Nation of Tire Sale (tdaschel) wrote,
Nation of Tire Sale

out on the tileS"

A couple of weeks later Gwyn took Richard down to his basement to show him how the wine cellar was coming along. Richard noticed a workbench under the stairs. There was a vise, a plane, a saw, even a spirit level. There were also several blocks of wood which someone had perfunctorily savaged with chisel and mallet.
"So you *do* do carpentry."
"No. I just got worried that some interviewer might ask to see the place where I did carpentry. Look. I even bought this handmade stool so I could say I made it."
"Good thinking."
"I even cut my hand."
"How? Doing carpentry?"
"No. Messing around with that chisel to make it look like I did carpentry."
"Fucking up that chair to make it look like you made it."

Dear Richard,
So then? No reply from the man. Well you said it, Dreams don't mean Anything. Gwyn Barry loves Belladonna, and Darko love's Belladonna but who does Belladonna love. She is deadley.
What about that "jar."

Yours, DARKO

X the monocled threnodist in the editor's chair ->

.. let's see if you've got it right at last. I have a duty to follow my impulses. To catch after my impulses, wherever they may lead. Because what am I really doing?"
"Research. When I'm playing snooker with Richard, or tennis, or chess, when I'm - "
"I wish you wouldn't."
"Wouldn't what?"
"Play games with Richard. You always lose and it puts you in a vile mood."
Gwyn paused stoically. "When I'm out playing snooker, I'm doing research. When I'm asleep, I'm doing research. When I go out hunting or gambling with Sebby, I'm doing research. When I'm having sex next door with Pamela, I'm doing research."
"She's your research assistant."
"Demi, that's rather good. We research in the missionary position. We research in the doggy style. We research with her on top: the cowgirl."
"But there isn't any sex in your novels."

(to forge a new art of the brave)
He had liked Steve Cousins because he was the hero of a novel from the future. In literature as in life everything would go on getting less and less innocent. The rapists of the eighteenth century were the romantic leads of the nineteenth; the anarchic Lucifers of the nineteenth were the existential Lancelots of the twentieth. And so it went on, until ... Darko: famished poet. Belladonna: damaged waif. Cousins: free spirit and scourge of hubris. Richard Tull: the good guy, down on his luck, and misunderstood ..

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