Perhaps the greatest charm of tramp-life is the absence of monotony. In Hobo Land the face of life is protean—an ever changing phantasmagoria, where the impossible happens and the unexpected jumps out...
En sus sueños su pálida novia iba hacia él desde una verde bóveda de ramas. Sus pezones como de marga y sus costillas pintadas de blanco. Llevaba un vestido de gasa y sus cabellos oscuros estaban reco...
The mummied dead everywhere. The flesh cloven along the bones, the ligaments dried to tug and taut as wires. Shriveled and drawn like latterday bogfolk, their faces of boiled sheeting, the yellowed pa...
Suppose you were the last one left? Suppose you did that to yourself?
Se quedó escuchando el goteo del agua en el bosque. Lecho rocoso, este. El frío y el silencio. Las cenizas del mundo difunto trajinadas de acá para allá por los crudos y transitorios vientos en el vac...
He walked to the top of a rise and crouched and watched the day accrue. The chary dawn, the cold illucid world.
A forest fire was making its way along the tinderbox ridges above them, flaring and shimmering against the overcast like the northern lights. Cold as it was he stood there a long time. The color of it...
Where all was burnt to ash before them no fires were to be had and the nights were long and dark and cold beyond anything they'd yet encountered. Cold to crack the stones. To take your life.
The boy's candlecolored skin was all but translucent.
In the draws the smoke coming off the ground like mist and the thin black trees burning on the slopes like heathen candles.
Polished round and smooth as marbles or lozenges of stone veined andstriped. Black disclets and bits of polished quartz all bright from the mist off theriver.
Ella se marchó y la frialdad de la partida fue su regalo final. Lo haría con una hojuela de obsidiana. Él mismo le había enseñado cómo. Más afilada que el acero. El borde de un grosor de átomo. Y ella...
To seek out the upright. No fall butpreceded by a declination. He took great marching steps into the nothingness,counting them against his return. Eyes closed, arms oaring. Upright to what?Something n...
He watched him stoke the flames, God's own firedrake. The sparks rushed upward and died in the starless dark. Not all dying words are true and this blessing is no less real for being shorn of its grou...
Pe-acest drum nu mai e nici un suflet de om de la care să auzi vorba Domnului. S-au dus, iar eu am rămas și ei au luat cu ei lumea. Întrebare: prin ce se deosebește ce nu va fi niciodată de ce nu a fo...
His mind was betraying him. Phantoms not heard from in a thousand years rousing slowly from their sleep.
He walked out in the gray light and stood and he saw for a brief moment the absolute truth of the world. The cold relentless circling of the intestate earth. Darkness implacable. The blind dogs of the...
He rose and stood tottering in that cold dark with his arms held out for balance while the vestibular calculations in his skull cranked out their reckonings. An old chronicle. To seek out the upright....
You have to pay attention to the road even if you don't know where you're going.