mud-luscious and puddle-wonderful
bookandbeer:

Book: The Sound and the Fury by William Faulkner
Beer: Amstel Light

bookandbeer:

Book: The Sound and the Fury by William Faulkner

Beer: Amstel Light

Photo: Eugene Atget

“Exit” by Rita Dove
Just when hope withers, the visa is granted. The door opens to a street like in the movies, clean of people, of cats; except it is your street you are leaving. A visa has been granted, “provisionally”-a fretful word. The windows you have closed behind you are turning pink, doing what they do every dawn. Here it’s gray. The door to the taxicab waits. This suitcase, the saddest object in the world. Well, the world’s open. And now through the windshield the sky begins to blush as you did when your mother told you what it took to be a woman in this life.

Photo: Eugene Atget

“Exit” by Rita Dove

Just when hope withers, the visa is granted. 
The door opens to a street like in the movies, 
clean of people, of cats; except it is your street 
you are leaving. A visa has been granted, 
“provisionally”-a fretful word. 
The windows you have closed behind 
you are turning pink, doing what they do 
every dawn. Here it’s gray. The door 
to the taxicab waits. This suitcase, 
the saddest object in the world. 
Well, the world’s open. And now through 
the windshield the sky begins to blush 
as you did when your mother told you 
what it took to be a woman in this life.

fsgbooks:

David Foster Wallace’s postcard to Don DeLillo, courtesy of Electric Literature: 

9-1 (CARDS WERE GIFTS–NO OFFENSE INTENDED)
DEAR D2, I AM NOW A LICENSED CA DRIVER, WHICH FROM THE SENSE I GET IS OFFICIAL STATE-CITIZENSHIP IF ANYTHING HERE IS. THERE IS A PALM TREE IN MY BACK YARD THAT’S 11 1/2 FEET AROUND. A BRICK SHITHOUSE OF A PALM TREE.  ¶ THANK YOU FOR YOUR NOTE. I HAVE NOT YET READ THE GADDIS, BUT I’M IN CONTACT WITH FRANZEN, WHO’S APPARENTLY BEEN CHARGED THE TASK OF A COMPREHENSIVE GADDIS PIECE BY THE NYer, AND IS ‘STRUGGLING’ WITH IT. ¶ THIS BLOODY MENGENLEHRE BOOK (IT INTIMIDATES ME THAT YOU KNOW THIS TERM) TURNS OUT NOT TO BE DONE — BOTH THE MATH-EDITOR AND THE GENERAL EDITOR WANT REPAIRS — OFTEN THEIR DEMANDS ARE MUTUALLY CONTRADICTORY. I WILL END UP HAVING SPENT 11 MONTHS FULL-TIME ON A PROJECT I’D PLANNED TO KNOCK OFF PART-TIME IN 4. I NEVER WANT TO SEE ANOTHER FOURIER SERIES AS LONG AS I LIVE. ¶ I’D LOVE A CHANCE TO EYEBALL YR. NEW NOVEL IF YOU DON’T OBJECT. AND I HOPE VALPARAISO IS IN GOOD HANDS WITH THE TROUPE.
Y.V.T.DAVID WALLACE

fsgbooks:

David Foster Wallace’s postcard to Don DeLillo, courtesy of Electric Literature

9-1 (CARDS WERE GIFTS–NO OFFENSE INTENDED)

DEAR D2, I AM NOW A LICENSED CA DRIVER, WHICH FROM THE SENSE I GET IS OFFICIAL STATE-CITIZENSHIP IF ANYTHING HERE IS. THERE IS A PALM TREE IN MY BACK YARD THAT’S 11 1/2 FEET AROUND. A BRICK SHITHOUSE OF A PALM TREE.  ¶ THANK YOU FOR YOUR NOTE. I HAVE NOT YET READ THE GADDIS, BUT I’M IN CONTACT WITH FRANZEN, WHO’S APPARENTLY BEEN CHARGED THE TASK OF A COMPREHENSIVE GADDIS PIECE BY THE NYer, AND IS ‘STRUGGLING’ WITH IT. ¶ THIS BLOODY MENGENLEHRE BOOK (IT INTIMIDATES ME THAT YOU KNOW THIS TERM) TURNS OUT NOT TO BE DONE — BOTH THE MATH-EDITOR AND THE GENERAL EDITOR WANT REPAIRS — OFTEN THEIR DEMANDS ARE MUTUALLY CONTRADICTORY. I WILL END UP HAVING SPENT 11 MONTHS FULL-TIME ON A PROJECT I’D PLANNED TO KNOCK OFF PART-TIME IN 4. I NEVER WANT TO SEE ANOTHER FOURIER SERIES AS LONG AS I LIVE. ¶ I’D LOVE A CHANCE TO EYEBALL YR. NEW NOVEL IF YOU DON’T OBJECT. AND I HOPE VALPARAISO IS IN GOOD HANDS WITH THE TROUPE.

Y.V.T.
DAVID WALLACE

(via powells)

“The courtship and remarriage of an old widower is always made more difficult when middle-aged children are involved — especially when they are unmarried.”
-A Summons to Memphis by Peter Taylor

“The courtship and remarriage of an old widower is always made more difficult when middle-aged children are involved — especially when they are unmarried.”

-A Summons to Memphis by Peter Taylor

Demeter, Waiting

No. Who can bear it. Only someone
who hates herself, who believes
to pull a hand back from a daughter’s cheek
is to put love into her pocket—
like one of those ashen Christian
philosophers, or a war-bound soldier.

She is gone again and I will not bear
it. I will drag my grief through a winter
of my own making, refuse
any meadow that recycles itself into
hope. Shit on the cicadas, dry meteor
flash, finicky butterflies. I will wail and thrash
until the whole goddamned golden panorama freezes
over. Then I will sit down to wait for her. Yes.

-Rita Dove, from Mother Love

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