八百万种死法

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  第113页

  cosico (累了。)

  “有时我们知道一些事情，却不知道我们知道。” “有时候我们说出一些事情，却不知道我们说了。” (更多)

  “有时我们知道一些事情，却不知道我们知道。”

  “有时候我们说出一些事情，却不知道我们说了。” (收起)

  2011-10-04 19:54:45   3人收藏   回应

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  第135页

  睡前童话 (越绝望越嬉皮)

  I hung up and remembered drinking in her loft on Lispenard Street, warming and mellowing as the booze worked its magic in our veins. What a fine sweet evening that had been. At meetings you’ll hear people say, “My worst day sober is better than my best day drunk.” And everybody nods like a plastic dog on a Puerto Rican’s dashboard. I thought about that night with Jan and looked around ... (更多)

  I hung up and remembered drinking in her loft on Lispenard Street, warming and mellowing as the booze worked its magic in our veins. What a fine sweet evening that had been.

  At meetings you’ll hear people say, “My worst day sober is better than my best day drunk.” And everybody nods like a plastic dog on a Puerto Rican’s dashboard. I thought about that night with Jan and looked around my little cell of a room and tried to figure out why this night was better than the other had been. (收起)

  2012-02-06 21:14:39   回应

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  第107页

  睡前童话 (越绝望越嬉皮)

  I found myself telling him about Rudenko’s mother, dead of a bomb blast because her friend had brought home the wrong television set. And so we traded horror stories. He told of a social worker, lured onto a tenement roof, raped repeat-edly and thrown off the building to her death. I recalled something I’d read about a fourteen-year-old shot by another boy the same age, both ... (更多)

  I found myself telling him about Rudenko’s mother, dead of a bomb blast because her friend had brought home the wrong television set. And so we traded horror stories. He told of a social worker, lured onto a tenement roof, raped repeat-edly and thrown off the building to her death. I recalled something I’d read about a fourteen-year-old shot by another boy the same age, both of them strangers to each other, the killer insisted that his victim had laughed at him. Durkin told me about some child-abuse cases that had ended in death, and about a man who had smothered his girlfriend’s infant daughter because he was sick of paying for a baby-sitter everytime the two of them went to the movies. I mentioned the woman in Gravesend, dead of a shotgun blast while she hung clothes in her closet. There was an air of Can You Top This? to our dialogue.

  He said, “The mayor thinks he’s got the answer. The death penalty. Bring back the big black chair.”

  “No question the public wants it. And there’s one way it works and you can’t tell me it doesn’t. You fry one of these bastards and at least you know he’s not gonna do it again.

  The hell, I’d vote for it. Bring back the chair and televise the fucking executions, run commercials, make a few dollars and hire a few more cops. You want to know something?”

  “What?”

  “We got the death penalty. Not for murderers. For ordi-nary citizens. Everybody out there runs a better chance of getting killed than a killer does of getting the chair. We get the death penalty five, six, seven times a day.” He had raised his voice and the bartender was auditing our conversation now. We’d lured him away from his program.

  Durkin said, “I like the one about the exploding television set. I don’t know how I missed that one. You think you heard

  ’em all but there’s always something new, isn’t there?”

  “I guess.”

  “There are eight million stories in the naked city,” he in-toned. “You remember that program? Used to be on television some years back.“Think it’ll happen?”

  “I remember.”

  “They had that line at the end of every show. ‘There are eight million stories in the naked city. This has been one of them.’ ”

  “I remember it.”

  “Eight million stories,” he said. “You know what you got in this city, this fucked-up toilet of a naked fucking city? You know what you got? You got eight million ways to die.” I got him out of there. Outside in the cool night air he fell silent. We circled a couple of blocks, wound up down the street from the station house. His car was a Mercury a few years old. It had been beaten up a little around the corners.

  (收起)

  2012-01-31 22:21:43   回应

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  第1页

  xyxyxx

  可能我不是很喜欢本书作者的写作风格，故事情节。因为那无数好像揭示谜底的细节，都与真相无关。可能是这样一种完全违背我内心指引的过程及结局，让我对本书有了偏见。唯一愿意阅读的，是那只言片句。可能是那种表达方式。 里面的那首诗，那份遗书。 1、我在找的或许是某人早已知道的答案。 2、高耸的建筑似乎把风割裂，它飞旋着，就像台球桌上的旋转球，于是，风古怪地东撞西跳 3、如果我胆大我会跳窗。我可以坠到... (更多)

  可能我不是很喜欢本书作者的写作风格，故事情节。因为那无数好像揭示谜底的细节，都与真相无关。可能是这样一种完全违背我内心指引的过程及结局，让我对本书有了偏见。唯一愿意阅读的，是那只言片句。可能是那种表达方式。

  里面的那首诗，那份遗书。

  1、我在找的或许是某人早已知道的答案。

  2、高耸的建筑似乎把风割裂，它飞旋着，就像台球桌上的旋转球，于是，风古怪地东撞西跳

  3、如果我胆大我会跳窗。我可以坠到一半改变主意然后笑完另一半距离

  棒球打至八局人群都已散尽

  疯狂世界无路可逃。她紧紧抓住铜环，结果手指变绿。

  无人愿意为我一掷千金。无人愿意与我共结连理。无人愿意救我一命。

  4、Goyakod抬起屁股去敲门

  5、牛奶皇后

  用牛乳为她沐浴，让这白色流淌

  牛乳洗礼中的纯洁

  愈合第一道曙光下出现的裂隙。

  银色枪筒散射的种子。

  在研钵中捣碎她的脊骨

  将酒瓶砸碎在她脚边，

  让绿色的玻璃在她手上闪烁。 (收起)

  2011-03-15 17:12:07   1回应

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  第1页

  叫查理的蚂蚁

  如果我带着醉意出生，或许会忘记所有悲伤。 (更多)

  如果我带着醉意出生，或许会忘记所有悲伤。

  (收起)

  2012-01-14 22:18:52   回应

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  第11页

  voilack

  原文开始>总有一天所有的答录机都开始相互拨号，聊天。<</原文结束> (更多)

  原文开始>总有一天所有的答录机都开始相互拨号，聊天。<</原文结束> (收起)

  2011-09-12 23:15:40   回应

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  第135页

  睡前童话 (越绝望越嬉皮)

  I hung up and remembered drinking in her loft on Lispenard Street, warming and mellowing as the booze worked its magic in our veins. What a fine sweet evening that had been. At meetings you’ll hear people say, “My worst day sober is better than my best day drunk.” And everybody nods like a plastic dog on a Puerto Rican’s dashboard. I thought about that night with Jan and looked around ... (更多)

  I hung up and remembered drinking in her loft on Lispenard Street, warming and mellowing as the booze worked its magic in our veins. What a fine sweet evening that had been.

  At meetings you’ll hear people say, “My worst day sober is better than my best day drunk.” And everybody nods like a plastic dog on a Puerto Rican’s dashboard. I thought about that night with Jan and looked around my little cell of a room and tried to figure out why this night was better than the other had been. (收起)

  2012-02-06 21:14:39   回应

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• 

  第107页

  睡前童话 (越绝望越嬉皮)

  I found myself telling him about Rudenko’s mother, dead of a bomb blast because her friend had brought home the wrong television set. And so we traded horror stories. He told of a social worker, lured onto a tenement roof, raped repeat-edly and thrown off the building to her death. I recalled something I’d read about a fourteen-year-old shot by another boy the same age, both ... (更多)

  I found myself telling him about Rudenko’s mother, dead of a bomb blast because her friend had brought home the wrong television set. And so we traded horror stories. He told of a social worker, lured onto a tenement roof, raped repeat-edly and thrown off the building to her death. I recalled something I’d read about a fourteen-year-old shot by another boy the same age, both of them strangers to each other, the killer insisted that his victim had laughed at him. Durkin told me about some child-abuse cases that had ended in death, and about a man who had smothered his girlfriend’s infant daughter because he was sick of paying for a baby-sitter everytime the two of them went to the movies. I mentioned the woman in Gravesend, dead of a shotgun blast while she hung clothes in her closet. There was an air of Can You Top This? to our dialogue.

  He said, “The mayor thinks he’s got the answer. The death penalty. Bring back the big black chair.”

  “No question the public wants it. And there’s one way it works and you can’t tell me it doesn’t. You fry one of these bastards and at least you know he’s not gonna do it again.

  The hell, I’d vote for it. Bring back the chair and televise the fucking executions, run commercials, make a few dollars and hire a few more cops. You want to know something?”

  “What?”

  “We got the death penalty. Not for murderers. For ordi-nary citizens. Everybody out there runs a better chance of getting killed than a killer does of getting the chair. We get the death penalty five, six, seven times a day.” He had raised his voice and the bartender was auditing our conversation now. We’d lured him away from his program.

  Durkin said, “I like the one about the exploding television set. I don’t know how I missed that one. You think you heard

  ’em all but there’s always something new, isn’t there?”

  “I guess.”

  “There are eight million stories in the naked city,” he in-toned. “You remember that program? Used to be on television some years back.“Think it’ll happen?”

  “I remember.”

  “They had that line at the end of every show. ‘There are eight million stories in the naked city. This has been one of them.’ ”

  “I remember it.”

  “Eight million stories,” he said. “You know what you got in this city, this fucked-up toilet of a naked fucking city? You know what you got? You got eight million ways to die.” I got him out of there. Outside in the cool night air he fell silent. We circled a couple of blocks, wound up down the street from the station house. His car was a Mercury a few years old. It had been beaten up a little around the corners.

  (收起)

  2012-01-31 22:21:43   回应

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  第92页

  睡前童话 (越绝望越嬉皮)

  “It was like a tip, almost. A friendly way of saying thank you.” “Beats ten dollars at Christmas time.” “But would she do that? If she was involved with somebody, I mean. Would she just go to bed with me for the hell of it?” “Matt, you’re forgetting something.” She looked, for just a moment, like somebody’s wise old aunt. I asked what I was forgetting. “Matt, she was a hooker.”... (更多)

  “It was like a tip, almost. A friendly way of saying thank you.”

  “Beats ten dollars at Christmas time.”

  “But would she do that? If she was involved with somebody, I mean. Would she just go to bed with me for the hell of it?”

  “Matt, you’re forgetting something.” She looked, for just a moment, like somebody’s wise old aunt. I asked what I was forgetting.

  “Matt, she was a hooker.”

  “Were you a hooker in Barbados?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe I was and maybe I wasn’t. But I can tell you this much. I was damn glad when the mating dance was over and we were in bed together because for a change I knew what I was doing. And going to bed with guys is what I do.”

  I thought a moment. Then I said, “When I called earlier you said to give you an hour. Not to come over right away.”

  “So?”

  “Because you had a john booked?”

  “Well, it wasn’t the meter reader.”

  “Did you need the money?”

  “Did I need the money? What kind of question is that? I took the money.”

  “But you would have made the rent without it.”

  “And I wouldn’t have missed any meals, or had to wear the panty hose with the runs in it. What’s this all about?”

  “So you saw the guy today because that’s what you do.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Well, you’re the one who asked why I took the job.”

  “It’s what you do,” she said.

  “Something like that.”

  She thought of something and laughed. She said, “When Heinrich Heine was dying—the German poet?”

  “Yeah?”

  When he was dying he said, ‘God will pardon me. It’s His profession.’ ”

  “That’s not bad.”

  “It’s probably even better in German. I shtup and you detect and God pardons.” She lowered her eyes. “I just hope He does,” she said. “When it’s my turn in the barrel, I hope He’s not down in Barbados for the weekend.”

  (收起)

  2012-01-30 22:08:40   回应

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