get up, get up, god damn you, and love me while you can--How do you dare to tell me that I'm my father's son,
When that was just an accident of birth?
I'd rather look around me, compose a better song,
For that's the honest measure of my worth.
--Jethro Tull, "Wind-Up"
In other news, you can never have too much Hugh Blumenfeld. Just saying. Some days I really wanna go all Ezra Pound all over his song "Thread City." I grew up in one of those, more or less, but mine was Rockville and not Willimantic.
And "Shoot the Moon" evokes so many of the emotions I wanted to put into the Jenny books, so very efficiently:
I saw the choppers rise out of Saigon's fall, and my fingers traced the writing on the long black wall,
And I knew there'd be no space ships in my future: I guess I was born a little too late
Or way too soon.
And on that note,
shewhomust has posted a very flattering but somewhat spoilery review of Hammered and Scardown. I hope book three measures up to her standards.