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Narratives of Empire III: 1876 by Gore Vidal
Anansi Boys by Neil Gaiman
Whatever Happened to Gloomy Gus of the Chicago Bears? by Robert Coover
Looking for Alaska by John Green
Principia Discordia or How I Found Goddess and What I Did to Her When I Found Her by Malaclypse the Younger
Dragonlance: Tales I - The Magic of Krynn by Various
The Dharma Bums by Jack Kerouac
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CollectionsYour library (1,649), Req. reading c. 20 (112), Req. reading c. 21 (5), Dogshit lit. (52), Currently reading (2), All collections (1,649)
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Tagsread (611), sci-fantasy (311), non-fiction (204), translation (169), short stories (138), 2006 (127), noir-ish (125), 2009 (124), graphic novel (116), 2008 (114) — see all tags
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GroupsAmerican Postmodernism, Asian Fiction & Non-Fiction, Author Theme Reads, Beat Literature, Beat-itific, Comics, Famous voluminous novels, Japanese Literature, Le Salon du Faulkner, Le Salon Litteraire du Peuple pour le Peuple
Favorite authorsRichard Adams, Paul Auster, Will Christopher Baer, Donald Barthelme, John Barth, Jonathan Baumbach, Arthur Bradford, Richard Brautigan, Charles Bukowski, William S. Burroughs, Albert Camus, Caleb Carr, Raymond Chandler, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Joseph Conrad, Robert Coover, Gregory Corso, Michael Crichton, E. E. Cummings, Mark Z. Danielewski, Don DeLillo, James Dickey, Philip K. Dick, E. L. Doctorow, Tim Dorsey, Dave Eggers, Bret Easton Ellis, Richard Fariña, William Faulkner, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, Ian Fleming, Jonathan Safran Foer, Jonathan Franzen, John Gardner, Allen Ginsberg, H. Rider Haggard, Oakley Hall, Dashiell Hammett, Joseph Heller, Ernest Hemingway, Hermann Hesse, Joe Hill, Jerry Holkins, John Irving, James Joyce, Franz Kafka, Bob Kaufman, Jack Kerouac, Ken Kesey, Stanisław Lem, Tao Lin, David Mamet, Vladimir Mayakovsky, Cormac McCarthy, Herman Melville, Mike Mignola, Alan Moore, Toni Morrison, Haruki Murakami, Vladimir Nabokov, Flann O'Brien, Frank O'Hara, Grace Paley, Breece D'J Pancake, Kenneth Patchen, Douglas Preston, Jacques Prévert, Thomas Pynchon, Ishmael Reed, Arthur Rimbaud, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, J.D. Salinger, Gary Snyder, Terry Southern, Wallace Stevens, Peter Straub, Arkadi and Boris Strugatski, Hunter S. Thompson, J. R. R. Tolkien, John Kennedy Toole, Laozi, Brian K. Vaughan, Tony Vigorito, David Foster Wallace, Joss Whedon, Walt Whitman, Robert Anton Wilson (Shared favorites)
Favorite bookstoresHalf Price Books - Broadway, Half Price Books - North Lamar, Half Price Books - San Marcos, Half Price Books - South Lamar
About meMY LIFE.
"I am at this moment writing a lengthy indictment against our century. When my brain begins to reel from my literary labors, I make an occasional cheese dip."
--A Confederacy of Dunces
"Yes! Yes! Dig him! Now consider his soul---stop awhile and consider."
--On the Road: T.O.S.
The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!”
--On the Road
I'm a 21-y/o goof from Texas.
About my libraryYes, my library is now every book I own. Hey now! now! now!
Check it.
-April '08
I have trouble putting things in order, deciding what I myself even like, what I prefer, moving on and on, but I'll sit here and compile what I imagine my top 50 (YES 50!) books just may be:
01: Gravity's Fucking Rainbow by Thomas Pynchon
02: The Illuminatus! Trilogy by Robert Shea and Robert Anton Wilson
03: The Dharma Bums by Jack Kerouac
04: Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace
05: Sometimes a Great Notion by Ken Kesey
06: Catch-22 by Joseph Heller
07: Mason & Dixon by Thomas Pynchon
08: What is the What by Dave Eggers
09: On the Road: The Original Scroll by Jack Kerouac
10: V. by Thomas Pynchon
11: Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov
12: The Sot-Weed Factor by John Barth
13: The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien
14: Giles Goat-Boy: or, The Revised New Syllabus by John Barth
15: A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius by Dave Eggers
16: In Watermelon Sugar by Richard Brautigan
17: Ratner's Star by Don DeLillo
18: The Third Policeman by Flann O'Brien
19: A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again by D.F.W.
20: The Broom of the System by David Foster Wallace
21: You Shall Know Our Velocity! by Dave Eggers
22: Desolation Angels by Jack Kerouac
23: The Abortion: An Historical Romance 1966 by Richard Brautigan
24: Watership Down by Richard Adams
25: Trout Fishing in America by Richard Brautigan
26: White Noise by Don DeLillo
27: Absalom, Absalom! by William Faulkner
28: Zeitoun by Dave Eggers
29: One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest by Ken Kesey
30: American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis
31: Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas by Hunter S. Thompson
32: Been Down So Long It Looks Like Up To Me by Richard Fariña
33: Schrodinger's Cat Trilogy by Robert Anton Wilson
34: Roadside Picnic by Arkady and Boris Strugatsky
35: Solaris by Stanislaw Lem
36: Jurassic Park by Michael Crichton
37: The Road by Cormac McCarthy
38: The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka
39: Lost in the Funhouse by John Barth
40: Pricksongs & Descants by Robert Coover
41: Sphere by Michael Crichton
42: Deliverance by James Dickey
43: Suttree by Cormac McCarthy
44: As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner
45: The Stories of Breece D'J Pancake
46: A Confederacy of Dunces by J.K. Toole
47: Moby-Dick by Hermann Melville
48: Bed by Tao Lin
49: Masks of the Illuminati by R.A.W.
50: Snow Crash by Neal Stephenson
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Real nameTodd Ellis
LocationNew Braunfels, Texas
Account typepublic, lifetime
Connection NewsConnection News
URLs
http://www.librarything.com/profile/RSHabroptilus (profile)
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Common KnowledgeSeries (265), Awards (387), Characters (6816), Places (1310)
Member sinceJan 2, 2007
Currently readingFlags in the Dust by William Faulkner
Against the Day by Thomas Pynchon
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Mike
posted by burnit99 at 3:55 am (EST) on Nov 22, 2009
Mike
posted by burnit99 at 2:00 am (EST) on Nov 22, 2009
posted by jburlinson at 5:03 pm (EST) on Nov 21, 2009
posted by ElizabethChapman at 2:56 pm (EST) on Nov 21, 2009
posted by booksfallapart at 12:19 am (EST) on Nov 21, 2009
posted by booksfallapart at 1:59 pm (EST) on Nov 20, 2009
posted by copyedit52 at 3:48 pm (EST) on Nov 19, 2009
I've never read Faulkner but perhaps I could attempt one book. We'll see. :)
posted by lilisin at 12:00 pm (EST) on Nov 19, 2009
posted by emily_morine at 10:30 am (EST) on Nov 19, 2009
So, your address?
posted by copyedit52 at 7:46 am (EST) on Nov 19, 2009
My latest "project" was dating a Japanese boy but he recently broke my heart so that didn't work out well... and now I can't really seem to find much motivation to read either. Alas. Broken hearts are no fun.
posted by lilisin at 12:52 am (EST) on Nov 19, 2009
posted by EnriqueFreeque at 12:23 am (EST) on Nov 19, 2009
I actually just recently started a thread here that follows my journey in my favorite type of lit, Japanese lit. It's meager right now but along the way it should get more interesting... hopefully. I love to read but I'm not always great at expressing my thoughts so at times what I present might seem a bit amateur.
One of my undergrad majors was Japanese (UT Austin, native Austinite) so I do speak/read/write Japanese. But during grad school (got my Masters in organic chemistry) I lost quite a bit of my reading skills and am now using my spare time at my job when I'm bored to review it so I can start trying to finally read lit. Till then, it's all in translation for now.
posted by lilisin at 12:02 am (EST) on Nov 19, 2009
posted by emily_morine at 9:54 pm (EST) on Nov 18, 2009
So, I was trying to find some worthy naturalistic poetry to put on your page, and kept coming across Maxine Kumin. She kind of sucks, but here is one anyway:
The Hermit Goes Up Attic by Maxine Kumin
Up attic, Lucas Harrison, God rest
his frugal bones, once kept a tidy account
by knifecut of some long-gone harvest.
The wood was new. The pitch ran down to blunt
the year: 1811, the score: 10, he carved
into the center rafter to represent
his loves, beatings, losses, hours, or maybe
the butternuts that taxed his back and starved
the red squirrels higher up each scabbed tree.
1812 ran better. If it was bushels he risked,
he would have set his sons to rake them ankle deep
for wintering over, for wrinkling off their husks
while downstairs he lulled his jo to sleep.
By 1816, whatever the crop goes sour.
Three tallies cut by the knife are all
in a powder of dead flies and wood dust pale as flour.
Death, if it came then, has since gone dry and small.
But the hermit makes this up. Nothing is known
under this rooftree keel veed in with chestnut
ribs. Up attic he always hears the ghosts
of Lucas Harrison's great trees complain
chafing against their mortised pegs,
a woman in childbirth pitching from side to side
until the wet head crowns between her legs
again, and again she will bear her man astride
and out of the brawl of sons he will drive like oxen
tight at the block and tackle, whipped to the trace,
come up these burly masts, these crossties broken
from their growing and buttoned into place.
Whatever it was is now a litter of shells.
Even at noon the attic vault is dim.
The hermit carves his own name in the sill
that someone after will take stock of him.
To wash that taste out of your mouth, here is one of my favorite Ginsberg poems:
Feb. 29, 1958 by Allen Ginsberg
Last nite I dreamed of T.S. Eliot
welcoming me to the land of dream
Sofas couches fog in England
Tea in his digs Chelsea rainbows
curtains on his windows, fog seeping in
the chimney but a nice warm house
and an incredibly sweet hooknosed
Eliot he loved me, put me up,
gave me a couch to sleep on,
conversed kindly, took me serious
asked my opinion on Mayakovsky
I read him Corso Creeley Kerouac
advised Burroughs Olson Huncke
the bearded lady in the Zoo, the
intelligent puma in Mexico City
6 chorus boys from Zanzibar
who chanted in wornout polygot
Swahili, and the rippling rythyms
of Ma Rainey and Vachel Lindsay.
On the Isle of the Queen
we had a long evening's conversation
Then he tucked me in my long
red underwear under a silken
blanket by the fire on the sofa
gave me English Hottie
and went off sadly to his bed,
Saying ah Ginsberg I am glad
to have met a fine young man like you.
At last, I woke ashamed of myself.
Is he that good and kind? Am I that great?
What's my motive dreaming his
manna? What English Department
would that impress? What failure
to be perfect prophet's made up here?
I dream of my kindness to T.S. Eliot
wanting to be a historical poet
and share in his finance of Imagery-
overambitious dream of eccentric boy.
God forbid my evil dreams come true.
Last nite I dreamed of Allen Ginsberg.
T.S. Eliot would've been ashamed of me.
posted by devondoyle at 1:47 pm (EST) on Nov 17, 2009
(I never knew anyone from New Braunfels, TX, before, except for the nice people at Checks in the Mail!)
posted by laytonwoman3rd at 7:05 am (EST) on Nov 17, 2009
Good article in LA Times today on Rudolf Wurlitzer; several of his novels are being re-released with a new publisher (you prob'ly already knew that).
Okay, you still want your own Salon dedicated to William Faulkner?
Read post #66 here: http://www.librarything.com/topic/76814 and tell me if that sounds like something you'd like to do. Then I can show you how to start your own group/salon (very simple) with reciprocal links between us, if you're still interested (and I do hope you are.) In your own salon you could devote, say, a thread to each of his books, and elaborate upon and critique/commentate on his work that way, or however you want. It'll be yours, with the full support of Le Salon Litteraire - like an affiliate or franchise: Le Salon Litteraire du William Faulkner. Shoot, dude, you could create Le Salon Litteraire du RAW or Beats or whatever you want, as many as you want, the possibilities are endless.
Let me know what you think. No rush.
posted by EnriqueFreeque at 2:32 pm (EST) on Nov 15, 2009
posted by EnriqueFreeque at 11:46 pm (EST) on Nov 12, 2009
posted by EnriqueFreeque at 11:53 pm (EST) on Nov 11, 2009
Small as a peanut,
Big as a giant,
We're all the same size
When we turn off the light.
Rich as a sultan,
Poor as a mite,
We're all worth the same
When we turn off the light.
Red, black or orange,
Yellow or white,
We all look the same
When we turn off the light.
So maybe the way
To make everything right
Is for God to reach out
And turn off the light!
posted by theoldman at 6:46 am (EST) on Nov 10, 2009
posted by devondoyle at 12:51 pm (EST) on Nov 9, 2009
I think Faulkner is extremely difficult and I'm impressed that you're really tackling him full force. Is there any Faulkner now that you don't own? Yeah, give up the A-Z has to be good; don't put unnecessary rules on your reading - you're quite well read as it is now and don't really need to do that to make yourself better read. Read what moves you and inspires you and gets yer blood flowin', that's my best unasked-for advice.
I've just "discovered" Mary Karr: memoirist, poet, novelist, who was also in a relationship w/DFW prior to his marriage and after her divorce. She's a smokin' writer. Am devouring her memoir "Cherry" as we speak.
posted by EnriqueFreeque at 3:12 pm (EST) on Nov 8, 2009
posted by devondoyle at 12:13 am (EST) on Nov 8, 2009
posted by EnriqueFreeque at 7:30 pm (EST) on Nov 6, 2009
That's why i keep trying again and still intend to force myself quite a bit further into the book, hoping it will turn out less disappointing. I have to say that summaries of the plot don't make it seem promising. Beautiful sex slaves just aren't my thing for various reasons. But i want to give it a chance out of loyalty to an (otherwise) favourite author.
Good for you picking me up on it. But it wasn't flippantly or lazily done, and it was honest (as all my reviewing is), so i felt it was fair.
posted by mmSeason at 1:03 pm (EST) on Nov 6, 2009
http://www.facebook.com/home.php?#/note....
Annnd also by him:
August 1968
The Ogre does what ogres can,
Deeds quite impossible for Man,
But one prize is beyond his reach:
The Ogre cannot master speech.
About a subjugated plain,
Among it's desperate and slain,
The Ogre stalks with hands on hips,
While drivel gushes from his lips
posted by devondoyle at 10:42 am (EST) on Nov 6, 2009
http://nymag.com/arts/books/features/601...
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/11/01/books/...
I see someone sent you Eliot's Prelude. Do you know Prufrock?
posted by tomcatMurr at 5:06 am (EST) on Nov 6, 2009
My lap has been catless since Hoagy's demise. Our current feline is NOT a lap-sitter. Alas.
posted by Hoagy27 at 9:25 pm (EST) on Nov 5, 2009
Preludes
The winter evening settles down
With smell of steaks in passageways.
Six o' clock
The burnt-out ends of smoky days.
And now a gutsy shower wraps
The grimy scraps
Of withered leaves about your feet
And newspapers from vacant lots;
The showers beat
On broken blinds and shimney-pots,
And at the corner of the street
A lonely cab-horse steams and stamps
And the the lighting of the lamps
I am moved by fancies that are curled
Around these images, and cling:
The notion of some infinitely gentle
Infinitely suffering thing.
T.S. Eliot
posted by devondoyle at 11:48 pm (EST) on Nov 4, 2009
posted by devondoyle at 10:21 pm (EST) on Nov 3, 2009
I could tell you that
today I had incredible, funny and
interesting thoughts
I could make up all kinds of shit
and you would be impressed, right?
---(what a wife)
---(how clever, God how clever she is)
and the thing is,
but I just ironed
I fucking ironed
and talked to karen a minute about
being fat
and that was my day.
(I loved it)
posted by devondoyle at 8:41 am (EST) on Nov 3, 2009
posted by CorroDonk at 1:10 am (EST) on Nov 3, 2009
Yes, read Ragtime. Any book with Sigmund Freud as a character is awesome; I loved it (my only Doc read thus far, sadly)
And are you serious, Sukenick is a character in BOD? I'm picking it up next time I see it! Strange how Sukenick was so well known among his peers and yet so little read by the public. I doubt Suke was Doctorow's professor as Doc has been around a lonnnng time himself (he's pushing 80 these days) but he could've been; I really don't know.
Jeanette Winterson wrote a brilliant intro in one of Acker's omnibus' that opened my eyes to what Acker was doing with her weird, disjointed, obscene prose. And I just honestly like her bad attitude and boldness and doesn't-give-a-rip-about-the-opinions of others approach to fiction. Yeah, it cost her readers and acclaim and sales but I suspect she wasn't in it for that anyway (though the money would've been good); she nevertheless created a cult status for herself that will last as long as there are likeminded rebels in the world (and there always will be) - feminist or not.
Are you going to be reading the Clarice Lispector? Sounds fantastic so far (my copy should arrive I'm hoping tomorrow). She was a metafictionist and experimenter at times so I think she's right up our alleys. I'll grab Bender too next time I see it based on your raves. There's just too many damn good innovative writing out there...all I want is every single book like that that's ever been written....that's all ;-)
You gotta read Fowles...and fast!
Well, keep in mind that I only finish 20 books a year, but actually begin 50-60/year and get through half of most of them before getting disinterested. I don't have to know like most just how the story ended; I can live just fine w/out knowing.
I've been meaning to ask about your Mom but you know thought it was something you're already having to deal with anyway so why deal w/it here. What you've had to deal with for so long really sucks and I wish I could say something more meaningful and helpful to you other than the standard supportive shit. You ever need to vent more than just on the monitor you've got my number and I'm happy to listen.
I don't think you're ever wasting your time reading ANY version of a published author's work; if anything, I think you're seeing a writer-at-work, and learning how they've developed and their process of self-editing and revision can only be a good tool for learning in your own development as a writer. Reading anything by John's Barth or Fowles in any version can never be considered a waste of time. Be-leeeeve it!
posted by EnriqueFreeque at 5:58 pm (EST) on Nov 1, 2009
Passing stranger! you do not know how longingly I look upon you,
You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, (it comes to me as of a dream,)
I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you,
All is recall'd as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured,
You grew up with me, were a boy with me or a girl with me,
I ate with you and slept with you, your body has become not yours only nor left my body mine only,
You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass, you take of my beard, breast, hands, in return,
I am not to speak to you, I am to think of you when I sit alone or wake at night alone,
I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again,
I am to see to it that I do not lose you.
I have stories for you!!!!!! Get on AIM tonight loser.
posted by devondoyle at 1:53 pm (EST) on Nov 1, 2009
I found the "Collected Poetry and Prose" of Wallace Stevens at the liberry yesterday. Luckily I still had my messenger bag on me when I had to take my aunt to the hospital, so I got to read a lot of it. Ran across "Notes Toward a Supreme Fiction," and thought you should read it.
A stanza from section II, "It Must Change":
"After a lustre of the moon, we say
We have not the need of any paradise,
We have not the need of any seducing hymn."
I love Stevens more as I grow older, I think because I'm sober and also have stopped loathing poetry on sight. This crap version is the only complete text I could find on this pestiferous Interweb thingie: http://www.iterasi.net/openviewer.aspx?s...
Hope you're well
posted by richardderus at 5:38 pm (EST) on Oct 30, 2009
Agreed that the book of daniel possesses good qualities. The two above, however, make that look like a contract-filler book.
Am heading into NaNo, so won't be too awfully social for the next month or so. Check the book out: http://www.librarything.com/topic/75687
Cheers
posted by richardderus at 10:28 am (EST) on Oct 28, 2009
GROWLTIGER was a Bravo Cat, who lived upon a barge;
In fact he was the roughest cat that ever roamed at large.
From Gravesend up to Oxford he pursued his evil aims,
Rejoicing in his title of "The Terror of the Thames."
His manners and appearance did not calculate to please;
His coat was torn and seedy, he was baggy at the knees;
One ear was somewhat missing, no need to tell you why,
And he scowled upon a hostile world from one forbidding eye.
The cottagers of Rotherhithe knew something of his fame,
At Hammersmith and Putney people shuddered at his name.
They would fortify the hen-house, lock up the silly goose,
When the rumour ran along the shore: GROWLTIGER'S ON THE LOOSE!
Woe to the weak canary, that fluttered from its cage;
Woe to the pampered Pekinese, that faced Growltiger's rage.
Woe to the bristly Bandicoot, that lurks on foreign ships,
And woe to any Cat with whom Growltiger came to grips!
But most to Cats of foreign race his hatred had been vowed;
To Cats of foreign name and race no quarter was allowed.
The Persian and the Siamese regarded him with fear--
Because it was a Siamese had mauled his missing ear.
Now on a peaceful summer night, all nature seemed at play,
The tender moon was shining bright, the barge at Molesey lay.
All in the balmy moonlight it lay rocking on the tide--
And Growltiger was disposed to show his sentimental side.
His bucko mate, GRUMBUSKIN, long since had disappeared,
For to the Bell at Hampton he had gone to wet his beard;
And his bosun, TUMBLEBRUTUS, he too had stol'n away-
In the yard behind the Lion he was prowling for his prey.
In the forepeak of the vessel Growltiger sate alone,
Concentrating his attention on the Lady GRIDDLEBONE.
And his raffish crew were sleeping in their barrels and their bunks--
As the Siamese came creeping in their sampans and their junks.
Growltiger had no eye or ear for aught but Griddlebone,
And the Lady seemed enraptured by his manly baritone,
Disposed to relaxation, and awaiting no surprise--
But the moonlight shone reflected from a thousand bright blue eyes.
And closer still and closer the sampans circled round,
And yet from all the enemy there was not heard a sound.
The lovers sang their last duet, in danger of their lives--
For the foe was armed with toasting forks and cruel carving knives.
Then GILBERT gave the signal to his fierce Mongolian horde;
With a frightful burst of fireworks the Chinks they swarmed aboard.
Abandoning their sampans, and their pullaways and junks,
They battened down the hatches on the crew within their bunks.
Then Griddlebone she gave a screech, for she was badly skeered;
I am sorry to admit it, but she quickly disappeared.
She probably escaped with ease, I'm sure she was not drowned-
But a serried ring of flashing steel Growltiger did surround.
The ruthless foe pressed forward, in stubborn rank on rank;
Growltiger to his vast surprise was forced to walk the plank.
He who a hundred victims had driven to that drop,
At the end of all his crimes was forced to go ker-flip, ker-flop.
Oh there was joy in Wapping when the news flew through the land;
At Maidenhead and Henley there was dancing on the strand.
Rats were roasted whole at Brentford, and at Victoria Dock,
And a day of celebration was commanded in Bangkok.
Griddlebone's my favorite cat, ever. Next one I get, it's getting the name.
posted by devondoyle at 1:15 am (EST) on Oct 27, 2009
Because I go into borders so often one of the sales ladies I talk to gave me an advance copy of a book called The Maze Runner, it looks pretty eh but still! Free books, I won't say no to. Unless Palin wrote it.
posted by devondoyle at 12:15 am (EST) on Oct 27, 2009
For we have thought the longer thoughts
And gone the shorter way.
And we have danced to devils' tunes,
Shivering home to pray;
To serve one master in the night,
Another in the day.
posted by devondoyle at 12:30 am (EST) on Oct 25, 2009
posted by devondoyle at 11:51 pm (EST) on Oct 23, 2009
HOLD it up sternly! See this it sends back! (Who is it? Is it you?)
Outside fair costume--within ashes and filth,
No more a flashing eye--no more a sonorous voice or springy step;
Now some slave's eye, voice, hands, step,
A drunkard's breath, unwholesome eater's face, venerealee's flesh,
Lungs rotting away piecemeal, stomach sour and cankerous,
Joints rheumatic, bowels clogged with abomination,
Blood circulating dark and poisonous streams,
Words babble, hearing and touch callous,
No brain, no heart left--no magnetism of sex;
Such, from one look in this looking-glass ere you go hence,
Such a result so soon--and from such a beginning!
_____________
It is a green hollow where a stream gurgles,
Crazily catching silver rags of itself on the grasses;
Where the sun shines from the proud mountain:
It is a little valley bubbling over with light.
A young soldier, open-mouthed, bare-headed,
With the nape of his neck bathed in cool blue cresses,
Sleeps; he is stretched out on the grass, under the sky,
Pale on his green bed where the light falls like rain.
His feet in the yellow flags, he lies sleeping. Smiling as
A sick child might smile, he is having a nap:
Cradle him warmly, Nature: he is cold.
No odour makes his nostrils quiver;
He sleeps in the sun, his hand on his breast
At peace. There are two red holes in his right side.
posted by devondoyle at 11:01 pm (EST) on Oct 23, 2009
Check this out: Received an email today from Federman's daughter inviting me to a memorial next month down in San Diego celebrating her father's life. I've, of course, rsvp'd, and am looking forward to seeing who might be there.
Todd, you are in for a huuuuuuge treat with The Magus! I honestly don't think it matters which version you read. I wish I had read it at your age, because it is definitely a young man's novel. I've only read the revised version (different endings). But, I was so enrapt with the book back when I first read it, that I sought out the copy you own just to see how Fowles altered the ending. I like both endings! They are both unforgettable, powerful, in your face endings, much like the way Paul Bowles ended The Sheltering Sky. If I were you, I'd read the version you have, then if you ever come across the revised version, grab it, and then read it too, because the novel is so complexly mysterious it does require multiple readings (much like Umberto Ecos best stuff) to really get what the hell is going on. I'm not a fast reader, but I zipped through the Magus. I wrote a review of it way back when - mediocre - focused mainly on the powerful Nympho motif, if you're interested in more of my lauds of it. I liked it better than The French Lieutenants Woman. Powerful, personal, mysterious, labyrinthine stuff. Just read what you got, you won't be disappointed.
Glad to hear you've got your bases covered with Big Bend. Sounds like a fantastic adventure. Be careful in those mines, young man! I'll be heading up to the local mountains myself (with the fambly) just to beat the heat out here and literally expand our horizons from this monotonous city shit.
I don't mean to keep blathering on about The Magus, but that's a damn fine piece of writing. I should read it again myself. In fact, it should be a salon read later in '10. Hmmmm.
posted by EnriqueFreeque at 10:22 pm (EST) on Oct 23, 2009
posted by devondoyle at 9:34 pm (EST) on Oct 22, 2009
posted by devondoyle at 8:47 pm (EST) on Oct 22, 2009
I didn't notice about Brautigan. :/
posted by devondoyle at 1:41 pm (EST) on Oct 22, 2009
posted by EnriqueFreeque at 8:23 pm (EST) on Oct 21, 2009
;-}
J
posted by jdthloue at 3:40 pm (EST) on Oct 21, 2009
I wonder if eight-four-year-old Colonel Sanders
ever gets tired of travelling all around America
_____talking about fried chicken.
posted by devondoyle at 11:02 pm (EST) on Oct 20, 2009
Chacun a son livre, certainment.
posted by richardderus at 10:38 am (EST) on Oct 20, 2009
posted by devondoyle at 4:06 am (EST) on Oct 20, 2009
Ehh really didn't like that movie.
posted by devondoyle at 3:43 am (EST) on Oct 20, 2009
posted by devondoyle at 3:29 am (EST) on Oct 20, 2009
Ahh thanks, I loved those poems. Makes sense to me, I only ever write poetry when I'm either feeling insane (most of the time) or feeling really childish (about half the time).
posted by devondoyle at 3:24 am (EST) on Oct 20, 2009
posted by devondoyle at 3:11 am (EST) on Oct 20, 2009
Trash Can Parasites
Co workers toss their smeary trash in you
Like it’s nothing.
The plastic sack hides the sticky mess
But I can smell you from across the room.
I don’t like you despite your uses,
I know what’s inside.
Slime, mold, grease, and rot
When I get too close to you I want to run for the pot
Vomit retch puke and spit
You gross me out so much
I can barely stand it.
Trash can of doom!
Please trash can
Grow arms and legs
and
Change your bags!
posted by devondoyle at 1:24 am (EST) on Oct 20, 2009
There's been a death in the opposite house
As lately as today.
I know it by the numb look
Such houses have alway.
The neighbours rustle in and out,
The doctor drives away.
A window opens like a pod,
Abrupt, mechanically;
Somebody flings a mattress out, -
The children hurry by;
They wonder if It died on that, -
I used to when a boy.
The minister goes stiffly in
As if the house were his,
And he owned all the mourners now,
And little boys besides;
And then the milliner, and the man
Of the appalling trade,
To take the measure of the house.
There'll be that dark parade
Of tassels and of coaches soon;
It's easy as a sign, -
The intuition of the news
In just a country town.
posted by devondoyle at 12:11 am (EST) on Oct 20, 2009
posted by wunderkind at 7:47 pm (EST) on Oct 19, 2009
"The Book of Daniel"? Whyinahell are y'all reading Ed's least effort?
Yeah, read "Zeitoun" and let me know if I should or not. I'm a real detractor of Eggers's, since he's self-published all his books and they still get ecstatically reviewed (unjustifiably so, IMO) unlike every other self-published author on Earth. But this one is very, very tempting.
As to visiting, I'll be in Austin before you'll be in NY. I arrive on 12/1 and leave on 12/8. I won't have a car, and will be staying with my younger brother near 183 & 290E. Maybe we can meet while I'm there? I'm considering asking Brent if he can spare a visit, though with wife and child I doubt I would rank high enough to make that happen.
Cheers
posted by richardderus at 12:15 pm (EST) on Oct 19, 2009
posted by booksfallapart at 12:31 am (EST) on Oct 19, 2009
posted by booksfallapart at 11:10 pm (EST) on Oct 18, 2009
"Ah Vastness of Pines"
By Pablo Neruda
Ah vastness of pines, murmur of waves breaking,
slow play of lights, solitary bell,
twilight falling in your eyes, toy doll,
earth-shell, inw hom the earth sings!
In you the rivers sing and my soul flees in them
as you desire, and you send it where you will.
Aim my road on your bow of hope
and in a frenzy I will free my flock of arrows.
On all sides I see your waist of fog,
and your silence hunts down my afflicted hours;
my kisses anchor, and my moist desire nests
in you with your arms of transparent stone.
Ah your mysterious voice that love tolls and darkens
in the resonant and dying evening!
Thus in deep hours I have seen, over the fields,
the ears of wheat tolling in the mouth of the wind.
posted by devondoyle at 8:01 pm (EST) on Oct 18, 2009
can't stop opening up the door!
can't stop giggling at it
That is you.
posted by devondoyle at 7:57 pm (EST) on Oct 18, 2009
!!!!!!!!!!!
Good stuff toddells.
posted by devondoyle at 7:49 pm (EST) on Oct 18, 2009
posted by EnriqueFreeque at 6:35 pm (EST) on Oct 18, 2009
posted by EnriqueFreeque at 6:34 pm (EST) on Oct 18, 2009
posted by EnriqueFreeque at 6:03 pm (EST) on Oct 18, 2009
posted by EnriqueFreeque at 5:54 pm (EST) on Oct 18, 2009
posted by devondoyle at 2:18 am (EST) on Oct 18, 2009
1)
What a sham this life can be!
It all boils down to fact?
I disagree!
______FairyTales and mind games, what's
going On in this head of mine?
I know! I know! Kwon! Knwn! Konw! What?
Consider my mind Blown.
Cut my brain & eat my insides
I have no use for them ---
Trivial Things these so
called 'vital' organs.
2)
I live in a house that has been overrun by cats.
These are no ordinary cats mind you, but cats with
the unnatural ability to look into your eyes at
your soul and judge you with unswerving intelligence
Oh dear me! My home is turning into a warehouse
for a bunch of mind reading hooligans!
How does one stop such a thing? Does this
situation call for a call to arms? Or am
I merely imagining all of this in my
head? Who can say for both options are
terribly unlikely. Oh come here you
itty bitty pretties! I've threatened
the damned things with all sorts
of nasties, but the ignore me
with arrogant disdain. Will
no one do anything to
stop this madness?
The doctor I shall
go to see, the
all knowing
doctor knows
what's
wrong
with
me.
posted by devondoyle at 11:56 pm (EST) on Oct 17, 2009
posted by devondoyle at 6:52 pm (EST) on Oct 17, 2009
What's the hurry re: growing up? You're 21. Adulthood is more than growing up. It's growing into yourself, and how's a man supposed to do that without knowing what that self is, and how's he supposed to find *that* out without looking? Go look for a while.
Pennsylvania's a big place. Western, eastern? The whole enchilada (and how I miss El Rey's mole enchiladas!) would take a summer to do justice to. Though Harrisburg's a rathole and can easily be skipped. Pittsburgh has some outstanding ice cream at Penn State's creamery...maple walnut *dripdrool* sundae with caramel topping...'scuse me, need to go change my drawers....
Where was I? Oh yeah...so try going someplace you've never been and see what's what. Shy boy that you are, you'll find more in strange places than familiar ones.
Now that the Brautiganfest is over, what's next up on the TBR? "Mao II" had one of the coolest jackets I've ever seen...Miken, the cover/jacket printers, used it as a sample when trying to talk my old boss at Bantam Doubleday Dell into using the then-revolutionary matte-and-gloss lamination/varnish stuff on a Danielle Steel jacket. (They failed.) When I read the book, I was more aware of the jacket than the text. Funny, that.
posted by richardderus at 6:05 pm (EST) on Oct 17, 2009
posted by RSHabroptilus at 4:39 pm (EST) on Oct 17, 2009