J. Reginald Richardson: he was born on the Prairie and raised by the Sea; but it was down South in the Land of the Free that he learned the fine art of knob-twiddlery. At Berkeley and later at UCLA, devices with dials would all do as he'd say. The technique that he used is […]
"Ladies and gentlemen, please. You can continue this discussion later if you see fit, but don't you think it would help us to know the whole story first?" Murmurs of protest. "No, no, we all know the facts; I submit that they are hardly relevant. What matters is not so much what happened as […]
I think it must have coalesced out of the Soup. Something like that. All I know is, for a long time there was just the Soup, nice and simple. Well, actually I don't remember much about that time -- no detail, anyway. You know; what's to remember? But then suddenly I was aware of it. […]
Wild as a watermelon feast, red-ripe in the summer rains, making the very most at least, gorging sweet ill-gotten gains, I sit bloated to inaction, spitting seeds in satisfaction.
One day a crew of professional land-clearers came in and uprooted the oaks and magnolias, and there was a dust of old moss and tree-ferns in the air, smelling shocked at having been so jarred after an age-long rest. Bright, calloused sunlight shone directly on the ground which had been shaded cool for a foot-thick […]
Ford was infinitely disgusted with the world; he had just finished reading "Lolita", and couldn't help being a little depressed, as a normal result of being disgusted with the world. "How," he thought, sipping a warm, hour-old whiskey sour and slapping the book down on the grass, "how could anyone write something as gross as […]