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.

...

We are building the literary castle out of wood. Wood is a lovely malleable material that suffers from humanly imperfections. Every single three shines with the spirit and every burnt log turns the spirit into pile of ash.

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

The Willow Tree

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by Charles The Man

There is a willow tree in front of the girl and me. It is specific by its long reaching flexible branches. Those trees grow tall and the branches bend so low that one would think they are tempted to touch the ground.

This particular tree is an old one standing here for more than a hundred years at the same spot. Some people noticed its presence and recognised its magnificence by building a little introduction table next to it. The brief text classifies the species of the tree and describes the shape of the leaves and the buds it has during the summertime. The table also speaks about its height and age. As a consequence of reading the table, I kind of perceive its history on a sort of biological level. The tree has more experience than me and has witnessed the environment for longer.

Out of respect, just as I do it with philosophical books and its teachings, I pick up a thin branch that has fallen on the ground and create a crown out of it.

Taking the crown, keeping an eye contact, I put the crown on the top of the girl's freshly washed hair.