I've got to get some writing done, so I won't be reading many blogs today. I don't even have time to write my own post, so instead I'll leave you with a quote from a book I'm reading:
It was no sound they'd ever heard before. In the gray twilight those retchings seemed to echo like the calls of some rude provisional species loosed upon that waste. Something imperfect and malformed lodged in the heart of being. A thing smirking deep in the eyes of grace itself like a gorgon in an autumn pool.
What's he talking about? All the Pretty Horses, listening to their riders vomiting up their hangovers. Only McCarthy could make such a base thing sound so beautiful.