The first time I ran away from school I was ten. Two older guys talked me into it. They were brothers and they'd both been in and out of Juvenile Hall five times. They told me it would just be like taking a short vacation. So I went. We stole three bikes out of a back yard and took off for the Arroyo Seco. The bike I stole was too big for me so I could never sit up on the seat all the way. I pedalled standing.
We hid the bikes in a stand of Eucalyptus trees at the edge of the Arroyo and went down to the creek. We caught Crawdads with marshmallow bait then tore the shells off them and used their meat to catch more Crawdads. When lunch time came I had to share my lunch with the brothers because they'd forgotten to bring theirs. I spread the contents of the paper bag out on a big flat rock. A carrot wrapped in wax paper with a rubber band around it. A meatloaf sandwich. A melted bag of M and Ms. They ate the M and Ms first. Tore the package open and licked the chocolate off the paper. They offered me a lick but I declined. I didn't eat any of the meatloaf sandwich either. I always hated meatloaf. Especially cold and between bread.
In Motel Chronicles
Sam Shepard
Gosto mais disto do que da maior parte das coisas, e o pior é que não sei porquê. Mas tenho uma ideia.
E, em baixo, parte de uma entrevista (toda, aqui).
I wanted to ask you about your prose writing, which has developed in a way that’s parallel to your plays. Your later fiction pieces have been more honed, more refined, just as your plays have gotten more attentive to form and structure. Is that right?
Absolutely. It sounds ridiculous, but I'm self-taught. I learn everything by doing it. I wasn't born knowing how to write a play. You do it and hopefully you keep evolving. One really great thing happened was that I discovered Chekhov's short stories. I'm embarrassed to say I didn't really start reading them ‘til about 5 or 6 years ago. I'd always kind of dismissed Chekhov and didn't really know why. When I came upon the stories, and started really reading and studying them, I couldn't believe it. I read every single one.
What did you get out of them?
How as a craftsman he could apply himself with this dogged attention to detail and come up with these amazing things.
Portrait of the Artist: Sam Shepard and the Anxiety of Identity by John Blackburn
Monday, March 31, 2008
meatloaf
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7 comments:
Belo, sim senhora. Boa terça, Miss Dulcemeia. Ela promete.
Entro a cem, saio a quinhentos,,
:)) Para ti também Pec!
Até que um deles teve a ideia de descermos as nossas bicicletas até ao aqueduto e seguirmos então pela conduta seca,até chegarmos a Los Angeles.
:))
I said 'yes' to everything even though I suspected L A was at least a hundred miles away.
As nossas bicicletas davam saltos quando passavam sobre as costuras castanhas de cimento que vedavam as juntas.tirando isso nunca tinha andado de bicicletanuma superfície tão lisa e macia
bicicleta numa....
We rode past red shotgun shells faded by the sun, dead opossums, beer cans, Walnut shells, Carob pods, a Racoon with two babies, pages out of porno magazines, hunks of rope, inner tubes, hub caps, bottle caps, dried-up Sage plants, boards with nails, stumps, roots, smashed glass......
Era para ter posto esta parte. Essa tradução parece excelente.
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