From Diane Setterfield's The Thirteenth Tale

People disappear when they die. Their voices, their laughter, the warmth of their breath. Their flesh. Eventually their bones. All living mempry of them ceases. This is both dreadful and natural. Yet for some there is an exception to this annihilation. For in the books they write they continut to exist. We can rediscover them. Their humour, their tone of voice, their moods. Through the written word they can anger you or make you happy. They can comfort you. They can perplex you. They can alter you. All this, even though they are dead. Like flies in amber, like corpses frozen in ice, that which according to the laws of nature should pass away is, by the miracle of ink on paper, preserved. It is a kind of magic.

--Diane Setterfield



Wednesday, May 7, 2008

Don't gimme no lines and keep yo hands to yerself

I heard that song on the radio coming home from 1 1/2 or 2 hrs of Scott's intern's massage (which has no other relevance to this post).

MAN! I miss country dancing. I started boogeying in the car... Quick! where's a country bar!?! My favorite are the ones that have a dance lesson before the dance hall opens....... yee haw!
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1 comment:

Yamaha Drummer said...

LOL! I'd pay good money to see Scotty go country dancing!

May 8, 2008 at 12:34 PM

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