Bøker av John Swofford

I shan't behave as if the day's my last, For, at some point, there will be an outcast, And the people of Eden will complain;We'll gather experience and refrain, Until, with help, we discover our path: And we're happy, then, with all that we hath. The next person picks up where I left off, Though the bad will prattle and often scoff.Tortured minds live a dimension below, For they drive to a miserable glow, And compare instant gratificationWith all the good of sad mediation, Until, at last, they're insupportable, And they turn, if they live, to the table.It takes some of us a while to arrive, And yet, if we live, we remain ali

I'd like to celebrate the passing year;I've come a mile in less than a second, And the horizons have just become clear: I'll go to the devil for a refund, And, if he mocks, I'll grab him by the throat;"You shan't ruin my anniversary,"I'll say, and, when the moment comes, I'll voteTo oust the elephant and the donkey.I shan't ever master a fascist state, Though, if I could, I might do loads of good;I'll settle, instead, for an end to hate, And do what all my lord and savior would. Alas, however, that I'm rid of sin, For a man can never be saved again.

"I don't want to make excuses for myself," Paul thought, "but can you blame me for thinking that there is no paradise greater than paradise?" It wasn't like he was expecting everything to be a celebration; on the contrary he had his eyes on tranquility, a state of being in which one feels at home. None of the men he was investigating, however, were doing anything but chasing their tails, and if, at times, they felt bad, then that was becasue they, at some other point, had been happy at the expense of others, if, that is, a bad person's mood can be considered happy. "Am I prepared to kill again?" Paul asked himself, and, for all intents and purposes, he needed to be. Meth heads, for whatever reasons, respond to guns and white people, and Paul, who, as a veteran cop in North Georgia, knew this better than anyone, wasn't taking any chances. Barring a fascist dictator and a racist zeitgeist, a meth head might imagine himself on side with the savior. That white man, on the other hand, might just as well be an enemy to humanity that, perhaps, isn't real in the first place.

But how could they be friends if Rachel was interested in Martin? "Homosexuality is a cross," Whitney thought, and she smiled back at Rachel as if to say, "Martin belongs to me." Her little crush on Rachel diminished the more that Martin ignored her, and, as this happened, she began to question whatever homosexuality she had come to accept. Then she stopped questioning herself because her questions only aroused her. She didn't want a threesome, and, what's more, Rachel and Martin didn't either. Martin could be so predictable at times--he was like any other heterosexual man that believed, consciously or unconsciously, that it was his responsibility to sleep with as many attractive women as possible. As far as the case goes, what was there to figure out? Jerry Brucheim, the owner of the Pissaro, Michael Farley, and Michael Vainly had all been working together. Vainly asked, or possibly insisted, that his wife's lover be killed, and Vainly had made this happen. "I don't know if Brucheim agreed to the murder, but I'll figure that once the dominoes begin to fall." Then she told herself that homosexuality was a state of mind--a door she could open or close without necessarily losing anything.

Homosexuality, however, was not the answer for every form of psychological distress, and, gay or straight, Nancy would've needed her medicine. If this dissolved whatever sexual appetite she might've had, then so much the better. Marsha, for her part, thought Nancy was funny because, ultimately, in Marsha's head, at least, a sexual identity didn't matter. That, however unbeknownst to Nancy, was a problem. Everybody needed to relax, from time to time, and, so long as Nancy paid every attention to Marsha, she couldn't. After looking over Nancy's medical records, Jackie said, "What if Nancy was our killer? What if she's gone and topped herself?" But Alicia said Jackie's theory wasn't elegant enough. "People that take their medication probably aren't murderers," Alicia said.

Presently our journey comes to an end;I know Jesus Christ atoned for my sins, And, all at once, I've an army to send.Christ looks at me with a devilish grin: Who could be more pleased if we were at peace?I wonder, then, if Satan's in disguise;Has the devil come my conscience to fleece?It's clear that Jesus into battle flies, And he shan't quit until heaven's secure.As the Christ's man, I'll make this haven known, And thought the lot of us go for something pure, I imagine there's nothing to disown.I, as an agent of gladness, am pleased;I've been working for Christ, and he's appe

"What about you?" Patsy asked. "Did you sleep with Rebecca?" "God, no." "Did you want to?" "No," Peter said. "It's nice to know that true queers exist," Patsy said. "I'm more than that," Peter said. "Yeah, but you've never slept with a woman, have you?" "No." "How old were you when you knew?" "Twelve," Peter said. "And Rob?" "He didn't know until he met me, and that was about a decade ago." "You wouldn't want him to deny his true nature," Patsy said. "That's why I'm talking to you," Peter said. "You want me to stay away?" "I did at first, but now I want you to be our friend." "Ok," Patsy said. "You can't take Rob away from me," Peter said. "He's all that I have." "What about your family?" "They're Christians," Peter said. "Do you hate Christians?" Patsy asked. "They live manic-depressive lives." "So, you feel sorry for them?" "I don't feel anything for them." "That's the spirit," Patsy said. "That's very funny, Patsy." "Do you like Christians?" Peter asked. "I'm a Christian," Patsy said. "Do you believe in heaven?" Peter asked.

181 You've been sleeping in your tattoo parlor?Are you an old-fashioned maritime man?Do you your grandchildren simply adore?You must've known that I'm your greatest fan.It's not your fault if you can't understandThe pressures of being an alderman.Can a man fight a war without a band?Do you claim to be the laird of your clan?I'll be punished, now, for taking a life.Although at war, that doesn't make it right.Might I at your grindstone sharpen my knife?When I saw your ghostly face, I took fright. You've spent many a moon on the cold sea; You must beware of the adversary. 332 I can't have you thinking that I'm helpless, Although at times there's been nowhere to turn.You'd like to avoid my simple caress: I've got nothing but energy to burn.What if I traveled to the coloniesAnd started up everything from scratch?My brother warned me that you were a tease;I have a nefarious plan to hatch.Does our lord leave the devil in his wake?Heavenly father means all things to us;Who knew the astronomer was a rake?Who knew that God was feeling amorous? Leave me for Jesus, and I'll understand; Leave me for Satan, and I'll lend a hand.