The Famous Literary Group

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 **


That Moose Got His Antlers Snowed On

by Charles IV

The moose ate grass that looked juicy. When he pulled it off the ground, it gave off the sound of ripping off. He brought his head up together with his antlers that looked large and magnificent. It was a strong moose standing steady having merely his mouth moving from side to side.

Our old house was located on the countryside and visits of that sort weren’t as unusual but this one was special because we were playing cards in the living room when one of us in suppressed excitement said, ”nobody moves or make a sound, there is a moose outside the window,” and we slowly turned in the direction. He stood a few meters away as framed in the window as old canvas.

We were moving to the window super silent observing one another with big smiles as if it was a game. When we got to there the moose got closer, so close that we could see the details of the fur, the nose, the dark circular bulging eyes and our faces reflecting in them; and the antlers.

The view triggered silence in all of us, the moose stood still too and he was probably aware of us as much as we were aware of him, probably we observed one another. We did not move, we did not even breath and the moment was static until a single snowflake swung down the sky through the painted canvas and landed on one of his antlers; and everybody went wow with this childish enthusiasm and the moose proudly chewed on the grass a couple of times then turned around and walked away.