And I knew at once that she was no more taken in by the weedy sanctity of the little church and mutilitated calvary that was I.

October 21, 2011 § 2 Comments

While I regret returning so soon to John Hawkes’ Travesty for my weekly recording, it is not a sorry regret. Much more, rather, a resigned regret. Doing so, in fact, was nearly unavoidable. I’d marked this passage a while back, and found myself, quite by accident, re-reading it again this evening. I simply could could not resist posting it.

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§ 2 Responses to And I knew at once that she was no more taken in by the weedy sanctity of the little church and mutilitated calvary that was I.

  • tom clark says:

    Brad, I’ve been going nuts (well, more nuts than usual) these past few nights, trying to exorcise from the nether fathoms of my forever- susceptible-to-sea-change vocabulary the wonderful word “mutilitated”. It doubles the sense of violation, combining mutilation and titillation. Two for the price of one, as it were.

  • Brad Johnson says:

    All with just enough change for the gumball machine, too. That word has been weighing on me as well. Speaking it alone seems to perform this combination: with that purse of the lips, kissing it out of oneself, one’s mind & mouth, to whom & where who can say, to no one in particular, to everyone – violating the moment with ill & amorous intent.

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