>I have never considered suicide because my hatred for life stems from my love for life
Damn...
Beware Cat Shirt $21.68 |
Beware Cat Shirt $21.68 |
>I have never considered suicide because my hatred for life stems from my love for life
Damn...
Beware Cat Shirt $21.68 |
Beware Cat Shirt $21.68 |
So he loves life more than he hates it
115IQ interpretation
That's what he's implying
No if he didn't love life he wouldn't care for it at all
He loves life so much he hates it for not being like in his imagination
imagine killing yourself. you are capable of doing anything in the world. producing anything you want. a ticket in the lottery of posthumous fame, and you have a nice day because you're worthless and devoid of any initiative. actually just have a nice day
There's a commie on discord with this exact same pfp. I've come to associate Pessoa with him. Frick you OP
>discord
sounds like a (You) problem
>Today, suddenly, I reached an absurd but unerring conclusion. In a moment of enlightenment, I realized that I'm nobody, absolutely nobody. When the lightning flashed, I saw that what I had thought to be a city was in fact a deserted plain and, in the same sinister light that revealed me to myself, there seemed to be no sky above it. I was robbed of any possibility of having existed before the world. If I was ever reincarnated, I must have done so without myself, without a self to reincarnate.
>I am the outskirts of some non-existent town, the long-winded prologue to an unwritten book. I'm nobody, nobody. I don't know how to feel or think or love. I'm a character in a novel as yet unwritten, hovering in the air and undone before I've even existed, amongst the dreams of someone who never quite managed to breathe life into me.
>I'm always thinking, always feeling, but my thoughts lack all reason, my emotions all feeling. I'm falling through a trapdoor, through infinite, infinitous space, in a directionless, empty fall. My soul is a black maelstrom, a great madness spinning about a vacuum, the swirling of a vast ocean around a hole in the void, and in the waters, more like whirlwinds than waters, float images of all I ever saw or heard in the world: houses, faces, books, boxes, snatches of music and fragments of voices, all caught up in a sinister, bottomless whirlpool.
>And I, I myself, am the centre that exists only because the geometry of the abyss demands it; I am the nothing around which all this spins, I exist so that it can spin, I am a centre that exists only because every circle has one. I, I myself, am the well in which the walls have fallen away to leave only viscous slime. I am the centre of everything surrounded by the great nothing.
>And it is as if hell itself were laughing within me but, instead of the human touch of diabolical laughter, there's the mad croak of the dead universe, the circling cadaver of physical space, the end of all worlds drifting blackly in the wind, misshapen, anachronistic, without the God who created it, without God himself who spins in the dark of darks, impossible, unique, everything.
If only I could think! If only I could feel!
Is there more "literally me" writer as Pessoa? I dream every day that my diary gets rediscovered by accident and i get recognized as genius observer of hopeless reality instead of dying from cringe that my edgiest ideas got revealed
>read Fernando Pessoa in English
AHAHAHAHAHHAHHAAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHHAHAHAHAAHHAHAHHAAHAHHAHAHAHAHAAHHAHAHHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAAHAHHAAHAHHAHAAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHHAAHHAHAHHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHHAHAAHAHHAHAHAHHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHHAAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHA
*inhale*
AHAHHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHHAHHAHAHHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHHAHHAHAHHAHAHHAHHAHHAHAHHAHHAHAHHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHHHAH
t. someone who read Moby Dick in Portuguese
>comparing Fernando Pessoa with fricking moby dick
AHAHAHAHAAHHAHAHHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAH
Partilho o teu amor pelo nosso querido Fanã, isso torna-nos irmãos, mas e por isso peço-te que não alienes estes pobres anões de maneira a que eles deixem de querer descobrir este que foi talvez o maior poeta de toda a história escrita no alfabeto latino.
Still powerfull is it not? I've read it in polish, but i don't want to alienate anons.
>t, Portuguese/Brazilian who exists for Pessoa threads alone, whilst averting his eyes when he sees any english poet thread
the english translation is really the poorest version of his writing but it's necessary to show his genius
I don’t know why Pessoa excerpts are not posted on here more, almost every passage of Book of Disquiet is 10/10
Every once in a while there's a thread exactly like this, with this exact same OP pic, with some nice quotes in it. Pessoa's writing has much anti pseud shielding which means there's also usually good discussion, when it doesn't devolve into BR vs. PT shit flinging.
>Is there more "literally me" writer as Pessoa
There is not
>I feel closer ties and more intimate bonds with certain characters in books, with certain images I've seen in engravings, than with many supposedly real people, with that metaphysical absurdity known as "flesh and blood." In fact "flesh and blood" describes them very well: they resemble cuts of meat laid out on the butcher's marble slab, dead creatures bleeding as though still alive, the sirloin steaks and cutlets of Fate.
Who is this and what book, for I need to read this immediately.
Please help me.
it's already mentioned in the thread, Book of Disquiet. 500 pages of passages like those.
This guy wrote like a gay. Too emotional. Almost womanly
I love feminine men
He wrote about his emotions like a surgeon would write about human anatomy. Your aversion to the mere topic of emotion, even or especially when addressed in such a clinical way, reveals what a profound closeted homosexual you really are.
It is curious you say that since i think he considered himself to be feminine in his emotions
No, he didn't.
Bernardo Soares did.
The Book of Disquiet is written by a fictional character (heteronym).
A lot of the other poetry he wrote is very "manly", and sometimes heavily mystic/nationalistic. Very different from Soares.
I saw a letter where he says apart from a dew discrepancies Soares is literally him. It's to his mother, too.
Who wrote that letter? Was it the real Pessoa or another heteronym?
I highly doubt he would've written it from any other perspective. It's both to his mother and It's hard to say what other character could've had the knowledge of a manuscript which only Pessoa is familiar with. It's not like it's a stretch to imagine they're the same—isn't that kind of the point when writes a work like this?
scholars consider Bernardo a semi-heteronym. Uses a different name, but it's literally him.
>I have never considered suicide because my hatred for life stems from my love for life
Heh, this is where I step in. He forgot to use a comma before the word 'because'. Because the first clause is a negative ("I have never..."), he is actually saying that he hasn't considered suicide for the reason stated, but that he potentially has contemplated suicide for other reasons. This is why grammar brainlets are not tolerated in literature. Either learn the language or GTFO.
cringe
for me, it's because it seems like it would fricking hurt when i inevitably frick it up
>“And I wonder if my apparently negligible voice might not embody the essence of thousands of voices, the longing for self-expression of thousands of lives, the patience of millions of souls resigned like my own to their daily lot, their useless dreams, and their hopeless hopes. In these moments my heart beats faster because I’m conscious of it. I live more because I live on high. I feel a religious force within me, a species of prayer, a kind of public outcry. But my mind quickly puts me in my place...”
>“Souls born to rule had no recourse but to abstain. Souls born to create, in a society where creative forces were flagging, had no world to mold to their will besides the social world of their dreams, the introspective sterility of their own soul.”
>“Living off our inner selves has diminished us, for the complete man is the one who doesn’t know himself. Without faith, we have no hope, and without hope we have no real life. Having no idea of the future, we likewise have no idea of today, because today, for the man of action, is nothing but a prologue to the future. The energy to fight was stillborn in us, for we were born without the fighting spirit.”
>>“And I wonder if my apparently negligible voice might not embody the essence of thousands of voices, the longing for self-expression of thousands of lives, the patience of millions of souls resigned like my own to their daily lot, their useless dreams, and their hopeless hopes. In these moments my heart beats faster because I’m conscious of it. I live more because I live on high. I feel a religious force within me, a species of prayer, a kind of public outcry. But my mind quickly puts me in my place...”
In other words; I am but a simple farmer, tending to my memes.
Okay
The other Pessoa thread died so I want to ask here again if anyone knows, how much nonfiction did Pessoa write and how much of it has been translated to English?