moonturnips

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“There are the living, the dead, and the sailors.

They already know, intimately, what category they belong to, they don't really have a surprise, not really a revelation. They know, in every place where they are, if they are in their place or if they are not there.

There are the living busy building and the calm dead in the hollow of the graves.

And there are the sailors.”

Excerpt From

Ultramarines

Mariette Navarro

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“One night an old man was brought in for assault with a deadly weapon. They got the story from the deputies: The old man lived with his son’s family, and his granddaughter had been gotten pregnant by a boy, and there had been a conference of the two families in an attempt to fix the responsibility and decide what to do. At first it was decided that it was the boy’s fault for making the girl go all the way; then they blamed the girl for allowing the boy to take these liberties with her (they were only juniors in high school), and then both sets of parents decided to blame themselves for not raising their children properly, and finally, after much self-recrimination, it was decided that modern society itself made it impossible to raise children properly, what with the movies and television and violence, too much sex in the magazines, and the way girls dressed these days; and the old man, who had been sitting in the background listening in disgust, finally went upstairs to his room and came back down with his double-barreled 12-gauge shotgun and terrified everybody by pointing the deadly weapon at the boy and telling him by God he would do the right thing by the girl or the grandfather would come looking for him and would find him no matter how far he ran and when he found him he would blow a hole through him, by God. The boy let out a scream and jumped through the picture window, and cut himself pretty badly, and the boy’s parents called the police right after they called the ambulance. It did not occur to them to blame the grandfather’s actions on society.”

Excerpt From

Hard Rain Falling

Don Carpenter

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“One by one they were all becoming shades.

Better pass boldly into that other world,

in the full glory of some passion,

than fade and wither dismally with age.

‘The Dead’, James Joyce”

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