"Harlan Ellison - Stalking the Nightmare" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ellison Harlan)

FOREWORD
INTRODUCTION: Quiet Lies The Locust Tells
Grail
The Outpost Undiscovered By Tourists
Blank...
The 3 Most Important Things In Life
Visionary
Djnn, No Chaser
Invasion Footnote
Saturn, November 11
Night of Black Glass
Final Trophy
!!!The!!Teddy!Crazy!!Show!!!
The Cheese Stands Alone
Somehow, I DonтАЩt Think WeтАЩre In Kansas, Toto
Transcending Destiny
The Hour That Stretches
The Day I Died
Tracking Level
Tiny Alley
The Goddess In The Ice
Gopher In The Gilly
I donтАЩt have much patience with the facts, and any writer is a congenital liar to begin with or he
wouldnтАЩt take up writingтАжI write to say No to deathтАжan artist is a creature driven by demons.
He donтАЩt usually know why they chose him and heтАЩs usually too busy to wonder whyтАж

--WILLIAM FAULKNER
STALKING THE
NIGHTMARE
 FOREWORD
Stephen King
It drives my wife crazy, and IтАЩm sorry it does, but I canтАЩt really help it.
All the little sayings and homilies. Such as: ThereтАЩs a heartbeat in every potato; you need that like a hen
needs a flag; IтАЩd trust him about as far as I could sling a piano; use it up, wear it out, do it in, or do without; youтАЩll
never be hung for your beauty; foolsтАЩ names, and their faces, are often seen in public places.
I could go on and on. I got a million of тАШem. I got them all from my mother, who got them all from her mother.
Little kernels of wisdom. Cosmic fortune-cookies, if you like.
They drive my wife absolutely BUGFUCK. тАЬBut honey,тАЭ IтАЩll say in my best placatory voice (IтАЩm a very
placatory fellow, when IтАЩm not writing about vampires and psychotic killers), тАЬthereтАЩs a lot of truth in those sayings.
There really is a heartbeat in every potato. The proof of the pudding really is in the eating. And handsome really is
as--тАЭ But I can see that it would be foolish to continue. My wife, who can be extremely rude when it serves her
purpose, is pretending to throw up. My four-year-old son walks in from the shower, naked, dripping water allover the
floor and the bed (my side of the bed, of course), and also begins to make throwing-up noises.
She is obviously teaching him to hate me and revile me. ItтАЩs probably all Oedipal and sexual and neo-Jungian
and dirty as hell.
But I have the last laugh. Two days later, while this self-same kid is debating which card to throw away in a
hot game of Crazy Eights, my nine-year-old son tells him, тАЬLet me look at your hand, Owen. IтАЩll tell you which card to
throw away.тАЭ
Owen looks at him coldly. Calculatingly. Pulls his cards slowly against his chest. And with a humorless grin
he says: тАЬJoey, IтАЩd trust you just about as far as IтАЩd spring a piano.тАЭ