"Carol Emshwiller - The Circular Library of Stones" - читать интересную книгу автора (Emshwiller Carol)

literature that is two things at once, which we can only do in drawings,
days.
where a body might be, at one and the same time, a face in which the
breasts also equal eyes, or two naked ladies sitting side by side, arms L'Aquilone du
raised, that also forms a skull, their black hair the eye sockets. Estrellas (The
Kite of Stars)
by Dean Francis
For quite some time now I have had sore legs, so digging is an exercise I Alfar, illustration by
can do better than any other, and though at night my back pains me, the Hal Hefner
pains usually go away quite soon. By morning I hardly feel them. So the 1/6/03 He told her
that such a kite was
digging, in itself, pleases me. There is the pleasure of work. A day well
impossible, that
spent. Go home tired and silent. But mostly, of course, it is the slow there was no
revelation of the stones that I care about. Sometimes they cluster in material
groups so that I think that here must have been where a fireplace was, or immediately
available for such
perhaps a throne. Sometimes they form a long row that I think might have
an absurd
been a wall or a bench. And I have found a mirror. Two feet underground, undertaking, that
and so scratched that one can see oneself only in little fish-shaped there was, in fact,
flashes -- a bit of an eye, a bit of lip -- but for even that much of it to no design for a kite
that supported the
have been preserved all this time is a miracle. I feel certain that if they
weight of a person.
had a library, it's logical they would also have had mirrors. Or if they had
mirrors, it certainly follows they could have had a library. Archived Fiction
Dating back to
I keep the mirror with me in my breast pocket. (I wear a man's old fishing 9/1/00
vest.) When people ask me what I'm doing out here, I show the mirror to
them along with a few smooth stones.

At night I write. I shut my eyes and let my left hand move as it wishes.
Usually it makes only scratchings, but at other times words come out.
Once I wrote several pages of nothing but no, no, no, no, no, and after
that, on, on, on, and on, but more and more often there are longer words
now, and more and more often they are making some kind of sense.
Yesterday, for instance, I found myself writing: Let us do let us do and do