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Is that you, Venezuela?


ITT we try our best to translate quality poetry from out language to English. I'll start with a couple from Alphonsus de Guimaraens' Pastoral to the faithful of love and death:

XXIX - Japanese Carmine

Beside a crystalline streamlet
A lily blossoms chastely.
Across the rill, another lily, in front
Opens skyward the divine goblet.

Lucent, contemplating each other with sorrow…
But, alas! the murmurous creek,
Sliding in silvery course,
Divides the budding lovers.

It's the silence of hills and valleys.
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No one felt your obscure spasm,
O humble being amid humble beings,
Drunk, dizzy in pleasures,
Your world was dark and difficult.

You've crossed on the dark silence
Life leashed to tragic duties
And reached the wisdom of highest wisdoms
Becoming simpler and purer.

No one saw your fretful feeling,
Hidden, sorrowful and striking, secret,
That the heart stabbed you in the world.

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When on mankind's carnivals
The grotesque masks go down
And the most bizarre attitudes
Are unmade in the ferocious Nirvana;

When all falls down in mad fever,
In bizarre, picturesque vertigos,
Of a world of carnivalesque emotions
That mocks the deep and sovereign Faith;

As the dismal, funereal
Misery's sinister gallery passes,
With face masks unglued;
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Found this while reading about one of the most amazing and brutal episodes of the Great War (and indeed, the last century): the Serbian army's retreat through Albania.

Halt, imperial galleys! Restrain your mighty rudders!

Walk with silent tread
I am officiating a proud Requiem in the chill of the night
Upon these sacred waters.

There at the bottom, where seashells fall into the tired grip of sleep
And peat falls upon the dead algae,
Lay graves of the brave, lay brother to brother
Prometheuses of Hope, Apostles of Pain.

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>It’s 6:30PM when you enter the supermarket.

>You’re dressed in thongs and rugby shorts, an old white t-shirt with “Taree Surfing Club” on the front, pressed in faded letters. You haven’t been to Taree since you were a kid, and you can’t remember where you got the shirt, or why you still have it, but now you wear it for occasions like these – ordinary ones, like doing the shopping or visiting your parents; occasions that don’t really require you to dress up. This one t-shirt does have a pretty noticeable barbecue sauce stain down the front, and it makes you a little self conscious, but hey it’s the shopping centre – and who’s judging you? You’re dressed to be comfortable, not land a date. Who’s even looking, you convince yourself.

>“This is water,” you say, as you pass the Mount Franklins.

>You have your shopping list written on your phone in the notes app, and every so often you get a notification from a Facebook group chat you’re a part of with some friends from high school. You start thinking about that time earlier today when you searched for that girl in your economics tutorial you spoke to last week and considered adding on Facebook but didn’t. You still haven’t added her and now you worry that it’s been too long, and if you do it now it’ll be obvious that you were thinking about her – and that might come across as creepy.

>Your list reads like this:

>– Pasta
>– Pasta sauce
>– Eggs
>– Milk
>– Ice Cream
>– Capsicum
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I picked Miss Belambini up at Cedar Park Elementary, where she was a teacher. Her car was in the shop through the week.

“You’re a lifesaver,” she told me as she got into my pickup. I had seen her only one time before, and she had been wearing a lowcut evening dress, with her face rouged and the upper halves of her breasts exposed. Today she was dressed in a skyblue sweater and white pants, her cheeks colored only by the day’s smiles and shouts. But apparently her faint lipstick had given her away: “My kids bugged me since morning bell—Miss Belambini is going on a date tonight! They told me I was lazy not to go home and put on more makeup, and I told them I couldn’t because of my fenderbender yesterday. But they’re so smart. I swear, I couldn’t keep a secret from them if I wanted to.”

I found her more attractive at that moment than I ever had. When she asked if I didn’t want to drop her off at her apartment to change, I told her there was nothing she needed to improve. She blushed appreciatively.

Our first date had been in Minneapolis, but this evening we went to a restaurant the Tribune called a “hidden gem” in Rosemount, nestled in a strip mall between a skate repair shop and a daycare. Miss Belambini lived in Rosemount as well, and when the hostess walked us through the quaintly elegant dining area, and our waiter brought us our exceptional food, she tried to impress in me how many elements of good taste were flowing into the suburbs.

“Take a guess what unit we studied today?”

“Frog dissection?”

“We aren’t allowed to dissect frogs. No, today we started Human Growth and Development—Sex Ed.”

She said it in such a way, ironical yet suggestive, that made me smile and lean closer to her across the table. “Sounds controversial,” I said.
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You open your eyes. You sit up alone in bed in your shitty beige cell inside the larger, shitty beige cube. You’re accosted by social media pop-ups on your screen, Weibo, Twitter, and the like. It’s all shit; you shovel / scroll to the bottom. Here are the serious notifications, the ones with implications for IRL. They loom ominously near the top of your Gmail, prioritized by Google’s busybody AI Butler. He knows you’re unemployed so he puts the emails related to work toward the top without being asked.


You’re already two months behind on rent. The landlord is threatening to throw you out on your soft ass if you can’t start paying in at the minimum, which dropped again this month. The minimum drops almost every month, lower and lower than the depths of hell. Every time it drops, the interest rises; some fucker’s got this game figured. The landlord’s last correspondence says that if it were up to her, she’d give you more time, but she can’t fudge your payments anymore because of a new accounting system and that you must pay in something.


Lower down the list is loan debt – the GoogleU email glows red like the eyes of some predatory serpent poised to devour you. For a moment of fancy, you imagine a flashback to equatorial Africa where your ape ancestor narrowly avoids being bit by such a snake. It makes you sick in the pit of your stomach. Google requests a “Read” notification; you consent. The text is the usual threatening scree; you owe Google bt4920K and you must start making the minimum payment. Failure to do so will result in automatic enlistment into a mandatory debtor job. This is a relatively new phenomenon, passed by a bipartisan majority of Democrats and Republicans, lauded by businessmen as the best thing since drug testing for welfare. Debtors are moved into Debtor Campuses, where they can work off what they owe – the largest two are administered by Amazon and Google. Inside, you’re put to work based on your skillset and earn credits; you can apply your credits toward improving your accommodations, gaining new skills to get better jobs to earn more credits, and, of course, paying off your debt.

You don’t want to go to a Debtor Campus, though. You’ve never wanted anything less – you must avoid this at all costs. You scroll down to the bottom of the page. You have until the end of the week. You sigh a long sigh. The final email is a glimmer of hope amidst the grey – a reminder that todayPost too long. Click here to view the full text.


In the office, you sit before your interviewer, some 30-something yuppie manager with a receding hairline. He wants to know some things about you – you answer those questions. He gives you more questions. He reviews your social media, your Twitter and Facebook. The Twitter is okay – there are a couple anti-government posts that have been flagged by the review software: “Student loan debt is fucking insane!!! I want to blow my fucking brains out every month – my statement is only getting higher!” You blush, shrug. “Just shouting into the void,” you say. The interviewer looks at you, then strokes his clipboard with his pen.

Somewhere, a libertarian says, “If you don’t like it, go somewhere else. No one is forcing you to use social media. You don’t have to be on here and if your speech doesn’t conform to the terms and conditions, too bad! Okay? You signed up, you agreed, and these companies are just trying to protect their brand. It’s good for business, it’s good for the economy…”

Somewhere, someone tries to put up a poster on a crowded street corner and is immediately arrested for vandalizing public property.

Somewhere, you are still in the SharkTek office.

The software they use to rate candidates tallies up the interviewer’s inputs and gives you a slightly above-average karma rating. That’s better than what most people get; you’re officially passed the first stage. Next come the homework questions; “What values do you like most at SharkTek?” You say, “Integrity.” He says, “Why?” You go into a rehearsed spiel you prepared for the night before. You feel good about it; he’s nodding to himself. He strokes the clipboard again. “Where do you see yourself long term?” You say, “SharkTek.” He nods, strokes the clipboard. “Favorite color?” You say, “Blue.” He nods. “Excuse me for a moment.” He leaves the room.

There’s a breakroom adjacent to the interview room replete with Playstation consoles from 25 years ago and vending machines and potted, plastic plants and colored tile flooring and window displays of tropical environments and a jungle gym and a ballpit and TeeVee. The interviewer enters the break room, comes in behind a couch. Two coworkers are watching old episodes of Family Guy during the morning’s first 25 minute break. President Hitler (very unpopular name, he refused to change it, still won somehow) instituted the staPost too long. Click here to view the full text.

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Is hedonism a form of death worship?
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only if you know what's up
most heddies just wanna have fun


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>having fun

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Have you ever fallen into an embarassing or otherwise uncomfortable situation due to exposing too much of your power level to normies with mainstream political views?
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all the time, and they like it


I outright tell people that I'm far-right when the topic is brought up and they're cool with it. Such is life in Bulgaria I guess.


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Sometimes when I'm discussing politics with openminded or ideologically friendly people I respond to an argument with so much haste and energy that ideological rage creeps to my head, lighting a little Hitlerite spark and making me wish I could set alight entire crowds with fiery speeches.

But I'm too introverted and quiet to attempt that, even though I'm good at rhetoric.


What are you listening to right now, /int/?
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I've never really managed to like anime music, with a few exceptions such as vid related. Maybe it's just too unserious -the same reason I'm often indifferent to openings.


I kind of agree, most of the music like the above and most anime OPs all sound the same. Some of the OST is pretty cool though.


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>I still have a dim recollection of this meeting, the shock of which left a deep impression on my memory. I remember suddenly finding myself surrounded by strangers, while before me was hung a drab curtain through which I could see an emaciated and terrifying hideous face. This was Cixi.

>Puyi's wet nurse, Wang Wen-Chao, was the only one who could console him, and therefore she accompanied him to the Forbidden City. Puyi did not see his biological mother, Princess Consort Chun, for the next seven years. He developed a special bond with Wen-Chao Wang and credited her with being the only person who could control him. She was sent away when he was eight years old. After Puyi married, he would occasionally bring her to the Forbidden City, and later Manchukuo, to visit him. After his special government pardon in 1959, he visited her adopted son and only then learned of her personal sacrifices to be his nurse.

>The Anglo-French journalist Edward Behr wrote about Puyi's powers as emperor of China, which allowed him to fire his air-gun at anyone he liked:

>Johnston was allowed only five texts in English to give Puyi to read, namely Alice in Wonderland and translations into English of the "Four Great Books" of Confucianism; the Analects, the Mencius, the Great Learning and The Doctrine of the Mean. However, Johnston disregarded the rules, and taught Puyi about world history with a special focus on British history. Johnston also told Puyi so much about his native Scotland that Puyi eventually expressed the desire to visit the "Scotland the Brave" that his tutor spoke of with such pride and love. Besides history, Johnston taught Puyi philosophy and about what he saw as the superiority of monarchies over republics. Puyi remembered that the piecing blue eyes of his tutor "made me feel uneasy … I found him very intimidating and studied English with him like a good boy, not daring to talk about other things when I got bored … as I did with my other Chinese tutors".

>Puyi could not speak Manchu; he only knew a single word in the language, yili ("arise")

>it is doubtful that the eunuchs working as gardeners much appreciated Puyi's habit of riding through the flowers.

>In March 1922, the Dowager Consorts dec
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>In June 1937, some members of the Manchukuo Imperial Guards who were off-duty fell into a trap when they objected to Japanese colonists jumping the queue for rowing boats in a Hsinking park, leading to a brawl. The Kempeitai had expected this and were waiting; they arrested the Imperial Guardsmen, who were then beaten and forced to strip in naked in public, and finally convicted by the courts of "anti-Manchukuo activities".

> In 1934, Puyi had been excited when he learned that El Salvador had recognized Manchukuo,

>Puyi became a hypochondriac, taking all sorts of pills for various imagined aliments and hormones to improve his sex drive and allow him to father a boy, as Puyi was convinced that the Japanese were poisoning his food to make him sterile.

> The Showa Emperor replied "I must comply with your wishes" and gave him three relics, namely a bronze mirror, a sword and a piece of jade (reproductions of the Imperial Regalia of Japan) to take home with him to be the center of Shinto worship in Manchukuo.[219] Puyi later wrote "I thought Beijing antique shops were full of such objects. Were these a great god? Were those my ancestors? I burst into tears on the drive back."

>In 1940 Wanrong, also known as "Elizabeth Jade Eyes", engaged in an affair with Puyi's chauffeur Li Tiyu that left her pregnant. To punish her, as Wanrong gave birth to her daughter, she had to watch much to her horror as the Japanese doctors poisoned her newly born child right in front of her. Afterwards, Wanrong was totally broken by what she had seen, and lost her will to live, spending as much of her time possible in an opium daze to numb the pain. Puyi had known of what was being planned for Wanrong's baby, and in what Behr called a supreme act of "cowardice" on his part "did nothing".

>Yamada was assuring Puyi that the Kwantung Army would easily defeat the Red Army when the air raid sirens sounded and the Red Air Force began a bombing raid, forcing all to hide in the basement.

>To test the reaction of his Japanese masters, Puyi put on his uniform of Commander-in-Chief of the Manchukuo Army and announced "We must support the holy war of
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>At the age of 56, he married Li Shuxian, a hospital nurse, on 30 April 1962, in a ceremony held at the Banquet Hall of the Consultative Conference. From 1964 until his death he worked as an editor for the literary department of the Chinese People's Political Consultative Conference, where his monthly salary was around 100 yuan. One yuan in the 1960s was equivalent to about 40 cents USD. Li recalled in a 1995 interview that: "I found Pu Yi a honest man, a man who desperately needed my love and was ready to give me as much love as he could. When I was having even a slight case of flu, he was so worried I would die, that he refused to sleep at night and sat by my bedside until dawn so he could attend to my needs". Li also noted like everybody else who knew him that Puyi was an incredibly clumsy man, leading her to say: "Once in a boiling rage at his clumsiness, I threatened to divorce him. On hearing this, he got down on his knees and, with tears in his eyes, he begged me to forgive him. I shall never forget what he said to me: 'I have nothing in this world except you, and you are my life. If you go, I will die'. But apart from him, what did I ever have in the world?"

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Webm thread? Webm thread.
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I made this one. Hope you like it.


Beautiful. What is the music you used?



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If everything is a simulation, how can i be sure that i'm a real person playing this simulation and not a dumb NPC?

if the world around is not a simulation how can i be sure that everything surrounds me is not a product of my imagination and i am not in deep coma?

being an NPC in coma is utterly depressing
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The real question should be: what's the difference from a simulation and reality?


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delet this, apu is a pure soul


this tbh

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>EU4 on a castle
<not Victoria 2 on a coal mine

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