/lit/ - Literature

By the first of August
the invisible beetles began
to snore and the grass was
as tough as hemp and was
no color—no more than
the sand was a color and
we had worn our bare feet
bare since the twentieth
of June and there were times
we forgot to wind up your
alarm clock and some nights
we took our gin warm and neat
from old jelly glasses while
the sun blew out of sight
like a red picture hat and
one day I tied my hair back
with a ribbon and you said
that I looked almost like
a puritan lady and what
I remember best is that
the door to your room was
the door to mine.

Anne Sexton.

HOLY SHIT, WAT'S THE DEAL WITH ALL THE SPAM? srzly gaiz, wat's the deal?

pic unrelated, but we can discuss who here has ever masturbated to Anne Sexton, specifically this photo.

http://www.poemhunter.com/best-poems/anne-sexton/demon/

My demon is not like hers. I’ll fall into a transcendental reality and produce and allow all things dammed flowing through and out into a pseudo-concentration of pseudo-intellectualism and pseudo-barbarism. I want to be as natural as nature could ever want to be. But instead of giving birth to a child I will abort nameless, nameless… earthless, I cage the baby, neglecting its growth as it cries out with the perfect synonymousness with nature and the rest of the world. I am too far removed. I do not speak your native tongues and I do not speak your transcendental reality and I do not speak my demon. I have become the tree on the top of the mountain and the view is majestic and singular. Never will you see what I see from here but I wish you could. My tears flow down to your roots below and I wish you could. Your demon will never be like mine. Your demon flies in the night and is gone. Where is he? Where is he now? Where is he now but flying in the night as my dammed waters flow down to your canvases as the clicks point click and the transcendental reality becomes realized and we’ve arrived. We’re here above the world. Maybe our roots will grow so deep they will meet and destroy the difference. My demon might meet yours one day. Where are they now?