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mika_ added 1 item to Read in 2016 list
Waiting for the Barbarians: A Novel
"'You think you know what is just and what is not. I understand. We all think we know.' I had no doubt, myself, then, that at each moment each one of us, man, woman, child, perhaps even the poor old horse turning the mill-wheel, knew what was just: all creatures come into the world bringing with them the memory of justice. 'But we live in a world of laws,' I said to my poor prisoner, 'a world of the second-best. There is nothing we can do about that. We are fallen creatures. All we can do is to uphold the laws, all of us, without allowing the memory of justice to fade.'" "I truly believe I am not afraid of death. What I shrink from, I believe, is the shame of dying as stupid and befuddled as I am."
1 year, 2 months ago
mika_ added 1 item to 100 Favorite Sci Fi Books list
Lake of the Long Sun (Book of the Long Sun)

1 year, 3 months ago
mika_ added 1 item to 100 Favorite Fantasy Books list
Lake of the Long Sun (Book of the Long Sun)

1 year, 3 months ago
mika_ added 1 item to Read in 2016 list
Lake of the Long Sun (Book of the Long Sun)
"'Innocence is something one chooses, and something one chooses for the same reason one chooses any other thing--because it seems best.'"
1 year, 3 months ago
mika_ added 1 item to Favorite Plays list
Talk Radio

1 year, 3 months ago
mika_ added 2 items to Read in 2016 list
The Essential Bogosian: "Talk Radio", "Drinking in America", Funhouse", "Men Inside"
Talk Radio

1 year, 3 months ago
mika_ added 2 items to their collection
Talk Radio

owned

7/10

The Essential Bogosian: "Talk Radio", "Drinking in America", Funhouse", "Men Inside"

5/10


1 year, 3 months ago
mika_ added 1 item to Read in 2016 list
Dream Work
Excerpt from "Dogfish" "You don’t want to hear the story of my life, and anyway I don’t want to tell it, I want to listen to the enormous waterfalls of the sun." Excerpt from "The Chance to Love Everything" "Fear defeated me. And yet, not in faith and not in madness but with the courage I thought my dream deserved, I stepped outside."
1 year, 3 months ago
Dream Work
 Dream Work 4/10
1 year, 3 months ago
mika_ added 1 item to 100 Favorite Books list
Go Tell It on the Mountain

1 year, 3 months ago
mika_ added 1 item to Read in 2016 list
Go Tell It on the Mountain
"There are people in the world for whom 'coming along' is a perpetual process, people who are destined never to arrive."
1 year, 3 months ago
mika_ added 1 item to Read in 2016 list
Captain Alatriste

1 year, 3 months ago
Outer Dark

1 year, 3 months ago
mika_ added 1 item to 100 Favorite Books list
Outer Dark

1 year, 3 months ago
mika_ added 1 item to Read in 2016 list
Outer Dark
"It's a hard thing to know what daylight will bring any day." "Hard people makes hard times. I've seen the meanness of humans till I don't know why God ain't put out the sun and gone away." "What needs a man to see his way when he's sent there anyhow?"
1 year, 3 months ago
mika_ added 1 item to 100 Favorite Books of Poetry list
Behind My Eyes: Poems
"A Hymn to Childhood" Childhood? Which childhood? The one that didn’t last? The one in which you learned to be afraid of the boarded-up well in the backyard and the ladder in the attic? The one presided over by armed men in ill-fitting uniforms strolling the streets and alleys, while loudspeakers declared a new era, and the house around you grew bigger, the rooms farther apart, with more and more people missing? The photographs whispered to each other from their frames in the hallway. The cooking pots said your name each time you walked past the kitchen. And you pretended to be dead with your sister in games of rescue and abandonment. You learned to lie still so long the world seemed a play you viewed from the muffled safety of a wing. Look! In run the servants screaming, the soldiers shouting, turning over the furniture, smashing your mother’s china. Don’t fall asleep. Each act opens with your mother reading a letter that makes her weep. Each act closes with your father fallen into the hands of Pharaoh. Which childhood? The one that never ends? O you, still a child, and slow to grow. Still talking to God and thinking the snow falling is the sound of God listening, and winter is the high-ceilinged house where God measures with one eye an ocean wave in octaves and minutes, and counts on many fingers all the ways a child learns to say Me. Which childhood? The one from which you’ll never escape? You, so slow to know what you know and don’t know. Still thinking you hear low song in the wind in the eaves, story in your breathing, grief in the heard dove at evening, and plentitude in the unseen bird tolling at morning. Still slow to tell memory from imagination, heaven from here and now, hell from here and now, death from childhood, and both of them from dreaming.
1 year, 3 months ago
mika_ added 1 item to Read in 2016 list
Behind My Eyes: Poems
Excerpt from "In His Own Shadow" "He reads: While all bodies share the same fate, all voices do not." "Have You Prayed" "When the wind turns and asks, in my father’s voice, Have you prayed? I know three things. One: I’m never finished answering to the dead. Two: A man is four winds and three fires. And the four winds are his father’s voice, his mother’s voice . . . Or maybe he’s seven winds and ten fires. And the fires are seeing, hearing, touching, dreaming, thinking . . . Or is he the breath of God? When the wind turns traveler and asks, in my father’s voice, Have you prayed? I remember three things. One: A father’s love is milk and sugar, two-thirds worry, two-thirds grief, and what’s left over is trimmed and leavened to make the bread the dead and the living share. And patience? That’s to endure the terrible leavening and kneading. And wisdom? That’s my father’s face in sleep. When the wind asks, Have you prayed? I know it’s only me reminding myself a flower is one station between earth’s wish and earth’s rapture, and blood was fire, salt, and breath long before it quickened any wand or branch, any limb that woke speaking. It’s just me in the gowns of the wind, or my father through me, asking, Have you found your refuge yet? asking, Are you happy? Strange. A troubled father. A happy son. The wind with a voice. And me talking to no one." "A Hymn to Childhood" "Childhood? Which childhood? The one that didn’t last? The one in which you learned to be afraid of the boarded-up well in the backyard and the ladder in the attic? The one presided over by armed men in ill-fitting uniforms strolling the streets and alleys, while loudspeakers declared a new era, and the house around you grew bigger, the rooms farther apart, with more and more people missing? The photographs whispered to each other from their frames in the hallway. The cooking pots said your name each time you walked past the kitchen. And you pretended to be dead with your sister in games of rescue and abandonment. You learned to lie still so long the world seemed a play you viewed from the muffled safety of a wing. Look! In run the servants screaming, the soldiers shouting, turning over the furniture, smashing your mother’s china. Don’t fall asleep. Each act opens with your mother reading a letter that makes her weep. Each act closes with your father fallen into the hands of Pharaoh. Which childhood? The one that never ends? O you, still a child, and slow to grow. Still talking to God and thinking the snow falling is the sound of God listening, and winter is the high-ceilinged house where God measures with one eye an ocean wave in octaves and minutes, and counts on many fingers all the ways a child learns to say Me. Which childhood? The one from which you’ll never escape? You, so slow to know what you know and don’t know. Still thinking you hear low song in the wind in the eaves, story in your breathing, grief in the heard dove at evening, and plentitude in the unseen bird tolling at morning. Still slow to tell memory from imagination, heaven from here and now, hell from here and now, death from childhood, and both of them from dreaming." "Trading for Heaven" "I saw you at the top of the stairs. Now I live a secret life. I saw you holding open the door. Now I’m filling pages with things I can’t tell anyone. Now I’m more alone than I’ve ever been. I traded every beyond, every someday, for heaven in my lifetime. Now I’m dying of my life. Now I’m alive inside my death. Do you see the space between our bodies? Barely a hand, hardly a breath, it is the space mountains and rivers are made of. It is the beginning of oceans, the space between either and or, both and neither, the happiness of forgetting our names and the happiness of hearing them for the first time. I heard you singing yourself to sleep. It was a song from both of our childhoods. And now I don’t know if singing is a form of helplessness, Time’s architecture revealed, or some inborn motive all blood and breath obey to enact a savage wheel. I found you at dawn sitting by the open kitchen window. You were sorting seeds in a plate. And if you were praying out loud, I’ll never tell. And if you were listening to the doves, and if their various whoo-ing, and coo-ing, and dying in time, are your earliest questions blown back to you through the ragged seasons, and if you’ve lived your life in answer to those questions, I’ll never tell. Your destiny is safe with me. Your childhood is safe with me. What you decide to bury is safe with me." Excerpt from "Descended from Dreamers" "Why are you crying? my father asked in my dream, in a which we faced each other, knees touching, seated in a moving train. He had recently died, and I was wondering if my life would ever begin. Looking out the window, one of us witnessed what kept vanishing, while the other watched what continually emerged." "Bring Home Her Name" "Whose house is this? Nobody knows. Birds flying in and out of every window all year long and doors swinging wide in the wind both ways, toward the glow of an imagined past, and toward the bride, that fleeing girl, the future. She hides by changing, escapes by standing still. The secret of possession? Go outside. She’ll come to rest inside you. Leave your will. Meet your dark lender, Evening, below the hill. Her father, he’ll tell you her name. Then you’ll ransom the hours and heart you spent playing house on property lent, taste her name and for what your life is meant."
1 year, 3 months ago
1 year, 3 months ago
mika_ added 1 item to 100 Favorite Sci Fi Books list
334: A Novel

1 year, 3 months ago
mika_ added 1 item to Read in 2016 list
334: A Novel
"Creativeness is the ability to see relationships where none exist."
1 year, 3 months ago
1 year, 4 months ago
mika_ added 1 item to Read in 2016 list
The Ice Queen : A Novel
"The possibility of being blown out like a match made us burn."
1 year, 4 months ago
mika_ added 1 item to Read in 2016 list
Bloom County: The Complete Library, Vol. 4: 1986-1987 (Bloom County Library)

1 year, 4 months ago
mika_ added 1 item to 100 Favorite Fantasy Books list
Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage: A novel

1 year, 4 months ago
mika_ added 1 item to Read in 2016 list
Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage: A novel
"'Pain is what gives rise to meditation. It has nothing to do with age...'" "'As we go through life we gradually discover who we are, but the more we discover, the more we lose ourselves.'"
1 year, 4 months ago
mika_ added 2 items to 100 Favorite Fantasy Books list
I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream
The Elephant Vanishes

1 year, 4 months ago
mika_ added 1 item to Read in 2016 list
Bloom County: The Complete Library, Vol. 3: 1984-1986 (Bloom County Library)

1 year, 4 months ago
mika_ added 2 items to Read in 2016 list
Bloom County: The Complete Library, Vol. 2: 1982-1984 (Bloom County Library)
Bloom County: The Complete Collection, Vol. 1: 1980-1982 (Bloom County Library)

1 year, 4 months ago

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