/lit/ - Literature

Is the oddyssey about semen?

>main character is a sailor (seamen)
>all his crew dies (the other spermatozoons who don't "make it")
>shipwrecked and stuck with calypso in the immortal realm (ie unborn)
>builds a ship (obvious phallic connotation)
>literally swims against a sea trying to kill him (the vagina)
>his son is looking for him (ie trying to be born)
etc etc

>>10854592
>meanwhile, student actually interested in philosophy drops out and ends up working at ross not making enough to move out of parents house

>>10711231
Wait, I just realized. How is it possible to divide a glass of water into thirds? If 1/3 is 0.3333..., how could you divide a finite number of molecules into thirds? The end result would not be three glass of water, each with 1/3 of the water, but finite, unequal parts.

And moreover, if the glass of water had an odd number of molecules, you could not even divide it into two glasses equally, unless you were to divide the molecules in half, and this would merely be to reduce the number of parts to an even number, which could then be split in half.

So how is it that 1/2 sometimes constitutes a real possibility, and sometimes not?

>>8413808
I'd have my daughters set up a warm bath for him while I myself would pour spring water from the pitcher for his hands. Then I'd slaughter my fattest black ram, roast it on spits and serve him the best bits while my wife fills a wicker basket with freshly made bread. Then I'd mix some sweet black Chian wine and fill the silver cups to the brim and then we'd fill the night with stories until Dawn takes her rightful place on brocaded cushions, stories from when men were god-like, gods were god-like, friends were honoured, enemies were killed and glory was either given to another man or won from him, never ignored or spurned as an antiquated, abstract concept.

Sure, I don't actually have any Chian wine lying around but I think I saw Cretan wine at the supermarket where I'd have to go anyway to get some lamb chops. Hopefully I can get some bits with a bit of blood left on them to smear on my hands to make it look like I had just butchered them or something. Also, my wife can't even bake cookies from pre-made dough, let alone bread, and my daughters are much too young to attend to an old man's bath, not that he'd fit easily in our tiny bathtub in our tiny two bedroom, one bathroom apartment. There's no hearth either; the stove is half gas, half electric, maybe that'll count for something.

But the stories, man, the stories...