It has been twelve weeks since I last throttled myself with classic fiction...
*Ahem*.
Okay, so the truth is a lot of classic fiction bores me, while most poetry makes me want to slit my wrists (or something less dramatic, but equally vehement).
However, there are writers in the contemporary world who I think aren't given their dues. They take my breath away with their ability to paint a picture with words. They evoke emotion and put me so firmly in their shoes that I feel like, just for a moment, we inhabit the same skin.
Here are brief snippets from two of them. (Ten points if you can name their pseudonyms without Google or clicking the links):
I can't tell you what it really is, I can only tell you what it feels like. And right now it’s a steel knife in my windpipe. I can't breathe, but I still fight while I can fight. As long as the wrong feels right it's like I'm in flight - high off of love, drunk from my hate.
It's like I'm huffing paint and I love it.
The more that I suffer, I suffocate. And right before I’m about to drown she resuscitates me. She hates me and I love it.
Wait…
Day after day, love turns grey like the skin of a dying man. Night after night, we pretend it’s all right. But I have grown older and you have grown colder and nothing is very much fun anymore.
I can feel one of my turns coming on. I feel cold as a razor blade, tight as a tourniquet, dry as a funeral drum.
Run to the bedroom! In the suitcase on the left you'll find my favorite axe. Don't look so frightened. This is just a passing phase - one of my bad days.
Would you like to watch T.V.? Or get between the sheets? Or contemplate the silent freeway? Would you like something to eat? Would you like to learn to fly?
Would you like to see me try?
Would you like to call the cops? Do you think it's time I stopped?
Why are you running away?
Your Turn: Wow me with a brief sample from someone you think goes unheralded as a fabulous writer in these days and times.
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I know the first one, since I love to eat them. ;) And I love that song. Powerful. The second one I have no idea.
ReplyDeleteI am not a fan of classics either. I just can't get into them. Oh well! :)
Eminem is a musical genius and nice to look at. Aside from that though...he's got a lot of issues.
ReplyDeleteChantele - That second one is Roger Waters of Pink Floyd fame. He has better lyrics, but I pulled those out because I ran out of time hunting for the best ones.
ReplyDeleteMichael - Agreed ;)
Great excerpts!
ReplyDeleteSorry i can't add anything to them.
Does bring me to think about people that deserve so much more and don't get it, or, people that have flown through the talent skies on a pair of wings help up by prayer alone(or perhaps sticky tape). Talent and recognition for talent is a rather changeable affair.
anyway thanks for the post.
sarah
I love these lyrics. My guess is you've never heard of this artist. :-)
ReplyDeleteJust lay it all down. Put your face into my neck and let it fall out.
I know
I know
I know.
I knew before you got home.
This world you're in now,
It doesn't have to be alone,
I'll get there somehow, 'cos
I know I know I know
When, even springtime feels cold.
But I will learn to breathe this ugliness you see,
So we can both be there and we can both share the dark.
And in our honesty, together we will rise,
Out of our nightminds, and into the light
At the end of the fight...
You were blessed by a different kind of inner view: it's all magnified.
The highs would make you fly, and the lows make you want to die.
And I was once there, hanging from that very ledge where you are standing.
So I know
I know
I know,
It's easier to let go.
But I will learn to breathe this ugliness you see,
So we can both be there and we can both share the dark.
And in our honesty, together we will rise out of our nightminds
And into the light at the end of the fight.
...and in our honesty, together we will rise out of our nightminds
And into the light... at the end of the fight...
cool blog! In terms of lyrics, I'd go with anything that's been touched by Jimmy Page, Led Zepplin are genius. In terms of books, one of my favourite stories starts like this:
ReplyDelete"Antonio Montoya's parents were killed early one warm August morning by a cow." (The Journal of Antonio Montoya by Rick Collignon)