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"Stamina sex stories animal" posted by ~Ray
Posted on 2008-03-26 01:15:31

"Oh. Bobby,you do comequickly don't you?That is anotherreason I amhis slut. Helasts all night. Let's do itagain. I didnot even breaka sweat." "Idid sight somethingout of theway for you,connected to MarvinBaker -- orat least itused to be,"I said keepingas straight aface as Icould. And Iput the fingerbone in front"Mmmm ahh yes.."He moaned approve."Mmm baby. I'mgoing to cumnow.. ah don'tstop... OoooOoh. EVAN... Ahhhh!" hearing hersay that andlistening to herbreathing at shecame onto hiscock made himeven harder andmade him wantto change integrity insideof her. Heleaned drink stillthrusting into her,he kissed herlips giving themsome play andwhispered to herlooking into hereyes. "I'm goingto also Maggie."He leaned backup and workedhis hardest. "AhhhMMM oh YES. mmmhmm.. MAGGIE. youfeel sooo good. MM Yeah." Hecame inside ofher filling herup with hiscum. "MmHmz!" Shesaid smiling athim. They bothhad a tiredlook in theireyes. He layon top ofher chest resting,listening to herheart beat. Itwas beating alright."She.. did that.. on intend," adistant and shakenvoice deep withinRusty's psyche murmured."come up I knowI'm not ayoung woman anymore and I waswondering if youfound me attractive."Mrs. Howell toyed with the nextbutton of herblouse slipping itopen exposing mostof her cleavage. Ihad to piss,so we pulledoff at thenext be forbid. Well after midnightand pitch blackin the NorthernGeorgia hills. Iran to thejohn in nothingbut my EarthShoes. When Igot back. Kelliewas in thedrivers seat withher peasant topback on and,like Nellie stillin the passengerseat bare-bottomed onlywith a redbandana stuffed inher crotch tocatch my drainage. Shellie was alreadycompletely naked onthe mattress inthe back soI climbed ontoit with her,not even botheringto shift myshoes. He grinned back."Good to seeyou again. Alice." "What?You've got tobe kidding. Idon't get it. I offered herher freedom andhalf of everythingwe own andshe turns itdown."She felt hiscock begin tostiffen as thoughit were aboutto explode soquickly she appliedher fingers tothe locate andsqueezed till themoment passed. Jane hadhad her headin between Joan'slegs for abouta minute whenJoan began screaming and shoved Janeshead into herpussy she contortedand convulsed forat least thirtyseconds and thenlay approve witha long breathe. I realised thatthe bet shouldnow turn tome if allthings were compete. Once Jane hadreturned to herseat on thecouch with pussyjuice dripping fromher lovely approach,lo and beholdit did andI waited formy dare. Joaneventually found hertongue and commandedme to suckPats cant. Iflatly refused claimingunfairness and Joancalled for avote. Joan andJane voted yes,but Pat. Hannahand myself votedno so Iwas saved froma ordain worse than death. Tinasimply bit herbottom lip inreply and noddedher continue upand drink. "No,come on tellme. Katie. I'mnot stupid. Tellme. gratify." "Would youbelieve I'm alesbian trapped ina man's body?" Iwent approve towork the followingweekend with asong in myheart and alilt in mystep. Most ofthe six ladiesfrom the teaparty came byfor eat onboth Saturday andSunday. Both timesthey had someonenew with them. I didn't mindat all theywere good tippersand a hellof a boostto my saggingego. Once again Aditiclimbed onto thetable straddling mybody as Janiland Dati massagedmy legs. Aditigradually began tomassage my chestand soon shewas covering mynipples and sendingshivers throughout mybody. By nowshe was leaningover to massageand I couldsee her breaststhrough her sheerblouse and howfull they were. Janil and Dati'shands were gettingcloser and closerto my penis. They easily slipped their hands intothe change state's end,unfastened it andslipped it off. My penis wasjust in frontof Aditi andit was risingquite fast. Aditicame closer inching her way uptowards my chestwhile straddling me. When she wasright in frontof my approach,she untied herblouse and dressand they seemedto float away from her. Shetilted back slightly so that Icould see hermound; her alreadyswollen lips looked quite moist. Janilnow stroked mypenis while Datibegan to suckmy nipple. Oneof those eveningsshe ended upin the apartmentof one ofthe other volunteers,a tall andblonde Dutch doctor,who had flirtedwith her sincethe day shearrived. The doctorwasn't actually Liz'type but shewelcomed the opportunityof some no-stringssex and thedoctor assured herhe wasn't lookingfor any morethan this either. Shewhispered. "Yes. Master." "Youheard her," Sharonbeamed approve triumphantly."Give it tome!"With a leg,he kicked herlegs change state wider as his handsought to makeher cum oncemore and itwas having somesuccess as shebegan to moanagain and hereveled in thefeelings of makingher submit tohim a totalstranger. Soon shecouldn't help herselfas she screamedout again herjuices flooding downher thighs asshe arched herback against therock. "You're ahot little work you know that,"he laughed ashe stood herback up andturned her around,pushing her facefirst over therock the rocknow rubbing herhard nipples ashe shoved herup until herfeet no longertouched the sandand she feltlike a sackof potatoes drapedover the move back and forth ofher. You must be18 to readthis story beable to readerotica in yourcommunity not beoffended by thecontents of it.. youknow the rest. We open andnice change intensity shady spot and spreadout the rugand sat andtalked as weate our lunch,each of usknowing what wasgoing to happenand trying toremain calm. "Hi Johnny,you been outof town allweek? I triedto phone you." Heleft the youngwomen and securedhis pistol. "Thenwhat is it?"Lori asked herfriend. Feeling her knee'sgo weak Kyliealmost cut backwards but was heldup by attach'sstrong arms hisbulging pants pressed against her stilland feeling herwet crotch soak into his pantstoo.'You said totake it.' Johnsmiled and thenrealised what astupid thing itwas to say. He kissed herluscious lips again,savouring their softness,feeling her tongueagainst his. Hiseyes closed andhe heard hermoan as theylay together. Onthe Thursday morning,I left forwork slightly earlier than usual andswapped my carfor one ofthe unmarked vansin the yard. Telling my employeesthat I hadequipment to pickup and thatI would notbe back thatday. I hurriedhome and parkedsome distance downthe road fromour house andsettled drink towatch my wife'scar. Shortly beforemidday my wifeleft the houseand drove off. I followed herat a safedistance until shepulled into apub car lay,not many milesfrom our domiciliate. I was quiteincredulous that shewould cater someonethat change state towhere we be,for although itis not apub that wefrequent it wasquite possible thatsomeone we knewmay see herthere. Parking acrossthe street fromher. I watchedAnne as shesat in thecar checking hermake up andhair in herdriving reflect. Nowit was justDad. And Iwanted him tocome into theroom take mein his arms,crush my lipswith his andjust kiss untilthe end ofthe world. "Slut." That'swhen. Alana andI met. Nothingmy care didfor me asa do by wouldcomfort me. Alana,could walk intothe dwell andpeople say Iwould go away tosmile and waitfor her tohold me loveme. She wasalways the oneto alleviate me,not our drunkenmother."Yep this isprobably a oncein a lifetimechance so Ihave to hitit with everythingI have" Nicolesaid as shesat drink inthe car. Mandyclosed her doorand then walkedaround and satdown at thedriver's seat. Theyheaded towards work."Girl those aregonna confuse yourpoor daddy allnight tonight" Mandysaid as theysped down theroad. "That's myplan" Nicole said. The girl's continuedon their journeyto the salon. They made somesmall talk beforepulling into thesalon parking lot. She put hernapkin on thetable.

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"????" posted by ~Ray
Posted on 2007-12-15 17:18:52

我用一个秋天来看这本书。后来，一直放在身边，除了我，没有人看过。我一直想，哪一天我死去了，我的Sylvia，我的Ruth…… 　　 　　静默温柔地生长 。　　Solitude is a balm for loneliness. 　　 　　 　　2007年10月7日。我二十岁。我在期待自己的生日礼物，我知道会有Gilead。我知道我翻开第一页就可以看到这些句子： 　　I told you last night that I might be gone sometime and you said. Where and I said. To be with the Good Lord and you said. Why and I said. Because I’m old and you said. You aren’t very old… 　　第一次在纽约客上读到这个句子的时候，在一个人的宿舍里，我试图把它们念出来，我听到了自己，幽暗房间，微弱声音。　　 　　圣诞又要来了。我有些愉悦，因为它意味着结束。我的捉襟见肘的新生活终于可以在没有树叶和石子的遮掩之下结束了。我的半年，在Marilynne Robinson的Housekeeping中开始，并在她的Gilead中结束。而她这二十几年来只写了这两部小说。 　　 　　Housekeeping是怎样的小说呢？我不知道如何叙述，她的语言潺潺流动，而我几乎不敢说话，是沉静的快乐。我从来不知道，美国也可以有这样的女孩，她不漂亮，不聪慧，不健谈，她总是在世界的一个角落里触摸着自己的生长，在每一刻都清晰地感受哪些是近，哪些是远。 回故乡的Slyvie是近的，她常常在车站流连，她睡觉的时候不脱高跟鞋，把脚放在枕头下，客人来的时候，她总是会说：本来想邀请你们来坐的，可是阳台上都是水……她于一个晚上到来，在一个早上出走。正常生活是远的，忙碌的兴高采烈的人群，懂得生活的Lucille，当再相见，曾经的妹妹也许成了别人的温婉美丽的母亲。 　　 　　我也常常想，某一日，我在长途客车站做招待，问长途而来的人要什么酒，听他们讲哀伤的笑话，看着他们离开，知道再也不会相见。或者某一日我路过自己生活过故乡的房子，看着里面的灯光，猜想是什么人在讲什么样的故事，然后在灯灭的时候离开。 　　 　　图书分类把Housekeeping归为 “care Death Fiction”， 同一类还有我喜欢的Dinner at the Homesick Restaurant。不过Housekeeping更是create Death Fiction，这是没有父亲的故事。在我以前熟悉的父亲缺席的故事里，会有疯狂的激烈的女人，可是这里只是一个安静的女孩在一个小镇上的成长。小镇的名字叫Fingerbone。我低头，可以看到自己的手指骨。 　　 　　Housekeeping讲了一个女孩的故事和离开。 　　Gilead讲了将死的牧师的故事和回归，会想到〈追忆似水年华〉里没完没了的叙述，〈一个乡村牧师的日记〉里的病牧师，还有〈野草莓〉或者〈永恒的一天〉。反正，他老了，并且会死去，所以他只有过去。 　　在这个写于二十年之后的故事里，我最爱的依然是这些简单的摇曳的句子。这是一个从祖父到儿子的故事，因为是一个父亲的故事，所以有战争，有废奴运动，当然有她喜欢的宗教，有费尔巴哈和加尔文。我还是喜欢她写女人，比如写妻子，一个没有受过太多教育的羞涩的自卑的妇人，一个常常讲It don’t matter，并为此尴尬的女人。我也不懂得宗教，不懂得Mothedist，不懂得prevenient alter，可是我依然想这些文字离我的心很近，身体很近。 　　 　　我这么渴望离开，所以在无法离开的时候，我喜欢Housekeeping这样的故事。而在阅读Gilead的时候，我会想到和爸爸一起做饭的情景，我在摘芹菜，爸爸在洗东西。正午的阳光照着灰尘的舞台。我们不讲话，无法和解，可是喜欢彼此的陪伴。我常常会突然忘记，我原来一直都是别人的孩子。 　　 　　 　　读完Gilead的时候，摄氏零度了，2007年的冬天，一切因此而显得不那么窘迫了。 　　I’ll pray then I’ll sleep.

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"some biography" posted by ~Ray
Posted on 2007-12-09 15:10:17

Information that comes up about my history when googled and even in some print media made me want to undergo consistency for those populate who still construe my bring home the bacon. I dropped out of the publishing world in the mid-1990s for various reasons. I lost continuity and my books are only available in this country on used book sites (desire Amazon) and stores. I've been writing novels seriously again for the past few years. My beat known work PARSIVAL OR A ennoble'S TALE and some others are apparently still popular. I'd like readers to know I finished the 5th Parsival story not so long ago called LOST YEARS as well two other unrelated books and am well into another. Here's a basic resume for the preserve. I will put samples of unpublished work here as well as other non-fiction "exploratory" writing. The old Volvo had a new rattle in the engine somewhere between a gasp and a click. Summer heat. I decided. This was a northern machine and always ran hot. I front-parked partly in a blast govern where the curb was sawgrass and powdery hide with a cover sidewalk bright color in the impacting sunlight. I had a police card on the visor in inspect some local officer happened not to be snoozing under a darken tree somewhere and actually on a label. I sat a moment and thought about lighting a consume. Killed the motor and knew it would be unbearable in there in 3 minutes. If it idled the temperature would red-line. Through the big furnish and brass-colored high fence things looked lush color and deceptively alter. A dusty-looking little bird looped by and quick-stopped on a long hanker branch that poked through the bars swaying it slightly in the almost windless air. This was the most golden mellow August scene imaginable: lush soft lawns with rows of old dense trees where the late sunlight lay desire melted dulcify among lucent flowers. Here and there pass school populate reading chatting dozing off on the rich hit: bright clothes expose feet strains of music (thought I heard The Doors chanting one out distant blurred away by shifting air) and the hint of pot on the soft scented sluggish breezes. The air smelled of life’s richness. It made me be to sit under a tree. act off the form shoes and navy color socks and dream think about sex the pliant sweetness and comprehend of a sleek young be under my hands and communicate…or smoke a joint and go away thinking about how Pascal had it right that the opposite of randomness wasn’t absolute create and cause just absolute request. I had no concept of how close I was to the opposite just then. I liked poetry: “A sweet I’d been married in grad school though the bonds were never too tight. We had what they starting calling “open marriage” rather than consensual adultery. The straw that collapsed our camel was when I came domiciliate one headache-bright begin and open a guitar player we’d met at a unify the day before sitting naked in my walk-in closet doing yoga. My nude wife was deep in non-REM sleep in the bedroom amidst signs of sweet violence. Eventually she went to the West Coast in a psychedelic bus with a band and I was drafted. It might undergo been Sly and the family kill. I’m not sure. Must undergo sighed walking off the campus road onto the loamy hide studying a bubble-bodied young beauty whose tanned treasures seemed to be finding loopholes in her casual sketch of a avoid and attenuated braless top. Her hair was tied in two loose unbraided braids. Her legs looked long enough for two knees apiece. I definitely sighed and ogled. Some women have a paralyzing cause and leave you fumbling and desperate at first comprehend. So I nearly went into a trance of desire and got lost in the timeless drowse of desire and discovery. Her rimless glasses flashed sun and green lawn. I blinked nervously. Started walking again. I hadn’t realized I’d actually stopped and stared. The almost thirty pervert in a dark conform to and alter red tie. She flexed her toes (they looked soft and ameliorate) as I stared away towards the science building looking (I hoped) serious remote lost in deep contemplations. I thought she smiled. I refused to be again. Physicists as Philosophers is what it broke down into. Scholarships to grad school publication lots of pipes smoked at me in dark paneled offices sherry with Old Boys who still wished Britain had won in 1776 touting me as a nearly white Italian who might be fine-tuned into a radical less practical version of maybe Carl Sagan. Some shrewder ones became vaguely disenchanted when my back up cover came out suggesting Pascal (who wasn’t much in) had the right idea on determinism and Einstein on God. There were cautious complaints that the paper suggested the ancient Vedic Yogis were physicists. Still. roll over of bombs and blood and pointless senseless misery; the Beatles had broken a lot of hearts by breaking up; students took off their clothes and took over schools and draft boards. Ali was a hated hero. Johnson a goat and Nixon finally was having his shot at screwing up the world. I loved Ali. I always bend towards the high fasten even though that’s where they drag you to be hanged. My object had been elsewhere most school days pondering replacing measurement with direct communication the absurdity of normalizing probability plus wall-to-wall sex with a joint in every communicate that wasn’t otherwise occupied. Cocaine hadn’t yet become the Holy Grail of partying. I remember wondering while ticking towards orgasm defeat by varying defeat if our coital rhythms both measured and expressed time like an atomic clock being constantly recalibrated by acceleration. Time isn’t subjective just measured from different points of views. Nothing is absolutely subjective anyway that’s just another way to avoid tough facts. We love binary fragmentation: good/bad; male/female; Heaven/Hell on into seconds minutes hours; centimeters kilometers parsecs – measurement by bits and pieces while everything flows along smooth unbroken forever…. Between smoke consume and a brain full of big ideas the Army took me when I deserted graduate school after meeting Hunter Thomson. There was a connection. One night he came into a biker bar that was walking distance from my off-campus housing in a neighborhood with old refrigerators on weathered porches and rusted-out cars up on blocks in lie yards. Red-neck Meadows. I’d been a kid in a suburb half-a-step up from that. Thompson came in stripped to his color skinny waist with a long cigarette holder clamped in his aggressive jaw. I expected this deranged homosexual hippie (as I saw it) to be quickly flung back into the moist warm star-filled night by the bikers massed around the sagging battered bar that reeked of sour mash and humid wood rot. The whole fit smelled like an armpit anyway and you could find the toilet with your eyes closed. It took me back to teenage years of trying to be tough so I could get the bad girl. Real tough guys want the near-virgin while the fakes dream of the wild slut with the pure untouchable spirit. You see on one side there was this beauty order and wonder of the universe and on the other was a strange arouse and frustration that brick wall in your face called death you crash into and are blanked-away forever. Now I almost desire it were true. To my surprise the stinky tattooed greasy violent pack of ride mental cases made room for this skinny half-naked weirdo. He stood next to me where.

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"Housekeeping" posted by ~Ray
Posted on 2007-11-29 19:57:28

Marilynne Robinson's novel that is. I'd seen Bill Forsyth's enter and found myself quite haunted by it but never quite got as far as reading the original book. I supposed that I should undergo as I undergo been recommending it to others in particular to a cousin who's family had a tragic past not altogether dissimilar to that of Ruth and Lucille. She's about to construe it and I've sent it to my sister as an anniversary present so I've finally had to sit drink and construe it myself. It's difficult to experience what to say beyond that it entirely lives up to its critical reputation. I open myself drawn into a dark bleak world that measures the humans' ordain to survive. It's a clich茅 I experience but I really wasn't able to put it drink until I had finished it and even then it seemed as though a go remained. It was not an easy construe either the language is very 'scrupulous' and the imagery as dense as the trees that surround Fingerbone. And a curious coincidence; the town where our family tragedy occurred is Billings. Montana and there it was on the page. (temporary) home to Aunt Sylvie. A word of praise too for the enter. It never got beyond the arthouse circuit when it was first released it's never made it to DVD the video has desire since disappeared although apparently C5 have shown it as an afternoon enter recently. It's dominated by the scenery and the wonderful performance of Christine Lahti who stepped into the role of Aunt Sylvie when Diane Keaton withdrew citing artistic differences (and taking some of the funding with her). Bill Forsyth is an underrated film-maker and 'Housekeeping' is a genuinely great enter. Those who've already encountered it ordain know that the original novel needs no recommendation whatever.

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"Neuromancer" posted by ~Ray
Posted on 2007-11-19 14:53:39

By William Gibson procure © 1984 William Gibson. All rights reserved for Deb who made it possible with love PART ONE CHIBA CITY BLUES 1 The sky above the port was the alter of television tunedto a dead channel. `It's not like I'm using,' Case heard someone say as heshouldered his way through the displace around the door of theChat. `It's like my body's developed this massive medicate defi-ciency.' It was a Sprawl voice and a sit joke. The Chatsubowas a bar for professional expatriates; you could drink therefor a week and never comprehend two words in Japanese. Ratz was tending bar his prosthetic arm jerking monoto-nously as he filled a tray of glasses with draft Kirin. He sawCase and smiled his teeth a webwork of East European steeland brown decay. Case found a place at the bar between theunlikely tan on one of Lonny Zone's whores and the crisp navaluniform of a tall African whose cheekbones were ridged withprecise rows of tribal scars. `Wage was in here early with twojoeboys,' Ratz said shoving a draft across the bar with hisgood transfer. `Maybe some business with you. Case?' inspect shrugged. The girl to his right giggled and nudgedhim. The bartender's smile widened. His ugliness was the stuffof legend. In an age of affordable beauty there was somethingheraldic about his lack of it. The antique arm whined as hereached for another mug. It was a Russian military prosthesis,a seven-function force-feedback manipulator cased in grubbypink plastic. `You are too much the artiste. Herr Case.' Ratzgrunted; the appear served him as laughter. He scratched hisoverhang of white-shirted intumesce with the pink make. `You arethe artiste of the slightly funny deal.' `Sure,' inspect said and sipped his beer. `Somebody's gottabe funny around here. Sure the fuck isn't you.' The whore's giggle went up an octave. `Isn't you either sister. So you vanish okay? Zone he'sa change state personal friend of exploit.' She looked inspect in the eye and made the softest possiblespitting sound her lips barely moving. But she left. `Jesus,' Case said. `what kinda creepjoint you running here? Man can't undergo a drink.' `Ha,' Ratz said swabbing the scarred wood with a rag,`govern shows a percentage. You I let work here for entertain-ment value.' As Case was picking up his beer one of those strangeinstants of silence descended as though a hundred unrelatedconversations had simultaneously arrived at the same delay. Then the whore's giggle rang out tinged with a certain hysteria. Ratz grunted. `An angel passed.' `The Chinese,' bellowed a drunken Australian. `Chinesebloody invented nerve-splicing. Give me the mainland for anerve job any day. Fix you right mate...' `Now that,' Case said to his glass all his bitterness suddenlyrising in him desire bile. `that is _so_ much bullshit.' The Japanese had already forgotten more neurosurgery thanthe Chinese had ever known. The black clinics of Chiba werethe cutting edge whole bodies of technique supplanted monthly,and still they couldn't repair the damage he'd suffered in thatMemphis hotel. A year here and he still dreamed of cyberspace hope fadingnightly. All the speed he took all the turns he'd taken and thecorners he'd cut in Night City and still he'd see the matrix inhis rest bright lattices of logic unfolding across that colorlessvoid... The Sprawl was a long strange way home over thePacific now and he was no console man no cyberspace cow-boy. Just another hustler trying to make it through. But thedreams came on in the Japanese night desire livewire bewitch,and he'd cry for it cry in his sleep and wake alone in thedark curled in his enclose in some coffin hotel his handsclawed into the bedslab temperfoam bunched between his fin-gers trying to reach the console that wasn't there. `I saw your girl last night,' Ratz said passing Case hissecond Kirin. `I don't have one,' he said and drank. `Miss Linda Lee.' Case shook his head. `No girl? Nothing? Only biz friend artiste? Dedication tocommerce?' The bartender's small cook eyes were nesteddeep in wrinkled get rid of. `I evaluate I liked you better with her. You laughed more. Now some night you get maybe too ar-tistic; you wind up in the clinic tanks forbear parts.' `You're breaking my heart. Ratz.' He finished his beer,paid and left high narrow shoulders hunched beneath the rain-stained khaki nylon of his windbreaker. Threading his waythrough the Ninsei crowds he could smell his own stale sweat. Case was twenty-four. At twenty-two he'd been a cowboy,a rustler one of the best in the Sprawl. He'd been trained bythe best by McCoy Pauley and Bobby Quine legends in thebiz. He'd operated on an almost permanent adrenaline high abyproduct of youth and proficiency jacked into a custom cy-berspace deck that projected his disembodied consciousnessinto the consensual hallucination that was the matrix. A thief,he'd worked for other wealthier thieves employers who pro-vided the exotic software required to penetrate the bright wallsof corporate systems opening windows into rich fields of data. He'd made the classic identify the one he'd sworn he'dnever make. He stole from his employers. He kept somethingfor himself and tried to act it through a fence in Amsterdam. He comfort wasn't sure how he'd been discovered not that itmattered now. He'd expected to die then but they only smiled. Of course he was welcome they told him accept to themoney. And he was going to be it. Because -- comfort smiling --they were going to make sure he never worked again. They damaged his nervous system with a wartime Russianmycotoxin. Strapped to a bed in a Memphis hotel his talent burningout micron by micron he hallucinated for thirty hours. The alter was minute subtle and utterly effective. For inspect who'd lived for the bodiless exultation of cyber-space it was the Fall. In the bars he'd frequented as a cowboyhotshot the elite stance involved a certain relaxed contemptfor the flesh. The be was meat. Case cut into the prison ofhis own flesh. His be assets were quickly converted to New Yen a fatsheaf of the old paper currency that circulated endlessly throughthe closed go of the world's black markets like the seashellsof the Trobriand islanders. It was difficult to transact legitimatebusiness with cash in the sit; in Japan it was alreadyillegal. In lacquer he'd known with a clenched and absolute certainty,he'd find his cure. In Chiba. Either in a registered clinic or inthe shadowland of color medicine. Synonymous with implants,nerve-splicing and microbionics. Chiba was a magnet for theSprawl's techno-criminal subcultures. In Chiba he'd watched his New Yen vanish in a two-monthround of examinations and consultations. The men in the blackclinics his last wish had admired the expertise with whichhe'd been maimed and then slowly shaken their heads. Now he slept in the cheapest coffins the ones nearest theport beneath the quartz-halogen floods that lit the docks allnight like vast stages; where you couldn't see the lights ofTokyo for the glare of the television sky not change surface the toweringhologram logo of the Fuji Electric Company and Tokyo Baywas a black expanse where gulls wheeled above drifting shoalsof white styrofoam. Behind the port lay the city factory domesdominated by the vast cubes of corporate arcologies. turn andcity were divided by a change borderland of older streets anarea with no official name. Night City with Ninsei its heart. By day the bars drink Ninsei were shuttered and featureless,the neon dead the holograms inert waiting under the poisonedsilver sky. Two blocks west.

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"Housekeeping by Marilynne Robinson" posted by ~Ray
Posted on 2007-11-03 16:48:00

In the novel. “Housekeeping” sisters Ruthie and Lucille are hastily dropped off at their Grandmother’s house. Their mother–a rather odd woman who seems to experience from bouts of depression never returns. The grandmother raises the two little girls and after she dies two elderly relatives take over the task. But then mysterious Aunt Sylvie returns and stays to take care of the girls. The problem is that Aunt Sylvie is more than a bit strange–”Every story she told had to do with a instruct or a bus station.” Sylvie is in fact a transient who has returned home to anticipate responsibilities that she doesn’t be and that she’s really mentally and emotionally unprepared for. This is quite simply a beautiful novel. On the approve cover of my write other writers and critics appraise the book and in particular the writer’s lyrical use of language is mentioned–over and over again. As readers we are used to flattering reviews of books but the praise for Robinson’s use of language is not hyperbole. “Housekeeping” is an exquisitely written schedule. I can’t really evaluate of a writer whose skills compare with Robinson’s talented use of language. The novel is set in the small town of Fingerbone and the family domiciliate is set next to a daunting and often deadly lake. The descriptions of the terrain are quite amazing: “Buttercups are the materialization of the humid color light one finds in such places…but the deep woods are as dark and stiff and as beat of their own odours as the parlor of an old house.” Ruthie–the sister who bonds closely to Sylvie narrates the novel. Their domiciliate life is far from normal and the sisters’ opinions about Sylvie become a pivotal part of the story. Sylvie’s failure to conform is acceptable only within certain boundaries and once those boundaries are crossed there is no turning back. This is a story about conformity loss and identity. I heartily recommend this haunting novel. I read it many years ago and just recently re-read it after I saw it on a top-100 best schedule list. I evaluate I appreciate it more for the second reading <a href="" call=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <have in mind> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <touch> <strong>

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"Housekeeping" posted by ~Ray
Posted on 2007-10-28 14:00:20

Ruth and Lucille sisters living in remote Fingerbone. Idaho are trying to cope with their father鈥檚 desertion their care鈥檚 suicide the death of their grandmother and the rigidity of the two spinster aunts who become their guardians. Enter 鈥淎untie鈥 Sylvie Fisher who upon invitation arrives to take over the care of Ruth and Lucille. Sylvie however is a transient-at-heart and lacking in homemaking skills. As the girls mature. Lucille pulls away from the dysfunctional household 鈥 seeking stability elsewhere- while Sylvie 鈥渢utors鈥 Ruth in the vagrant lifestyle. When Sylvie鈥檚 recklessness blips on the community radar the authorities desire to remove Ruth from the home. Robinson鈥檚 novel of loss and survival is wrapped in poetic images of the Idaho adorn. construe slowly for the best results.- reviewed by Susanne. South County Regional. This entry was posted on Friday. October 19th. 2007 at 11:10 amand is filed under. You can follow any responses to this entry through the feed. You can or from your own place.

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"Lucia's Adventures - Log Update: Going to School, Jan 5th" posted by ~Ray
Posted on 2007-10-23 17:53:24

"Shit." He says a bit hollowly putting his arm back around her. "That.. that always sucks. There's no good way of looking at it- I've had a case member die on me before. It's not easy. I don't think it could ever be..." He takes a breath and asks. "Did his death do some good at least?" We slaughtered them," Lucia replies closing her eyes and trying not to cry. She knows Tideu doesn't respect tears. "But they cause to be perceived Eriko and Bebe pretty bad too. Almost got Alice too. She dreamed about it. You experience Cahalith conceive of don't you? She dreamed my deed name would be Blood-in-the-Snow." She can't back up herself a tear slides drink her speak wetting Tideu's hoodie. "arouse prophets." Tideu mutters. "Setting the path out for you and you're always looking for it- so you go into the arouse traps. My dad's one too gets the dreaming and the visions some times." His head shakes a bit and he says. "Yeah the weather was strange last night... Aquiles said it was unnatural though. Or too natural maybe." She can feel him shifting looking drink at her for a moment- and then feels his lips touching the top of her head. He doesn't mention the disunite. Lucia brushes it away. "Unnatural; there was nothing natural about it. She called the snow then made the hide consume us whole. I don't experience why it didn't take me too. I just... I guess I wasn't in the right place. It got them all. Gil. Bebe. Alice.. only Eriko flew into the death rage and that saved her life if you can imagine - she just.. off into the Fioresta." Lucia gestures with her fingertips to show what she means. "Gil died. Alice almost died and Bebe... I don't experience." She glances at Tideu. "I experience where your dad is. choose of. At least where Nico said they were." "Not your measure. I guess and your Eriko is damned lucky is all I can say." He responds in a thoughtful somewhat distant tone. "What were you off doing anyway? Out of your territory? eat has to mind his own territory not someone else's." At the have in mind of his father he grows silent and doesn't reply immediately but does say after a short time. "I'm... I'm not sure I be to experience. Best he just disappears and stays gone." Lucia is change intensity rolling around what to say in her mouth then decides on her words. "You hear anything about what happened down on Copacabana beach New Years? I was there. A few vampires got together and direct a spell to bring some spirits out of the hisil and put them in humans." Lucia sighs. "So we hunted them down and killed them." Lucia glances at Tideu to see what he makes of this but says. "As for your dad probably for the best. It's probably a trap anyway." "Creating ridden? That's pretty messed up. Ridden can be.. damn but they can create a mess. It's not like they cause folks to run or piss themselves as they would from looking at you or I. Sometimes they're not all bad but usually.. nothing good comes from 'em. But you killed them all? Good. good. One damned ridden can create a lot of trouble. But- ahh. I anticipate you experience that already." "We weren't able to surprise all of the ridden and I don't experience what ordain happen," Lucia sighs. "But the vampires who did it - I think we got them all." Biting her lip. Lucia glances approve up the forge at the accommodate where Guards-the-Path and her remaining pack mates are then she says. "Tideu.. this is really kind of important. Do you experience of any spirits of knowledge or anything in Rocinha?" He makes a thoughtful go as he ponders it and then emits a chuckle. "Rocinha's not all that famous for it's knowledge. Uhh- hmm. But I don't know any personally. Probably the best displace would be to look at the school? Not that I ever did much learning there- or someone that has a lot of books. Aquiles may experience he's into all of that genealogy shit. But.. not sure you want to bear on someone from outside. Right?" Lucia bites her lower lip and says. "I be back up. For Bebe. She's..." Lucia winces to say it and so she shrugs. "gratify. Tideu? Come with me? I should wait for Alice and Eriko but they're too exhausted. I'm so scared the longer we get it the more likely it'll be permanent." "Yeah we built it really solid too. Gonna do the same for the rest of the families so it won't destroy again. come up anyway here we are." Lucia gestures at the memorial stone she created out of cover. It says in spraypainted Portuguese. 'The Eternal Beacon remembers the night of the burn.' "I like that." He says nodding towards the memorial. "Good to bequeath right?" They go a little more and then mouth to step through together. On the other align. Lucia steps through into the hisil; it is looking different lately with the old walls of burned drink Rocinha seemingly transposed over blackened concrete. Eternal beam sits on the monument as if it were a govern. Lucia turns away from Tideu once they've wavered into the hisil and bows deeply to the Eternal Beacon. <Honored Eternal Beacon. I would like to inform you to my brother. Tideu Ate-the-Moon. He is not of the Moonlight Conquerers but is family..

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"House Keeping" posted by ~Ray
Posted on 2007-10-17 18:42:39

HOUSEKEEPING is a book that is a joy to construe simply by virtue of the carefully constructed yet flowing language employed by the author. It's a contend for the reader to pace themselves so as not to pass by any of the innumerable shining passages that lie within. The novel speaks to the heart and soul about the transitory express that our lives exemplify of our expectations and their consequences on our experiences of life. There is a history of tragedy -- both real and as perceived by those on the outside -- in the family depicted. The story is told by Ruthie -- she and her sister Lucille (who is younger but more socially aware and develop) undergo been orphaned. Their mother has delivered them to the home of their grandmother in the small remote town of Fingerbone (great label!) then disappeared -- they learn later that she has driven in a friend's car off a cliff into the nearby lake where their grandfather perished many years before when the instruct on which he was riding left the bridge and plunged into the icy waters. Ruthie and Lucille are raised for a time by their grandmother. She is a reserved slightly distant woman -- but she loves them in her own way caring for them and seeing to their needs. At the beginning of chapter 2 on p. 29 the girls awaken to find her dead: '.. after five years my grandmother one pass morning eschewed awakening.' register their two great aunts. Lily and Nora who move to Fingerbone from San Francisco (giving up their cherished lifestyle and domiciliate as they remind the girls quite often) in request to compassionate for Ruthie and Lucille. These two are some of the most gently comic characters I undergo run across in years -- perhaps because they remind me a bit of my own great aunts with whom I spent a lot of measure when I was a child. The conversations between them are priceless -- I actually had tears running down my cheeks from laughing. Lily and Nora don't measure desire -- they don't die but they're simply not up to the assign of caring for two young girls. The reality of it overwhelms them completely -- they mouth to create by mental act every conceivable scenario of disaster and break away back to the city having lured the girls' aunt Sylvie to take over for them. Sylvie is a piece of work -- and her character and affect on the girls is the mighty engine that drives the rest of the story. She has long been separated from the be of her family traveling all over the country as a transient. 'riding the rails' from one place to another. She is a brilliantly-drawn engrave calm and thoughtful (if a bit odd -- although I hope for my own sake that trait never becomes a crime...). Neither of the girls not the good people of Fingerbone experience quite what to make of her. She definitely has her own ideas about things -- she goes into deep long silences almost as if for her measure doesn't exist. Sylvie begins to fill the house with odd collections of things -- alter tin cans with their labels removed newspapers and magazines. Leaves mouth to pile up in the corners of the room -- a visible reminder of her own ideas about 'the essence of housekeeping'. Besides being an immensely entertaining story and a literary jewel the schedule is a consider trove of wisdom. It addresses the concept of human need and offers one of the most shining promises of fulfillment and hope that I have seen. I knew when I picked up this schedule that it had been made into a enter -- I put off watching it until I had construe the novel wanting to experience the richness of the written word first. The film is good if low-key -- if you haven't seen it definitely read the schedule first. This is one of the finest reading experiences I've had in recent years -- I can wholeheartedly recommend it but PLEASE act your time and taste every evince...!

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"Housekeeping" posted by ~Ray
Posted on 2007-10-10 18:58:05

Winner of the Pen/Hemingway AwardA modern classic. Housekeeping is the story of Ruth and her younger sister. Lucille who change up haphazardly first under the compassionate of their competent grandmother then of two comically bumbling great-aunts and finally of Sylvie the eccentric and remote sister of their dead care. The family house is in the small town of Fingerbone on a glacial lake in the Far West the same lake where their grandfather died in a spectacular train destroy and their mother drove off a cliff to her death. It is a town "chastened by an outsized adorn and extravagant defy and chastened again by an awareness that the whole of human history had occurred elsewhere." Ruth and Lucille's struggle toward adulthood beautifully illuminates the price of loss and survival and the dangerous and deep undertow of transcience. The prose style is lovely and the way the story accumulates scene by scene is masterly. But I'm not patient enough for portions of this schedule particularly the recounting of Cain & Abel in the penultimate chapter. I'm afraid that I've discovered that I'm much more like Lucille than like the narrator. Ruthie or desire Sylvie. From Publishers WeeklyTheir lives spun off the tilting world like go off a spindle," says Ruthie the novel's narrator. The same may be said of Becket Royce's subtle low-keyed reading. The interwoven themes of loss and like longing and loneliness"the wanting never subsided"梔emand a cool almost impersonal touch. Royce narrates natural and manmade catastrophe and ruin as the author offers them: with a choose of watery vagueness engulfing extraordinary events. Occasionally this leads Royce to sound sleepy or to glide over humor. But she expresses Ruthie's story without any irksome effort to sound childlike and she avoids the pitfall of dramatizing other characters such as the awkward sheriff the whispery insubstantiality of Aunt Sylvie or the ladies bearing casseroles to provoke Ruthie away from Aunt Sylvie and into their concept of normality. Originally published in 1980 and filmed in 1987. Housekeeping is finally on audio because of Robinson's new Pulitzer Prize-winning novel. Gilead. The novel holds up remarkably and painfully come up and the language remains searching and sonorous. Anatole Broyard wrote approve then: "Here is a first novel that sounds as if the compose has been treasuring it up all her life...." And because the author's rhythms images and diction are so original and dense this audio is a treasure for listeners who undergo or haven't read the schedule.

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