I'm beginning to miss Spyder and Niki and Daria...they are creeping into my thoughts when I am not expecting them. Standing in the shower or making dinner...I wonder what they are doing...I love them all so very much....have examined their lives so thoroughly that I feel I know them by heart. Its disheartening when you realize that characters in books can become friends ... friends you'll never meet but who you can trust and know better than most.
I love the wait Caitlin R. Kiernan writes...and for those of you who have never read her...you are missing out on something truley magical. Silk is my favorite. It has been since I read the first paragraph in the fall of 1998.....
"Two nights before Halloween, as if it matters to anyone in the house, as if every day in this house isn't Halloween. As if every moment they live isn't the strain and the stretch, the hand reaching back, groping thorugh bottomless candy bags down to where front porches glow with orange flicker grins and skeletons dance hopscotch sidewalks and ring doorbells. And they are all here, here around her where they belong."
I rode the bus out to Barnes and Nobels because I didn't have a car and really didn't have any friends who did. I had ordered it after reading a review in the now obscure magazine Carpe Noctem. I started it on the way back to my dorm room and didn't stop reading until I was done the next day. Sleep deprived and in some middle world where her words were reality. When I was done, it was as if I all of my emotions had been raised to the underbelly of my skin and little droplets were starting to form on the surface...and the air was scalding.
I have read the books too many times to count. The pages are folded. My favorite sentences underlined again and again. The paper has a faint musty loved smell. The binding is cracking and torn. I love it all the more as the first time I heard the spine cry as I opened it. And I love them...all of them...
All of a sudden, when I least expect it or when I need them most...they creep in ... needing to sit with me while I drink coffee or lie awake with my under my cool sheets...and I need to be with them...
so, I'll leave you tonight with this...one of my favorite passages...then I'm going to lie down on the soft cushions of my couch which sink to form around my body...and I'm going to visit with them....
"She'd shown the tatooist the drawings she'd worked on for hours, colored pencils on the brown back of a grocery bag. "Just like that," she'd said, pointing, and the money from her savings, and she'd all the time it would take.....The salvation ink bleeding beneath her skin, beautiful scar to stand against all the other scars, the one on her face, and the scars past counting in her head."
She's lovely...isn't she
I love the wait Caitlin R. Kiernan writes...and for those of you who have never read her...you are missing out on something truley magical. Silk is my favorite. It has been since I read the first paragraph in the fall of 1998.....
"Two nights before Halloween, as if it matters to anyone in the house, as if every day in this house isn't Halloween. As if every moment they live isn't the strain and the stretch, the hand reaching back, groping thorugh bottomless candy bags down to where front porches glow with orange flicker grins and skeletons dance hopscotch sidewalks and ring doorbells. And they are all here, here around her where they belong."
I rode the bus out to Barnes and Nobels because I didn't have a car and really didn't have any friends who did. I had ordered it after reading a review in the now obscure magazine Carpe Noctem. I started it on the way back to my dorm room and didn't stop reading until I was done the next day. Sleep deprived and in some middle world where her words were reality. When I was done, it was as if I all of my emotions had been raised to the underbelly of my skin and little droplets were starting to form on the surface...and the air was scalding.
I have read the books too many times to count. The pages are folded. My favorite sentences underlined again and again. The paper has a faint musty loved smell. The binding is cracking and torn. I love it all the more as the first time I heard the spine cry as I opened it. And I love them...all of them...
All of a sudden, when I least expect it or when I need them most...they creep in ... needing to sit with me while I drink coffee or lie awake with my under my cool sheets...and I need to be with them...
so, I'll leave you tonight with this...one of my favorite passages...then I'm going to lie down on the soft cushions of my couch which sink to form around my body...and I'm going to visit with them....
"She'd shown the tatooist the drawings she'd worked on for hours, colored pencils on the brown back of a grocery bag. "Just like that," she'd said, pointing, and the money from her savings, and she'd all the time it would take.....The salvation ink bleeding beneath her skin, beautiful scar to stand against all the other scars, the one on her face, and the scars past counting in her head."
She's lovely...isn't she
VIEW 6 of 6 COMMENTS
dickiev:
That's the way I feel about Anthony Bourdain. Whether it is fiction or a cookbook I am so there. His last book, the Bobby Gold stories I bought on the day it came out and read it by the next day. Like I was eating some incredible meal and couldn't wait for dessert. I was so dissappointed when it was over that it was over. I wanted MORE. So I started reading kitchen confidential again. The book I have given to more people than any other. I Have three copies in my bookshelf, one I bought in England because it had a different cover and words spelled funny.
niobe:
Even though you have never commented to me and I am not entirely sure that I know who you are. I will add you anyway. 