. . yet there is no avoiding time, the sea of time, the sea of memory and forgetfulness, the years of promise, gone and unrecoverable, of the land almost allowed to claim its better destiny, only to...
So claim'd are the Surveyors in their contra-solar Return by Might-it-bes, and If-it-weres, - not to mention What-was-thats.
Failing to look inscrutable to any but the habitually dismissive ...
Writers, people you didn’t even have to say hello to—and still be horribly murdered for your trouble. Once-overs you’d found ways to ignore now had you looking for the particular highlight off some cr...
Wanted to believe—like a child hearing, in perfect safety, a tale of horror—that the unconscious would be like any other room, once the light was let in. That the dark shapes would resolve only into t...
Dark and be lost forever, some to edge into the fitful light of his attention whether he wanted to see them or not. Shasta had nailed it. Forget who—what was he working for anymore?
Young Tchitcherine was the one who brought up political narcotics. Opiates of the people.Wimpe smiled back. An old, old smile to chill even the living fire in Earth’s core. Marxist dialectics? That’s...
When they come to explain about the two Transits of Venus, and the American Work filling the Years between, By Heaven, a ‘Sandwich,’ cries Mr. Edgewise. Take good care, Sirs, that something don’t come...
What, I should only trust good people? Man, good people get bought and sold every day. Might as well trust somebody evil once in a while, it makes no more or less sense.
Wer die Wahrheit beansprucht, den verläßt sie. In Dienst genommen oder gezwungen wird die Historik stets nur von niedrigen Interessen. Sie ist zu unschuldig, als daß man sie in Griffweite irgendeines...
Well my darlin, can’t say it wasn’t a blast, shoat but sweet as they say around the pigpen,
Was it home, the mercury-lit street? Was he returning like the elephant to his graveyard, to lie down and soon become ivory in whose bulk slept, latent, exquisite shapes of chessmen, backscratchers, h...
Up on the bridge of the Anubis, the storm paws loudly on the glass, great wet flippers falling at random in out of the night whap! the living shape visible just for the rainbow edge of the sound—it ta...
There are stories, like maps that agree... too consistent among too many languages and histories to be only wishful thinking.... It is always a hidden place, the way into it is not obvious, the geogra...
The hand of Providence creeps among the stars, giving Slothrop the finger.
The classic hustle is still famous, even today, for the cold purity of its execution: bring opium from India, introduce it into China00howdy Fong, this here’s opium, opium, this is Fong—ah, so, me eat...
The Man has a branch office in each of our brains, his corporate emblem is a white albatross, each local rep has a cover known as the Ego, and their mission in this world is Bad Shit. We do know what'...
THE ENGLISHMAN’S VERY SHY (FOX-TROT) (Bloat): The Englishman’s very shy, He’s none of your Ca-sa-no-va, At bowling the ladies o-ver, A-mericans lead the pack— (Tantivy): —You see, your Englishman...
Sometimes in the shadows the view would light up, usually when he was smoking weed, as if the contrast knob of Creation had been messed with just enough to give everything an underglow, a luminous edg...
Some would say eccentric. I would say stoned out of his fuckin mind, nothing personal.
