Moon Man

April 3, 2009

“Midtown – the hotel windows
are narrow eyes, taking in
the high skies and the bare brown brick,
early, before the day time haze,
the almost ice, precise glint of the glass;
November, already
the wind and the cars and the honking
near misses are chasing each other
down the avenues. The moon’s a wink.

At every traffic light, the same man,
pale neon, white blue:
held together, so many dots joined up, elusive
and dependable, waited for; half his life’s
a blank: a dark transformer board
above square digit fingers, a red hand raised,
a ‘no’ no one ignores, falling away to
dayglo pearls, an angel without wings,
gelatin silver, an almost friend…”

Olivia Cole

Interesting lines…

April 3, 2009

“Vienna, in that perfunctory way of hers, has sighed and spread her legs to be shagged by the winter solstice.”

Adrian Mathews
Vienna Blood

Ummm, not too sure about that one…what about this:

“She raised her eyebrows and stepped away from them, but not so far that she couldn’t eavesdrop…”

Jonathan Lethem
Amnesia Moon

Oh, that’s a classic, a bloody classic – why the hell can’t I write lines like that?

And this:

“Excitement leaped like a trout in the public trousers.”

Thomas Harris

Or this:

‘And the great god laughed with a terrible thin laugh that brought to mind paper cuts and the slicing of eyeballs.’

Harlan Ellison
Chatting with Anubis

And this is ace, too:

“A bad feeling crawled up my trouser leg.”

Jay Russell
Celestial Dogs

Oh, yeah, and this SF gem:

“He pressed the button of the vibratory emulator; there was an inaudible beam, a wavelength of death, a movement that was less than a movement, and a motion that was less than a motion. And yet there were movements and motions that were more than movements and motions.”

Karl Zeigfried

Don’t you just love those movements and motions that aren’t movements and motions but are greater…well…than movements and motions!

Thought for the day

April 3, 2009

“All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know.”

Ernest Hemingway