Tuesday, July 22, 2008

Why is it

that everytime someone asks me what I like to read my mind goes blank as though I read nothing, and I can't even remember my favourite authors, even though every story I read has an attendant and specific story surrounding it, like the first time I read Fritz Leiber and felt as though the universe was cruel and unbending, but I wouldn't bend for it not any more, and I was all of thirteen and the next day I had the flu, and it was the sort of flu that just hammers you and I bent, fuck I bent, and I was so miserably sick that I still remember it with a rueful shudder, even though I have had worse flus: or how I read Michael Swanwick's gorgeous Stations of the Tide on the top of Green Mountain, wrapped in the cold and the mud and the rain - surely enough rain to drown a world - and regarded the satelites passing overhead with a cold yearning and dreaded the idea and image of a mad and predatory old earth: or how I read Sean William's Metal Fatigue when Diana and I were first dating, and she was studying and sent me off while she studied, and I was in Brisbane for the first time and I found a spot by the river, and read and smoked expensive cigarettes and felt so sophisticated because there was the water and the city, fat and shiny in the distance: or how I read Margo's Singing My Sister Down out the front of Coles holding shopping bags and waiting for Diana who had ducked back into the shops, and getting to that inevitable end and feeling something puncture inside of me: or how I read Perdido St Station in quick gulps across the road from work in my breaks, and the buzz of the Weavers and the Slake Moths and their darting dance through various realities and how I couldn't look at scissors again in quite the same way, and Christ, these are just the first things that come to mind, and tomorrow a dozen other stories would have sat here with their own stories, and there'd be others that I'd just hint at because, they're not at all for sharing: how come I never think of that?

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