As I read this sentence,
"In a short time he filled not only his own house, but all of those in the village with troupials, canaries, bee eaters, and redbreasts. The concert of so many different birds became so disturbing that Ursula would plug her ears with beeswax so as not to lose her sense of reality."
the sound of birds issued from the speakers of my record player, on an album I had never listened to.
The song was Paris 1919 by John Cale. The book was 100 Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez.
Life is beautiful. Mostly.
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1 comment:
No way girl. Love in the Time of Cholera! Or wait shit I'm rusty... Ursula is the one who levitates to heaven?
In other news in the life of my anti-brain-skillz, I finally figured out how to sneak far enough past the China firewalls to not only read American blogs-- but to post comments!! Which means you need to start writing more, lady. Here I am now. ENTERTAIN ME.
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