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Thread: The Literary World Sucks

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    The Wolf of Larsen WolfLarsen's Avatar
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    Exclamation The Literary World Sucks

    Do NOT read this if you have a problem with obscenity, and you think writers like DH Lawrence and Henry Miller should be censored! Do NOT read this if you are very religious. You have been warned!

    The Literary World Sucks
    a rant by Wolf Larsen

    The literary world is made up of a bunch of Puritans who came over on the Mayflower! The only solution is to burn down the literary world! And replace the literary world with transvestite furries screaming poetry at the passerby on the street corners of the world! Either that, or all Poets should descend on the downtowns of their cities absolutely naked as they scream Poetry at everything and everyone! The only solution to anything is Poetry! Obscenity is a god! The god in the sky does not exist! The only thing that exists is our genitals! To be true to literature we must be true to our genitals! And that is why we should urinate Poetry all over the Puritans that came over on the Mayflower who are trying to censor literature! In addition, we should turn all the publishing corporations into brothels! We might as well have dog fights, prostitution, gambling, dice-throwing, rooster fighting, and people screaming naked inside of the publishing houses! It would be a big Improvement! Furthermore, I think that Poets should be invited to the White House, the Congress, and the Supreme Court to f*** all of the judges and congressmen and the president of the United States up the ***! The bipartisan prostitution in Washington DC should be replaced with Poetry!
    "...the ramblings of a narcissistic, self-obsessed, deranged mind."
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    The Wolf of Larsen WolfLarsen's Avatar
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    Shakespeare is the Most Overrated Writer in the History of the Planet
    A rant by Wolf Larsen

    Shakespeare is the most overrated writer in the history of the world! His sonnets are about as interesting as watching paint dry. I myself vandalized Shakespeare's sonnets with my own Cantos. My Cantos are way better than Shakespeare’s sonnets! And I was the dumbest worker on a construction site! So if the dumbest worker on a construction site can write better poetry than Shakespeare, then I would have to say that Shakespeare is very overrated. However, the one thing that Shakespeare's sonnets are good for, is that they are an instant cure for insomnia! So if you need a good night's sleep, I highly recommend Shakespeare sonnets!

    In addition, I believe that Shakespeare's plays are works of plagiarism. The English language is simply incapable of such works of beauty! I'm not saying that English is as ugly as German, but English is certainly an ugly language! On the other hand, Italian is without doubt a beautiful language! So perhaps Shakespeare’s plays are works of plagiarism from some Italian playwright. I speak a few romance languages, and part of the beauty of Shakespeare's plays is that they are clearly plagiarized directly from a romance language, possibly Italian.

    Shakespeare's sonnets and Shakespeare's plays appear to be written by two different people. Shakespeare’s sonnets are boring and lifeless. Shakespeare's plays, on the other hand, are neither boring or lifeless. Shakespeare's plays have all of the personality of the Italian people, their culture, and their language!
    "...the ramblings of a narcissistic, self-obsessed, deranged mind."
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    MANICHAEAN MANICHAEAN's Avatar
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    Dear Wolf

    Thank you for the consumer warning, regards the potential sensitivities of your submitted material.

    I must confess myself, to an absence of any purience, regards subjects beyond the literary Pale; despite having been cognizant of your own track record. I refer of course to your proclivity to proclaim painted harlot type material of an unchaste nature, sufficiently extreme to evoke in Old Nick himself an impulse to throw in the towel.

    You mention D.H.Lawrence. He was an inspiration to me back in the 60's, but Miller came across as a bit of a plonker in his tendency of trying too hard to shock his readers.

    But enough of this foreplay. Let's get down to the meat and two veg, encapsulated in your proposed prominence for poetry in the realms of literature. This is unfortunately misplaced.

    Of far more significance is the status of food porn. I will refain from any assault on the modesty of your quiet nature; but I am sure you are aware of the deviant social grooming, applied as of late to this most crucial of topics. I'm not referring to reported instances in the Washington Post of the foul manipulation of humble carrots in the French Quarter of downtown Leningrad; or the bondage and enforced "soixante-neuf" sex act upon King Edward potatoes in Kabul. No. We have at this current juncture, the widespread promiscuity of eggplants.

    You will no doubt be shocked. This is not the news an aspiring poet, confined to a cold garret near the Spanish Steps in Rome wants to hear.

    But check for yourself on Google, the distinction between male and female eggplants; a fact rarely known outside of Mafia controlled food markets in the Bay of Naples.

    What a world of prurient corruption lies half visible in that super-sublime of fruit and veg !!!!!!

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    Dear Wolf:
    The popular misconception (no pun intended) is that "Puritanism" has something to do with banning things sensual. Actually, the Pilgrims weren't exactly as prim as received wisdom may have it. For instance, they were hearty ale-drinkers. Look up the practice of "bundling." Not exactly strait-laced, even by 21st century standards.

    You must not be a cable TV subscriber. Lots of swearing and soft-core porno on those channels, if that's your cup a tease. Did you hear about the sign language interpreter for HBO? Her mother found out what she did for a living and washed her hands out with soap.

    Oh, and don't sell Shakespeare short when it comes to the sexy stuff. Read Troilus and Cressia, The Henry plays, and especially the poem, "Venus and Adonis." Pretty steamy stuff.

    Yours fooly would never deny your right to an opinion, Wolf. But please do the research so you know what it is you speak of.

    Oh, and M-- Speaking of Tv (Idon't worry, I read as well as watch the tube) -- ever see the commercials about cures for something called PD? Lots of crooked veggies there.

  5. #5
    MANICHAEAN MANICHAEAN's Avatar
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    "cup a tease!!!!"

    Oh No Aunty. I understand that Shakespeare invented or played on words to suit his purpose.

    Are you following?

    Best regards
    M.

  6. #6
    On the road, but not! Danik 2016's Avatar
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    "the widespread promiscuity of eggplants". This is one of the moments when I feel that Litnet is Litnet!
    "You can always find something better than death."
    Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm, The Bremen Town Musicians

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    The Wolf of Larsen WolfLarsen's Avatar
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    MyJism is More Valuable than Most Literary Criticism!
    A masturbation in wisdom by the great masturbatory wizard Wolf Larsen

    “Literary criticism, the reasoned consideration of literary works and issues.”
    Britannia.com

    Masturbation is great! Jism is great! And some literary criticism is great! Good literary criticism is easy to read! It also makes a point about something or another! And after reading it you are a bit wiser about whatever it is! Especially on this particular literary site, where there are quite a few people who engage in good literary criticism.

    However, in some venues, particularly in academia, there is an endless line of published diarrhea called literary criticism. Actually, to label most literary criticism diarrhea is an insult to diarrhea! Because at least you can use diarrhea to fertilize the soil! Most literary criticism is not even worthy enough for the toilet bowl! Therefore, most literary criticism is unworthy of being called diarrhea!

    I have had mostly great professors of English literature! However, there are some professors who have big toilets in the middle of their faces! In fact, to say that there are some people in academia who have toilets in the middle of their faces, is an insult to the great and useful toilet! Because at least the toilet is good for something! The literary criticism coming out of the garbage holes in the middle of some faces practicing literary criticism is about as useful as the dribble coming out of the mouth of a toddler! But at least the dribble coming out of the mouths of (other people’s) toddlers is amusing, whereas the dribble coming out of the mouths of some literary criticism experts is about as amusing as watching baseball, and even more boring! Perhaps most literary criticism should be rebranded as being a cure for insomnia! Just listen to most literary criticism practitioners - and presto - your insomnia is gone - you’re zzzzzzzzzzz!

    Furthermore, to say that many practitioners of literary criticism should go work at McDonald's is an insult to McDonald's! And the food at Mcdonalds is so bad, that not even the bacteria want it! But McDonald's sometimes seems like a good idea when I'm drunk! So at least McDonald's is good for something! Perhaps many of the practitioners of literary criticism could go work at McDonald's and learn something useful! But I would not let them near the food, as they are so incompetant they might actually manage to get people sick! Instead, let them take out the trash filled with the pages of their own useless diarrhea dribble called literary criticism.
    "...the ramblings of a narcissistic, self-obsessed, deranged mind."
    My poetry & other stuff on Amazon:
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  8. #8
    MANICHAEAN MANICHAEAN's Avatar
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    Food Porn & Early English Poetry.

    I read today in the New York Times, that there were credible reports of the trafficking of aubergines, (both male & female) from Turkey to Europe for the purposes of prostitution and involvement in food porn.

    All too often we see examples of this type of vegetable exploitation on TV cooking channels. Last night for example on Hell’s Kitchen, I saw a nubile, corn fed, free range chicken being covered in a pimento / truffle / jerk marinade, and then stuffed with what looked like a kilo of mature English cheddar & brandy soaked mashed parsnips.

    Such are designed, (like regular exotic porn), to appeal to the lowest of mankind's depraved culinary appetites.

    Akin climate change, we are in crisis; for when folk become too fat for sex, indulgence by food takes over.

    Apparently, the White House responded quickly to these reports. Jared had this added to his portfolio; alongside existing duties like making peace in the Middle East; and Rudy was dispatched to Istanbul to investigate if this activity had transcended from just veg, to fruit as well, (especially in peach producing regions.)

    You may at this juncture be asking yourself, what has all this to do with early Anglo-Saxon poetry? Well, poetry from an historical perspective has much to tell us about early abusive food fetishes.

    I will explain by delving into one of the earliest of such writings, namely, “Beowulf.” Some of you may not be too familiar with this poem and its nuances, but I will endeavour to make all clear.

    The poem itself contains descriptions of the ancient heathen way of living, thinking, manners, and customs in early Anglo Saxon history.

    We start the narrative with one “Hrothgar,” a Danish king, and builder of Heorot, a princely hall designed to accommodate and entertain his faithful warlike followers.

    This apparently awoke the envy of “Grendel,” a fiend of the wilds.

    The latter came when the nobles were asleep in the great hall, and killed thirty of them. The remainder sought alternative sleeping arrangements, but Grendel sought them out also.

    Now, about the time of the early sixth century, there was a king of Gothland named “Hygelac”. The king's nephew, “Beowulf,” heard of the evil deeds of Grendel, and set sail with some of Hygelac's men to help the unhappy Hrothgar. Wearing shirts of mail they arrived, and upon coming into the great hall, the heroes explained their errand, and were well received.

    It was known that Grendel could not be harmed by the strokes of steel blades. Beowulf therefore carried neither sword nor shield, but was reconciled to hand to hand combat. Hrothgar accepts the offer; and the warriors jointly sit to feast. It was at this juncture that early instances of food porn became apparent; for along with copious amounts of ale, there was served up from the kings' kitchen, that iconic of Anglo Saxon delights, “Aubergine parmigiana.” This innocent vegetable had been captured in recent coastal raids and transported in miserable cramped ships holds, to celebrate the joining of these two forces. It was made with fried aubergine slices, layered with tomato sauce, mozzarella and Parmigiano Reggiano. The dish was then baked till golden brown and brought into the great hall by busty serving wenches. Accompanied by small green salads garnished with croutons, the warriors tucked in with unrestrained carnal relish, whilst in the background was the clear voice of the minstrel as he sang of old adventures.

    But “Hunferth”, a thane of Hrothgar, out of jealousy, taunts Beowulf with having been beaten in a swimming match that lasted for seven nights. Beowulf replies that Hunferth "has drunk too much beer": he himself swam better than his opponent for five nights, and slew nine sea-monsters with his sword; Hunferth, on the other hand, dare not face Grendel, who has been the destroyer of his own brothers.

    Such scenes of boasting and quarrelling were, no doubt, common, but “Waltheow,” Queen of Hrothgar, "the golden-garlanded lady, the peace-weaver," enters the throng in a little black number, and bears the cup of welcome to Beowulf, thanking God that she has found a helper to her heart's desire. Then she takes her place by her lord Hrothgar.

    Night then falls, and Beowulf, replete with aubergine parmigiana, takes off his armour and lays his head on the bolster. Grendel arrives, bursts in through the iron-bolted door, and laughs as he sees the sleeping men. A foul and solitary creature, this enemy of man, envious of glory and abhorrent of pleasure, rages athirst for the blood of the brave there reposing in slumber.

    One warrior he tears to pieces and devours; but Beowulf, who had the strength of thirty, then grips the fiend in a half-nelson, and the hall echoes with their wrestling and stamping up and down. Men smote at Grendel with swords, but the steel did not bite on his body. Beowulf tore his arm and shoulder clean away, and Grendel, flying to a haunted pool, dives down through bloodstained water.

    Meanwhile, back in Heorot the men made merry, and the minstrel sang a new song of the fight, which he added to his repertoire.

    After, the rejoicings, eight horses and princely armour are given to Beowulf. Then the gracious wife of Hrothgar, this time in a backless chiffon sheath of a dress, bids Beowulf farewell, giving him a cup of gold and her contact numbers.

    But Beowulf s adventure is not ended. That night he slept, not in hall, but in a separate room, and the mother of Grendel, a creature more terrible than himself, came to avenge her son, and proceeded to slay a warrior.

    Next day Hrothgar described to Beowulf the home of the fiends; “They abode,” he states “in dark wolf-haunted places, windy "nesses," or headlands, wild marshlands, where the hill-stream rushes through black shadows into a pool or perhaps sea-inlet, under the earth. The boughs of trees hang dense over the water, and at night a fire shines from it. Even the stag that ranges the moors, when he flies from the hounds to the lake, dies rather than venture there to take the water.” Beowulf is not alarmed; “We must all die at last”, he says, “but while we live, we should strive to win glory.”

    So, they all rode to the haunted pool, Beowulf in his iron armour and helmet. The man who had insulted him now repents, and gives Beowulf the best of iron swords, named “Hrunting.”

    Beowulf dives into the black water; the fiend strives to crush him; but his iron shirt of mail protects him, and she drags him into the dreadful hall, her home, where the water did not enter. A strange light burned; Beowulf saw his hideous foe and smites at her with Hrunting; but the edge did not bite on her body. He throws away the useless sword, and they wrestled; they fall, Beowulf is under her, and she draws her short sword. She could not pierce his armour, but he saw and seized a huge sword, made for a giant in times long ago. With this he cuts her down from the neck to the breast-bone, and his friends on shore see the pool turn to blood. All believe that Beowulf is dead, and they go home.

    Meanwhile the blade of the great sword melts away in the poisoned blood of his foe, and he swims to shore with the hilt, and with the heads of the two monsters, Grendel and his mother. With these he comes gloriously to Hrothgar.

    Well, there we have it. All in all, a stirring tale in which Anglo-Saxon poetry brims with both: the melancholy of death, and of mournful thoughts.

    "Beowulf," is by far the greatest poem that the Anglo-Saxons have left to us, and, as noted earlier, best shows how they lived. For from "Beowulf" we learn that the early Anglo Saxons lived almost exactly as did the ancestors of the Greeks, in Homer's poems, made perhaps 1600 years before the making of "Beowulf". Both these ancient Greeks and these Anglo Saxons had, and expressed in poetry; the same love, of life and of the beauty of the world; and the same belief that, after death, hope was hopeless, and joy was ended. Both had the same sense of the mystery of existence. Anglo Saxon poetry thus began like that of Greece.

    It derives an additional interest from its representation of the primitive simplicity of a Homeric period—the infancy of customs and manners and emotions of that Hero-life, which the Homeric poems first painted for mankind.

    The northern hordes under their petty chieftains, cast into a parallel position with those princes of Greece, whose realms were provinces, and whose people were tribes, often resembled them in the like circumstances, the like characters, and the like manners. Such were those kinglings who could possess themselves of a territory in a single incursion, and whose younger brothers, stealing out of their lone bays, extended their dominion as “Sea-Kings” on the illimitable ocean. The war-ship and the mead-hall bring us back to that early era of society, when great men knew only to be heroes, flattered by their bards, whose songs are ever the echoes of their age and their patrons.

    We discover these heroes, as we find them; audacious with the self-confidence of their bodily prowess; vaunting, and talkative of their sires and of themselves; the son ever known by denoting the father, and the father by his marriage alliance—that primitive mode of recognition, at a period when, amid the perpetual conflicts of rival chieftains, scarcely any but relations could be friends; the family bond was a sure claim to protection. Like the Homeric heroes, they were as unrelenting in their hatreds as indissoluble in their partisanship; suspicious of the stranger, but welcoming the guest; we find them rapacious, for plunder was their treasure, and prodigal in their distributions of their golden armlets and weighed silver, for their egotism was as boundless as their violence. Yet pride and glory fermented the coarse leaven of these mighty marauders, who were even chivalric ere chivalry rose into an order. The religion of these ages was as wild as their morality.

    In the uncritical chronicles of the Middle Ages it is not always evident whether the mortal was not a divinity. Their mythic legends have thrown confusion into their national annals, but if antiquaries still wander among shadows, the poet cannot err. Beowulf may be a god or a nonentity, but the poem which records his exploits must at least be true, true in the manners it paints and the emotions which the poet reveals—the emotions of his contemporaries.

    Thus, here we have portrayed an ambiguous being, whom legend creates with supernatural energies, and history labours to reduce to mortal dimensions.

    What a delightful phantasmagoria comes out while we remain in darkness!
    Last edited by MANICHAEAN; 12-21-2019 at 01:05 PM.

  9. #9
    On the road, but not! Danik 2016's Avatar
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    Manichean,
    You only forgot to mention that Beowulf´s energy for winning all those battles derived from the Aubergines à Parmegiana (one of my favorite dishes, by the way).

    Downloaded Beowulf as E-book sometime ago. Will take a closer look sometime. The adventures remind me of the territorial battles of the old Germans and Huns.
    "You can always find something better than death."
    Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm, The Bremen Town Musicians

  10. #10
    MANICHAEAN MANICHAEAN's Avatar
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    Hi Danik

    Merry Christmas for tomorrow. One of my passions, apart from writing, is cooking & especially Italian cuisine. Hence tongue in cheek aubergine parmigiana being inserted in the above story.

    When the Ice Age retreated from what is now the UK, and the English Channel was formed, this signified the start of some of the most diverse migrations, that present day Europe has ever witnessed. As you note there were fights for territory: Huns, Angles, Danes, Saxons, Picts and I think Beowulf gives a good insight into what drove loyalties in those days. Throw in some pagan religion and you have very interesting stories.
    Last edited by MANICHAEAN; 12-24-2019 at 03:45 PM.

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    The Wolf of Larsen WolfLarsen's Avatar
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    Exclamation The Literary World, Censorship, and Bland Books that Bore the General Public

    The Literary World, Censorship, and Bland Books that Bore the General Public
    A rant by Wolf Larsen

    The literary world is as boring as a blank white wall! PIcture this:a monotony of shelf after shelf of books that are written in exactly the same boring conventional style! No wonder literature is losing the interest of the masses, and being replaced by social media! The fact that social media is so pathetic, and that the literary world is even more pathetic, shows just how pathetic the literary world is!

    The public has options. They can read boring bland social media, or they can read literature that is even more bland and boring! Instead of complaining that the general public is not reading enough books, we should be writing books that are more interesting to the general public!

    But how can you write interesting books for the general public, if you are practically forced to write in a conventional style?! And the truth is you practically have to write in a traditional style if you want your work to get published and circulated. The corporate publishing houses have helped to make literature so bland and boring that it puts the general public to sleep!

    In addition, it doesn't help matters any that writers are often forced to tone down obscenity. If we are going to compete with social media, then writers must be unleashed to be as free as possible! Yet, censorship in the literary world continues to this day! This censorship of the obscene helps to make literature boring and bland, and uninteresting to the general public! Writers must be free to write whatever they want to write! Fight censorship!

    Perhaps writers will not be truly free until the human race is free! Perhaps it will take worldwide workers revolutions to smash down the old uptight puritanical capitalist hierarchy, and replace it with a new society (Trotskyist, not Stalinist) that gives writers, painters, musicians, and comedians the freedom they need! (I am not trying to discuss politics here, only the freedom of literature.)

    Liberals are just as guilty as conservatives when it comes to promoting censorship! Liberals say that they use political correctness to fight racism, homophobia, sexism, excetera. But more often than not political correctness is actually used to censor obscenity. Liberals use political correctness to join the conservative religious right in censoring obscenity in the arts. Both political correctness and religion are reactionary! They are the same puritanical disease that seeks to censor the arts, including literature.

    https://www.goodreads.com/list/show/...allenged_Books
    Last edited by WolfLarsen; 12-25-2019 at 01:20 PM.
    "...the ramblings of a narcissistic, self-obsessed, deranged mind."
    My poetry & other stuff on Amazon:
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  12. #12
    On the road, but not! Danik 2016's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by MANICHAEAN View Post
    Hi Danik

    Merry Christmas for tomorrow. One of my passions, apart from writing, is cooking & especially Italian cuisine. Hence tongue in cheek aubergine parmigiana being inserted in the above story.

    When the Ice Age retreated from what is now the UK, and the English Channel was formed, this signified the start of some of the most diverse migrations, that present day Europe has ever witnessed. As you note there were fights for territory: Huns, Angles, Danes, Saxons, Picts and I think Beowulf gives a good insight into what drove loyalties in those days. Throw in some pagan religion and you have very interesting stories.
    Merry Christmas for you too!

    Of course I know that. I was only joking. Italy, at least as we know it today, is needs much younger as Beowulf.
    I like these old epics. I just need time to take a closer look at Beouwulf.
    "You can always find something better than death."
    Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm, The Bremen Town Musicians

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    The Wolf of Larsen WolfLarsen's Avatar
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    Warning: do not read this if you have a problem with obscenity, or if you are very religious. You have been warned!

    The Congress of Insane Literature
    A rant by Wolf Larsen

    What we need is a Congress of Insane Literature! Participants in the Congress of Insane Literature can come naked, or paint bright colors all over their naked bodies, or dress up as orangutans, or transvestites, or any other way that they feel like dressing! Everyone should wear a giant dildo on their head. There should be bright blinking lights on the dildos on top of everyone's heads. The best way to discuss literature, is with a big dildo strapped to the top of your head, with bright blinking lights all over it!

    Furthermore, consensual sex between participants in the Congress of Insane Literature is encouraged, but not required. Whether the sex is with 2 people or 20 people or with a goat there will be a constant orgy at the Congress. Remember, we have to get the creative juices flowing! Nothing gets the creative juices flowing better than sex!

    Sex and great writing are like twins! And that is why it is extremely important to encourage writers to have as much sex as possible! In fact, we will go outside into the parks, where we will have massive sex orgies as others recite great literature and play music. Members of the general public will be encouraged to join us in our orgies of insane literature in the park. We have to get the general public interested in literature, and what better way to get the general public interested in literature, then to have giant orgies in the park while poets read their poetry!

    And what about drugs? at the Congress of Insane Literature we should have as many drugs as possible! All kinds of drugs!

    In addition, a lack of respect for authority is imperative to writing great literature. Therefore, in lieu of porta potties participants at the Congress of Insane Literature will be encouraged to pee on the legs of the nearest police officers, politicians, and capitalist pigs.

    That's right - capitalist pigs! The capitalist pigs that own the publishing houses have done more to impede the progress of literature than almost anyone else. To say that the capitalist pigs have turned the publishing houses into whorehouses, is an insult to the great whorehouses of our nation! Long live the great whorehouses of the United States of America!

    There is no reason for literature to be confined to the page! Let us write literature and poetry all over each other's naked bodies as we perform literature and orgies together in the park.
    In order to go around the publishing houses and the increasing monopoly of Jeff Bezos and Amazon, the Congress of Insane Literature will start an independent publishing cooperative of writers, which will publish all manuscripts except for white supremacist propaganda. It will be up to the reading public to decide what they want to read, as everything will be available to them.
    "...the ramblings of a narcissistic, self-obsessed, deranged mind."
    My poetry & other stuff on Amazon:
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