Somewhere, far, far away, there's a shitty island. An island without a name. An island not worth giving a name. A shitty island with a shitty shape. On this shitty island grow palm trees that also have shitty shapes. And the palm trees produce coconuts that give off a shitty smell. Shitty monkeys live in the trees, and they love to eat these shitty-smelling coconuts, after which they shit the world's foulest shit. The shit falls on the ground and builds up shitty mounds, making the shitty palm trees that grown on them even shittier. It's an endless cycle.

πŸ“– Haruki Murakami

🌍 Japanese  |  πŸ‘¨β€πŸ’Ό Writer

πŸŽ‚ January 12, 1949
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In a distant place, there exists a nameless island characterized by its overall unpleasantness. Its shape is unappealing, and the palm trees that grow there are oddly formed, producing coconuts that emit a foul odor. This environment contributes to a sense of despair and negativity, suggesting that nothing of value exists on this island.

The chaotic ecosystem is further complicated by the presence of monkeys that thrive on the terrible coconuts, and their waste creates a vicious cycle of degradation. As these monkeys consume the coconuts, they produce waste that piles up, perpetuating the cycle of uncleanliness and making the island even more uninviting. This imagery reflects a bleak and repetitive existence, devoid of beauty or worth.

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February 26, 2025

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