May 2010
63 posts
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“The role of ruthlessness itself—the sort of pathological ruthlessness that even...”
– From Reading, Writing, and Leaving Home: Life on the Page, by Lynn Freed.
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“Revenge, for the purposes of fiction, concerns power. The power to expose, the...”
– From Reading, Writing, and Leaving Home: Life on the Page, by Lynn Freed.
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“There is little joy in those first moments of recognition—for the reality...”
– From “The Mute Ventriloquist,” short story from the collection The Secret Lives of People in Love, by Simon Van Booy.
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“levament
- n. “the comfort which one hath of his wife”
– (Henry Cockeram, The English Dictionarie, 1623) [via In a Word | Futility Closet]
I love acutely specific words.
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An Open Letter to Noynoy, by F. Sionil Jose →
decouvrir:
“Be the revolutionary your father wanted to be and don’t be scared or wary of the word “revolution.” It need not be always bloody. EDSA I was not. Your father wanted to destroy the most formidable obstacle to our progress — the Oligarchy to which you and your family belong. To succeed, you have to betray your class. If you cannot smash the oligarchy, at least strive to have...
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Just wrote a 4000-word piece on Lorrie Moore,...
Includes my history with the writer, how cosmic my love for her is—and how anything she writes that falls short of perfect is like a personal blow. Yes, I am talking about A Gate of the Stairs, which I still can’t help but love, even if I am hyper-aware of all of its flaws.
Link soon!
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To-do:
An essay/review on Lydia Davis’ Break It Down.
An essay on Edward...
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Yes, I am one of those losers who feel it is a...
I have very few passions. It is only right that I feel deeply for them.
I mean, I feel the same way about vanilla ice cream. Come on, people, it’s symbolic of our most primal desire in all things frozen-dairy. It’s the base! The alpha!
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“In the name of all the elves in Christendom, is that Jane Eyre?”
– Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Bronte. I never thought I’d say this, but: “Rochester, you so funny.”
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“If he had loved me, or even if he’d just have said so, I would have died of...”
– From A Gate at the Stairs, by Lorrie Moore.
The Primer // Christina Davis
petradactyl:
syllablefingers:
She said, I love you. He said, Nothing. (As if there were just one of each word and the one who used it, used it up). In the history of language the first obscenity was silence.
One of the handful of poems that I have committed to memory.
PS - I’m getting those last two lines tattooed. Somewhere.
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“This was love, I supposed, and eventually I would come to know it. Someday it...”
– From A Gate at the Stairs, by Lorrie Moore.
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“My life is a mess; yet I am fairly happy. Perhaps unfairly. I can’t say I...”
– From “What I Do For Money,” short story by Harold Brodkey.
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My Mother Has Stolen A Book From Me, Yet Again
My mother stole my new Simon Van Booy short story collection [The Secret Lives of People in Love] because she opened the book at random and found this: “I want to believe this more than anything, because if it were just an accident, then God must have died before he finished the world.”
My mother has promised to DHL me back the book on Monday. Heh. <3
You are too cute,...
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“We made love. We spent the rest of the morning making it, then some of the...”
– From “Believe Me,” short story from the collection The Whole Story and Other Stories, by Ali Smith.
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“Around me, in this tin can, my fellow travelers: we, the acquiescent, unaware...”
– Am currently reading ILUSTRADO, by Miguel Syjuco.
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The Midnight Hour
1 - There’s a lull in the Aquino-Roxas HQ, at least in my corner of the Expo. Everyone is tense, but we’re all hopeful. Many are murmuring prayers. I want to throw up. I’ve been trying to read a book, but it’s been abandoned ever since Comelec started receiving the transmitted votes.
2 - Yes, my boss is Mar Roxas. No, I am not doing this because of pahabol-campaigning....
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“But Penny resisted him. He was hers for the taking, and this was the problem....”
– From The Brutal Language of Love, by Alicia Erian. [Clickie link for my thoughts on ze collection.]
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“He was pleasantly mystified by the thought of grown people coming and going...”
– “Carried Away,” short story by Alice Munro. 