Portal:Literature

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The Litterature Portalle
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As the generally accepted definition of literature today hugs folktales to its warm bosom, we might well conclude that literature began with one frightened caveman grunting (see language) his fears to his fellows by firelight. This, however, would be wrong. Scurrying, short and bitter academics in dank bare cells have clinically proven that 'literature' is caused by writing down things which never happened and which afflict the reader with acute boredom , in some cases literally boring the victim to death.

Today, the study of literature remains a major academic discipline at nearly every educational institution around the world, often being the most heavily required class for graduation. This is because academics have declared that finding themes (which the author totally intended to put in the work) is far more important than learning first aid, basic home and auto repair, or how to do your taxes. However, there is one major benefit to the study of literature: without it, as many as half of the jokes in your favorite TV shows would fly right over your head. (See more...)

Featur'd Article
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Melville's Encyclopædia of Whales and Whaling (Latin for "Melville's Encyclopaedia of Whales and Whaling") is an English-language encyclopaedia written by the American Herman Melville. First published in 1851 in London, the reference work is viewed as having the definitive word on all things related to whales and the whaling industry.

Moby-Dick, the name of a whale sometimes prominent in the contents of Melville's Encyclopædia, has traditionally been an alternate title.

Several events in or during Melville's life influenced him to write a work on natural history, and in particular on whales and whaling. For instance, after a career largely spent on school-teaching, he spent 18 months on a voyage that he later said began his life. This was on the whaling ship Acushnet, which he called "my Yale College and my Harvard", presumably because they made him just as sick as did a sea voyage. (See more...)

Featur'd Image
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I am a coal-truck / by a broken heart / I have no sound / the sound of my heart / I am not.
To-dayes Featur'd Poëm
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A hundred meals of oats and grain I ate;
But water I had yet to sip and drink,
Now crowning from my anus as of late:
The largest poop I'd ever done, methinks.
It bellowed as it plopp'd into the bowl,
A wave of water splash'd upon my ass;
So empty was the feeling in my hole,
No chunk of poo, nor vented fetid gas
Almóst a foot it measured toe to tip,
A waxy sheen upon its pimpled face;
Both hands could never hold it in clos'd grip,
Too wide and hard, yet smelled of clove and mace.
A solid, brownish trophy of my strain,
But like all shits, it must go down the drain.

(See more...)
Select'd Biographie
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Sylvia Plath (October 27, 1932 – February 11, 1963) was a suicidally-depressed female poet. She is generally considered to be one of the best writers to work within the suicidally-depressed-female genre, having written several classics of depressing female literature, including the poetry collections Ariel and The Colossus and the novel The Bell Jar.

Since her suicide at the tender age of 30, Plath has grown to become a feminist icon; often perceived as a female genius who struggled within a patriarchy who dismissed her literary expression and sought to demean her as a sex object. She is was also a hottie.

Plath was born, quite aptly, during the Great Depression. As she said in her poem The Suicide Cloud: "for me, the Great Depression never ended". Her mother was a teacher of English, while her father was a bee enthusiast who made his name by writing two books about bees. Apparently he couldn't say everything he wanted to with just one book about bees. Plath's parents were clearly huge influences on her for the rest of her life, and from a very young age she became dedicated to poetry – poetry that contained a frankly baffling multitude of references to bees. (See more...)

To-dayes Featur'd Newes
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BOSTON, Massachusetts – Pushed up against a far corner of the wall and beneath a shelf of dusty books in the living area of a humble little one-bedroom apartment in Back Bay sits an old maple desk. Sunlight from a window casts upon it, illuminating dancing little specks of dust which settle upon its varnished surface like noble drops of morning dew. Posters of impressionist paintings line the walls above, peeling, poetically.

"You like this?" says the owner of the desk. "It's an antique. From the 19th century. I find old things rather inspiring. Makes me think about the sorts of people who once used them and all the stories their lives once told."

Alan McPherson, amateur poet and curator for a local Tupperware museum, spends almost nine hours a day here at this desk, thinking, dreaming, and doodling in his various journals, stopping only to eat and use the restroom. (See more...)

To-dayes Wilde Saying
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