>He found a line and pulled on it, fighting toward the hatch to get himself below out of the storm, but a gust of wind knocked his feet from under him and a second slammed him into the rail and there he clung. Rain lashed at his face, blinding him. His mouth was full of blood again. The ship groaned and growled beneath him like a constipated fat man straining to shit.
- Herman Melville, Moby Dick.
>>7631267
gtfo grrm memer
>>7631267
nice cover
>no queequeg to spoon with
>The nearest Dream recedes in – cytoplasm –
-Emily Dickinson
so it goes.
>We would return to the site of our hatching so to speak, where we would hide amidst a veil depleted by the reckoning and wait, drifting in the wide orbit of our soon to be null session, banished from the universe we left behind.
>And yet, in being denied the ultimate reward,
>we would be barred from entry
>into the universe we created