Monday, September 19, 2016

9 1/2 Weeks (1986)

"Dad's mind wasn't like that; it got on one subject and stayed there, and ideas came through it in a slow, grave procession; his emotions were like a furnace that took a long time to heat up. Sometimes on these drives he would say nothing for a whole hour; the stream of his consciousness would be like a river that has sunk down through the rocks and sand, clean out of sight; he would be just a pervading sense of well-being, wrapped in an opulent warm overcoat, an accessory, you might say, of a softly purring engine running in a bath of boiling oil, and traversing a road at fifty miles an hour. If you had taken his consciousness apart, you would have found, not thoughts, but conditions of physical organs, and of the weather, and of the car, and of bank-accounts, and of the boy at his side. Putting it into words makes it definite and separate--so you must try to take it all at once, blended together. 'I, the driver of this car, that used to be Jim Ross, the teamster,  and J. A. Ross and Co., general merchandise at Queen Centre, California, and now J. Arnold Ross, oil operator, and my breakfast is about digested, and I am a little too warm in my big new overcoat because the sun is coming out, and I have a new well flowing four thousand barrels at Lobos River, and at sixteen on the pump at Antelope, and I'm on my way to sign a lease at Beach City, and we'll make up our schedule in the next couple of hours, and "Bunny" is sitting beside me, and he is well and strong, and is going to own everything I am making, and follow in my footsteps, except that he will never make the ugly blunders or have the painful memories that I have, but will be wise and perfect and do everything I say.'"

Oil!, Upton Sinclair

Tuesday, September 13, 2016

"The Library" Seinfeld (1991 TV)

Friday, September 2, 2016

knuckle down

Barfly (1987)

knuckle under

The Blues Brothers (1980)

"'I want Garp,' Alice said. 
'I''m sorry that you can't have him,' Helen said. 
'I'm thorry, Helen,' Alice said. ... 

Time, Garp knew, would ease everything. Time would also prove him wrong about Alice's writing. She may have had a pretty voice but she couldn't complete anything; she never finished her second novel, not in all the years that the Garps would know the Fletchers--or in all the years after. She could say everything beautifully, but--as Garp remarked to Helen, when he was finally exasperated with Alice--she couldn't get to the end of anything. She couldn't thtop. ... 

... And perhaps what remained of the friendship between the Garps and the Fletchers was actually saved by the Fletchers' having to move away. This way, the couples saw each other about twice a year; distance diffused what might have been hard feelings. Alice could speak her flawless prose to Garp--in letters. The temptation to touch each other, even to bash their shopping carts together, was removed from them, and they all settled into being the kind of friends many old friends become: that is, they were friends when they heard from each other--or when, occasionally, they got together. And when they were not in touch, they did not think of one another."

The World According to Garp, John Irving
"'We're talking about sincere gestures,' Jenny said. 
'We're talking about stupid gestures,' Garp said."

The World According to Garp, John Irving
"Years later, Garp read in a critical introduction to Grillparzer's work that Grillparzer was 'sensitive, tortured, fitfully paranoid, often depressed, cranky, and choked with melancholy; in short, a complex and modern man.' 
'Maybe so,' Garp wrote, 'But he was also an extremely bad writer.'"

The World According to Garp, John Irving

Tuesday, August 30, 2016

"...live your own life with a little privacy."

Element of a Crime (1984)

"She watched Sergeant Garp suckle in his sleep and tried to imagine that his ultimate regression would be peaceful, that he would turn into his fetus phase and no longer breathe through his lungs; that his personality would blissfully separate, half of him turning to dreams of an egg, half of him to dreams of sperm. Finally, he simply wouldn't be anymore."

The World According to Garp, John Irving

Monday, August 29, 2016

Monday, August 15, 2016

the trap is set

The Unbelievable Truth (1989)

Wednesday, August 10, 2016

Leaving Normal (1992)

"He looked at her again. Pretty. Pretty little black girl. Pretty little black-skinned girl. What had Pilate done to her? Hadn't anybody told her the things she ought to know? He thought of his two sisters, grown women now who could deal, and the litany of their growing up. Where's your daddy? Your mama know you out here in the street? Put something on your head. You gonna catch your death a cold. Ain't you hot? Ain't you cold? Ain't you scared you gonna get wet? Uncross your legs. Pull up your socks. I thought you was goin to the Junior Choir. Your slip is showin. Your hem is out. Come back in here and iron that collar. Hush your mouth. Comb your head. Get up from there and make that bed. Put on the meat. Take out the trash. Vaseline get rid of that ash."

Song of Solomon, Toni Morrison

this is how you go home





Tuesday, August 9, 2016

Dreamy Draw, "moving up from under the moon"

Leaving Normal (1992)

"Apparently he thought he deserved only to be loved--from a distance, though--and given what he wanted. And in return he would be... what? Pleasant? Generous? Maybe all he was really saying was: I am not responsible for your pain; share your happiness with me but not your unhappiness. 
They were troublesome thoughts, but they wouldn't go away. Under the moon, on the ground, alone, with not even the sound of baying dogs to remind him that he was with other people, his self--the cocoon that was 'personality'--gave way. He could barely see his own hand, and couldn't see his feet. He was only his breath, coming slower now, and his thoughts. The rest of him had disappeared. So the thoughts came, unobstructed by other people, by things, even by the sight of himself."

Song of Solomon, Toni Morrison

Wednesday, August 3, 2016

"'Did you do it yet? Do you know something both exotic and ordinary the I have not felt? Do you know what it's like to risk your one and only self?  How did it feel? Were you afraid? Did it change you? And if I do it, will it change me too?'''

Song of Solomon, Toni Morisson

and Yma Sumac go '..."

An Angel at my Table (1990) 

"Cry, Cries of animals. A special word is used for the cry, call or sound of many animals, and it would be wrong or even ludicrous to use these words indiscriminately. Thus, a dog does not 'buzz' and a bee does not 'bark'. The following are appropriate words for each:
Apes gibber
Asses bray
Bears growl
Bees hum
Beetles drone
Bitterns boom
Blackbirds and thrushes whistle
Bulls bellow
Calves bleat
Cats mew, purr, swear and caterwaul
Chaffinches chirp and pink
Chicks cheep
Cocks crow
Cows low
Crows caw
Cuckoos cuckoo
Deer bell
Dogs bark, bay, howl, whine and yelp
Doves coo
Ducks quack
Eagles, vultures and peacocks scream
Falcons chant
Flies buzz
Foxes bark and yelp
Frogs croak
Geese cackle and hiss
Grasshoppers chirp
Guinea pigs and hares squeak
Hawks scream
Hens cackle and cluck
Horses neigh and whinny
Hyenas laugh
Jays and magpies chatter
Kittens mew
Linnets chuckle
Lions and tigers roar and growl
Mice squeak and squeal
Monkeys chatter and gibber
Nightingales pipe and warble
Owls hoot and screech
Oxen low and bellow
Parrots talk
Pigs grunt, squeak and squeal
Pigeons coo
Ravens croak
Rooks caw
Screech owls screech or shriek
Sheep and lambs bleat
Snakes hiss
Sparrows chirp
Stags bellow and call
Swallows twitter
Swans cry and sing just before death
Turkeys gobble
Wolves howl
For some animals there are also words to imitate the cry, call or sound itself. Thus:
Cats go 'miaow'
Cocks go 'cock-a-doodle-doo'
Cows go 'moo'
Dogs go 'woof" [sic]
Donkeys go 'hee-haw'
Guinea fowls go 'come back'
Nightingales go 'jug jug'
Owls go 'to-whit to-whoo'
Pigs go 'oink'
Sheep and lambs go 'baa'
Yellowhammers go 'a little bit of bread and no cheese'
"

"Cry. Cries of Animals." Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase & Fable. Adrian Room.

Tuesday, August 2, 2016


"Finally Pilate began to take offense. Although she was hampered by huge ignorances, but not in any way unintelligent, when she realized what her situation in the world was and would probably always be she threw away every assumption she had learned and began at zero. First off, she cut her hair. That was one thing she didn't want to think about anymore. Then she tackled the problem of trying to decide how she wanted to live and what was valuable to her. When am I happy and when am I sad and what is the difference? What do I need to know to stay alive? What is true in the world? Her mind traveled crooked streets and aimless goat paths, arriving sometimes at profundity, other times at the revelations of a three-year-old. ..." 
... She gave up, apparently, all interest in table manners or hygiene, but acquired a deep concern for and about human relationships."

Song of Solomon, Toni Morison

"Die, Hagar. Die. Die. Die." (hot pink mouth)

Barfly (1987)
"woof, woof, woof, woof!"

"'If you keep your hands just that way,' he said, 'and then bring them down straight, straight and fast you can drive that knife right smack in your cunt. Why don't you do that? Then all your problems will be over.' He patted her cheek and turned away from her wide, dark, pleading, hollow eyes."

Song of Solomon, Toni Morisson


Barfly (1987)
"... oh, beautiful..."

Sunday, July 31, 2016

INGENIVM NOBIS IPSA PVELLA FECIT, Part I (1975)

"But her glance was nutritious; the spot became, if anything, more pronounced as the years passed."

Song of Solomon, Toni Morrison

Monday, July 25, 2016

"Oh, what, sorry, I forgot the bags are alphabetized."

("What?")
"Every other week you pull everything out of this cabinet, spread it out on the kitchen floor, then crawl around in it like an archeologist."

TB

Wednesday, July 20, 2016

Sweetie (1989)

Tuesday, July 19, 2016

"I arrive with fifty records, three sticks of incense, and at least ten plans."

Sweetie (1989)

"And the bodies spoke to me. I saw stories in flesh, the untold tales of dead arms just hanging there, of pelvises locked in 'Park,' of clenched fists and locked jaws, in physiques molded into attitudes of 'I'm not good enough' or 'Get out of my way.' Chests sunken in shame, shoulders riding high, voices edgy with anger or constricted with fear. The body never lies. 
Who could believe that the secret lay in movement? In making a home of this flesh we cart around like a burden?'

Maps to Ecstasy, Gabrielle Roth

"A moment's hush runs like a fuse through the wet sky."

Not Quite Human 2 (1989)

"'When I was a kid,' she began after a pause, 'I found a rope doll, an Indian doll. I liked it better than all my other dolls for a while, because I could pretend it was anything I longed for it to be.'"

Sometimes a Great Notion, Ken Kesey

"Our egos are menageries of dull, predictable soap opera characters we learn to play. They keep us from being who we are, knowing how to live and what to do, by sapping our creative power and sabotaging the authentic expressions of human energy..."

Maps to Ecstasy, Gabrielle Roth


"...I wan tu aul I wan tu nuthing."

Trust (1990)
Riddley Walker, Russell Hoban

Sunday, July 17, 2016

Your Brother and You

"But fellers, I pleaded into the whorled ear of rain, fair's fair, now, isn't it? Fair's fair? 
Yet, even in the face of that time-revered truth, the phantoms hung back; fair might be fair and all, they couldn't argue with that, but when it came to first baseman--or second or third--they wanted a cool head and a brave heart, not some dang punk who throws his fist up in front of his specs every time he sees a fast one skipping in his general direction. 
But guys... 
Not some dang sissy who falters, fidgets, and finally faints dead away and wakes up five minutes later with his trousers around his ankles and an ammonia capsule under his nose--just because a nurse pricked him from behind with a little penicillin. 
Wait, fellers; it wasn't just a prick. The needle was this long! 
This long, the sissy says. This long. Willa listen at him.  
It was so! Please, fellers ...maybe home base? 
Home base. Willa just listen at the pantywaist.... C'mon; let's get at it..." 

Sometimes a Great Notion, Ken Kesey

Friday, July 15, 2016

"And I fled to my room to recuperate."

"Nothing there. Nothing but dreams and delusion. They all were driven by the need for something else. But when the drive was over, and the dreaming and deluding worn out, they all ended up with the same dull old scene."

Sometimes a Great Notion, Ken Kesey

Monday, July 11, 2016

"'So you came?' I asked, feeling my disappointment turn to a covert elation... And your jealousy has given me strength to make the moon wait another month. 'In Viv's place?'"

Sometimes a Great Notion, Ken Kesey

Sunday, July 10, 2016

"THIS IS A VITAL ELEMENT."

Bull Durham (1988)

Saturday, July 9, 2016

The Crush (1993)

Monday, July 4, 2016

can you see my wild native blood?

Sweetie (1989)

"When I was young and walked this way--somber, sallow, and morose as a mudball--when I was six and eight and ten and thought my life doled out to me in mean, cheap distances... when I was a boy and should have sprinted barefoot in bib overalls along these ways where quails piped and field mice hid... 'why was I kept in Buster Brown oxfords and corduroy slacks and a room full of big-little books?'... 
... 'Why was I spun into an upstairs cocoon? This is a land for childhood frolic, with forests dark and magical... why, then, did I refuse it as my world-to-grow-up-in?' 
The question had a new and fearful ring to me. Always before, whenever I brooded in some moody apartment with some melancholy wine and let my mind wander back to stand gaping, perplexed and horrified, on the brink of my past, I was able to fix the blame on some convenient villain: 'It was my brother Hank; it was my ancient fossil of a father, who frightened and disgusted me; it was my mother, whose name be frailty... they were the ones who tore my young life asunder!'... 
... But that doubting moon wouldn't let me get away with it. 'Be fair, be fair... Can you blame the first ten years on the eleventh?'"
Sometimes a Great Notion, Ken Kesey

Sunday, July 3, 2016

keep it in, keep it out

"... Kesey stopped writing novels for more than twenty years. Decades later he offered this bit of advice to writers: 
'... And God will tell you to come to him and sing his praises. And he will promise that if you do, all the muses that ever visited Shakespeare will fly in your ear and out your mouth like golden pennies. It's the job of the writer in America to say, "Fuck you, God, fuck you and the Old Testament you rode in on, fuck you." The job of the writer is to kiss no ass, no matter how big and holy and white and tempting and powerful. Anytime anybody says come to me and says, "Write my advertisement, be my ad manager," tell him "Fuck you." The job is always to be exposing God as the crook, as the sleaze ball.'"

"Introduction," Charles Bowden (Sometimes a Great Notion, Ken Kesey)