Im getting into /lit/ and would like to ask /x/ to post your favorite /x/ themed poems/lines/quotes etc....
Things that make ya think.... Or just fuck with you
>>17745372
next I plan to post in /lit/ and ask them their favorite demons and ghosts.
anyone?
>>17745381
not me btw wuf
>>17745372
what's that pic from?
>>17745458
Walls of the Denver International Airport
>>17745488
theres more?
>>17745372
“Two possibilities exist: either we are alone in the Universe or we are not. Both are equally terrifying.” ― Arthur C. Clarke
I met a traveller from an antique land,
Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal, these words appear:
My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;
Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”
>>17745522
damn it someone changed the poem, it's supposed to be round the ruins, not round the decay
>>17745372
What about short stories? Real ones, not creepypasta.
>http://hermiene.net/short-stories/i_have_no_mouth.html
>>17745522
SAAUUUCEEE
>>17747135
percy shelly
shame on you for not knowing this famous poem and poet
>>17745372
That is no country for old men. The young
In one another’s arms, birds in the trees
—Those dying generations—at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unageing intellect.
An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress,
Nor is there singing school but studying
Monuments of its own magnificence;
And therefore I have sailed the seas and come
To the holy city of Byzantium.
O sages standing in God’s holy fire
As in the gold mosaic of a wall,
Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,
And be the singing-masters of my soul.
Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity.
Once out of nature I shall never take
My bodily form from any natural thing,
But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords and ladies of Byzantium
Of what is past, or passing, or to come.
>>17747181
Yeats did automatic writing and had his own views on spirituality, Gyre was what he named the incarnation and reincarnations of gods and semi gods. So the poem among other things talks about reincarnation.
>>17745372
He who learns must suffer. And even in our sleep pain that cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart, and in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom to us by the awful grace of God.
>>17745372
Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam
Yesterday, upon the stair,
I met a man who wasn't there.
He wasn't there again today,
I wish, I wish he'd go away...
When I came home last night at three,
The man was waiting there for me
But when I looked around the hall,
I couldn't see him there at all!
Go away, go away, don't you come back any more!
Go away, go away, and please don't slam the door...
Last night I saw upon the stair,
A little man who wasn't there,
He wasn't there again today
Oh, how I wish he'd go away..
>>17745488
Fuck you. They're murals at bank of america in nc.
>>17747569
>takes art work in banks very seriously
>>17745372
Yo, most of x does not read.
Skeptfags are notoriously illiterate, hence the narrow mindedness and lack of actual scientific knowledge.
And schizos and roleplayers are too much self centered or infants.
There were a brief time in the past were people wrote /x related poetry and sick flow was achieved, but that is the past
>>17747287
Existential paradoxes are great. A nothing-shaped man indeed.
Not really poetry but to me this picture depicts the influence of secrete societies on the individual and on the development of civilization. In this case the group of business looking people are deciding whether or not they will let that kid in on their social engineering. The woman in the box represents the general population who are not considered for initiation and are forever controlled by the unseen agenda of secret societies. The man next to the burning bush in front of the pyramid represents a prophet and the burning tree represents forbidden/sacred knowledge. The pyramid represents the externalization of the sacred knowledge that is discovered by the prophet and put into place by secret societies who seek to engineer civilizations based on the discoveries of the prophet.
I died for Beauty -- but was scarce
Adjusted in the Tomb
When One who died for Truth, was lain
In an adjoining room --
He questioned softly "Why I failed"?
"For Beauty", I replied --
"And I -- for Truth -- Themself are One --
We Brethren, are", He said --
And so, as Kinsmen, met a Night --
We talked between the Rooms --
Until the Moss had reached our lips --
And covered up -- our names
