segunda-feira, janeiro 01, 2007

P.D. James, The Lighthouse

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My brother-in-law used to read P.D. James - a lawyer thing maybe; usually I don't, but on long flights she sometimes works and this little gem struck me as I was finishing it off tonight (though why she slipped 'detected' in there? ... dunno):

Unhappiness, she thought, is a contagion. You carry the smell of it as you carry the detected stink of a dreaded illness.
      Kate Miskin, Book 4, Chapter 11.

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There is no moral here, nor any particularly intentional montage - just a few things on my mind.

Click to Enlarge / Click para AumentarClick to Enlarge / Click para AumentarA-and they hung Saddam, expeditiously; though what his death proves I don't know. Are hangmen and other official killers any better than thugs?

Ana and I were walking to the beach on New Year's eve talking about this. Suddenly there was a scuffle on the other side of the street in which one of the lads had a handgun. So we hurried. Talking to the other people who had seen it, looking for a policeman, not to tell mind you, just looking. It was that close - and I had been about to cross over because the other side was less congested. And Saddam was forgotten. Offerings made to Iemanjá; candles, cheap champagne, white gladiolas. Fireworks in the rain. Too many beers. Nowhere to pee. We came home soaked, laughing.

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Posted janeiro 02, 2007 10:39 PM by Anonymous Anônimo /  

Melly Vancouver Christmas to ya, cowboy, and a Bon Bon Nouveau Year.
-Meatball One

Posted janeiro 05, 2007 8:21 AM by Anonymous Anônimo /  

Glad to hear you laughing. All the Best.