Did Virgil go to hell? No. Did Virginia Woolf go to Disney World? No, and it turns out that Orlando isn’t a place, but a dude. And did Truman Capote ever have breakfast at Tiffany’s? Yes, but the eggs Benedict was cold and the bloody marys were “bullshit.
you think of all the things you wish
she was not: white crosses where
the road curves, not the reason
a man spends fifteen to twenty in Huntsville.
There was a meteor shower and he stood out in it trying to catch the passing light. There was a meteor shower and she stayed inside with tape over her eyes and mouth. There was a meteor shower and it rained down on all of the rooftops with shards of sparkle and hissing pops.
You should buy this book. Why? Because it’s beautiful, imaginative, and devastating. Because Nick Moran recommended it on this site before. Because it’s about a boy who can control flocks of birds. Because it’s violent and because it’s lovely. Because it’s on sale right now in an attractive combined volume. Because it contains passages like this one:
"So many buildings had already been destroyed, the solitary walls like ruins submerged in flames, the city like an ocean of flames. Circles of maniacs prayed in the middle of the streets, and flapped their arms like birds. Teenage conscripts lay trapped beneath rubble, crying for their mothers, while comrades tried to get them out. Cats hauled their kittens through the ruins, and vultures swooped to seize them; a donkey gave birth inside a restaurant where dogs sipped at puddles of champagne, and cut their paws on broken bottles. Explosions shook the Earth; Katherine hardly kept her balance. Cobblestones zoomed past her head. A girl tried to carry a newborn foal on her back. Whoever won the war would rule ruins, be the king of stones and buzzards. Fires hurled themselves against the sky, as if in rapture, the city a cathedral of flame, flames like penitents to the sky. An elderly man thought his beard was in flames, and slapped at his face as he ran, calling, It burns! It burns! Men writhed on spears which had been rammed into the ground in perfect rows, a field of pain. Women carried infants like footballs. Birds choked on smoke and died mid-flight, raining in a deathstorm."
a couple more re-blogs and then I’ll probably more completely let my new personal tumblr and this Hobart one be separate but, for now… I have a story on whiskeypaper today. thanks.
A couple months or so ago, amongst my frequent reblogging on the Hobart tumblr of any antlers I see come across my dashboard, I added a caption to one that read, “I want to write a book that gets published and has antlers on the cover, the end.” and whiskeypaper retumbled it and added, “EVERYTHING WAS ANTLERS & NOTHING HURT,” which I retumbled again, adding, “added to to-do list: write story called ‘Everything Was Antlers and Nothing Hurt’” and then a couple days later I had my class do an in-class writing exercise, during which I wrote a little story about antlers, and I called it “Everything Was Antlers and Nothing Hurt” and sent it to Leesa and she accepted it, and was even kind enough to use an image of antlers for section breaks, and now it’s on the site and ain’t it pretty?
Guys, Aaron Burch is someone you should follow on Tumblr. Also Hobart is something you should read and subscribe to. And this book published by Aaron Burch/Hobart is something you should buy immediately and love incessantly. This has been your buffalo-related Sunday public service announcement.