I love you.
No...seriously. I do.

Love,

Catherine

This is the very first story I have to read for my Lit class. I actually squeed. Out loud. If not for the migraine I might've gotten up and danced.
No one should be this thrilled. Really. ;-)

Someone has written a The Sound and the Fury slash fic. In proper stream-of-consciouness style, no less.

Faulknerslash.

Oh. My. God.

Someone out there is freakier than me and yes friends and neighbors that makes him/her completely and totally AWESOME.

(You may read it here.)

God, it makes me want to try. It really does.

EDIT: You know, I've gone back and ( Read more... )

( Read more... )

her face looked at the sky it was low so low that all smells and sounds of night seemed to have been crowded down like under a slack tent especially the honeysuckle it had got into my breathing it was on her face and throat like paint her blood pounded against my hand I was leaning on my other arm it began to jerk and jump and I had to pant to get ( Read more... )

I feel that this award was not made to me as a man but to my work- a life's work in the agony and sweat of the human spirit not for glory and least of all for profit but to create out of the materials of the human spirit something which did not exist before. So this award is only mine in trust. It will not be difficult to find a dedication for the ( Read more... )

We have visuals:


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Excerpted from MySpace group entitled (originally enough) 'Faulkner Is Evil':

William Faulkner was a dirty old man who would sit on his porch in the nude and write stories that made no sense.

I stumbled across this a couple of days ago but I'm still giggling over it.

(Yeah, I'm a little cooked. What of it?)

I was able today to do 30 minutes on the treadmill, at a moderate speed (about 4 mph) without feeling weak or running out of breath. It's been a long time since I've had the energy to do much more than walk from the bedroom to the bathroom, and so I am very happy about this. I danced and sung afterward. Yay! I think I'm finally turning the corner ( Read more... )

I am really tired of writing, the agony and sweat of it. I'll probably never quit though, until I die. But now I feel nothing would be as peaceful as to break the pencil, throw it away, admit I dont know why, the answers either.

--William Faulkner,
letter to Else Jonsson

Yeah. Yeah.