Marco smiles, they shake hands, and Robert Blackfeather Sherman sees it again, as he did when Marco knelt before him just a few minutes ago: The light warps around Marco Angelo Oliveira; the colors of the trees and sky stretch and smear, as if Marco is an empty place in the shape of a man and the earth and air around him are screaming to fill it.
Brian Francis SlatteryHe tans into burning while the opening fanfare to "Peaches en Regalia" flows over him, the bugle call for a hippie army that marched at the peak of the American parabola, that moment when physics held its breath to allow levitation, a small reward before the descent. The hippies knew it then, Maggot Boy Johnson thinks; they couldn't build it into words but they could feel it; a floating in the stomach as history shifted direction. They stopped, hey, what's that sound, and knew that the spiny skyscrapers reflected in the river, the chasms of concrete, the wide streets and sidewalks, the power lines cutting into the hills and mountains above missile silos, the highways drawing lines across the blank plains under enormous skies, the pupil of God's eye, would be the ruins that their grandchildren wandered among, the reminders that once there was always water in the faucet, there was electricity all the time, and America was prying off the shackles of its past. The vision opened up to them and winked out again, and those it blinded staggered through their lives unable to see anything else, while the rest of them wondered if they had only dreamed it.
Brian Francis SlatteryStichwörter: history society hippies collapse
These cords that God makes, Reverend Bauxite thought, we stand holding one end while they run taut into the darkness.
Brian Francis SlatteryThey could read it on each other, their faces wrinkled pages. Words hiding in the folds of their clothes. She was made of letters then, as all of us are now.
Brian Francis SlatteryStichwörter: letters
We do not know what is on the other side of the storm.
Brian Francis SlatteryStichwörter: storm
You know," she had said, "I believe we are all given at least one moment in our lives when the world reveals itself to us, in all its workings. We comprehend everything at once, and then forget almost all of it a second later, because none of us could hold it all in our heads. But we are changed afterward," shaking her head, "in a most profound way.
Brian Francis SlatteryStichwörter: comprehend
The war was about everything, it was everything, and the question of where it came from was meaningless. There was only the question of how to live through it.
Brian Francis SlatteryStichwörter: war
Do you see? The story I have to tell is so small, of the people who stayed when everyone else fled.
Brian Francis SlatteryStichwörter: story
There are no words for so much loss, not right after it happens.
Brian Francis SlatteryStichwörter: loss
The war could kill the faith in him, too, if he was not strong or careful enough. He could feel it fluttering within him sometimes, a bird in a cage of knives. Its own blood on its face and wings.
Brian Francis SlatteryStichwörter: faith
Seite 1 von 2.
nächste letzte »
Data privacy
Imprint
Contact
Diese Website verwendet Cookies, um Ihnen die bestmögliche Funktionalität bieten zu können.