Compared to Toxic's incoherent cultural compost, her dad's attitudes seemed cozy, his self-absorption the devil that she knew. The devil that she didn't know smelled like gummi bears and was a thousand times scarier, his allegiances too contradictory for her to predict what he meant or what he'd do.
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
Along The Watchtower - Pg 182
Along The Watchtower - Pg 179
The more she drank, the more she dais, "Stars fell!" whenever Jim Morrison sang, "Oh moon of Alabama." No one had asked what she meant.
Along The Watchtower - Pg 161
Her dad told her about listening to the AFN during a firefight one night in Vietnam and how everybody's bloodlust let up when the Beatles came on. "Made me want to lay down in a park and drink some goddamned tea."
Along The Watchtower - Pg 136
"They're not American, huh?" Lucinda cocked her head and looked at him. "No. How can you tell?" "Just can. Can't you?" "Yeah. There's something about it, a mood or something we just don't use much. Like the name Nigel."
Along The Watchtower - Pg 123
"How's your dad?" she asked. "Mom says he's okay," Liz said. "They've got him doped up. I get to see him tomorrow. His ear is goners." "Like van Gogh," Lucinda said. "Van Gogh cut his off. He was a great artist." "My dad's not a great artist." "Maybe," Lucinda said. "Maybe he will be. He's still alive -- he could be anything."
Along The Watchtower - Pg 123
She revised her assumptions now, saw that he was haunting because he was haunted -- by something he'd done, maybe many things, horrible things he couldn't abide and to which he had been unable or unwilling to say no.
Along The Watchtower - Pg 123
She thought of the still, straight profile of her Nazi ghost, who almost seemed to float beside her now. He was hers because she saw him, hers because she let her mind reach inside him and imagine what he saw.
Along The Watchtower - Pg 121
"Compared to this, what happened to my dad was like a bad day or something. A little mistake." Lucinda thought of Liz three nights earlier, pinned by Faye to the stairs and screaming. A little mistake.
Along The Watchtower - Pg 42
Lucinda had had a craving, for as long as she could remember, for some sort of framework for talking about things unseen. Anymore she found rock and roll starting to fill that spot, music and lyrics like spirit and word, but earlier, she had thought religion might have a vocabulary to help her put voice to her questions and longings.
Along The Watchtower - Pg 41
Recalling how they met was a cooldown tactic she had seen him use before and it usually worked, her mother slipping into a skin she seldom wore, a flower child, a hitchhiker staring into a limitless horizon. Watching her slide into that self was like watching cake rise from batter in the oven. She became, if only for a few moments, what she was probably supposed to be.
Along The Watchtower - Pg 33
Lucinda grabbed one, hot pink with orange hair, and slipped him into the front pocket of her shorts. She didn't know why. She didn't even like the troll. But her father said life was for the taking, and only the strong ever realize it. Lucinda realized it.
Along The Watchtower - Pg 30
If he was wrong, if everything really wasn't okay, Lucinda didn't know how her family could survive the hour. But he sounded so sure. And he was her dad.
Along The Watchtower - Pg 22
Lucinda twisted toward Syd and raised her foor. "My lucky shoes," she explained. They were more than that, though. They were talismanic, emblematic: they said the magic word.
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