Thursday, May 21, 2009
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Friday, May 8, 2009
Thursday, May 7, 2009
233
"They rode out along the fenceline and across the open pasture-land. The leather creaked in the morning cold. They pushed the horses into a lope. The lights fell away behind them. They rode out on the high prairie where they slowed the horses to a walk and the stars swarmed around them out of the blackness. They heard somewhere in that tenantless night a bell that tolled and ceased where no bell was and they rode out on the round dais of the earth which alone was dark and no light to it and which carried their figures and bore them up into the swarming stars so that they rode not under but among them and they rode at once jaunty and circumspect, like thieves newly loosed in that dark electric, like young thieves in a glowing orchard, loosely jacketed against the cold and ten thousand worlds for the choosing." -- Cormac McCarthy, All the Pretty Horses
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
232
"you take the skyway, high above the busy little one-way. in my stupid hat and gloves, at night i lie awake, wonderin' if i'll sleep, wonderin' if we'll meet out in the street, to take the skyway. it don't move at all like a subway, it's got bums when it's cold like any other place, it's warm up inside. sittin' down and waitin' for a ride beneath the skyway. oh, then one day, i saw you walkin' down that little one-way, where, the place i'd catch my ride most everyday. there wasn't a damn thing i could do or say, up in the skyway."