There was one thing more he wanted from this funeral. He wanted to see the hearse pass by again, the body tilted for viewing, a digital corpse, a loop, a replication. It did not seem right that the hearse had come and gone. He wanted it to reappear at intervals, proud body open to the night, to replenish the sorrow and wonder of the crowd.
Don DeLilloTime is a corporate asset now. It belongs to the free market system. The present is harder to find. It is being sucked out of the world to make way for the future of uncontrolled markets and huge investment potential. The future becomes insistent.
"This is why something will happen soon, maybe today…to correct the acceleration of time. Bring nature back to normal, more or less.
I've bought these peanuts before. They're round, cubical, pock-marked, seamed. Broken peanuts. A lot of dust at the bottom of the jar. But they taste good. Most of all I like the packages themselves. You were right, Jack. This is the last avant-garde. Bold new forms. The power to shock.
Don DeLilloTags: consumerism avant-garde
There's always more to it. This is what history consists of. It is the sum total of the things they aren't telling us.
Don DeLilloSome people are lucky. They become who they are supposed to be. This did not happen to me until I met (your mother). One day we started to talk and it never stopped, this conversation.
Don DeLilloThat's what it all comes down to in the end,' he said. 'A person spends his life saying good-bye to other people. How does he say good-bye to himself?
Don DeLilloI think it's a mistake to lose one's sense of death, even one's fear of death. Isn't death the boundary we need? Doesn't it give a precious texture to life, a sense of definition? You have to ask yourself whether anything you do in this life would have beauty and meaning without the knowledge you carry of a final line, a border or limit.
Don DeLilloHe picks up speed and seems to lose his gangliness, the slouchy funk of hormones and unbelonging and all the stammering things that seal his adolescence. He is just a running boy, a half-seen figure from the streets, but the way running reveals some clue to being, the way a runner bares himself to consciousness, this is how the dark-skinned kid seems to open to the world, how the bloodrush of a dozen strides bring him into eloquence.
Don DeLilloTags: underworld don-delillo john-dunn
Longing on a large scale is what makes history. This is just a kid with a
local yearning but he is part of an assembling crowd, anonymous
thousands off the buses and trains, people in narrow columns tramping over
the swing bridge above the river, and even if they are not a migration or a
revolution, some vast shaking of the soul, they bring with them the body
heat of a great city and their own small reveries and desperations, the
unseen something that haunts the day—men in fedoras and sailors on
shore leave, the stray tumble of their thoughts, going to a game.
Cotter thinks he sees a path to the turnstile on the right. He drains
himself of everything he does not need to make the jump. Some are still
jumping, some are thinking about it, some need a haircut, some have girlfriends in woolly sweaters and the rest have landed in the ruck and are
trying to get up and scatter. A couple of stadium cops are rumbling down the
ramp. Cotter sheds these elements as they appear, sheds a thousand waves of information hitting on his skin. His gaze is trained on the iron bars
projected from the post. He picks up speed and seems to lose his
gangliness, the slouchy funk of hormones and unbelonging and all the
stammering things that seal his adolescence. He is just a running boy, a
half-seen figure from the streets, but the way running reveals some clue to
being, the way a runner bares himself to consciousness, this is how the
dark-skinned kid seems to open to the world, how the bloodrush of a dozen
strides brings him into eloquence.
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