February 10, 2005 at 10:26 pm #47635
Okay lets start a little game here, everyone quotes a paragraph from a fiction book, and then you guess blah blah blah you know how its gonna work. Okay I’ll go first, this one is very easy of course, just a little something to get the ball rolling
We were somewhere around Barstow on the edge of the desert when the drugs began to take hold. I remember saying something like "I feel a bit lightheaded; maybe you should drive…" And suddenly there was a terrible roar all around us and the sky was full of what looked like huge bats, all swooping and screeching and diving around the car, which was going about a hundred miles an hour with the top down going to Las Vegas. And A Voice was screaming: "Holy Jesus! What are these goddamn animals"February 11, 2005 at 2:16 am #107413
Hunter S. Thompson – Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
"Yes, that is his name. I didn’t intend to tell it to you."
"But why not?"
"Oh, I can’t explain. When I like people immensely, I never tell their names to any one. It is like surrendering a part of them. I have grown to love secrecy. It seems to be the one thing that can make modern life mysterious or marvellous to us. The commonest thing is delightful if one only hides it. When I leave town now I never tell my people where I am going. If I did, I would lose all my pleasure. It is a silly habit, I dare say, but somehow it seems to bring a great deal of romance into one’s life. I suppose you think me awfully foolish about it?"
"Not at all,"February 11, 2005 at 12:20 pm #107414
The Picture Of Dorain Gray by Oscar Wilde
"NIghts that begin so glitter clear with hope, let’s go see our friends, things phones ring, people come and go, coats, hats, statements, bright reports, metropolitan excitements, a round of beers, another round of beers, the talk gets more beautifull more excited, flushed, another round, the midnight hour, later, the flushed happy faces are now wild and soon there’s the swaying buddy da day oobab bab smash smoke drunken latenight good leading finally to the bartender, like a seer in Eliot, TIME TO CLOSE UP — in this manner more or less arriving at the Mask where a kid called Harold Sand came in, a chance acquaintance of Mardou’s from a year go, a young novelist looking like LEslie Howard who’d just had a manuscript accepted and so acquired a strange grace in my eyes I wanted to devour — Interested in him for the same reasons as Lavalina, literary avidity, envy — as usual paying less attention therefore to Mardou (at table_ than Yuri whose continual presence with us now did not raise my suspicions, "February 14, 2005 at 3:28 am #107415
Jack Kerouac – The Subterraneans
They stood there, isolated from the rest of the world. His immense self-pity, his demand for sympathy poured and spread itself in pools at her feet, and all she did, miserable sinner that she was, was to draw her skirts a little closer round her ankles, lest she should get wet. In complete silence she stood there, grasping her paint brush.February 14, 2005 at 9:19 pm #107416
The Light House by Virginia WOlf
"Although Gregor told himself over and over again that nothing special was happening, only a few pieces of furniture were being moved, he soon had to admit that this coming and going of the women, their little calls to each other, the scraping of the furniture along the floor, had teh effect on him of a great turmoil swelling on all sides"February 15, 2005 at 10:59 am #107417
Franz Kafka, The Metamorphosis
"Motive power—thought Dagny, looking up at the Taggart Building in the twilight—was its first need; motive power, to keep that building standing; movement, to keep it immovable. It did not rest on piles driven into granite; it rested on the engines that rolled across a continent."February 19, 2005 at 10:01 am #107418
did i ruin it?February 19, 2005 at 1:20 pm #107419
yeah I have no idea what it is, and I don’t think anyone else is playingFebruary 19, 2005 at 4:34 pm #107420
Its Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand. Someone else goMarch 31, 2005 at 2:33 am #107421
"It was a queer, sultry summer, the summer they electrocuted the Rosenbergs, and I didn’t know what I was doing in New York. I’m stupid about executions. The idea of being electrocuted makes me sick, and that’s all there was to read about in the papers–goggle-eyed headlines staring up at me on every street corner and at the fusty, peanut-smelling mouth of every subway. It had nothing to do with me, but I couldn’t help wondering what it would be like, being burned alive all along your nerves.
I thought it must be the worst thing in the world.
New York was bad enough. By nine in the morning the fake, country-wet freshness that somehow seeped in overnight evaporated like the tail end of a sweet dream. Mirage-gray at the bottom of their granite canyons, the hot streets wavered in the sun, the car tops sizzled and glittered, and the dry, cindery dust blew into my eyes and down my throat.
I kept hearing about the Rosenbergs over the radio and at the office till I couldn’t get them out of my mind. It was like the first time I saw a cadaver. For weeks afterward, the cadaver’s head–or what there was left of it–floated up behind my eggs and bacon at breakfast and behind the face of Buddy Willard, who was responsible for my seeing it in the first place, and pretty soon I felt as though I were carrying that cadaver’s head around with me on a string, like some black, noseless balloon stinking of vinegar.
(I knew something was wrong with me that summer, because all I could think about was the Rosenbergs and how stupid I’d been to buy all those uncomfortable, expensive clothes, hanging limp as fish in my closet, and how all the little successes I’d totted up so happily at college fizzled to nothing outside the slick marble and plate-glass fronts along Madison Avenue.)
I was supposed to be having the time of my life. "April 18, 2005 at 4:46 pm #107422
thts that book the dumbass salinger, the one that michael david chapman thoughet told him to kill john lennon. i dont know id be more inclined to kill j.d. salinger or the prfessor who made me read this catcrap and called it american vision. barf.
the catcher in the rye, j.d. salingerApril 21, 2005 at 4:56 pm #107423
Sylvia Plath, THE BELL JAR.April 23, 2005 at 11:32 am #107424
"Light one up before you moseyout hat door,
Once you cuddled ’em and kissed ’em,
But we’re bringin’ down Their system,
And it isn’t resistance, it’s a war"May 1, 2006 at 4:16 pm #107425
Gravity’s Rainbow ~ Thomas Pynchon
Water-the ace of elements. Water dives from the clouds without parachute, wings or safety net. Water runs over the steepest precipice and blinks not a lash. Water is buried and rises again; water walks on fire and fire gets the blisters.May 13, 2006 at 1:45 pm #107426
"So cheat your landlord if you can and must, but do not try to shortchange the Muse. It cannot be done. You can’t fake quality any more than you can fake a good meal."
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