What’s so dangerous about a free radical? Caring not to ask the mob: masters of puppetry and coquetry, who individually dare not splash in the puddle and ruin their batteries and silk, I let the question drift away…but like sea foam, it still hugs Read More
In the Tibetan mountains I retired to my little cot every night, happy to soon commune with my Lord. But these sallow eyes and wan complexion in this hive of ten-thousand street lamps, only want to escape, sacrificing prayer for distant and pale dreams. And the screen projects blasphemies, spitting them Read More
Here we go ‘round the prickly pear, full circle needing prayer
Ashes to molasses, dust to suckling star dust
Sing your celebration, don’t compensate for your salvation
Only to look upon Creation and see what you must: Read More
What system are you going to fabricate tonight?
A clear way to discern black from white?
In which all spoken intuitive fiction
Can become, once and for all, conviction?
Or will it be a new solar one
In which bodies of mystical mass
‘Circle’ a serene and older sun Read More
One of the greatest contemporary authors of American literature once described a character’s storytelling as being able to “make you smell the smoke from an unlit fire.” After having reread Annie Proulx’s oeuvre, I attribute this compliment to the Pulitzer Prize winning fiction writer herself. Here is a list of Proulx’s top similes and metaphors, compiled from four volumes of short stories and five novels (in chronological order. If I’ve missed some of your favorites, I’d love to hear from you.) Enjoy!
From Heart Songs and Other Stories (1988)
1. “Stong’s eyes shone like those of a greedy barn cat who has learned to fry mice in butter.” from ‘On the Antler’
2. “Earl was paying Santee three hundred dollars a week and he hadn’t shot a single bird. ‘How’s about this?’ said Santee, feeling more and more like a cheating old whore every time they went [hunting].” from ‘The Unclouded Day’
3. “Santee had not heard shooting birds was that hard, but he knew Earl was no good; he had the reflexes of a snowman.” from ‘The Unclouded Day’
4. “‘She’s Archie Noury’s wife. Rose Noury. Left Archie, come to live with Warren. For how long, who knows? What I call leaving the frying pan for the fire.’” from ‘A Country Killing’ Read More
Pray make me want to be a product of my environment around these ol’ mountains. They built me up so I may stand before them today, profess my weakness feeling peace in my breath and brain-beat, and with rugged belief, declare them cast into the sea. Read More
Full circle—the world really is changing. I know because I’ve been there and remember how it felt just before the ‘big bang,’ the orgasm, the branching into the true unknown. Read More
Reading Crime and Punishment in the dark and wet rural Chinese winter and Joshua got sick with a fever on the border town. Wanting to kill the nihilist prick, “Rodya,” I explored the streets alone and brought back a paper bowl of noodles. The inherent problem with writing is that it delineates thought and action. Can we write and free ourselves from further categorization, further erring by playing tricks that depend on the duality illusion? Read More
What’s maddening about waiting is that it takes you further away from that for which you are waiting, and when you get too far, Read More
After the quake in Shanghai she started spending most days at the art museum, in intimate positions with its subjects, and the patrons, their wide eyes blinking RAPE/RAPE and somewhere beyond the cornea, mind dilations: “The need to behold!”… True art. But these easy lids didn’t feel the earth shake. (Did it really happen?) She learned not only to shout when the painting squeezed her heart tight Read More