke's living was a perfect one. He may have been able to survive his case of tuberculosis had he stopped smoking dozens of cigarettes a day, partaking in drugs, and drinking and writing through the night instead of sleeping.
>>9
So true, so true.
As the official, holy ordained spokesperson of all things republican, I declare that I, and all Republicans, absolutely love >>1's decadent literature.
because only self-hating masochistic closet gaydom ("the love that dare not speak its name") is truly republican.
Lautréamont rules.
I am filthy. Lice gnaw me. Swine, when they look at me, vomit. The scabs and sores of leprosy have scaled off my skin, which is coated with yellowish pus. I know not river water nor the clouds' dew. From my nape, as from a dungheap, an enormous toadstool with umbelliferous peduncles sprouts. Seated on a shapeless chunk of furniture, I have not moved a limb for four centuries. My feet have taken root in the soil forming a sort of perennial vegetation—not yet quite plant-life though no longer flesh—as far as my belly, and filled with vile parasites. My heart, however, is still beating. But how could it beat if the decay and effluvia of my carcass (I dare not say body) did not abundantly feed it?
Unfortunately so.
It is taken from Les Chants de Maldoror, Lautreamont's famous pre-surrealist, pre-decadent writing.
I could swear I have seen it online in its entirety before but now I turn up nothing.
Some can be read: http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/9879/laut.html
All history of it and Lautreamont is highly recommended reading as well.
I'm part way through Maldoror right now, it's great.
"Maldoror" is completely awesome. I would also recommend Henri Barbusse's "Hell". I doubt these count as decadent, but people who like decadent literature would probably like "Naked Lunch" and "The Story of the Eye".
Also, I've seen this word many times but what the hell does "effluvia" mean?
Well, technically it just means anything coming out of something, but it's an old medical term referring to the supposed vapors of contagion that emanated from a sick person or their corpse.