Archive for Cormac McCarthy

The Most Beautiful Girl in the World and the Crime She Committed Against Her Own Face

Posted in Love letters, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , on January 4, 2018 by Jarrod Boyle

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We met at the gym. I can remember a number of occasions I had seen her before we spoke, and she flowed inside the parameters of her name. Continue reading

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A Review of a Book I Have Only Half-Finished

Posted in Reading with tags , , , , , , , , , , on November 11, 2014 by Jarrod Boyle

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Haruki Murikami’s Dance Dance Dance has one of the best first pages I have read, but I’m still going to give it away.

The novel opens as follows: Continue reading

Ken Lay: Cage Fighting, Bloodshed and Resonating Against the Void

Posted in Kickboxing, Observation, Pretensions toward cultural theory, Real Men with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 25, 2014 by Jarrod Boyle

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To my mind, Ken Lay is more than just a police chief; he’s an exceptional public figure, fighting to make a crucial difference to Australian society. Continue reading

UFC: The Other Side of the Bloody Coin

Posted in Kickboxing, Real Men with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 11, 2013 by Jarrod Boyle

ufc_fight_night_33_hunt_vs-_bigfoot_poster“Young men love war and old men love it in them.”

-Cormac McCarthy,

The Crossing.

Phil Rothfield recently published an editorial in The Daily Telegraph that has gone viral across the Facebook pages of many of the people I know. It’s a pretty inflammatory screed, and I’m surprised any credible newspaper would publish it; the comment about ‘allowing’ women to fight on the card alongside men must have left feminists, along with fight-fans, scratching their heads. Continue reading

Cormac McCarthy's 'The Crossing'.

Posted in Reading with tags on February 19, 2011 by Jarrod Boyle

“He woke all night with the cold. He’d rise and mend back the fire and she was always watching him. When the flames came up her eyes burned out there like gatelamps to another world. A world burning on the shore of an unknowable void. A world construed out of blood and blood’s alkahest and blood in its core and in its integument because it was that nothing save blood had the power to resonate against the void which threatened hourly to devour it. He wrapped himself in the blanket and watched her. When those eyes and the nation to which they bore witness were gone at last with their dignity back into their origins, there would perhaps be other fires and other witnesses and other worlds otherwise beheld. But they would not be this one.” 

Cormac McCarthy,

The Crossing 

p.73

Bereft

Posted in Reading with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 20, 2010 by Jarrod Boyle

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It’s remarkable how many ‘Classic’ art works, if not the majority, received a very shaky reception at their initial publication. It makes you ask the question; how could a self-respecting, intelligent professional reviewer have failed to see Moby Dick/Pride and Prejudice/Lolita for what they so ‘obviously’ are? How is it that William Blake never exhibited, and Van Gogh never sold a painting? Continue reading

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