"[A]t their word
of command many millions of brainless, besotted beasts would stretch forth their noisome talons
from the slums of a thousand cities"
- H.P. Lovecraft, from The Street (short story)
For the past year, or so, I've been slowly reading through Lovecraft's complete works (it's quite the daunting task, specially when combined with the other antologies and collections it has to contend for time with). This story, one of his early ones, is a non-horror story (quite uncommon), heavily tinted by nationalism, xenophobia, and nostalgia. I liked many of the scenes conjured in the story, of stout houses and stalwart men, but the line above was specially eye-catching.
Showing posts with label Week 6. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Week 6. Show all posts
Monday, February 27, 2012
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Week 6, Junkyard Quote 2
"Yet even in this pastoral land
the green is mixed with battle cries
and phantom groans. A handsome spring
it was. But, my sweet God, to me
the flowers stank of sulphur and
their blooms were flecked with human blood."
A. Hudgins, from After the Lost War.
Been rereading After the Lost War, since it fell from my shelf yesterday, and I hadn't opened it in 3 years or so. Some passages like the one above feel very vivid, and a pleasure to read.
the green is mixed with battle cries
and phantom groans. A handsome spring
it was. But, my sweet God, to me
the flowers stank of sulphur and
their blooms were flecked with human blood."
A. Hudgins, from After the Lost War.
Been rereading After the Lost War, since it fell from my shelf yesterday, and I hadn't opened it in 3 years or so. Some passages like the one above feel very vivid, and a pleasure to read.
Week 6, Junkyard Quote 1
"Fluid sugar draws bees, fluid filth draws flies, and fluid situations attract the chaotic."
- FANTASYSMITH (pseudonym), from The Dragon #30 (Oct. 1979)
I love how "fluid filth draws flies" sounds and feels.
- FANTASYSMITH (pseudonym), from The Dragon #30 (Oct. 1979)
I love how "fluid filth draws flies" sounds and feels.
Week 6, Free Entry 1
During Mr. Vagnini's introduction, at the start of last Thursday's class, something he said about Italian ideas jumping over to English in interesting ways made me jot down a few lines on situations like that given between the languages I know and English.
Although poems are not my strength, I decided to give it a shot at one. This is my current draft:
Given a hug without scars,
west of Ithaca,
where killing shines
like amber mead.
A cotillion of snakes
shed from a myriad gorgons
is chasing its prey,
a breeze of mugged arms.
Standing atop the barren cliff
where a prince lost his sight,
the blue sawteeth race
and the flying cats cry.
Although poems are not my strength, I decided to give it a shot at one. This is my current draft:
Given a hug without scars,
west of Ithaca,
where killing shines
like amber mead.
A cotillion of snakes
shed from a myriad gorgons
is chasing its prey,
a breeze of mugged arms.
Standing atop the barren cliff
where a prince lost his sight,
the blue sawteeth race
and the flying cats cry.
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