Category Archives: literature

May 14 0 comments
literature, photography

i couldn’t enjoy much of anything, except walking to the Ile St Louis

…to the park I’d come to love and rely on. The trees were flowering now, and there was the thick smell of horse-chestnut blossoms. I also liked to look around at the houses surrounding the park, and wonder about the people who filled them, what kind of marriages they had and how they loved or hurt each other on any given day, and if they were happy, and whether they thought happiness was a sustainable thing. I’d stay in the park as long as I could, and then walk home through the sunshine I couldn’t quite feel.

May 08 0 comments
literature

how unbelievably naive we both were that night

…We clung hard to each other, making vows we couldn’t keep and should never have spoken aloud. That’s how love is sometimes. I already loved him more than I’d loved anything or anyone. I knew he needed me absolutely, and I wanted him to go on needing me forever.

Feb 12 0 comments
literature

but our trip was different

…It was a classic affirmation of everything right and true and decent in the national character. It was a gross, physical salute to the fantastic possibilities of life in this country – but only for those with true grit. And we were chock full of that.

…I couldn’t remember. Lacerda? The name rang a bell, but I couldn’t concentrate. Terrible things were happening all around us. Right next to me a huge reptile was gnawing at a woman’s neck, the carpet was a blood-soaked sponge – impossible to walk on it, no footing at all. “Order some golf shoes,” I whispered. “Otherwise, we’ll never get out of here alive.”

Jan 31 0 comments
literature

oh if you find the time please come and stay awhile in my beautiful neighbourhood

Thought I’d better squeeze in a post before it’s bloody February. Anyone else completely failed on the resolution front? I’ve been anything but an active blogger (and anything but a detoxer/money-saver). Fresh start in February, yeah? I’ve probably been too busy self-indulgently eating nachos reading books; Hunter S Thompson’s The Rum Diary (amazing – I could’ve quoted something from every page) and Philip Roth’s Nemesis (so sad, lots of commas). We also watched the film adaptation of The Rum Diary – not even close to the brilliance of the book, but Johnny Depp so it’ll do. Must go and attend to those resolutions. See you in Feb, kids!

Jan 22 0 comments
artwork, literature

i was feeling better now, warm and sleepy and absolutely free.

…With the palms zipping past and the big sun burning down on the road ahead, I had a flash of something I hadn’t felt since my first months in Europe – a mixture of ignorance and a loose, ‘what the hell’ kind of confidence that comes on a man when the wind picks up and he begins to move in a hard straight line toward an unknown horizon.

Dec 01 0 comments
literature, photography

the sun blazes into view, spinning bright

…and metallic against your eyeballs, ionizing the water’s surface so you can’t see a bit of pollution or crud underneath. It looks mystical, biblical. It raises a lump in your throat.

I haven’t had a day off in 18 days. And even that day, 19 days ago, didn’t really count as a day off, because I wasn’t feeling well for one reason or another. Nothing to do with Jack Daniels. And I’ve got two more juicy days of work ahead of me. But it’s not all that bad because I saw my name in print for the first time today. Nice. But like I say, I’ve got a manic couple of days ahead, so I probably won’t be around here much. Follow me on twitter, though. No doubt I’ll have some right-wing not-right to moan about on there. Anyway, I’m off to bed to finish my book. More on that when I’m done – I just thought I’d better check in and ask you all to stick around. I’ll be right back!

Nov 29 0 comments
literature, photography

she lay down, curled on her side in the grass

…as if she were shielding the damaged part of herself, or trying to contain the pain that issued from it. Every turn of her thoughts increased her sense of horror, her belief that she couldnt recover, had no more resources to draw on. Why was this worse than the other times? But it was.

Nov 11 0 comments
literature, poetry

if i should die, think only this of me:

That there’s some corner of a foreign field/ That is forever England. There shall be/ in that rich earth, a richer dust concealed;/ A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware/ Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam/ A body of England’s, breathing English air,/ Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.

And think, this heart, all evil shed away,/ A pulse in the eternal mind, no less/ Gives somewhere back the thoughts that by England given;/ Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;/ And laughter learnt of friends; and gentleness/ In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.

Nov 09 0 comments
literature, photography

we watched august walk over to the window

…put her hands on the countertop, and gaze out at the sky. It was aquamarine and shiny as taffeta. You had the feeling she was making a big decision.

Oct 27 0 comments
literature, photography

not that he talked a lot – kienschaper wasn’t a great talker.

But when he took her to his apiary and told her about the life of bees, which were creatures he loved with a passion, when he walked with her through the fields in the evening and showed her how untidily a certain field was sown and with how little effort it could be made far more productive, when Kienschaper helped a cow to calve or, unasked, righted a toppled fence, when he sat at the organ and improvised for the two of them, when everywhere he went looked tidy and at peace for his having been there – then that did more than any words could do for Eva’s contentment. It was a life gently inclined toward its end, peaceful and bringing peace in a time full of hatred, blood and tears.