Post the most sublime sentence or paragraph you've ever read. Where is it from? Who wrote it?

Post the most sublime sentence or paragraph you've ever read. Where is it from? Who wrote it?

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>The question now is, my young thinker reflected, is it possible that such a period will ever come? If it does, everything is determined and humanity is settled for ever. But as, owing to man's inveterate stupidity, this cannot come about for at least a thousand years, every one who recognizes the truth even now may legitimately order his life as he pleases, on the new principles. In that sense,‘all things are lawful’for him. What's more, even if this period never comes to pass, since there is anyway no God and no immortality, the new man may well become the man-god, even if he is the only one in the whole world, and promoted to his new position, he may lightheartedly overstep all the barriers of the old morality of the old slave-man, if necessary. There is no law for God. Where God stands, the place is holy. Where I stand will be at once the foremost place ...‘all things are lawful’and that's the end of it! That's all very charming; but if you want to swindle why do you want a moral sanction for doing it? But that's our modern Russian all over. He can't bring himself to swindle without a moral sanction. He is so in love with truth—

Peering down into the water where the morning sun fashioned wheels of light, coronets fanwise in which lay trapped each twig, each grain of sediment, long flakes and blades of light in the dusty water sliding away like optic strobes where motes sifted and spun. A hand trails over the gunwale and he lies athwart the skiff, the toe of one sneaker plucking periodic dimples in the river with the boat's slight cradling, drifting down beneath the bridge and slowly past the mudstained stanchions. Under the high cool arches and dark keeps of the span's undercarriage where pigeons babble and the hollow flap of their wings echoes in stark applause. Glancing up at these cathedraled vaultings with their fossil woodknots and pseudomorphic nailheads in gray concrete, drifting, the bridge's slant shadow leaning the width of the river with that headlong illusion postulate in old cupracers frozen on photoplates, their wheels elliptic with speed. These shadows form over the skiff, accommodate his prone figure and pass on.

I honestly do not think this is the most sublime but Suttree was sublime and this is a fine paragraph.

In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.

You've gotta dance like there's nobody watching,
Love like you'll never be hurt,
Sing like there's nobody listening,
And live like it's heaven on earth.

You gotta be yourself regardless of what others think you should be or do, always remember true to yourself and keep walking your path.

Four in the morning, and I'm zoning. I think I'm possessed, it's an omen. I keep it 300, like the Romans.

When in bygone days I gazed from these rocks upon yonder mountains across the river, and upon the green, flowery valley before me, and saw all nature budding and bursting around; the hills clothed from foot to peak with tall, thick forest trees; the valleys in all their varied windings, shaded with the loveliest woods; and the soft river gliding along amongst the lisping reeds, mirroring the beautiful clouds which the soft evening breeze wafted across the sky,—when I heard the groves about me melodious with the music of birds, and saw the million swarms of insects dancing in the last golden beams of the sun, whose setting rays awoke the humming beetles from their grassy beds, whilst the subdued tumult around directed my attention to the ground, and I there observed the arid rock compelled to yield nutriment to the dry moss, whilst the heath flourished upon the barren sands below me, all this displayed to me the inner warmth which animates all nature, and filled and glowed within my heart. I felt myself exalted by this overflowing fulness to the perception of the Godhead, and the glorious forms of an infinite universe became visible to my soul! Stupendous mountains encompassed me, abysses yawned at my feet, and cataracts fell headlong down before me; impetuous rivers rolled through the plain, and rocks and mountains resounded from afar. In the depths of the earth I saw innumerable powers in motion, and multiplying to infinity; whilst upon its surface, and beneath the heavens, there teemed ten thousand varieties of living creatures. Everything around is alive with an infinite number of forms; while mankind fly for security to their petty houses, from the shelter of which they rule in their imaginations over the wide-extended universe. Poor fool! in whose petty estimation all things are little. From the inaccessible mountains, across the desert which no mortal foot has trod, far as the confines of the unknown ocean, breathes the spirit of the eternal Creator; and every atom to which he has given existence finds favour in his sight. Ah, how often at that time has the flight of a bird, soaring above my head, inspired me with the desire of being transported to the shores of the immeasurable waters, there to quaff the pleasures of life from the foaming goblet of the Infinite, and to partake, if but for a moment even, with the confined powers of my soul, the beatitude of that Creator who accomplishes all things in himself, and through himself!

>I keep it 300, like the Romans.
What did he mean by this

This is why people of color need more money for education. Not that they'll get it under DRUMPF.

I'm sure kanye has enough money

...

I know I got a bad reputation. Walking round, always mad reputation. Leave a pretty girl sad, reputation. Start a fight club, Brad reputation.

>Sunset found her squatting in the grass, groaning. Every stool was looser than the one before, and smelled fouler. By the time the moon came up she was shitting brown water. The more she drank, the more she shat, but the more she shat, the thirstier she grew, and her thirst sent her crawling to the stream to suck up more water.

I've always been in two minds about women, really. On the one hand, I always liked the fact they had waists, and we hadn't. That aroused in me a feeling of - how shall I put it? - well, pleasure. Yes, pleasurable feelings. Still, on the other hand, they did stab Marat with a penknife, and Marat was Incorruptible, so they shouldn't have stabbed him. That fairly killed off the pleasure. Then again, like Karl Marx, I've always loved women for their little weaknesses - i.e. they've got to sit down to pee, and I've always liked that - that's always filled me with - well, what the hell - a sort of warm feeling. Yes, pleasurable warmth. But then again they did shoot at Lenin, with a revolver no less! And that put a damper on the pleasure as well. I mean, fair enough, sitting down to pee, but shooting at Lenin? That's a sick joke, talking about pleasure after that.

However, I digress.

>but really

What for? What-for-what-for-what-for?” I muttered.

They stuck their awl into my throat.

I didn’t know that there was pain like that in the world. And I writhed from the torture of it – a clotted red letter “Ю” spread across my eyes and started to quiver. And since then I have not regained consciousness, and I never will.

pensi pensi, fashmensi cohensi

It was while gliding through these latter waters that one serene and moonlight night, when all the waves rolled by like scrolls of silver; and, by their soft, suffusing seethings, made what seemed a silvery silence, not a solitude: on such a silent night a silvery jet was seen far in advance of the white bubbles at the bow. Lit up by the moon, it looked celestial; seemed some plumed and glittering god uprising from the sea.

>A few light taps upon the pane made him turn to the window. It had begun to snow again. He watched sleepily the flakes, silver and dark, falling obliquely against the lamplight. The time had come for him to set out on his journey westward. Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland. It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, falling softly on the Bog of Allen and, farther westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. It was falling, too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned softly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.

High school tier but blows my mind whenever I read it, tbqh

>In the end it was the world itself which offered the greatest, nay, the infinite, jest.

The real infinite jest was the friends we made along the way

By much slothfulness the building decayeth; and through idleness of the hands the house droppeth through. A feast is made for laughter, and wine maketh merry: but money answereth all things. Curse not the king, no not in thy thought; and curse not the rich in thy bedchamber: for a bird of the air shall carry the voice, and that which hath wings shall tell the matter.

Ecclesiastes 18-20

This

>Since we all breathe, all the time, it is amazing what happens when someone else directs you how and when to breathe. And how vividly someone with no imagination whatsoever can see what he’s told is right there, complete with banister and rubber runners, curving down and rightward into a darkness that recedes before you.

It is nothing like sleeping. Nor does her voice alter or seem to recede. She’s right there, speaking calmly, and so are you.

The key of this infernal pit by due, And by command of heaven's all-powerful King, I keep; by him forbidden to unlock the adamantine gates; against all force Death ready stands to interpose his dart, fearless to be o'ermatched by living might. But what I owe to his commands above who hates me, and hath hither thrust me down into this gloom of Tarturus profound, to sit in hateful office here confined, inhabitant of heaven, and heavenly -born, here in perpetual agony and pain, with terrors, and with clamors compass'd round, of mine own brood, my bowls feed: Thou art my father, thou my author, thou my being gav'st me; whom should I obey but thee? whom follow? thou wilt bring me soon to that new world of light and bliss, among the gods who live at ease, where I shall reign at thy right hand voluptuous, as beseems thy daughter, and thy darling, without end.

Moskva-Petushki, is it? Nice.

Oh, but there is your face. I catch your eye. I, who had been thinking myself so vast, a temple, a church, a whole universe, unconfined and capable of being everywhere on the verge of things and here too, am now nothing but what you see—an elderly man, rather heavy, grey above the ears, who (I see myself in the glass) leans one elbow on the table, and holds in his left hand a glass of old brandy. That is the blow you have dealt me. I have walked bang into the pillar-box. I reel from side to side. I put my hands on my head. My hat is off—I have dropped my stick. I have made an awful ass of myself and am justly laughed at by any passer-by.

>keep it 300, like the Romans
>300 in Roman numerals is CCC
>CCC stands for Cool, Calm, and Collected
>also fits in the theme of Yeezus with the media misinterpreting what he says and does, like declaring himself a God.

By God, this is insufferable. I'd rather unironically read the pyrolatrous pasta than any more of this. At least that one is self aware.

"Väistyneet, väistyneet varjot! Haihtuneet, haihtuneet ihmispolvet, ilon ja tuskan sykinnästä sammuneet ihmissydämet! Aura ja lapio ovat kääntäneet pelloksi ne nurmikot, joita teidän kirkkotienne kerta polveili, nuori metsä kasvaa umpeen ne salopolut, jotka teidän kirjava vilinänne täytti korkeina suvisina sunnuntai-aamuina, notkuvat pitkospuut ovat lahonneet maaksi alhosilmillä ja sammal kasvaa niillä kivillä, joita teidän rientävät askeleenne kuluttivat. Kulkevat uudet polvet uusia teitänsä, ja vuosumpisessa rauhassa lepäävät teidän tutut vanhat kirkkorantanne: vain yksinäinen luhistuva, aaltojen helmaan kallistuva siltakarkku saattaa enää sille yksinäiselle, joka niille unohdetuille niemille eksyy hyljätyissä lahdenpohjukoissaan, muistuttaa niistä päivistä, jolloin kirkkoveneenne kymmeninä, kuohuvin keuloin ja täytenään kirjavaa kirkkokansaa laskivat rantaan ja sillan vankat hirsipalkit huojahtelivat toistensa ohitse tungeksivan nuoren rientävän ja vakaasti astuvan vanhan väen painosta."

Preface to "Alastalon salissa" by Volter Kilpi.

Actually the whole book is full of these, it is a tour de force of Finnish language and as such nearly impossible to translate. This one speaks of the generations gone by, the joy and vigor of life they once experienced and how their legacy is slowly forgotten just as the forest paths grow shut, duckboards slowly rot and the beaches where "church boats" (kind of longboats used for traveling to the church up to the 20th century in Finnish rural areas) once landed are now silent.

ἐν ἀρχῇ ἦν ὁ λόγος, kαὶ ὁ λόγος ἦν πρὸς τὸν θεόν, kαὶ θεὸς ἦν ὁ λόγος

this is honestluy turning me away from reading Suttree and I loved Blood Meridian.

this is depressingly bad even for bad hip hop standards. Why is today's rap dumbed down? I'm not even trying to talk up "deep" or "woke" rap because it's a fallacy. The popular shit tosay doesnt even rhyme, isnt fun whatsoever, and only redeeming qualities are the more inventive production on the beats. You could say that popular hip hop has always been shallow, but it's been done. The independent scene is getting to this point too.

...

>tfw the murderer was the infinite jest

Jesus wept

You need to stop.

That's a real "explanation" some people try to say about "keep it 300, like the romans"
I think kanye realized he was wrong, but then kept it in anyway because it "sounded cool" and rhymed with trojans

This makes me cry everytime youtu.be/9TyHwWkFt70

Maybe not the most sublime, but I loved
these from Hyperion by Friedrich Holderlin:

>"...But beautiful too, is the time of awakening l, so long as we are not awakened at an untimely moment. O, they are holy days when our heart first tests its wings, when we, full of swift, fiery growth, stand in the glorious world like the young plant that opens itself up to the morning sun and stretches its little arms toward the infinite heavens."

>"It is pleasant when like joins like, but it is divine when a great man brings lesser men up to him."

>"And that is it, dear friend! That is what makes us poor amidst all wealth, that we cannot be alone, that so long as we live, the love in us does not expire."

>"Who withstands it, who is not felled like the young woods by a hurricane when the frightening glory of antiquity seizes him as it seized me, and when, like me, he lacks the element in which he might attain a strengthening self possession?
O, like a storm, the greatness of the ancients bowed my head, snatched the bloom from my face; and often I lay where no eye observed me, amidst a thousand tears, like a toppled fir that lies by the steam and hides its wilted crown in the current. How gladly would I have purchased with blood an instant from a great man's life."

I read this after I got into the ancient texts myself and it spoke directly to my soul. Good read. Would recommend.

did I hit a nerve, sweety?

>Giacomo Taldegardo Francesco di Sales Saverio Pietro Leopardi

Italians are the most tryhards

i get chills whenever i read this

In the toils of orgasm – she said, she said – she’d be whelmed in a warm green sea through which, dulled by the murk of it, pass a series of small suns like the footlights of a revolving stage, an electric carousel wheeling in a green ether. Envy’s color is the color of her pleasuring, and what is the color of grief? Is it black as they say? And anger always red? The color of that sad shade of ennui called blue is blue but blue unlike the sky or sea, a bitter blue, rue-tinged, discolored at the edges. The color of a blind man’s noon is white, and is his nighttime too? And does he feel it with his skin like a fish? Does he have blues, are they bridal and serene, or yellows, sunlike or urinous, does he remember? Neural colors like the fleeting tones of dreams. The color of this life is water.

Yeah he used symbolism from Greek mythology in his shows during that time if I recall correctly.

Why would it have to rhyme with Trojans?

>Circumambulate the city of a dreamy Sabbath afternoon. Go from Corlears Hook to Coenties Slip, and from thence, by Whitehall northward. What do you see? - Posted like silent sentinels all around the town, stand thousands upon thousands of mortal men fixed in ocean reveries. Some leaning against the spiles; some seated upon the pier-heads; some looking over the bulwarks of ships from China; some high aloft in the rigging, as if striving to get a still better seaward peep. But these are all landsmen; of week days pent up in lath and plaster - tied to counters, nailed to benches, clinched to desks. How then is this? Are the green fields gone? What do they here?

Moby Dick

From?

>translations

>א בְּרֵאשִׁית, בָּרָא אֱלֹהִים, אֵת הַשָּׁמַיִם, וְאֵת הָאָרֶץ.

>Bereshit bara Elohim et hashamayim ve'et ha'aretz.

>ἐν ἀρχῇ ἐποίησεν ὁ θεὸς τὸν οὐρανὸν kαὶ τὴν γῆν

>In principio creavit Deus caelum et terram

Sublime in any language

get the FUCK out of my country you chinese mothafucka

It's magic nigga I ain't gotta explain shit

This isn't good, just because a section of text comes from a good book, the section itself won't necessarily be good

Kek

Do not go gentle into that good night

Moby Dick

"Ay," he said aloud. There is no translation for this word and perhaps it is just a noise such as a man might make, involuntarily, feeling the nail go through his hands and into the wood.

The Old Man and the Sea

Worthy, got tingles.

>Worthy
You mean Werther

>isnt fun whatsoever
That whole chorus is one of the best in hip-hop history. You just need to fuck off

Lmao no

>Using symbols he doesn't even understand
Great artist

K how about in american next time instead of foreign scribbles

>And you know it, and you know it
>one of the best in hip-hop history

Too long to quote here and probably wouldn't make much sense isolated from context, but the entire final passage of A Voyage to Arcturus from "The moment he had gone, a feeling shot up in Nightspore's heart..." onward. Revelatory stuff.

Because choruses need to be lyrically complex no matter the genre right

youtube.com/watch?v=jMSKUmBhLLk

For Orpheus' lute was strung with poets' sinews,
Whose golden touch could soften steel and stones,
Make tigers tame and huge leviathans
Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands.
(Shakespeare, one of the only good things in The Two Gentleman from Verona)

And

'I felt myself to be different, and ready for wider choice. Austerity, renunciation, negation were not wholly new to me; I had been drawn to them young at the age of twenty. .....when a friend in Rome took me to see the aged Epictetus in his hovel in the Suburra, shortly before Domitian ordered his exile. ....His crutches, his pallet, the earthenware lamp and wooden spoon in its vessel of clay were objects of admiration to me, the simple tools of a pure life.
But Epictetus gave up too many things, and I had been quick to observe that nothing was more dangerouly easy for me than mere renunciation. This Indian, more logically, was rejecting life itself. There was much to learn from such pure-hearted fanatics, but on the condition of turning the lesson from the meaning originally intended. These sages were trying to rediscover their god above and beyond the ocean of forms, and to reduce him to that quality of the unique, intangible, and incorporeal which he had foregone in the very act of becoming universe. I perceived differently my relations with the divine. I could see myself as seconding the deity in his effort to give form and order to a world, to develop and multiply its convolutions, extensions, and complexities. I was one of the segments of the wheel, an aspect of that unique force caught up in the multiplicity of things; I was eagle and bull, man and swan, phallus and brain all together, a Proteus who is also a Jupiter.'
(from Memoirs of Hadrian)

Go to bed Longinus, you’re drunk.

>This isn't good
Any random selection of Moby Dick is good ya pleb.

Cuz muh dick

>listening to hip hop at all

Why don't you go live in a dumpster in the Bronx?

you're not even that guy

Belike then my appetite was not princely got, for, by my troth, I do now remember the poor creature small beer. But indeed these humble considerations make me out of love with my greatness. What a disgrace is it to me to remember thy name, or to know thy face tomorrow, or to take note how many pair of silk stockings thou hast—with these, and those
that were thy peach-colored ones—or to bear the inventory of thy shirts, as, one for superfluity and another for use. But that the tennis-court keeper knows better than I, for it is a low ebb of linen with thee when thou keepest not racket there, as thou hast not done a great while, because the rest of the low countries have made a shift to eat up thy holland; and
God knows whether those that bawl out the ruins of thy linen shall inherit His kingdom; but the midwives say the children are not in the fault, whereupon the world increases and kindreds are mightily strengthened.

He hath shewed thee, O man, what is good;
and what doth the Lord require of thee,
but to do justly, and to love mercy,
and to walk humbly with thy God?

Fag

Oblaci, teški, crni, zabrinuti oblaci. Oblaci kao misli. A pod oblacima i u oblacima gluhonijema, mrtva Ivančica. Sjećam se na dofinejske i savojske, na francuske slične gore, kao i ove pune velikih uspomena, velikih pouka, starih kaštela i naroda tamne, zemljane boje. Zemlja bo je mučni i žuhki tiranin pa obilježava svog sina i slugu. Na čelu mu brazda njenih beskonačnih briga, na koži mu boja njene ilovače i njenog zdravlja, na nogama i rukama tvrdi pečat žuljeva, pa kada seljak zabrinuto korača, vidiš kako ga zemlja, mučiteljica i hraniteljica, majka i kraljica, privlači, pribija i zabija o svoje tvrdo tle. Taj zakon privlačivosti je više no fizički. Prah si bio i u prah ćeš se okrenuti. Tvoje tijelo, duša, srce, tvoje biće past će kao zrelo sjeme na starinu ove naše grude, i teško onome tko ostavlja jalov grob! Teško onome tko majci ne vrati više no što od nje primi! I trava i drač i zimzelen i vrba žalostinka će sa cipresima pričati da je to mjesto prokleto i da tu leži luđi čovjek od kralja kozjih ušiju. Jer Hrvatska si bio i u Hrvatsku se moraš obratiti, neharni sine hrvatski!

- A.G. Matoš, "Oko Lobora"

If you happen to not understand the language, be thankful, for only rare minds can withstand prose this dank.

But that's wrong though. There are good parts and slower, less good parts. You posted a boring part

>boring
>the state of Veeky Forums

Seventeen moments and cloudy days on my snap
Mysterious aberration, illuminated the trap
My telefone-calications synonymous with the sunrise
Mountains against the foreground forever me coming back

t. woman

You clearly have no idea what you're talking about and anything you know about hiphop is purely incidental.

lol u tk him 2 da bar|?

A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight 'twould win me,
That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.

Kubla Khan; or, A Vision in a Dream: A Fragment - Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Someone will say: And are you not ashamed, Socrates, of a course of life which is likely to bring you to an untimely end? To him I may fairly answer: There you are mistaken: a man who is good for anything ought not to calculate the chance of living or dying; he ought only to consider whether in doing anything he is doing right or wrong - acting the part of a good man or of a bad. Whereas, according to your view, the heroes who fell at Troy were not good for much, and the son of Thetis above all, who altogether despised danger in comparison with disgrace; and when his goddess mother said to him, in his eagerness to slay Hector, that if he avenged his companion Patroclus, and slew Hector, he would die himself - "Fate," as she said, "waits upon you next after Hector"; he, hearing this, utterly despised danger and death, and instead of fearing them, feared rather to live in dishonor, and not to avenge his friend. "Let me die next," he replies, "and be avenged of my enemy, rather than abide here by the beaked ships, a scorn and a burden of the earth." Had Achilles any thought of death and danger? For wherever a man's place is, whether the place which he has chosen or that in which he has been placed by a commander, there he ought to remain in the hour of danger; he should not think of death or of anything, but of disgrace. And this, O men of Athens, is a true saying.


Unironically cried a bit in public when I read this.

I'm extremely cool. It's a shame no girl on this board asks for my credentials, because if she'd get to know me she'd fall in love immediately. I suppose my lack of lameness and stupidity is intimidating to most.

It doesn't bother me much, i'm a very active and anchored person. i'm superbly anchored in reality. I'm so anchored that i take lessons for various things, constantly developing and evolving my repertoire of impressive but also useful/meaningful skills. I'm learning Kendo, Kong Fu and Krafmagahar. I'm paying 80€ per month for snging lessons. I trait myselfin the art of video editing and am also an aspiring writer. Not only that i'm also connected with the top notch individuals in Berlin and make use of my vast rhetoric abilities to enchant and charm those who stumble upon my path. Recently a fat overeight man whom did not appear to have even conceived the possibility of playing in a league as high as mine walked past me and snorted into his hand. Swiftly i turned around and walked very fastly past him (i jog a lot, so i'm both enduring and fast) i stopped in front of him and spit on the ground to signify my lust for conflict. (my balls are large and sway left and right for i'm filled with so much manly testoterone. My nickname by my 24 ex's was just The Bull, bull by the way etomologically stems from the swollen penis, a really funny fact that always gets laughs at dinner parties from upper society friends to which i am always invited, it's especially funny in germany because the police are commonly called bulls, which, if properly visualized and contextualized with the social standing of police man and their general behaviour, is very funny indeed). I spitted again as to regain my train of thought and said to the fat man: Entschuldigung, aber ist ihnen eigentlich bewusst wie abstoßend und widerlich sie sind? Ist ihnen klar, dass sie eine unfaßbar häßliche und unangenehme Erscheinung haben, dass sie zusätzlich gigantische Maße an Raum auf dem Bürgersteig für sich benaspruchen, und das in einem Virtel in dem die Bürgersteige traditionell eng und klein sind? Ich wollte kotzen, als ich gehört habe, wie sie in ihre Hand geschnäutzt haben. Ich wollte einen baseballschläger nehmen und ihnen den Schädel zertrümmern, so sehr erschüttert mich die Tatsache, dass sie existieren." I smiled with an air of superiority flowing around me, walked up to him and patted him condescendingly on the shoulders while staring him intensely into the eyes. He averted my gaze and peed his pants. i raised my eyebrows with the smallest tinge of smiling on my face, an attempt of mediating that now that i had vented my frustration, i was cozily carried by the assurance that while indeed it is terrifying that such miserable monsters roam upon my earth, it also reinforces a feeling of self-assurance and stability by signalling me how perfectly superior i am to the masses and how anchored i am in my strong, poetic, evocative and inspiring personality. I am the coolest.

Kept files in his garage on MS-DOS
In a fire-proof pod, we thought it was odd
Outside there was a shed with an Oppenheimer lock
He apparently kept more wax then Madame Tussaud's
We were in total awe 'cause it blew our minds
So many rhymes that were intricately designed
He was Poet Laureate of his time
And if you don't mind, I'd like to share some of his rhymes
Alone in my room looking through the 32X telescope zoom
Adjusting the focus of the moon
One should not assume the philosophy of David Hume
Is nothing more then a subjective conclusion
What is the maximum field rate application?
The runaway glaciation surrounding the ocean basin
Affects the population fluctuation
On a continuous basis but that's just the basics
The juxtaposition of Canibus' position
The precision of something no other has written
Way above and beyond what was intended
The unparalleled malleable enunciation of a sentence
You didn't go to college obviously
I can tell by your ungodly unintelligible terminology
A remarkable odyssey, the rhymes of modern speeds
When the brain orders the body not to breathe

Nope, it is pretty good.

get some QQ tags on this post because this is fucking classic

Why do lyrics look so different from poetry? I just need to take one look at these to see that they're not good poetry and come from a song.

Reported

Your hip hop-friendly ironic pose is poisonous to art. Lasting beauty and insight will never be found in mockery and plagiarism; the very most you can get from these posts and rap songs is a cheap snort

*tips*

The FitnessGram™ Pacer Test is a multistage aerobic capacity test that progressively gets more difficult as it continues. The 20 meter pacer test will begin in 30 seconds. Line up at the start. The running speed starts slowly, but gets faster each minute after you hear this signal. [beep] A single lap should be completed each time you hear this sound. [ding] Remember to run in a straight line, and run as long as possible. The second time you fail to complete a lap before the sound, your test is over. The test will begin on the word start. On your mark, get ready, start.

If that's a boring part then the good parts must be the greatest passages ever written

>"Cry, the beloved country, for the unborn child that is the inheritor of our fear. Let him not love the earth too deeply. Let him not laugh too gladly when the water runs through his fingers, nor stand too silent when the setting sun makes red the veld with fire. Let him not be too moved when the birds of his land are singing, nor give too much of his heart to a mountain or a valley. For fear will rob him of all if he gives too much."

All of infinite Jest

which chapter is that?

Nah, I liked this bit

youtu.be/itkg_fYcneg?t=9m

>the good parts must be the greatest passages ever written
they are, desu

Good news...