UGH.

eunicee jotted on @ 12:15 AM

my yong tau foo recess.

i'm rushing books out for war lit, and so i attempted the vintage book of war stories. it's really bad. bad, not in a sense that the author's writing's lousy, but bad as in GROSTEQUE. ohmygosh. so, for last night and this night, i have been scrunging up my face while underlining and reading these stories. let me quote two examples.

'Hiroshima Joe' by Martin Booth -
'On the floor of the tram cabin was a partly congealed liquid slush of greyish-brown matter in which lay some broken branches, stripped bare of their bark.
It was more than a minute before he realized that the floor-covering had been people, the branches nude bones.'

'Resigned to leaving himself dirty, Sandingham leaned over the edge of the barrel to press his face into the surface and suck up the water. His reflection stared back at him. Beside his face was another. ... He thrust his fingers into the clear jet-black of the water and felt for the face. There was nothing hard there. No skull. ... Yet something soft brushed against the back of his hand and his forearm. As he brought his arm clear, something clung to it ... Clinging to it was the face: no features, just a flat mask of skin, peeled from its owner and cast into the water.
... He flicked and threshed his arm trying to dislodge it, but it would not move. It was glued to him by the water and its own grossness. He could not bear to touch it ... The face fragmented and came away like curds off milk.'

There are worse descriptions. really.
eunicee*