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Guys I need some help. I'm reading a book of self help, which is comprised of short stories. You are supposed to get a meaning out of each one of them. There is one story I'm not completely sure if I have got the right meaning.
I couldn't find it online so I used google translate and I corrected some things, sorry if it's not perfect.
The part I'm not sure of its meaning is the last answer by the old man. What do you think it means?
A fairy tale within a fairy tale.
For months he lived in terror of horrible thoughts of destruction which tormented him ...
mostly at night , falling asleep trembling that he would not see the dawn of the next day and he did not manage to sleep before the sun came out - sometimes just an hour before he got up to go to work .
When he heard that the Enlightened One would spend the night just outside the village , he realized that he was given a unique opportunity, as it was not common for travelers to travel by - not even close to the village - as it was lost among the mountains of Kaldi .
The great reputation preceded the mysterious visitor and although no one had seen him, everyone said that the teacher had the answers to all the questions.
Therefore, that same dawn, without anyone seeing him, he went to meet him, at the tent which - as he was told - the old man had set up next to the river.
When he arrived , the sun barely started emerging from the horizon .
He found the Enlightened in a time of meditation .
He waited a few minutes with respect, until the teacher became aware of his presence ...
He, as if he was waiting for him , turned towards him and with a serene expression he looked at him silently.
"Master , help me ," the man said . " Frightening thoughts haunt my nights and I have no peace nor courage to relax and enjoy my life .
They say you can heal everything. Help me escape from this agony ... ".
The teacher smiled and replied :
" I'll tell you a story ' :
A rich man sent his servant to the market for groceries . But not a lot of time had passed after arriving there and he came across Death , who looked at him sharply in the eyes.
The servant was terrified and he fled , leaving behind him the groceries and the mule . Panting , he arrived at the home of his master .
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Hey /lit/ 50 shades have inspired me to become a writer, what do you think about my writing, do you think I could get published?
>We’re fucking on the kitchen counter. My knees are hooked over Jack’s shoulders. And he’s standing on tiptoes now so he can get just the right angle. I’m sliding back and forth on the counter as he thrusts into me and I’m afraid I’m going to fall off. I sweep my hands behind me for something to grab onto. My hands find the wall, they find the spice rack attached to it, and I think, that’ll do. But it cracks off almost immediately and comes away in my hands and the spices spill all over the counter. Jack’s fucking me and my ass is being rubbed in cumin, ginger, garlic, salt and pepper. I’m marinating in my own juices and my ass is ready to be cooked, but I come multiple times before he’s ready to leave his yeast in my oven. And as I come, my asshole puckers and snorts a pinch of chili. The pain is excruciating. My asshole is burning and my pussy’s on fire. And the flames consume my body and lick at my brain. We’re both burning up in the heat of our love.
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After reading a page of IJ and deciding it would be a supreme waste of time, I find myself agreeing with the general sentiment, perhaps a bit hyperbolical expressed by one of the last serious literary critics alive, Harold Bloom
Asked about novelist David Foster Wallace, who took his own life in 2008, but who has a new book out, “The Pale King: An Unfinished Novel,” put together from manuscript chapters and files found in his computer, Bloom says, “You know, I don’t want to be offensive. But ‘Infinite Jest’ [regarded by many as Wallace’s masterpiece] is just awful. It seems ridiculous to have to say it. He can’t think, he can’t write. There’s no discernible talent.”
It’s all a clear indication, Bloom notes, of the decline of literary standards. He was upset in 2003 when the National Book Award gave a special award to Stephen King. “But Stephen King is Cervantes compared with David Foster Wallace. We have no standards left. [Wallace] seems to have been a very sincere and troubled person, but that doesn’t mean I have to endure reading him. I even resented the use of the term from Shakespeare, when Hamlet calls the king’s jester Yorick, ‘a fellow of infinite jest.’
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Hello /lit/, I am searching for a word. It's been bugging me for a long time now.
Someone who isn't gullible, stupid or easily-mislead, but he's advantageous, smart, cunning, and a liar.
Often mentioned on a financial and economical level.
In my country, it is: 'bandoo2', for those who understand.
Help me, /lit/.