(196)

Sep. 17th, 2008 | 05:00 pm

Do you think that your fathers are watching? That they weight you in their ledgerbook? Against what? There is no book and your fathers are dead in the ground.

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(137)

Sep. 16th, 2008 | 10:32 am

The winged word. The mercurial word. The word that is both moth and lamp. The word that rises above itself. The word that is itself and more. The associative word light with meanings. The word not netted by meaning. The exact word wide. The word not whore or cenobite. The word unlied.

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(69)

Sep. 16th, 2008 | 10:12 am

There's no such thing as autobiography there's only art and lies.

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(64)

Sep. 16th, 2008 | 10:11 am

That which is only living can only die.

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(54)

Sep. 11th, 2008 | 04:42 pm

The Word terrifies. The seducing word, the insinuating word, the word that leads the trembling hand to the forbidden key. The Word beyond the door, the word that waits to be unlocked, the word springing out of censure, the word that cracks the front. The Word that does not bring peace but a sword. The word whose solace is salt from the rock. The word that does not repent.

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(190)

Aug. 24th, 2008 | 08:12 pm

This is where the story starts in this threadbare room. The windows have turned into telescopes. Moon and stars are magnified in this room. The sun hangs over the mantelpiece. I stretch out my hand and reach the corners of the world. The world is bundled up in this room. Beyond the door, where the river is, where the roads are, we shall be. We can take the world with us when we go and sling the sun under your arm. Hurry now, it's getting late. I don't know if this is a happy ending but here we are let loose in open fields.

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(89)

Aug. 24th, 2008 | 08:03 pm

Written on the body is a secret code only visible in certain lights; the accumulations of a lifetime gather there. In places the palimpsest is so heavily worked that the letters feel like braille. I like the keep my body rolled up away from prying eyes. Never unfold too much, tell the whole story.

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(89)

Aug. 24th, 2008 | 08:00 pm

Articulacy of fingers, the language of the deaf and dumb, signing on the body body longing. Who taught you to write in blood on my back? Who taught you to use your hand as branding irons? You have scored your name into my shoulders, referenced me with your mark. The pads of your fingers have become printing blocks, you tap a message on to my skin, tap meaning into my body.

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(20)

Aug. 17th, 2008 | 12:12 pm

(disclaimer: i want to quote this entire book.)

Lousie, in this single bed, between these garish sheets, I will find a map as likely as any treasure hunt. I will explore you and mine you and you will redraw me according to your will. We shall cross one another's boundaries and make ourselves one nation. Scoop me in your hands for I am good soil. Eat of me and let me be sweet.







(Tina, Michee, Decklin, and Mark. well ok and everyone else needs to read this book, but you people especially.)

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Just Sayin'

Aug. 11th, 2008 | 09:02 pm

I love Beethoven's 9th.

Like to no end.

And although I really love the "Ode to Joy" (I mean really, who doesn't)

I think my favorite movement is the 2nd.

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