/lit/ - Literature

The other day, while rereading Finnegans Wake, I ruminated over the lines, "These wingsets leaned to the outwalls, beastskin trophies of the balsamboards?" I got up and turned on my speakers to Trout Mask Replica by Captain Beefheart, and whilst gazing at my print of Picasso's Dora Maar au Chat (pic related), suddenly it happened -- the transcendent, sublime, eternal essence of being appeared to me in a cloudburst of sensation, and I could feel the world, in all its ages, turning with indescribable ecstasy. In a moment, it was over. This experience made me a spiritual being and a fuller man, and I owe it all to Pablo Picasso's masterwork, Dora Maar au Chat.

The other day, while rereading Finnegans Wake, I was ruminating over the lines, "Or be these wingsets leaned to the outwalls, beastskin trophies of booth of Baws the balsamboards?" I got up and turned on my speakers to Trout Mask Replica by Captain Beefheart, and while I gazed at my print of Picasso's Dora Maar au Chat (pic related), suddenly it happened -- the transcendent, sublime, eternal essence of being appeared before me in a cloudburst, and I could feel the world in all its ages turning in indescribable ecstasy. In a moment, it was over. This experience made me a spiritual being and a fuller man, and I owe it all to Pablo Picasso's divine masterwork, Dora Maar au Chat.

The other day, while rereading Finnegans Wake, I was ruminating over the lines, "Or be these wingsets leaned to the outwalls, beastskin trophies of booth of Baws the balsamboards?" I got up and turned my speakers to Trout Mask Replica by Captain Beefheart, and while I gazed at my print of Picasso's Dora Maar au Chat (pic related), suddenly it happened -- the transcendent, sublime, eternal essence of being appeared before me in a cloudburst, and I could feel the world in all its ages turning in indescribable ecstasy. In a moment, it was over. This experience made me a spiritual being and a fuller man, and I owe it all to Pablo Picasso's divine masterwork, Dora Maar au Chat.

You guys, the other day while rereading Finnegans Wake, I was ruminating over the lines...
"Or be these wingsets leaned to the outwalls, beastskin trophies of booth of Baws the balsamboards?"
... when I decided to get up, and turn on my speakers to Trout Mask Replica by Captain Beefheart. In a dreamy synchronicity, my gaze turned to my print of Picasso's Dora Maar au Chat (pic related). That's when it happened -- suddenly the transcendent, the sublime, the eternal essence of being appeared before me in a cloudburst, and I could feel the turning of the world in all its ages with indescribable ecstasy -- in a brief moment, it was over, and I was left with only a memory's shadow. It changed me, this playful phantom, this eternal secret. It made me a spiritual being and a fuller man. And I owe it all to Pablo Picasso's divine masterwork, Dora Maar au Chat.

You guys, the other day I was rereading Finnegans Wake. I was ruminating over the lines...
"Or be these wingsets leaned to the outwalls, beastskin trophies of booth of Baws the balsamboards?"
I got up, closed the book, turned turned on my speakers to Trout Mask Replica by Captain Beefheart, and in a dreamy synchronicity my gaze turned to the print of Picasso's Dora Maar au Chat hanging on my wall (pic related). Then it happened -- the transcendent, the sublime, the eternal and essential being in all things appeared before me in a cloudburst of sensation, and I could feel the turning of the world in all its ages in an indescribable ecstasy -- and in a brief instant, it was over, and I was left with only a memory's shadow... not enough to truly remember but just to remind me of the fleeting majesty of what I felt that day. It changed me, this playful phantom, this eternal secret; it made me a spiritual being and a fuller man. And I owe it all to Pablo Picasso's divine masterwork, Dora Maar au Chat.