Portal:Literature

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The Litterature Portalle
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As the generally accepted definition of literature today hugs folktales to its warm bosom, we might well conclude that literature began with one frightened caveman grunting (see language) his fears to his fellows by firelight. This, however, would be wrong. Scurrying, short and bitter academics in dank bare cells have clinically proven that 'literature' is caused by writing down things which never happened and which afflict the reader with acute boredom , in some cases literally boring the victim to death.

Today, the study of literature remains a major academic discipline at nearly every educational institution around the world, often being the most heavily required class for graduation. This is because academics have declared that finding themes (which the author totally intended to put in the work) is far more important than learning first aid, basic home and auto repair, or how to do your taxes. However, there is one major benefit to the study of literature: without it, as many as half of the jokes in your favorite TV shows would fly right over your head. (See more...)

Featur'd Article
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Nineteen Eighty-Four (also known as 1984) is a novel written by visionary George Orwell way back when men were traveling by horse and oliphant. It depicts a world of totalitarianism where an evil entity, known as the Party, ruthlessly rules over everyone and everything. It was originally written on holly wood tree bark and moose skin until someone discovered the magnificent work and published it when the technology became available.

For those of you who have not read the book, never mind this article, stop reading right now and go on with your lives. There's nothing to see here. This book doesn't exist, it never existed. Cleanse your memory, reboot yourself and don't forget to show up to work tomorrow. For those who did read the book, go back to Room 101 to get your electroshocks and learn to think like the Party wants you to. You'll eventually realize that 2+2=5. Right before the Party shoves you in a barrel full of acid and vaporizes you into thin air. At least they'll let you chose between mint and strawberry scent. (See more...)

Featur'd Image
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I am a coal-truck / by a broken heart / I have no sound / the sound of my heart / I am not.
Image by Cédric Spatiotemprel
To-dayes Featur'd Poëm
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A hundred meals of oats and grain I ate;
But water I had yet to sip and drink,
Now crowning from my anus as of late:
The largest poop I'd ever done, methinks.
It bellowed as it plopp'd into the bowl,
A wave of water splash'd upon my ass;
So empty was the feeling in my hole,
No chunk of poo, nor vented fetid gas
Almóst a foot it measured toe to tip,
A waxy sheen upon its pimpled face;
Both hands could never hold it in clos'd grip,
Too wide and hard, yet smelled of clove and mace.
A solid, brownish trophy of my strain,
But like all shits, it must go down the drain.

(See more...)
Select'd Biographie
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John Milton (9 December 1608 – 8 November 1674) was an English poet, essayist, linguist and political activist, best known for his epic Judaeo-Christian poem Paradise Lost. Since his death in 1674, Milton’s life and work has been the subject of much debate, mostly because much of it is self-contradictory and makes no sense.

Indeed, scholars are hard pressed over whether to consider Milton one of history’s biggest assholes—his contempt for rhyming, contemporary poets, the Anglican Church, the Catholic Church, all three of his wives, all three of his surviving children, and the institution of marriage was legendary—or one of history’s biggest losers—which his virginity into middle age, failed marriages, perpetual unemployment, untimely blindness, and mooching off his father can attest to him being.

John Milton was born in 1608. As the eldest son of a well-off scrivener, Milton’s early life was one of relative privilege. Despite his advantages, however, Milton was a notoriously difficult child. His father’s surviving correspondences contain many anecdotes concerning the future poet’s many temper tantrums. (See more...)

To-dayes Featur'd Newes
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BOSTON, Massachusetts – Pushed up against a far corner of the wall and beneath a shelf of dusty books in the living area of a humble little one-bedroom apartment in Back Bay sits an old maple desk. Sunlight from a window casts upon it, illuminating dancing little specks of dust which settle upon its varnished surface like noble drops of morning dew. Posters of impressionist paintings line the walls above, peeling, poetically.

"You like this?" says the owner of the desk. "It's an antique. From the 19th century. I find old things rather inspiring. Makes me think about the sorts of people who once used them and all the stories their lives once told."

Alan McPherson, amateur poet and curator for a local Tupperware museum, spends almost nine hours a day here at this desk, thinking, dreaming, and doodling in his various journals, stopping only to eat and use the restroom. (See more...)

To-dayes Wilde Saying


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