/lit/ - Literature

>>1976747
>>1976747
>>1976749
>>1976749

I shall bring the Hufflepuff to the history books!

They will remember WillowPumpkin as the greatest Hufflepuff to ever talk about doing stuff!

DUMB NAMES FOREVERRRR

>>1976735
>>1976735

I SAY YOU SHOULD BE THANKFUL

THAT SOUNDS ACTUALLY HARMONIOUS

> Due to the number of people seeking to register, you may have to wait several weeks before receiving this email.

>>1976716
>>1976716

FEAR THE ALMIGHTY WILLOWPUMPKIN, HARRY POTTER.

> mfw I picked the only good username in my choices to be WillowPumpkin
> mfw my brother gets "Castleflight"

>>1976652
>>1976652

Whoops, forgot the image.

>>1976647
>>1976647

Ha-ha, that is fantastic! The expression of the man with the care to add faces to the background makes it seem like a capture.

Castle - Nikolai Romanov

Some more cubism...of a castle nonetheless! A great piece, and I'm loving the work with the spaced out cartoony looking clouds.

>>1976617
>>1976617

No man, those girls were peeved.

> let's just fucking leave

they mad

Galveston Trolley - Nenad Mirkovich

Just an example of great seascape/harbor paintings - if I could fill a house with works, it would easily be of as many like these as possible.

The Sound and the Fury is a clear example of this from majorly Quentin's and Benjy's perspectives - you hear the stories from their state of mind directly.

> getting angry in a bookstore
> 2011

Nude Descending a Staircase, No. 2 (French: Nu descendant un escalier n° 2) is a 1912 painting by Marcel Duchamp.

I've always just fucking loved the use of outside dimensions - be it the passage of time or constant perspectives, in some methods it's the most thoughtful art I enjoy.

There are many but this is the example the introduced me a few years ago.

>>1975399
>>1975399

Damn it, Anon, you know it's "appreciate your choices!"

Don't you lie!

>>1975391
>>1975391

WELL, it's not exactly as in depth as a Grimm Tale or anything but I feel if it got some illustrations and cut some of the unnecessary fat, it'd be a to-the-point storybook perfection.

You write almost too clearly and there is some repetition, but in in children's stories this isn't bad exactly. It's good so everyone can understand what you're saying.

>>1975378
>>1975378

Wow!

That's one heck a child's tale!

>>1975314
>>1975314

As marooned lumber, I got at their emotions from how they paced along to his coffin at a distance; the pastor had already stopped, as God could only come so close to shelter a man who's already reached Heaven and shortly on his stop Momma took the liberty to finish her stride with a turn away – I don't know what Momma would see in his face, but that perfect image, surrounded by angelic horns and mistletoe, demanded to remain. When she's lying there, just waiting for those famed flashes of life, she won't need to look at her boy out of a freezer, she'll dance with him in the meadow, and kiss him goodbye below the wing of an airplane. My little boy graciously swung to his grandmother, who pushed him on gently, sailing cross like a baby boat to home. He'd finally set himself to rest above his uncle, hoisting himself up slightly to angle a peek, to which his charm washed away. Still perched at my distant view, my boy shrugged his shoulders with a loud sob and, with a calm desperation, vexed his hands forward to caress at Marco's cheeks, peach with fluid.

With the hanger still gushing in the ocean wind, I turned away from the eulogy my son had for Marco; my eyes wanted to see something, but there was only clouds – Marco must've decided to walk the rest of the way.

>>1975313
>>1975313

His hands never moved, locked away in white emblazoned coat pockets, and with that damn voice to never tremble, there wasn't any conversation after his explanation. Somehow, on that day that is, I felt a strange need to cry - a counterbalance almost to my brother, truthfully more honest, brave, and stupid then I tried to be for him. Admirably stupid in the sense that my kind, a herald of lame voices, remained commandeered under the booming chest of his actions; each story he could tell slammed down righteous warheads resounding from his post-humus controls of the sky, always pulling his chariot with God cross the sky to victory. It was really awkward to complain or gawk marvelously at such feats when my time strapped down to services was, with no doubt, completely shameful. His speeches couldn't reach me as a civilian, I had lived with the eyes of a soldier for so long as war spun its wheel, and neither as a soldier with such vulgarity on the subject of patriotism; was I entombed to navigate occasions where our titles dictated us.

"Daddy, look! The big door is opening, daddy look at that door! Wow, it's so big in there, I think."

A tiny ripe hand ripping away at my dreary war born coat took liberty to rip away the reminiscent days, we'd come a long way to visit Marco, my son had the right thinking. And as the door knocked, flimsy in the sun's reborn breeze, there was only one coffin – it sat, ebony lacquered with Old Glory to keep the cold out atop, and haunted the hangar with its lonely existence. My early glance – nobody else seemed moved by its significance – my only response was to stop myself a good distance from where it lie, the offset left of the hanger, from which I could still peer at my brother without seeing Momma's face swell.

>>1975311
>>1975311

Momma was damn proud of her son, being that he was up in the air, a freedom fighting angel reminiscent so of our late again father, the favour in our family line tended to strip away certain looks towards me. Halfway to his resting body, a cold grip on my mother's stuttering movement, I couldn't help and ponder what Marco would say, to my son, to Momma, if I was waiting in that army of coffins.

We had rarely gotten chances to sit down and speak about our lives. As youth, it made no sense for two men, especially a military born duo as ourselves, to consider the constantly nagging troughs in growing up. Far as he knows, as kids, I had no problems. While I did, of course, I can't lie and say that it's what I really wanted, seeing as Marco never put on a face that attempted to say the same. Far as I know, as kids, Marco has no problems, but I want to believe so much that he did - a connection of the nerves between brothers that soaks in family blood. It wasn't until the day of my own graduation at high school that I was able to speak to Marco again, whom had just made relieve from training out months on "this floating island of metal, laced down to the feet with space technology," always moving and resting for an air soldier's last true time "seeing the ocean". The military stories, humour, the lifestyle - it was a heartbreaking image to ever imagine; me, before family, mentioning my neutrality with it all, coaxing Marco to mention his time spent with his wife, the baby he always wanted, and all the little hobbies the military opened for him.

"There isn't any time for those things, Nurem. Besides, no worth in having those without a sky to call our own. Without air to call your own, and all the little people below, alive and well."

This is a story I wrote a few months ago.
________________________________________

We rose somberly as they announced his arrival into the Atticka Bay. His body carrier, a brute of an airplane, held steady on its down-running descent just behind the tin-can bay hangers stationed on a brisk walk of a reach from the grave-site. Far enough to see the angels gliding down with your boys, but not to hear them; they are always gone before you got to hear those holy engines roar. My son, all black 'side his "most favourite" yellow bow-tie, trotted quickly to keep a foot rhythm alongside his daily new interest, our solemn pastor. A trembling clarity, my son spoke in no fortified hesitation on the subject of his uncle, a person whom he never really had the chance to see face to face - the idea itself of his great joy towards meeting his uncle, even without that irritatingly collected voice of his to greet my boy at the coffin, proved a seriously volatile twirl in the memory of my brother.

"Momma, are you alright?"

Our mother generally despised a good amount of people, despite being the emotionally charged woman she was raising us. The funeral director eyed her suspiciously on the first time I had arranged a meeting between the two, taking her for a mischievous woman even in the face of death. Even though nobody ever really mentioned her attitude anymore, I felt a need to still defend it in my head.

"Nurem, when we get there, introduce your brother politely to my grandson. And please, don't look him down; he has a new home now."

>>1974021
>>1974021

The movie had me hooked the second I noticed the Fear and Loathing reference on the highway - I just could not help but laughing.

But yeah, all in all, it was a good representation of the western movie period and had some darn good characters.

High-five indeed!

>>1973935
>>1973935

> Rango

Just recently saw that!

One of my favorite animated movies.

>>1973899
>>1973899

Give this Anon an award!

The King's Speech
Schindler's List
The Pianist
Seven
Meet Joe Black
Back to the Future Parts 1 and 3
Singin' In the Rain
Hotel Rwanda
Lock, Stock, and 2 Smoking Barrels/Snatch (Though I prefer Snatch.)
The Kill Bill Series
The Truman Show
Big Fish
Rain Man

I'm really easily pleased when it comes to art, but I would suggest these movies to anyone easily. They are all fantastic in their own ways.

>>1973877
>>1973877

> girl w/ the draggon tattoo