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Chelsea Boy Boyolali

@danazzura

a month ago

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Posted On: September 9th 2026, 12:42 pm

Aku pergi untuk kembali,tp kamu pergi untuk kamu ...
#ikhlas

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arydugil

a month ago

arydugil

Sehat terus mas ndan

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Wearing🥻- @avioracreations
#navratri #day3

After 11 amazing years, we are now independent artists. We are eternally grateful to our incredible team at Columbia/Distruptor for a decade plus of hard work that has resulted in unimaginable success. We have no idea what to expect for our next chapter but we are extremely excited to have fun and experiment with all our new music releases. Thank you for sticking with us fam 💚 we know we owe you some records!

What I wore to a cute country market in Oak Glen before grabbing apple cider donuts 🍎🧺🍂 #ootd #outfitcheck #falloutfit

Contemporary literature is dying.

If you’ve been following me for a while, you’ll know that my favorite (somewhat cheeky) claim is that contemporary literature sucks, and, in many ways, it does. Ben Lerner is an emotionless hack, Ottessa Moshfegh’s writing has no soul, and Sally Rooney never graduated from kindergarten. Even sadder is the fact that these writers represent the supposed upper echelon of literary prowess—as BookTok romantasy girls will often remind us, it only goes downhill from there. But unlike most writers who make up the contemporary literary establishment, I am not a nihilist but an optimist—I believe in the power of humanity, and this (admittedly) naive outlook has convinced me time and time again that these writers deserve a chance. That is why I’ve actually subjected myself to literary abominations such as The Topeka School, My Year of Rest and Relaxation, and Normal People, among others: every time I dive into these novels, I hope to stumble on a gem that might restore my faith in the contemporary literary milieu.

That’s why this past weekend, I really tried to give Anne Carson a chance.

Unless you live under a rock, you’ve probably heard by now that this past Thursday, Canadian poet Anne Carson took home the Nobel Prize in Literature. Before the big news, I’d only ever read If Not, Winter—Carson’s translations of the poems of Sappho—so I went into our newest Nobel laureate’s work with an open mind—and trust me, I really wanted to like her. Her Wikipedia page, for one, paints her as a serious literary scholar—versed in the likes of Homer, Euripides, Sophocles, Emily Dickinson, and Franz Kafka—and in a recent viral interview with The New Yorker, Carson even states that she doesn’t read contemporary novels—she reads old books.

For a moment, I thought I’d found a kindred spirit in the literary world—or, at least, a rare anomaly: a classically educated writer who desires to preserve rather than to destroy the literary tradition—but after reading dozens and dozens of Carson’s poems, I was not merely disappointed but downright devastated.

Carson’s poems are really, really bad.

Continue reading on my Substack.

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