wheelieterp: Head shot of me: black and white. Shaved head. Black, full goatee. Big toothy smile. (Default)
You are going to be on a small desert island for a year. There are no bookstores, and shipping to the island is a problem. Space is also a problem.

What books do you bring?

Ok.. Some specifics:

The island is 26 miles long and one mile wide. (Look it up: Providenciales in the Turk and Ciaco islands) there's sand and sea turtles, but no Barnes and Noble.

E-books from online are a viable option, but sometimes, I need books on paper for comfort; the act of turning a page or two lulls me to sleep at night.

Already in the library:

The Call of the Wild Jack London

My Antonia Willa Cather

The Brothers Karamazov Fydor Dosteovsky

Now... Your suggestions?
wheelieterp: Head shot of me: black and white. Shaved head. Black, full goatee. Big toothy smile. (Default)
"There is an ecstasy that marks the summit of life, and beyond which life cannot rise. And such is the paradox of living, this ecstasy comes when one is most alive, and it comes as a complete forgetfulness that one is alive. This ecstasy, this forgetfulness of living, comes to the artist, caught up and out of himself in a sheet of flame; it comes to the soldier, war mad on a stricken field and refusing quarter; and it came to Buck, leading the pack, sounding the old wolf-cry, straining after the food that was alive and that fled swiftly before him in the moonlight. He was sounding the deeps of his nature, and the parts of his nature that were deeper than he, going back into the womb of Time. He was mastered by the sheer surging of life, the tidal wave of being, the perfect joy of each separate muscle, joint, and sinew in that it was everything that was not death, that it was aglow and rampant, expressing itself in movement, flying exultantly under the stars and over the face of dead matter that did not move.”

Yesterday, my birthday wish for a copy of The Call of the Wild came true in a box of books from [livejournal.com profile] wolfdaddi.

As I wrote earlier, reading this book when I was twelve or so introduced me to the sheer joy, the ecstasy that is the blessing of good writing. At twelve, I knew I held something special in the first short chapter of this short but epic book.

I had no idea.

I just finished reading it again, in the beautiful, small, and gilt-edged hardback edition that she sent me. On Wednesdays, I spend hours on the bus, as my schedule is weird and I am running back and forth between the campus and my apartment. Several times today, on that bus, I had to put the book down and choke back tears…not only because of the story, but for the craft of the writing itself.

I am left with a velvety and sweet melancholy; a bittersweet aftermath. Reading such as this is what should have the ecstatic description of le petite morte, because it is the time I spend in books like this that feels to me that I am so full of the wonder that is life, that I must be crossing over the threshold of the divine.


Jul. 12th, 2006 11:38 pm
wheelieterp: Head shot of me: black and white. Shaved head. Black, full goatee. Big toothy smile. (Default)
Got another load of awesome looking books from [livejournal.com profile] dr_moni today!!

And which one of you was the one who sent me the Jane Wheel mysteries?? You know, Dead Guy's Stuff and so on?? They are FUN!


Apr. 10th, 2006 08:06 pm
wheelieterp: Head shot of me: black and white. Shaved head. Black, full goatee. Big toothy smile. (Default)
I was a victim of extrodinary, unspeakable violence and because of that experience, I learned to defend myself. Not only with actual violence, but with an ability to project a dangerous air; an aura of don't-fuck-with-me-ness that exists at the very frame of my demeanor when I am alone, on the train, at night, surrounded by tweakers and the boogeymen of perceived threat. This armor of attitude is not something I give up lightly, or even easily, so know when I say that a book had me weeping on the train this evening on the way home, it is high testament to the power of the writing.

If you have not read Barbara Kingsolver's The Poisonwood Bible, do it.





And I am not even finnished with it yet.
wheelieterp: Head shot of me: black and white. Shaved head. Black, full goatee. Big toothy smile. (Default)
But screw her!!!

An embarrassment of riches from [livejournal.com profile] dr_moni!!! Books!! Lots of books!! Including a boxed set of three books from Faulkner!! Wait!! What was that?? Shhhhhhhh!!! There it is again!!! It's faint, but audible!! All the way from Memphis, it's the sound of [livejournal.com profile] ink_ling squealing in glee! (knock it off, Inky, you sound like a girl!)

And kitty treats!!!!

My week is made.
wheelieterp: Head shot of me: black and white. Shaved head. Black, full goatee. Big toothy smile. (Default)
Afsoun got a wonderful book in the mail today from [livejournal.com profile] bearsir called PERSIAN PAINTING. It a beautiful survey of Persian art. And it came with a really nice card!! ([livejournal.com profile] bearsir has really hawt handwriting).

Her Royal Highness, The Goddess Afsoun would like to express her heartfelt gratitude to [livejournal.com profile] bearsir and would also like show her benevolence by granting permission to The human dirt slave... Er... "Daddy" *eye roll* to read it to her at night before she retires. Yes, she is kind and wonderous. All praise her.
wheelieterp: Head shot of me: black and white. Shaved head. Black, full goatee. Big toothy smile. (Default)
The honeymoon, while not over, is on hiatus. At around 4:30 am, Afsoun decided that she was going to test her new found sovereignty over the realm of my little apartment when she decided that it was an appropriate time to go a-strolling 'round the neighborhood. To do this, of course, she needed the door opened. Easily accomplished, to her way of thinking: just warm up the vocal chords and start meowing. Loudly. I figure something is wrong, and get up saying, "What is it, honey??" She shows her approval by doing the arch-backed, purring, leg weave thing and leads me to the front door where she looks up at me and YOWLS. Now mind you, I was raised by Siamese cats (Just ask [livejournal.com profile] ladyinthecanoe, when you are raised in the same house as Siamese cats, you are not raised WITH them, so much as BY them). So even a full-forced Persian meow is dainty to my callused ears. Five minutes of a Siamese meowing can wake you from a coma. Ten minutes will put you in one. I have been in and out of cat-voice-induced comas so much in my life that I feel like a shelf of Robin Cook novels.

So the response she got? I looked down at her, smiled sleepily and said, "Sorry, Afsoun, you are not going out" and went back to bed. She cried for a bit more and then went back under the bed, where she is still sulking. I am being punished, I know; but seriously, she JUST got here, is matted and declawed. She is not going to be going out on my busy street.

In other news, I went dancing last night. A block away, Daisy's alternator went out. I think it was the alternator, anyway; it was too dark to really see much in the engine. The way she died, it could have been that the distributor cap ground wire shook loose. She was fine, she was fine, she was dead. Turn the key and NOTHING happens. The headlights still work, but the dash, radio, ignition, nothing else. I left her parked downtown. Later this afternoon, B, my dance partner will meet me and we will use his AAA to have her towed back here. Hopefully, I will be able to fix her next weekend if I can afford whatever parts are needed.

In still other news, on Friday at school, I was given a copy of Barbara Kingsolver's first novel, The Bean Trees. I just finished it.. WOW... Really, really good. The language is incredibly rich in a fun, amusement park way: certain sentences and pieces of diaglog left me giggling with that fun tickle-dropping like feeling low in my center. She is a master of idiom. I highly recommend it.


wheelieterp: Head shot of me: black and white. Shaved head. Black, full goatee. Big toothy smile. (Default)

February 2011



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