… from the last week:
The last paragraph of Denis Johnson’s novella Train Dreams:
But they hushed, all at once and quite abruptly, when he stood still at center stage, his arms straight out from his shoulders, and went rigid, and began to tremble with a massive inner dynamism. Nobody present had ever seen anyone stand so still and yet so strangely mobile. He laid his head back until his scalp contacted his spine, that far back, and opened his throat, and a sound rose in the auditorium like a wind coming from all four directions, low and terrifying, rumbling up from the ground beneath the floor, and it gathered into a roar that sucked at the hearing itself, and coalesced into a voice that penetrated into the sinuses and finally into the very minds of those hearing it, taking itself higher and higher, more and more awful and beautiful, the originating ideal of all such sounds ever made, of the foghorn and the ship’s horn, the locomotives’ lonesome whistle, of opera singing and the music of flutes and the continuous moan-music of bagpipes. And suddenly it all went black. And that time was gone forever.
Real Gone but not forgotten:
Vali Myers Moby Dick:
Leonard Cohen’s prognosis for The Future.
You’ll see a woman/hanging upside down/her features covered by her fallen gown/and all the lousy little poets/coming round/tryin’ to sound like Charlie Manson:
The Present… Harvey Wasserman reporting on Fukushima. “…the fact that 300 tons [of toxic water] are leaking into the Pacific daily… It could go on… for 50 years.”
Who knows, right? But personally I’ve giving up eating any fish that come out of the Pacific ocean just to be on the safe side. Not that I want to interfere in choice issues, but if you’re thinking of having a child in California I’d give serious consideration to moving inland before doing so:
Tomi Ungerer’s favorite painter, Mathias Grünewald: