A Cruel Man Delighting in Flowers

...the mildness to which men ... had yielded was only half of the intoxication of beauty, while the other half ... was of such surpassing and terrible cruelty—the most cruel of men delights himself with a flower—that beauty ... failed quickly of its effect... 

Hermann BrochThe Death of Virgil


Jeremy Davies is made of ink, but don’t dip a feather in him. It tickles. He once painted a fingernail black and no one really noticed. He was disappointed. He’s also an editor, a religious atheist, a liker of strong coffees, a Shakespeare-lover, a political anarchist and someone who rarely has a pen when he needs one. He has been a PhD candidate, a personal trainer, a life model, a bouncer, an infantry soldier and someone who rarely had a pen when he needed one. He has had words published in a variety of places, in a variety of publications, in a variety of forms, in a variety of moments: Canada, Wet Ink, SMS and twelve minutes past three in the afternoon being some of these. His first novel, 'Missing Presumed Undead', will be re-published by Satalyte Publishing in February 2014. A second is on its way.

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas - Hunter S. Thompson, Ralph Steadman My attorney advised me to read this book. He said that it could count in lieu of community service and I should report my findings to Professor Alistair Bean, down at the Tax Agency.

But Bean was dogging me from the start. When I rang the Agency, this girl told me he wasn't there. But I could tell from her tone that she was hiding something nasty, some kind of hurt, behind that taffy apple & rum/raisen voice. I could hear her mouth purse between each word, and I could hear the sound of her tuna fish lips tapping together like they were beached on a wet shore.

'Really, I've never heard of him.'

'You've never heard of him?'

Tap. Tap. 'That's what I said. I've never heard of him. Umm...'

'You've never heard of him.' But this time, I strung the 'never' out so it was like n-ehhhhhhhhhhhhh-ver.'

I kept repeating myself, experimenting with different ways of saying 'never' and feeling the different ways it made my lips tap together until she hung up.

I was suddenly disgusted with the whole affair, so I said to the empty telephone signal: 'This Thomo guy really had something going on here. I mean, this novel has a shape, you know what I mean, Bean?' Meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep. 'Yeah, the structure is the theme, Bean.' Meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep. 'Well, Structure's not just something to hang your hat on.' Meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep. 'But that's what I'm saying.' Meeep. 'I...' Meep.

I hung up on him.

And he was an intellectual, mind you.

Currently reading

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