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eohippus all contents copyright 2007 max carmichael | why eohippus? bio contact | |
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arts portfolio: visual arts music writing events design | |
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writing: early literary career | back next | |
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..."Look at Dorothy over there," said Peter. Dorothy kept working without looking up. Frank
had not looked her in the eyes since they'd met on the dock. "Dorothy grew up down at the
bottom of the world and then a stranger came along and sailed her up the ocean and left her
ten thousand miles away under different stars. Look at her face. She might've flown too close
to the sun like Daedalus or Icarus or whoever. It's beautiful, isn't it? Like a leaf turning
in autumn." Dorothy's face was splotched in different shades of pink and tan and brown from being badly burnt. Frank found it easier to look at her now. The colors in her hair were corn husks and freshly turned earth. Frank and Dorothy lived with Peter and Lissie in a bungalow on the beach for two years. They caught shrimp and Frank and Lissie painted pictures and Peter played the French horn at night. |
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Romantics
1979 |
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..."This isn't getting anywhere. I'm talking about the death of idealism and the collapse of
culture and you're trying to stay mellow. Being mellow isn't going to get you anywhere,
Peter. Some day somebody on the edge will cut you down and you'll never know what happened." "The edge of what?" "Life. Sanity. Like Dorothy. Like those punks over there. Somebody that works a dismal job like Nan but hates it and changes her nurse's whites for black leather every night and goes out to a punk club and gets real drunk and sees the veins and the guts under everybody's skin and gets knocked around and spit on and pisses in her black satin pants because she's too gone to get to the john and somebody kicks a microphone stand off the stage and hits her in the forehead and she stumbles out into the street with an empty beer bottle in her hand and her thighs all hot and wet and blood running into her eye and there you are walking by with your arm around Lissie and you both look just so beautiful and so mellow and so clean, you've just been down the street at the Magic Pan eating spinach crepes. What else can she do? You better hope you don't end up in the emergency ward at Michael Reese, because there might be somebody else there just like her throwing up when they ought to be putting your stitches in." |
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