/lit/ - Literature

>>9708668

Songs of Innocence and of Experience
Dubliners
Moby Dick
Don Quixote

>>9495714

I am man. I fill highways with death and metal. I drift to the back of my skull and I fall into the playground concrete. Warmly, my blood flows from my matted scalp into my open hands, and from my hands it drips into the sand. I am demon. The golden eclipses of death shine in my mind. Flashing. Explosive. I am demiurge. Beautiful spots of red in a ocean of yellow, beautiful spots of yellow in a ocean of grey, the grey is no more. Wilted is thy flower, pedals no longer to bloom, the birds have all flown away from the feeder and I look into the mirror again. I see you. Your shaft of flesh will rot on a cross, and the flies will eat you, the flies will pour out your scrotum and I will eat you, I will devour you, every last morsel, even the shit. Confine me, take me to your prison, leave me in a cold dungeon where the lightning strikes past the clouds on a rainy day from my window. Where the shadows flash across my face from the rusty bars, God help me. She was in the back of the car, she was only seven years old, seven sins, seven trumpets, seven years old. Seven. Spirits lay frozen dead on the edge of your bed, mire singe my lashes on that day, a drink of booze will make it go away. A drink of booze. All away. Turn away from the mirror, lest your red eyes burn holes into the glass, melt your image, stab your ego. I will rule you forever and you will rot in eternal cosmos, never escaping from the endless spiral of the maze that is the being of god, god has you trapped in your being and you will find no satisfaction, soulless being I pity you, I spit on you, I fuck you, end now. Extraterrestrial bile will spill on your textured t-shirt, your cubicle will close in on you. I find myself in the sand, I find myself on the concrete, I find myself holding the body of a mutilated child, her face missing, and red eyes peering from a skull. She was only seven.

A small mound of aromatic ground coffee rested in the paper filter, He shut the lid on the coffee machine and the brew button was pressed. Balanced just ever not so perfectly, the metal spoon was placed on the small container of coffee. The coffee machine slurped, and spattered, and in his mind the sound always reminded him of a heinous public restroom. He wondered if he was vain or idiotic for thinking about suicide in this moment. He stared blankly at the white, stained cheap, coffee machine; which laid upon a white, sterile, and also stained counter. Suddenly, a ring of sharp pain circulated around his vision, so he pressed his palms to his eyeballs. Shapes formed in the black, faint flashing globes of a bluish green rushed to form figures of incomprehensibility. He held his palms to his eyes longer, and slowly he could make out a face, a smiling evil face of blue-green. He let go and the static, swirling grain took over his vision, floating every which way. The imprint of the face still laid in his mind, the spoon slipped off the coffee container and rung as it hit the floor, then he poured his coffee into his mug.

fuck, he said, as he spilled the coffee from his mug. Frustrated at life, he threw his mug to the wall and began to choke on emotions, guarding his eyes from showing any tears. fucking shit, said he. The mug didn't shatter, so he picked it up, and felt death was encroaching. It wasn't, or maybe it was, maybe it felt that way, he tried to remind himself to think bigger, higher, to think about the grandiosity of the universe and the insignificance of the plight of a spilled mug of coffee. He couldn't. He dropped the mug, sat on the floor, and looked at his reflection in the puddle, which was soaking the back of his pants. Now his mind had sucked inwardly to nothingness, absolutely nothing at all. Empty was his mind, and his mug.

Empty, like a deep nothingness before a cosmic explosion. Empty, until something formed, an immense big bang of thought went off in his hollow mind. (I left my car keys at the bar.) A new psychological universe expanded rapidly through the realm of his thoughts, beautiful and spontaneous. Rushing fourth, like a tsunami in a typhoon, crashing waves ever gliding in every direction, galaxies forming. A new man was being born, he jumped up, cleaned the spillage, put the coffee mug in the sink for he didn't need it any anymore, and lept out of his door. He was greeted by a couple, his neighbors, smiling a clean smile, puckered cheeks and all. The waves in his mind instantly turned to stone, the cosmic ocean of his being was yet again unconsciously stagnated before it's time.

WELL GOOD MORNING NEIGHBOR, I WOULD JUST LIKE REMIND YOU THAT WE ARE THROWING A BARBECUE TO CELEBRATE OUR NEW PATIO AND YOU ARE INVITED. thanks. YeP, My WiFe CoOkS a MeAn PoRkChOp! i will try to make it, but i can't talk right now, i have to go grocery shopping. OK, SORRY ABOUT THAT, HAVE A GREAT DAY. No worries, and thank you you to.