Showing posts with label Along The Watchtower. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Along The Watchtower. Show all posts
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
Along The Watchtower - Pg 295
For a minute she saw each stone as a story, as if the cemetery were a big library full of books nobody else knew how to read, and nobody else wanted to.
Along The Watchtower - Pg 266
Van Zandt knew about some kind of traveling, but not her kind. Sounded like he was traveling on purpose to get some character, not because he had to. Van Zandt had traveling shoes. Lucinda had traveling feet.
Along The Watchtower - Pg 254
She could feel her father's alertness, his tension. He had never been receptive like that, but she could feel his need today, the hole in him howling to be filled. She had the same hole. She also had his bony knees, blue eyes, and tremendous powers of concentration, but this hole was their most striking similarity.
Along The Watchtower - Pg 197
"I believe in everything," he said in an exhausted voice, as if the effort of so much believing had cost him.
Along The Watchtower - Pg 187
She imagined Nately smiling over the noise, his Adam's apple sticking out above the crowd, his fuzz of red hair bleached in the spotlights. Lucinda saw him smiling as he listened to the music and found something at its center, something outside language, tumbling into violence, as the song went off the rails and the lead singer of the Sub Plots screamed like a dying bird. The white-hot center -- Nately was there.
Along The Watchtower - Pg 187
Every system had its uniform, and here was the punk uniform all around her, as regimented as a roomful of GIs in battle-dress uniform, and proof that what may have started as pure emotion had hardened into just another codified set of rules for representing abstractions. The music was real, though.
Along The Watchtower - Pg 182
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.
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.
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