my crozzled heart

I bought The Road for the plane last week. I loved The Road so much I was weeping over it on the bus, weeping openly as the end came crashing down. I loved it so much I've drawn three X's on the cover where I intend to drive nails into it; and I can't decide if I'm going to put it on my shelf or bury it like that, nailed shut forever. I figure either way, it'll get open again, somehow, and its words will come out and heal people or perform other miracles, like something out of the Gospel of Mark or something. Or it is the Gospel of Mark, as much the gospel as anything. There's even a holy trinity in it. I told Leann she's forbidden to read it but I don't really mean that. It's as big as anything ever written. It's Endo. We've all already raved about Faulkner; but this outfoxes Faulkner. It's Melville and Hawthorne together (with savage teeth). It's Shakespeare. It's Homer.

also this: viggo as the man in the movie? perfect. plus omar is in it. hell yes.