/lit/ - Literature

[Anonymous No.19804369]

>I would pause from time to time, easing my breath after I had released each phrase from its related surroundings, reclining back listlessly into the black and white, jaggedly striped pillow situated behind me, pressing on the heavy maple back of my bed; I would become, once I had felt that panel of my bed seep through the pillow and touch my back, the mounting weight of my reclining rendering the pillow nearly invisible, reminded that I lay, in fact, in my bed, a fact which I had forgotten, entranced in my written recollections ... so I perceived the original sensation of these occurrences to be no different than my imagined sensation of them in those memories, as they appeared to me as indistinguishable, accustomed moments in both their initial reality and their appearance in my memory, holding appearances so remarkably similar that they might as well be regarded as an impermeable immanence, resounding like an octave struck on a piano, two identical tones separated merely by distance, a distance which comfortably fits, producing no strain, under the hand of the one who struck it ...

[Anonymous No.19804382]

>when the early nighttime hours would truly arrive in their fullness, having materialized, undifferentiated from those limpid afternoon hours, I would return to bed, having in actuality not far displaced myself from that bed, either arriving back from a steaming shower, or a rich dinner of Florentine steak infused with plump artichoke hearts with a side chicken salad spread on wheat crackers, softened in Vichy water, then peppered with cilantro in an effort by myself to make it appear picturesque, more satisfying; I would often times also keep a close ear to the needlessly critical words of my father, sardonically encouraging him, without him having any suspicion of it, to assume, as he was prone to do, those habits once more, listening to his supposedly innocent groveling intentionally, hoping to supplant my thoroughly noticeable proclivity to introduce more lovely sustenance into the copious cavity of my much-fed mouth, as I would soon after lie dormant for a number of hours in the gossamer trance of tired sleep; After these lavish dinners, I would be wholly sated, prepared to once more lay down, return to a stillness, now discrepant with that afternoon one, which had the power to drive me into pensive recollection; I would move on to ones no longer held captive by that obscure and clandestine command which habit and its objects and chances bear, but loose, dashing caprices, darting in every direction at once, disorienting that once stern mental compass, and, at times, my body, the wallowing layers, coverlets of dimness ,which night brings, rendering my discrimination between open or closed eyelids ineffectual, allowing the faint outline of bed sheets, pillows, like the view of houses during my walks, visible only in their most rudimentary shapes, structured by azure, thin terraces and sunken gutters ,once tactile possessions, to transmute themselves, becoming now tableaus of a doubtful, though , to me, still tangible reality, thoroughly and indubitably.

What is so great about this hack?

[Eman Nep No.19804446]

Impressively cultivated sustainment of suave and savvy mind