Chthonic Creatures and Peyote Breakfasts
Every time I see one of those ads that make me feel like my life is incomplete if I don't have a phone on which I can simultaneously talk to four friends, watch three different sporting events, start a small business, and book hotel rooms, I come that much closer to renting a small house in Saratoga, throwing my laptop in the Hudson on my way up there, and wishing you suckers luck with everything. Technology fetishism is out of control. That said, I'm on Twitter, and there's no denying it. So I figure that while I'm there, I should have some fun. To paraphrase Kurt Vonnegut, we are here to fart around. To that end, along with a good friend I've just started a new Twitter page called Imaginary Cormac, on which we post in our best approximation of the voice of Cormac McCarthy. The first nine entries are below. We hope you'll feel like following along.
A new horizon crackles along the edge of half-dark like the dream of a malevolent God. Twitter you think you are ready. You are not ready.
In the red gloaming a dwarf amanuensis crawls through the sagebrush kindling fire as he goes. Or Herb's kid got ahold of some sparklers.
Polenta sticks to All-Clad pans like the afterbirth of some chthonic creature not yet named.
Impossible to capture the God-rapture of horses and thunder in 140 characters. Maybe 150.
Just finished a creosote and peyote omelette. I’ll be in the shed for a few hours.
The day is beset by a rapacious darkening such that ocular mortals must abdicate mindfulness. Bedtime.
Taking votes for setting of my next novel: Ciudad Juárez before the dawn of time, the inside of a wolf’s mind, day care center.
A murderous androgynous raven flown from some distant sunless moon or moonless sun. Bieber.
Rooster woke me at dawn. Had him for breakfast at dawn:01.