/lit/ - Literature

>>11119311
>HOW CAN THE CHRISTIAN GOD BE SO FUCKING CRUELLLL REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE IWANT A WORLD THAT HAS ABSOLUTELY ZERO SUFFERING YET IS ALSO MEANINGFUL WAAAAH I WANT THE GOOD WITHOUT THE BAD BECAUSE THAT FUCKING MAKES SENSE SO FUCK OFF I WOULD LITERALLY GO TO HELL OUT OF SPITE BECAUSE I RESENT HAVING BEEN BROUGHT UP IN A RELIGION THAT ENTAILED DUTY AND DEVOTION RATHER THAN DOING WHATEVER THE FUCK ME AND THE REST OF MY FELLOW BOOMERS WANTED TO DO

>Lol the greek gods who cause exactly the same amount of suffering (plus regularly rape human women) are okay because they admit its just a prank bro :-)

>>9982584
This guy >>9982429 again. 8th down is me :(

>>9611512
It's a hard road my dude. I'm sure they get their fill somehow, but I can't imagine how. They don't know what they're missing

>>9487437

>>9016874
:(

>My favourite writer is Joyce

>My favourite poet is Dante

>My favourite composer is Bach

>My favourite director is Tarkovsky

>My favourite painter is Grimshaw

>>8885995
>tfw this is impossible

>>8735731
It was early in the afternoon when John saw ahead of him a tree upon which rainbow-coloured birds sat, twittering away, as they do. Drawing nearer, he made the realisation that if he were to continue on his current path he would pass directly beneath them. This made him nervous. He nibbled at his fingernails and shuffled about on the spot, going round and round, spitting out clippings in every-which-way. He monitored the birds and they monitored him. Claws grew sharper, beaks more vicious. But soon his attention was diverted, shifted to the question of how he would proceed from here. Flashing before his eyes, various tactics and stratagems presented themselves for scrutiny, and though he had not yet chosen what tactic he would use, for not one had distinguished itself, he found himself already in flight. He would have to hurry in his decision-making. Each passing second the birds drew nearer.
John sped up, now at a pace, then he slowed down, lumbering along, then he sped up again, almost jogging, then he stopped dead, nearly falling on his face. He stood there for a moment, thinking. He noticed that the usual chatter of the nearby café could not be heard.
John leapt forward in an instant but then stood rigidly in place. He looked up at the birds, they were chirping still. An elderly car rattled past, its wheezing caught John’s ear, ‘That car is in an urgent need of a thorough inspection by a licensed mechanic,’ John thought, nodding his head as though he and his committee had just finalised plans on some project that to him seemed quite trivial, and that his time and expertise would’ve been better spent on more sophisticated things.
John reared slowly from the tree, back beyond where he had been when he first spotted the birds, and there he poised himself. His technique was uninspiring but the look on his face was one that would surely have brought to tears any proud Olympian who, upon seeing John’s determined expression, would have recalled when he too was on his mark. And with that John was off, skipping, then running, then jogging, then hopping, then waltzing. All the while the birds approached, perched on the branch, quicklime ready. Their eyes sparkled, their feathers ruffled, they seemed eager, excited, keen to soil John’s day. They were just ahead, John’s heart raced.
He patted his head, shoulders, and down his back: nothing, all clean. He looked back and saw the birds staring him down, feathers flustered. He gave them a smirk and continued on his way. Behind him the café exploded with laughter, but that was none of his concern—onwards!