December 23, 2011

. . .

Posted by dean at 11:32 PM

En Poll, Page 9.

He catches the ozone bass of the rain clouds, and the tart mid-range sterility of the grass and earth, and some high, treble note he can't place. But nothing dangerous, nothing human or half-human. Not yet.

Posted by dean at 01:15 AM

December 17, 2011

Olden Infolds, Page 366.

Most places just are something, but America had to mean something too, hence her vulnerability -- to make-believe, to false memory, false destiny. And finally it looked as though the riveting struggle with illusion was over, and America had lost.

Posted by dean at 01:22 AM

December 16, 2011

My Gyp, Page 97.

Mental ill male tunnel path digging with elbows, driving with own knees so escape, possible able spread insanity infection.

Posted by dean at 01:42 AM

December 11, 2011

Parred Pity, Page 239.

We carry our family inside of us. It's who we are.

Posted by dean at 04:23 AM

December 09, 2011

My Gyp, Page 91.

Blue sky, no cloud mask against admiration of sun.

Posted by dean at 02:12 AM

December 04, 2011

Big Job Doom Thing, Page 45.

Maybe God only moves stuff around when I'm not looking.

Posted by dean at 01:54 AM

December 03, 2011


Beaver One: 'You know how to build a damn?'

Beaver Two: 'Gnaw, man.'

Posted by dean at 09:29 PM