So I'm realizing that is has been quite awhile since I have written. I have alot going on in my head right now, it's funny that I haven't found the words to express it.
First thing you might notices is that there is no longer a picture of the Michael Cisco novel The Tyrant on this page. ...That is because I finally finished it.
Yes I know, I know, it has been maybe 2 years or more since I started reading it,....and that doesn't mean it was bad, it took me so long to read because it is EXCELLENT! in my mind it would almost be like an insult to the writing to read lot in one sitting and skim over it, barely grasping the contents. ..Being too tired to read, or unfocused. All insults to the writing. ..which is why you can only read it in small bits. Cisco's writing is very dense. Reading 12 pages of cisco is like 30-50 of another book. They are complete sensory overload. (which is also makes it frustrating when you are 25 pages from the end of the book, ...or 12, or 6. knowing you're too tired to read more but you're just so close to the end.) I love the images and the crazy world he creates. It's amazing. His discriptions are so vivid that I remember that book like I lived it. I could go a month or 2 without reading it and remember exactly what happened when I left off. ....and sometimes the images are so profoundly beauitful, or fucked up and intense,....so out there, that I would have to shut the book and really absorb what I had just read. ....really ponder it, roll it around in my head, sit back and breath it in, ...mmmm I just had a nice thought, Michael Cisco is like Whiskey. Jameson. ...you take it in a small does at a time, and it really hits you stong. then you sit back and breath and suddenly this warm wave of honey washes over you and it is completely glorious.
Hmmm what will be the Michael Cisco passage of the day. Should I open The Tyrant at random?
Ah, yes, I absolutely love this passage.
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The Tyrant by Michael Cisco, page 78.
(apparently, Michael Cisco has a website!
Now the fires are behind him. through gaps in trees with dark purple foliage an entire continent can be seen, and a track is there lined on either side with dingy brass rails half engulfed in bracken. He takes to the track with bounding strides his exhaustion melts in his muscles and joints, delicious aching and weightless. To either side the track is lined with trees that bear dark fruits with thick spongy skin, the color of wine lees purple--thick spongy skin with a hard heart of deep amber hued candy; the fruit of the dead who eat it the dead are all sucking sweets their teeth gleam glassily sheathed in a clear glaze of brittle candy that splinters when they gnash--he's peeled one of the fruits and looks down panting over his palm where the skin of the fuit is peeled back in regular petal-shaped swatches. Inside is a ruby of red candy that opens in sections with a click, each comes apart in flakes--he lifts it to his nose and sniffs at the white glaze, comvulsively he crams the wedges into his mouth their edges and ends jab painfully at this cheeks
--sometimes, for certain peelers, this fruit peels to expose a heart of odorless clotted sinews sectioned in puckered wedges of sooty skin--torn open the pale sinews shred in frayed knots that make a fibrous popping sounds as they are pulled apart, a sound that groans in the gums like dry cotten gagging between the teeth--
he batters the candy apart with his teeth with a thunderous open-jawed crunching and grinding noise like any others these unseen in the forest, cracking bitter candy skulls their jaws dropping a fragrance a mandible all of dark wine candy polished bitter and fragrant, a click of glass lips of purple death mouth.
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GOD! Isn't that Amazing! Can't you just see it and hear it? it's just so intense.
(Munch, why do I think you should read some Cisco?)
As I've finished really every thing I've been seriously focused on reading, I need something else, and I'm a big wishy washing in my picking. I was all excited to read In Cold Blood after watching Copote, but (right now, barely into it at all) it's reading like a drab tale of mid west life, and having grown up in a less sophisticated part of the country Red State, this is nothing new to me and actually rather boring.
I have the new book by Chris Rice I'm waiting for the right moment to start.
I've also been working my way though Narnia. They are good, a rather pleasnt use of time, but I acknowedge that I'm reading them far too late in my life to really grasp the brilance. I'm sure if I had read them as a child it would like them more.
Dare I tell you, dear reader, that I was reading boxcar children books until 4th grade, then I discovered Flowers in the Attic, which is a fucked up series (6 in all I think) all about the negelic and abuse and murder of small children, ....also twisted tells of incest. ...in my need to read all books in a series, yes I know, I had to read all of them, and honesly if my parents knew what was in them.... ...but I went straight from those to Anne Rice's Vampires. And from Vampires to Irvine Welsh, Michael Cisco. I was reading Choke by Palahniuk, which was hitting a bit too close to home at the time, when B handed me the Soulforge.....My first introduction to fantasy...to Dragonlance. ...and I've been reading obscene amounts of fantasy ever since.
So, now I want good writing, AND a good story. There's the rub. I want to be able to grab a book and devour it,...and I just can't seem to find the right one.
4:00 a.m. - April 17, 2006
Recent entries:
Change. - March 17, 2016
Yes, I have returned. - March 12, 2016
Me being overly analytical of Britney and Christina - July 31, 2008
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Fantasy is sometimes better than reality. - July 24, 2008
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