Tuesday, March 22, 2011

There are so many impatient people in the world. It seems everyone wants something right this second. We don't want to wait in lines, we get fidgety when our food takes too long to cook, and we have no tolerance whatsoever for anyone who holds us up from doing anything we want to do the moment we want to do it. I'm bothered right now that I'm having to wait till the end of this sentence to see what word I end up on. On, who knew? It's particularly hard to wait for things that are days or weeks or even months away. Calendars mock you, clocks pester you, and the rotation of the Earth seems to slow by at least 40 percent. I suppose, however, that if you were preparing to take over the world and you needed one final piece to fall into place, but that piece had to be slowly dragged over the dirt so that it didn't die, that would be really hard to wait for. I'd feel sorry for whoever that happened to, but then again they were trying to take over the world and all.
- from "Chapter Four: Look at Me, I'm a Chapter Heading" in Leven Thumps and the Wrath of Ezra by Obert Skye

Sunday, March 13, 2011

He was setting back in a swivel chair in front of a rolltop desk and he had him a dime novel he was reading. It was about some daredevil who kept rescuing fair maidens from Indians or whatever. What the fair maiden was doing where she was always puzzled me, and I was never so lucky. Most of the maidens I came upon were most unfair.
- from The Proving Trail by Louis L'Amour

Sunday, March 06, 2011

I'm wondering whether a similar fixation on erotic outrageousness isn't also a running theme in Canadian literature: after all, the Governor General's Award has twice been given to novels that feature a woman having sex with a bear (Marian Engel's Bear and Douglas Glover's Elle).
- from "Sex, Prose, and the Veggie Aisle" by Jeet Heer | The Walrus Blog

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Saturday, March 05, 2011

[We] trap out the beaver, subtract the Mandan, infect the Blackfeet and the Hidatsa and the Assiniboin, overdose the Arikara; call the land a desert and hurry across it to get to California and Oregon; suck up the buffalo, bones and all; kill off nations of elk and wolves and cranes and prairie chickens and prairie dogs; dig up the gold and rebury it in vaults somewhere else; ruin the Sioux and Cheyenne and Arapaho and Crow and Kiowa and Comanche; kill Crazy Horse, kill Sitting Bull; harvest wave after wave of immigrants' dreams and send the wised-up dreamers on their way; plow the topsoil until it blows to the ocean; ship out the wheat, ship out the cattle; dig up the earth itself and burn it in power plants and send the power down the line; dismiss the small farmers, empty the little towns; drill the oil and natural gas and pipe it away; dry up the rivers and springs, deep-drill for irrigation water as the aquifer retreats. And in return we condense unimaginable amounts of treasure into weapons buried beneath the land which so much treasure came from--weapons for which our best hope might be that we will someday take them apart and throw them away, and for which our next-best hope certainly is that they remain humming away under the prairie, absorbing fear and maintenance, unused, forever.
- from Great Plains by Ian Frazier

Thursday, March 03, 2011

Arzach is a strangely garbed, yellow-faced, cone-headed man, astride a huge pterodactyl-like bird.
- from "Flying to the Moon in French and American Science Fiction" by Danièle Chatelain and George Slusser

Hmmm.