Marmon Hamlit on AllNet Now! issued the final deathblow: Oh, the poetry thing from Whathisname—couldn’t read it. Didn’t try. Tyrena
It was a dramatization of total chaos, a functional definition of confusion, an unchoreographed dance of sad violence. It was war.
It says something about the type of writing I had been doing that my muse could flee without my noticing. For those who do not write and who never have been stirred by the creative urge, talk of muses...
It is true that we Russians have sent only four doctors into space in forty years of flight, but still I might have had chance to fly to Mir or International Space Station except for one fact. This is...
It is at times like this that I have the sense… the slightest sense… of what a sacrifice it must have been for the Son of God to condescend to become the Son of Man.
It has been my experience that immediately after certain traumatic separations—leaving one’s family to go to war, for instance, or upon the death of a family member, or after parting from one’s belove...
In this cold, teeth can shatter after two or three hours—actually explode—sending shrapnel of bone and enamel flying inside the cavern of one’s clenched jaws.
In his twenties, John Bridgens most identified with Hamlet. The strangely aging Prince of Denmark—Bridgens was quite sure that the boy Hamlet had magically aged over a few theatrical weeks to a man wh...
IT IS NECESSARY wrote Silenus’s own hand against the unyielding cold of the Shrike’s chest. Blood dripped on
I meant only to point out that in hopelessness there is always hope.
I am merely a poet dying far from home.
He sits in the straight-backed chair next to the bed and lifts a cooling cup of tea. If you die, what happens to me? I don’t know, I say honestly. If I die, I don’t even know what happens to me.
Finally, Weintraub had dealt with refusing all sacrifice, refusing any relationship with God except one of mutual respect and honest attempts at mutual understanding. He wrote about the multiple death...
Failing tastes of bile and dog vomit. Shame on any man who gets used to that taste.
Brawne looks at Johnny, realizing that she is seeing in infrared now as the heat-lamp light from distant furnaces of data suns bathes them both. He is still handsome. —
Anything is better than this penny-dreadful tale I’ve found myself in.
And above it all the butterfly effect. The sure knowledge that the entire life of a human being is like a single day in that human's life: unplannable, unpredictable, governed by the hidden tides of c...
Aenea nodded. It’s wonderful to preserve tradition, but a healthy organism evolves … culturally and physically.
… May there not be superior beings amused with any graceful, though instinctive attitude my mind may fall into, as I am entertained with the alertness of a Stoat or the anxiety of a Deer? Though a qua...
—No. He is asking us if we can truly bear hearing the story. Losing our ignorance can be dangerous because our ignorance is a shield.