fork!

[realthog]

As a result of a trip with Dave and Hazel Langford to Reading's Oxfam Bookshop during our visit to the UK a few weeks ago I became the proud owner of a copy of Uri Geller's fine novel Shawn (1990). And, true nuff and righteously so, it is full of swell prose . . .

 

Now at last Vera Verovna knew what she felt like: the mouse before the cat, the bee before the bear, the frog before the snake, the child before the dinosaur, the leaf before the wind, the beauty before the beast.

     --Uri Geller, Shawn (1990)

 

We're all toenails on our own bodies.

     --Uri Geller, Shawn (1990)

 

Psychpriapic News

What a primitive world men live in, she thought. How they fashion for themselves a clumsy creaking order in which they love like robots this way and that, with stiff shoulders and stiff spines. It could not always have been this way. It must be, she decided, the nature of the male martial spirit in thee modern age when killing had become mechanized. Men had tried to pass on their suppleness, their willowy martial nature -- a nature that bends before the blow -- had tried to pass it on to their machines. In the machines it had become stiffer than it had been in them. Much, much stiffer. So they pushed machine against machine, stiff, grating, creaking, cranking communication from machine to machine, from computers to computers. Even the swift arrows of their rockets were unbending. A dash and a flash, that was the way they worked. A smooth arc, contact, flash -- oblivion. They had become very good at the in-and-out, advance and withdrawal, but all of it with a stiff back. They were as stiff as the rockets they had learned to launch, and as hollow as the silos their rockets left behind. [. . .] Men have always been old that way, at least in modern times she thought. But women are born new and willowy in every generation. Men are born stiff no matter how they bend their bodies.

     --Uri Geller, Shawn (1990)

 

Afternoon Anatomy

Without you, she continued this conversation with that so faithfully cared-for part of herself [you guessed right which part], I would be nothing. But if the tray is brittle, who will trust the teapot? Who, my little pot of hot and scented tea, will trust one's tea if he doesn't trust the pot and he won't trust the pot if the tray is brittle!

     --Uri Geller, Shawn (1990)

 

Pumpkin Paradise!

By anyone's standards, Nina was a big woman with breasts as round and large as pumpkins in the Autonomous Region of the Ukraine, if pumpkins grew there indeed, which Vitrio would not have doubted. And even whether or not the Ukraine, known to the world primarily for its wealth of grain, was autonomous was also a matter upon which Vitrio would not have liked to be questioned. But that Nina's breasts were large as pumpkins -- any region's, anybody's pumpkins -- that could not be doubted. [. . .] Like her great namesake, the Soviet discus thrower, the psychic Nina Dumbatse had shoulders to match her pumpkins, and she now shrugged them . . .

     --Uri Geller, Shawn (1990)

 

Einstein Revisited

Time is flesh and flesh is gravity. Gravity is time and time is velocity.

     --Uri Geller, Shawn (1990)

 

Comments

[hutch0.livejournal.com]

Freudian slip!

[realthog.livejournal.com]

"Freudian slip!"

Eh?

[hutch0.livejournal.com]

That lascivious message from the hindbrain: `cig,' `smoke.'

[realthog.livejournal.com]

Oh. Blew right past me, I'm afraid. Gone like a puff of smoke, it was. I gave up a year and a half ago, swank swank.