March 2011
13 posts
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Jean Cocteau, The Holy Terrors
Found via Writers No One Reads, though Cocteau is a blockbuster compared to a lot of the stuff on there. In fact, I even know people who have read it.
1929:
Here and there, some fragmentary image stood out in stereoscopic detail between one blindness and the next; a gaping mouth in a red face; a hand pointing — at whom? in what direction? … It is at him, none other, that the hand is...
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long uneven hair: stories about disappearing →
a story about disappearing (via Maya):
George was dreaming about Mary again. Mary was standing in the middle of their living room, there was water pouring down from the ceiling, drenching the night gown he would always dream her in. She was mouthing something…
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That was the summer he spent abroad in Paris, a brief escape from the drudgery of academia. When they tore down the narrow building next to his in the steaming depths of August, shallow foundations gave way to forgotten cobbles, cracked sidewalk, a lone graffito that had once looked onto that dim street: “Sous les pavés, la plage.” He knew it, lost words of some nameless student...
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