The Famous Literary Group

Disclosure:
This website is written by diverse community of people.

We are

one of the very few literary groups who cares more of a bottle of Jack than of you. Yet, you are here going through the work of such people. And the sights are heavy on you; and it is not sights of understanding. But you do not look away for that you believe in the correctness of your doing; the attention is merely surreal - and the response is indifference; and y are famous* - sippin’ Jack with us.

...

And there the tree stems, as magnificent as an old deer, peacocking with wide tall green crown and glossy leaves

rooted in soil as the famous castle

and one can hear the air humming through and the branches crack simultaneously with the hearts and the bones and the teeth… And the antlers

The tendency to explore, the desire to understand, and the need to sound, predestines you to wonder, to contemplate, and to accept the feeling, for a glass of a whiskey., It is not the glass that makes the whiskey, it is the journey from the field to the bottle., You prepare a fermentation set, out of the nicest and strongest wood, you throw in grounded corn; rye and malted barley, then add some yeast, brown sugar and hot water., The fermentation gives off a strong odour, but you love it., You keep it in the basement, away from the sun., You keep it at 34 C, To favour the yeast., After three days of the fermentation, you separate the pulp from the juice., You assemble your distillation set, distillation flask; burner; condensation pipe, thermometer; collection flask., you got 100 litres of fermented corn; rye; malted barley, you got same sized whiskey barrel, but the volume of the distillation flask, is 2 litres., The distilling is a slow process., The thermometer shows 80 C, ethanol is sliding down the condensation pipe, you watch every drip., First batch is ready, your chest is tingling., You pick the shiniest glass, give it the unnecessary wipe, include a few ice cubes, and pour it in., You feel the connection with the glass, with the basement, and yourself., You are in a sacred place, your whiskey is on the table, you take it in your palm, you smell it., It is the finest drink, thirty seconds old., It tastes like distilled port wine, just super strong, emphasized with a subtle flavour of the brown sugar., The Drink with The Journey., ** The End **

Foreword

Cubist Portrait

-
by Charles IV

It is a sort of blurry, kind of blue but it does have bits of red in it, there seems to be a sort of pattern emerging from the middle of it. It might be a tea, maybe a flower maybe a squirt of ink shaped to give cubes.

There is another one.

One of that sort that needs a title by its side.

It is on canvas put in frame of monumental thickness. It wants to be seen but when you look at it from a distance, it provides only sort of inconsistent blur and on a closer approach, it is like seeing an image assembled from puzzle pieces that don’t belong to the same set.

It is a portrait in which there is a man with face resembling a misshaped box wearing a shirt and a blazer over it. But the title implies the portrait being actually a portrait of a woman, a woman having one large eye, out of a pair, and a cone in place of her right ear.

She has her mouth full of whatever, let’s say words, and she wants to spit them out.

[1] Cubists