I haven’t sold my soul yet – well, maybe a couple bars of rhythm and blues here and there.
I dream that I have found us both again,With spring so many strangers' lives away,And we, so free,Out walking by the sea,With someone else's paper words to say....They took us at the gates of green re...
His life had been tied to the past. He’d seen himself a point on a moving wavefront, propagating through sterile history—a known past, a projectable future. But she was the breaking of the wave. Sudde...
Here was world of simplicity and certainty no acidhead, no revolutionary anarchist would ever find, a world based on the one and zero of life and death. Minimal, beautiful. The patterns of life and de...
He was visited on a lunar basis by these great unspecific waves of horniness, whereby all women within a certain age group and figure envelope became immediately and impossibly desirable. He emerged f...
He is suddenly, dodderer and ass, taken by an ache in his skin, a simple love for them both that asks nothing but their safety, and he'll always manage to describe as something else--'concern,' you kn...
He continues to believe, here on his French leave, and at his ease, that the interference is temporary and paper, a matter of messages routed and orders cut, an annoyance that will end when the War en...
For many people laughing is a way of being loud without having to say a thing.
Every mode of violent death available to Renaissance man, including a lye pit, land mines, a trained falcon with envenom'd talons, is employed. It plays, as Metzger remarked later, like a Road Runner...
Eeh, but whah’s the use, the fuckin’ use? Dixon resting his head briefly tho’ audibly upon the Table. It’s over . . . ? Nought left to us but Paper-work . . . ? Their task has shifted, from Direct Tra...
Doc fell in to a car convoy, moving slowly, single lane through the fog. He figured if he missed the Gordita Beach exit, he'd take the first one whose sign he could read and work his way back on surfa...
Dixon, our, um, Lives? are in Danger? Hardly enough to interrupt a perfectly good— Here he is silenc’d by an immense Thunder-Bolt from directly overhead, as their frail Prism is bleach’d in unholy Lig...
Decisions are never really made—at best they manage to emerge, from a chaos of peeves, whims, hallucinations and all-round assholery.
Colder than the nipple on a witch’s tit! Colder than a bucket of penguin shit! Colder than the hairs of a polar bear’s ass! Colder than the frost on a champagne glass!
C'è questo lungo collegamento a margherita di truffatori e di truffati, di fottitori e di fottuti? E se le cose stanno così, io chi è che fotto?
But elephants have souls. Anything that can get drunk, he reasoned, must have some soul. Perhaps this is all soul means. Events between soul and soul are not God’s direct province: they are under the...
Bigfoot didn’t answer but there were times Doc could hear his silences, and this one was saying Too Much You Can’t Know About So Fuck Off.
At one edge of the base, pressed between the fenceline and the sea, shimmered the pale archways and columns, the madrone and wind-shaped cypresses of the clifftop campus of College of the Surf. Agains...
As the day light left the city that night, the streetlamps were not up to anything like their usual candle-power. It was difficult to make anything out clearly. Ordinary social restraints were apt to...
Anyone who wonders what Imps look like in their Middle Years would be perhaps more than satisfied with Shelby's Phiz at the moment,— Malice undiminish'd, with a Daily Schedule that leaves him too litt...
