Max Ernst

I just finished Ham on Rye, and I thought it was an affecting story of abuse and loneliness. However, the prose was impotent and failed to fully carry the weight of Bukowski's themes. I don't mind Charles Bukowski particularly, but people who try to write like Charles Bukowski are often awful. Also, I reread The Road, and that is still an incredibly powerful novel. However, even when reading it this second time, the end still feels like a total punk-out, and remains an annoying blemish on an otherwise phenomenal work.

See, that is interesting, because I completely disagree. I think if you sync up each writing style with who is writing, I think the form unifies with the content to create meaning. For example, to have a character with depression narrate in the second person is incredibly powerful. Everything ties together so wonderfully, as people bounce off each other with such delicate tenderness- it expertly explores that "whatever happened to that guy" thought that everyone has. To have a narcissist write a personality piece that is about himself as opposed to his subject is also pretty brilliant, and also a friendly jab as the 'gonzo journalism' movement (if there is even such a thing). The book does have its shortcomings, though. The punk rock scene does not seem authentic. As someone who does really enjoy Dead Kennedys, Minor Threat, Bad Brains, etc, I can say (from even my limited experience) that the attitude, culture and the scene are slightly off in the book. It definitely feels like it has been researched, but not lived. Also, the future chapter is great, but the text speak is all wrong and I don't think Nine Inch Nails are going to sell ringtones for babies, no matter how satirical you are being.

Just started The Recognitions by William Gaddis. Every time I start to read it, all I want to do is that 'fake staircase behind the couch' move and then just sit on the floor and try not to die. It's an incredible book, but goddamn. I can see why David Foster Wallace acknowledge it so much, but it makes Infinite Jest look so simple and digestible.

Do you want to watch a stop motion film from 1912 where a cricket in a little house explores the heartbreak of infidelity? Of course you do! See how excited I am? I answered my own rhetorical question!

Realtalk: is my favourite tech channel on Youtube. Amazing production values, they are really on the pulse.

My favourite series is , a wonderful series that details how hard it is to be a man in this modern world filled with "feminazis". As women can't take compliments anymore, all kinds of issues have arisen that has made men the persecuted sex. It's true! These guys get it.

I always understood the book as how people attach symbolic meaning to things in their lives, and the melancholy that is felt when such symbolism is revealed to just be internalized feelings projected onto a suitable object, "enchanted objects" passage and so on.

Just smashed through J.M.G Le Clézio's The Flood. This book is weird, strange, and kind of mind-blowing. Sadly, so few English readers have read it, so resources on it are hard to find, despite the author receiving the Nobel Prize recently. I would describe it as a book that takes Camus' The Stranger and takes it even further. While the first forty pages are written as a purely sensory experience, and thus a little disorienting, the book is wonderfully translated. Some of the passages are so eloquent and moving that I'm surprised that English wasn't the author's original tongue. The novel deals with death and sensory understanding, and how a fascination of oblivion can hasten your demise. A taste of the prose:

Dang, The Sonics were cool as hell. Listen to that drum sound. Just listen to it. The guy is a beast.

At this point, I'm convinced that Alice Munro does short stories better than anyone else that has ever lived. Ever story is so masterfully crafted, each character so rich, it blows my mind that I slept on her as long as I did.

As I am just as obsessed with JustinRPG as Shawn is, here is a great cut that showcases his effortless flow and his totally sane love for a Pokemon: http://youtu.be/Re1_IdVjuaw There are more and they are all this amazing.

Glad to see Shawn Elliot mention how terrible Rob Liefeld is, because then I get to post this: Also, Shawn Elliott is, aside from being really, is a great thinker and a strong creative talent. Would love to see what he comes up with if he ever lead a project.

I am reading some Evelyn Waugh, and while he is wonderfully sharp and observant, his portrayal of race makes me uncomfortable. In other words, I am shocked that a British white male from long ago was kind of racist.

Apparently Nick's obsession with noses is meant to be a subtle hint that he is gay. When Tom crushes the nose of his lover, this has been read as an overt display of his heterosexuality and masculinity in its most traditional form. I read an essay claiming that Nick was gay, and is thus given an even more of a 'outsider' role in the affairs of his friends. Most of it tried to tie the nose thing with his thoughts about turning 30. I don't know how convinced I am.

I also like how the books turn the notion of 'epiphanies' on its head. In most texts, epiphanies are employed to show character growth, as characters o realise some hidden facet of their world that is uncovered through the experiences of the novel. Through their epiphanies, the characters ascertain a particular truth, that helps them understand themselves and how their relation to their surroundings. This book does the opposite. Every major epiphany the protagonist has just confuses her more. The first notable example of this is when she pulls over on the highway and sees the city as circuit-board like nervous system that at once overwhelms and confuses her. While she slowly uncovers the Trystero conspiracy, she just becomes more confused than ever, until she finally doubts her own surroundings and her own sensory perceptions. Ultimately, the major truth that she uncovers is that there are no major truths, making this book postmodern as fuck.

This is a phenomenal piece of work that can withstand dozens of readings. The language is incredible, the jokes are extremely funny, and the satire is biting. It's also the greatest 'postmodern' text I have ever read. I've read this book four times now but now you guys are tempting me to read it a fifth. What strikes me most about the text is how it juxtaposes serious, sober revelations with an absurd plot to emphasise the significance of epiphanies and self revelations in Oedipa’s journey. A key moment in the text is when Oedipa arrives in San Narciso, and has an epiphany, understanding the ambiguity and tentativeness of her attempts to acquire knowledge. She sees San Narciso as an “ordered swirl of houses” that has the “astonishing clarity” of a “circuit card” (24). The circuitry imagery invokes the image of a radio, its pattern gives her “a hieroglyphic sense of concealed meaning, of an intent to communicate” (25), yet proves to further emphasise the futility of acquiring true knowledge. Yet, the fact that Oedipa’s revelation “trembled just past the threshold of her understanding” indicates that even though truth may be inexpressible, it still consumes Oedipa and, in turn, the reader . This epiphany, and others like it throughout the novel, expresses deep human truths about knowledge and existence between absurd scenarios such as mail conspiracy, characters with names such as Mike Fallopian and Genghis Coen, LSD obsessed psychiatrists and motels hosting an event for the American Deaf-Mute assembly. Pynchon clashes the deeply profound and the comical to show that no matter how absurd events and people may appear, both in fiction and in the real world, great truths are profound because they are sometimes the only thing that makes sense to an individual. That's how I read some of the broader themes of the text, anyhow.

With apologies to Jim Derogatis for aping his title and concept, this is a thread where you share which piece or art, of if it makes you more comfortable, ‘entertainment’, consistently receives accolades it does not deserve. Perhaps time hasn’t been as kind to it as people may think. Or perhaps proponents are simply neck-deep in nostalgia, and lack the humility to admit that something they hold very dear sucks. However, if you are like me, sometimes it just feels like you are snorting crazy powder because you cannot understand why people love a particular piece of art with such intensity. Before I get the ball rolling, I am going to be clear that I am not just going to pick on any piece of popular entertainment. Commercially driven entertainment, which is entertainment that seeks to reach the broadest possible audience in order to profit those who create it, are often insipid and nauseating. There are exceptions, of course, but for the sake of simplicity, I am going to just tackle critical darlings. Movies, games, books and albums that top “best-ever” lists will be in my particular line of fire, but of course you are free to tear apart whatever you wish. Also, if any of you cretins say Citizen Kane, I will lose my shit. Overrated Album: The Beatles - Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band I love The Beatles. This is not an anti-Beatles post. However, this is consistently ranked as their best record, and I couldn’t disagree more. If anyone took the time to go track-by-track and judge every track by its merits, you will see that it’s actually a bit of a misstep from the band. Firstly, it’s not their best record- that honour goes to Revolver, which synthesises psychedelic exploration and melodic pop better than anything else they have ever done. Secondly, there are a buttload of shitty tracks on this record. While the album opens strong with its title track, ‘With a Little Help from My Friends’ is the first sign that this isn’t an A-Grade Beatles record. Notably, it’s very cruel to get your personable but not exceptionally talented drummer to sing a song about how he would struggle to survive without his friends. The song has that bullshit nursery rhyme tone that plagues this album and a lot of McCartney’s future work. ‘Getting Better’, ‘When I’m Sixty-Four’, ‘She’s Leaving Home’ and ‘Fixing a Hole’ are utterly forgettable, and if you do remember them, it could be because they sound like childish sing songs as opposed to listenable pop music. That is not to leave Lennon off the hook, here. Many of his songs sound undercooked and lack anything tangible to hold on to as a listener. ‘Good Morning Good Morning’ is his worst song on the record, but ‘Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite’, much like the album in general, relies on its neat concept rather than anything from its own merits. The song that coincidentally initialises as ‘LSD’ is a solid track, but it cannot support the album on its own. Strangely, the best song on the record ‘A Day in the Life’, might be the best Beatles song ever recorded. It has everything that is great about the band: the willingness to experiment, the clash of musical styles, the wonderful dynamic between Lennon’s hazy wails and McCartney’s jolly hooks… it sounds like a band that were trying to blow minds. They succeeded. This album has a wonderful concept, was extremely ambitious and culturally important, and sounds like a band free to do what they please. However, in the end, there isn’t that much worth listening to here. Sorry. Overrated Book: Jack Keroac’s On the Road This book is a great example of an author failing his obligation as a story teller: Keroac simply does not properly explore the relevant dimensions of his subject matter. On the Road glorifies a free life without commitments, without the grind, without a plan, and to live life one step at a time to maximise how much you can see or do. However, it is horrendously irresponsible, ignoring emotional inconveniences and creating motivation without a source. Firstly, it is a travel book where you don’t see anything. For a book about travel, with characters that enthuse about the open road, there is nothing to see as a reader. While Sal Paradise bounces between city to city with feverish drive, the locations themselves lack any sort of defining character. As a reader, we cannot understand his enthusiasm about being in Denver because we can’t see how it is any different to California. For a book about locations and cultures, On the Road’s backdrop is incredibly lifeless. Secondly, the hardships of travel are not fully expressed. Sal often goes hungry, sleeps in public and feels despondent as he feels like he is a ship without a rudder. Yet, Keroac brisks past these emotions, as if they are minor inconveniences to living on the open road, and therefore not worth detailing properly. While the book dedicates pages to how exhilarating it is to sit in a pick-up truck in the middle of the nowhere, severe hunger pains only merit a single line. Have you ever gone 24 hours without food? It fucking sucks. You would complain about it a lot. Keroac doesn’t think so. It’s like reading a book on the joys of binge drinking without any mention of hangovers. Also, Keroac has an awkward, stilted writing style. His prose continuously manages to circle around his particular points without ever getting there. While some could argue that this ties in with the theme of the text, as the characters are simply drifting to avoid getting at their real problems, I think that is giving Keroac too much credit. I was going to write why Grease is such a terrible film, but I just don’t have the energy after that. Maybe later.

Woah, buddy. I don't think everyone else is wrong, I just recognise that, in those particular instances, I am presenting a counter-narrative. I just thought it would be interesting to put "untouchable" works through a critical lens, and maybe dismantling myths.

I went for snappy over nuance and now I have endless shame.

I assure you, that wasn't my intent. I was hoping for a strong back and forth rather than a shit-fest.

Honestly, I just love it when people take 'sacred' works and write a thoughtful counter-narrative that totally makes me reconsider something I have taken for granted. This whole thread is inspired by a wonderful critique of Kendrick Lamar's Good Kid, M.A.A.D City, and I honestly cannot hear the album the same way. Good criticism can totally change the way you interpret a work, and I was hoping it was going to happen here in some form. That was my intent, anyway.

For the most part, yes. But I am impressed by meme culture's ability to take a joke/reference and run it into the ground. The joke no longer exists on its own merits, the joke is that we recognise the reference.

Before the internet, we used to create jokes. Now, we only reference existing jokes.

Well, that's ten minutes of work completely undone.

Considering I died in 1976, I would consider it a pretty good effort and I don't appreciate you smearing my contributions.