There is a room in Hell…

There is a room in hell where you

have a hair in your mouth that you

can’t quite fish out…for eternity.

Welcome to the room in hell page. Please feel free to leave ideas on your own room. Keep it brief. That’s the point. Major horror is obvious. The idea here, is about the little things that are widely understood as intolerable torture. Check back often to see when more rooms have been added.

There is a room in hell where little nymphs pull back the flecks of loose bleeding cuticle…for eternity.

There is a room in hell where you almost need to sneeze, and then lose it. That tickle remains for about 2 seconds until the whole process begins anew…for eternity.

There is a room in hell where you sit in a empty room in a solitary chair while buzzy insects divebomb around you, tease around your ear, and crawl on the back of your neck and forearm, completely elusive and unable to be swatted dead…for eternity.

There is a room in hell that contains you, a chair, desk, and phone. The devil says that God will call at some point and if you answer, you can leave hell. The phone rings with random constancy. Everytime, it is the sound of someone trying to fax to your number…for eternity, or until God actually calls.

There is a room in hell where you must open difficult thermo-sealed plastic packaging which contains even more packaging to open within and has oodles of twisty ties. There is an ominous pile which contains an eternity’s worth of these packages to open, and only one has your soul. Find it and you can leave.

There is a room in hell where the secret to escape is within an article of a magazine. Unfortunately, there are mountains of magazines, and they are chock full of the little tear out subscription cards.

Published on June 11, 2009 at 12:48 am  Comments (24)  

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  1. It seems to me that life is hell, with the exception that, one day relief is inevitable. A relief, to crown our heads with the roses of death, and to bathe our bodies in dust’s cold scent.
    From this perspective, and amid the tremendousness of the affliction, Nietzsche posits endurance as the supreme value, and Camus posits suicide as the supreme philosophical question.
    Life is a species of the dead, though a very rare species. Nietzsche

    • Hi Pierre, thanks for stopping in to trip on my elixir of ideas. Your input here is poetic and thoughtful. The room in hell page, however, is a sort of tongue-in-cheek area for gripes and cynicism. Is there some small annoyance that would equivocate hell if it were repeated for eternity? Please add a room 🙂

  2. Not knowing if this fits the page, I will post it nonetheless:

    There’s a room in hell where the hungry man, in his every breath, heaving out the vacuum filling his chest, is led to sit at a table where, the delicious piles, like dunes mount over each other amidst wastelands.

    And the man, with a clamoring stomach filling dark, empty, cold, tortured halls, dives into the abundant food, like a drop of water is sucked into thirsty sand, whilst his new masters, with loving eyes pray him: Fill that empty chest!

    But the man, whose flesh is numb down into its core, does not feel under his tongue, what with a mechanical movement, his mouth hurls down through his throat. Thus, his belly systematically gets larger, like a balloon being filled with hot air. Nonetheless our man fails to surmount his hunger, and his eyes like a craved wanderer roam the smiling fête.

    Behold our modern man, forever lonely roaming the desert of his flesh. What later unfolds, I leave for your eyes, through some screen to catch.

  3. Okay….How about being chained in a dark & dank room having to listen to the above commentor talk & ramble all day!!!!!!!!!!!
    I know this is short…I’m a minimalist.

    • Now, play nice, boys. Thanks for your minimalism, Trapped. I admire such qualities.

      I’ve got a new one….

      There’s a room in hell where with every step you take, those tiny minuscule splinters get lodged in your feet for eternity. You know the ones that are hardly visible to the eye, and so microscopic that even tweezers can’t grasp them?

  4. There is a room in hell where you are forced to sit and think up more rooms in hell. You hate doing it, because, you know that for every room you think up, some poor soul will be forced to go there, forever, and endure the room you create with your writing. Yet, you know that if you don’t do it, your pen and paper will magically dissappear and you won’t be able to do anything… but, sit.. and think about your own little hell.

    • And if that is so, then you have just entered the same hell by your mere thinking of and leaving a comment…voluntarily.
      The paper disappearing is not a problem for some. Ever heard of the Marquis de Sade?

  5. Wait a minute… nobody said anything about commenting equalling voluntarily committing oneself to a room!? LOL Good thing I don’t believe in hell… other than the one we put ourselves through daily, that is. But, yes.. I have heard of Marquis de Sade. I’m sure, he has his own room or two… if there was a hell, with rooms, I mean… 😉

  6. There is a room in Hell that is reflective, a mirrored cavern that glints all pride and deflects honest portions of the soul into multifaceted prisms, an endless well that magnifies the merest slivers of your darkest pure soul to the streaks of public light. The room of mirrors hides no shame, protects no lies. A full rooking of honest appraisal resides in this brilliant space; accounts must be made, weights honestly noted, feelings can’t be hidden, love, fear, lust and hate won’t be denied.

    It is the Room of Truth, the harshest one of all.

    Best to you Noranoir.

    • How honored I am to have such a sharp-tongued, agile mind leaving it’s mark in this little hell!!!

      It interests me to see other people’s ideas of hell. It reveals a lot about mindset or character. Of course, I had intended for this page to become overrun with ridiculous ideas, which only multiplies the fun.

      I have to divert from your proposal, here, and boldly say that it would not be a room in hell for me, personally. It would be for some, I understand. I guess I’m shameless, and my lies, what few I have, aren’t very exciting. Strip me bare, naked body, naked soul, and trot me out to the public square lock me in stocks and carve a scarlet “A” into my bosom. (Or some one random letter since I am no adulteress) I will be more concerned about my inability to control my own time or my discomfort than the ridicule and judgment of others.

      As far as facing the truths of my own personal demons: That is the contents of this blog!

      And it’s actually fun! It can be hard to introspect, at first, without shading or blurring the bad parts like nudity on prime time tv, but eventually I embrace what I am. I’m not afraid. Of course, I’m not as despicable as some people, and haven’t endured some of the trials and mistakes like some others. I could see where they might find eternal discomfort when reflecting on thoughts, feelings and actions.

      The hell I have made here, is mostly made up of small annoyances and psyche-tampering insanity.

  7. There is a room in Hell where anything you say you must repeat for the sake of all the people who were not paying attention, for eternity.

    • Oh very good. The madness of “Is anybody listening to me at all?” I’d rather have an echo than an audience who asks me to repeat. Ugh! Good work sir.

  8. This is a pretty sadistic page. Gotta Love it.

    I learned of this in class, but I don’t remember who it was:

    The room in hell has three people, and one of them is you. You’re drenched in desire for one of the others, but this person has no interest in you whatsoever, and is very cold about it. Instead, this person feels a powerful same-sex attraction for the other person in the room. This person, however, abhors the idea, and instead, is fixated on you. You, however, find traits about this person that simply disgust you, and besides, you are drenched in desire for the other person. The reality: no one’s desire is ever fulfilled…(for all eternity).

    • This page is more about petty nuances that lead to raving insanity. As far as the love triangle with disjointed angles, I think that their sentence is self-imposed. If they let go of what they wanted for themselves and just have a sloppy 3-way, everybody would be happy, even if disappointed all at once. Have you ever heard of the fox, the goose and the grain?

  9. I found the fox, goose, and grain; it’s a riddle that has to be solved, but unfortunately the answer was posted right below, so I didn’t expend any effort trying to solve it.

    What you said is interesting because you pose the notion of just letting go of what you want. This is not so easy for people, me especially, hence the title of my blog. But viewed as a riddle, I see you’ve provided the answer, how very naughty you are.

    : D

    • Sometimes you can’t get what you want unless you give up something first.

      • You can have anything that you are willing to sacrifice for.

  10. Oh you’ve inspired me with all these ‘hells’. Thank you.

  11. There is a room in hell where you are placed with the woman/man whom you most desire, as well as many other comforts. The woman/man wants to have sex with you at your convenience and you may leave the room (and hell), if you wish, after you have reached orgasm. However, whenever you approach orgasm, your mother enters the room.

    • Ugh. Stellar. In a horrible way. Welcome to hell.

  12. There is a room in hell where attractive man after attractive man takes you out for dinner, seduces you with compliments, looks you deeply in the eyes, sweet talks you into taking him home to your bed, passionately makes love to you, then refuses to cuddle, says he has to be somewhere and never calls you again

    • oh wait that’s not hell, that’s just earth

    • I see your point, but to me you’re better off the jackass make an exit before he causes the heart too much irreparable harm.

  13. There is a room in hell where words fall like desiccated fish on the dead sea shore crystallized and shrunken into skeletal shapes that whither while chittering in the wind like hollow carapaces of dead insects streaming past your hungry grasp and no matter how much you try to rearrange them or form them into lines or slather them in liquidity of seeming meanings of mentality they continue to whither and hold their commonality while they shrink in meaning and form until they are no more and expression feels forever stifled and yet then born again in hope as the new crops fall..


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