Reading
Richard Aldington
DEATH OF A HERO
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From Wikipedia:
Aldington, a veteran of World War I, claimed that his novel was accurate in terms of speech and style. It contained extensive colloquial speech, including profanity, discussion of sexuality and graphic descriptions of the war and of trench life. There was extensive censorship in England and many war novels had been banned or burned as a result. When Aldington first published his novel, he redacted a number of passages to ensure the publication of his book would not be challenged. He insisted that his publishers include a disclaimer in the original printing of the book with the following text:
To my astonishment, my publisher informed me that certain words, phrases, sentences, and even passages, are at present taboo in England. I have recorded nothing which I have not observed in human life, said nothing I do not believe to be true. At my request the publishers are removing what they believe would be considered objectionable, and are placing asterisks to show where omissions have been made. In my opinion it is better for the book to appear mutilated than for me to say what I don't believe.
BONNIE 'PRINCE' BILLY
“Lay and Love”
From what I’ve seen, you’re magnificent
You fight evil with all you do
Your every act is spectacular
It makes me lay here and love you
From what I hear, you are generous
You make sunshine and glory too
When you walk in things go luminous
It makes me lay here and love you
From what I know, you’re terrified
You have mistrust running through you
Your smile is hiding something hurtful
It makes me lay here and love you
It makes me lay here and love you
I’m filled with violet and red and blue
I have a feeling from what I do
That you might lay there and love me too
We really can't guess, Chad. You've had so many things melting you down like velveeta on your microwaved tacos lately that no one can keep track.
Please do scream about about whatever has your panties on fire today so the mystery can end, so actual men can ridicule your pity party for five seconds, and so the adults can get on with their lives until the next time Cracker Barrel adds a new menu item.
MARGARET ATWOOD
The Penelopiad
Water does not resist. Water flows. When you plunge your hand into it, all you feel is a caress. Water is not a solid wall, it will not stop you. But water always goes where it wants to go, and nothing in the end can stand against it. Water is patient. Dripping water wears away a stone. Remember that, my child. Remember you are half water. If you can’t go through an obstacle, go around it. Water does.
JORGE LUIS BORGES
“To A Cat”
Mirrors are not more silent
nor the creeping dawn more secretive;
in the moonlight, you are that panther
we catch sight of from afar.
By the inexplicable workings of a divine law,
we look for you in vain;
More remote, even, than the Ganges or the setting sun,
yours is the solitude, yours the secret.
Your haunch allows the lingering
caress of my hand. You have accepted,
since that long forgotten past,
the love of the distrustful hand.
You belong to another time. You are lord
of a place bounded like a dream.
SHANNON L. ADLER
Narcissists are consumed with maintaining a shallow false self to others. They're emotionally crippled souls that are addicted to attention. Because of this they use a multitude of games, in order to receive adoration. Sadly, they are the most ungodly of God's creations because they don't show remorse for their actions, take steps to make amends or have empathy for others. They are morally bankrupt.
HAROLD PINTER
Interview with James Grissom (1997)
This is a great tragedy: There are so many stories to tell, so many stories from which we would gain so much, and there is so little time and so little talent and so little encouragement available to get them told, shared, loved. This is a great tragedy and the story of all of mankind: Trying to get the story told and none of the right words to express it, and no audiences to hear it. It is called, I think, desperation. And then—curtain.
HALLDÓR LAXNESS
Independent People
“Oh yes,” said the old woman, “but I’ve heard these so-called stoves are by no means all they are supposed to be. I never saw a stove in my day, and yet never ailed a thing, at least as long as I could really be called alive, except for nettle rash one night when I was in my fifteenth year. It was caused by some fresh fish that the boys used to catch in the lakes thereabouts.”
The man did not answer for a while, but lay pondering the medical history of this incredible old creature who, without ever setting eyes on a stove, had suffered almost no ailments in the past sixty-five years.
ANNE SEXTON
“The Fury of Cocks”
There they are
drooping over the breakfast plates,
angel-like,
folding in their sad wing,
animal sad,
and only the night before
there they were
playing the banjo.
Once more the day’s light comes
with its immense sun,
its mother trucks,
its engines of amputation.
Whereas last night
the cock knew its way home,
as stiff as a hammer,
battering in with all
its awful power.
That theater.
Today it is tender,
a small bird,
as soft as a baby’s hand.
She is the house.
He is the steeple.
When they fuck they are God.
When they break away they are God.
When they snore they are God.
In the morning they butter the toast.
They don’t say much.
They are still God.
All the cocks of the world are God,
blooming, blooming, blooming
into the sweet blood of woman.
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