Visions Of Cody Quotes

America is a lonely crock of shit...

I am writing this book because we're all going to die - In the loneliness of my own life, my father dead, my brother dead, my mother faraway, my sister and my wife far away, nothing here but my own tragic hands that once were guarded by a world, a sweet attention, that now are left to guide and disappear their own way into the common dark of all our deaths, sleeping in me raw bed, alone and stupid: with just this one pride and consolation: my broke heart in the general despair and opened up inwards to the Lord, I made a supplication in this dream

I can’t think of anybody…who knows the sum and substance of what I know and feel and cry about in my secret self all the time when I don’t feel strong, the sorrows of time and personality, and can therefore on all levels make it all the way with me

I know the secrets; I dig Joyce and Proust above Melville and Celine.

Ah the mad hearts of all of us.

...the great black bird broods outside my window in the high dark night waiting to enfold me when I leave the house tomorrow only I'm going to dodge it successfully by sheer animalism and ability and even exhilaration, so goodnight

…the loneliness…the “inexpressibly delicious" sensation of this memory - for as memories are older they’re like wine rarer, till if you find a real old memory, one of infancy, not an established often tasted one but a brand new one, it would taste better than the Napoleon brandy Stendhal himself must have stared at…

I'm a fool, the new day rises on the world and on my foolish life: I'm a fool, I loved the blue dawns over racetracks and made a bet Ioway was sweet like its name, my heart went out to lonely sounds in the misty springtime night of wild sweet America in her powers, the wetness on the wire fence bugled me to belief, I stood on sandpiles with an open soul, I not only accept loss forever, I am made of loss - I am made of Cody, too -

Out on the road outside Cheyenne Wells a great argument developed between Pomeray and Old Bull as to whether they were going to buy a little whiskey or lot of wine, one being a wino, the other an alcoholic. Not having eaten for a long time, feverish, they leaped out of the car and started making brawling gestures at each other which were supposed to represent a fistfight between two men...and the next moment they were embracing each other, old Pomeray tearfully, Old Bull raising his eyes with lonely sarcasm at the huge and indefatigable heavens above Colorado...because everybody was in a hole during the Depression, and felt it

the brooding mountains looked over Cody Wyoming two unmovable statues against the tremendous sky sagebrush fields and wild foxes claimed the open land in between wilderness and humanity I lived in a place of mythic grandeur the craft of God or a very lucky set of circumstance that had painted the state’s corner with such moving elegance and breathtaking visions towards the east of the protective peaks and down the fragrant river the main street bustled with familiar faces and travelers noise and experience the being of humans against the backdrop of god’s wildest country

I WAS JUST SITTING DOWN TO DINNER THAT NIGHT WHEN MY cell phone began to chime. It was leftover night, which was not a bad thing at our house, since it allowed me to sample two or three of Rita’s tasty concoctions at one sitting, and I stared at the phone for several seconds and thought very hard about the last piece of Rita’s Tropical Chicken sitting there on the platter before I finally picked up my phone and answered. “It’s me,” Deborah said. “I need a favor.” “Of course you do,” I said, looking at Cody as he pulled a large helping of Thai noodles out of the serving dish. “But does it have to be right now?” Debs made a sound somewhere between a hiss and a grunt. “Ow. Yeah, it does. Can you pick up Nicholas from day care?” she said. Her son, Nicholas, was enrolled at a Montessori day-care center in the Gables, although I was reasonably sure he was too young to count beads. I had wondered whether I should be doing the same for Lily Anne, but Rita had pooh-poohed the idea. She said it was a waste of money until a child was two or three years old. For Deborah, though, nothing was too good for her little boy, so she cheerfully shelled out the hefty fee for the school. And she had never been late to pick him up, no matter how pressing her workload—but here it was, almost seven o’clock, and Nicholas was still waiting for Mommy. Clearly something unusual was afoot, and her voice sounded strained—not angry and tense as it had been earlier, but not quite right, either. “Um, sure, I guess I can get him,” I said. “What’s up with you?” She made the hiss-grunt sound again and said, “Uhnk. Damn it,” in a kind of hoarse mutter, before going on in a more normal voice, “I’m in the hospital.” “What?” I said. “Why, what’s wrong?” I had an alarming vision of her as I had seen her in her last visit to the hospital, an ER trip that had lasted for several days as she lay near death from a knife wound. “It’s no big deal,” she said, and there was strain in her voice, as well as fatigue. “It’s just a broken arm. I just … I’m going to be here for a while and I can’t get Nicholas in time.

In his mind, (located somewhere above his ears, or so he believed, due to the way just hearing her name could move his heart) he knew she was a star. Yet he held no overly grandiose visions of her. He knew she wasn't the biggest or brightest, not the closest, nor the warmest, not even the only one. But to him, he saw a magic in her, a comfort, a place that felt; like home. And without being able to see her up there, well, to him, the sky might as well be fucking empty.

Looking down at her blood-stained shirt she felt numb. The world seemed to spin and the edges of her vision began to turn black. The last thing she saw before the world slipped away was the enraged face of a gorilla charging toward her.

«Non ha mai risolto i suoi problemi con la rabbia, piccolo. Ti usava per sentirsi meglio, almeno per un po’. Era sempre arrabbiato. L’ho visto sul suo volto questa sera e, se devo essere sincero, mi ha spaventato. Non posso nemmeno immaginare quanto debba essere stato terribile per te vivere con lui.» Aveva ragione, no? Nella sua testa, come anche in terapia, Denver si era concentrato soprattutto su quello che doveva fare per evitare di ritrovarsi in una situazione simile. Aveva discusso la possibilità di diventare più determinato a proteggere i suoi limiti. Aveva trascorso un numero infinito di incontri con il suo terapista a parlare di comportamenti abusivi e come rintracciare i segnali. Inoltre, avevano anche discusso della violenza fisica, del fatto che non fosse mai stata colpa sua. Tuttavia, durante tutte le loro conversazioni e le riflessioni su Cody, non si era mai reso conto di quanto fossero diventate abitudinarie alcune azioni, come offrire il suo corpo. «Non lo sapevo,» disse, sentendosi improvvisamente molto triste. Cody lo aveva privato di tanto, non solamente della sua dignità e dei soldi. Gli aveva anche rubato l’innocenza, in un certo senso, un’ingenuità che aveva sempre caratterizzato Denver, ma che aveva perso durante il corso della vita. «Giuro che non sapevo quanto fosse diventata contorta la mia visione del sesso.» «Lo so, piccolo. Va tutto bene. Troveremo una soluzione anche per questo. Insieme»

He selected an AR-15 rifle and a Benelli M1014 12-gauge combat shotgun and propped them in the corner to take along. Cody packed a gear bag with two .45 ACP 1911 Colts with extra magazines, night vision goggles, body armor, .223 rounds for the AR-15 and 12-gauge buck for the shotgun, binoculars, rope, handcuffs and flex-ties, a pair of radios, and several cell phones. While he was bent over buckling a holster with a 9MM Model 26 “Baby” Glock to his ankle, the door was pushed open.

Instinctively, Cody glanced over but all he could see was the gaping silver-rimmed muzzle of a snub-nosed large caliber revolver an inch from his eye. The cylinder revolved, filled with dull lead bullets, as the trooper pulled the trigger. There was a tremendous explosion of light and thunder. He could no longer see out of his right eye, but it was more than that. There was no pain, only tremendous silence. Then he was floating, light as air, as if his lungs had filled with helium. He passed through the sheet metal roof of his pickup into the night, which was no longer cold. As he rose his eyesight was restored but he no longer had feeling in his limbs and his arms hung loose at his sides. He looked down. He could see the top of his pickup from above, the bed of his truck which was empty except for a crumpled fast-food wrapper in the corner, then the rusted metal roof of the First National Bar. The windows of his pickup strobed three more times but there was no sound and he felt nothing. Cody’s life didn’t pass before his eyes, but he clearly saw the photo of Justin in his football uniform and a vision of Jenny sleeping in bed from years before they separated the first time and he rose until he could see the river and the ribbon of highway through the valley and Jimmy and the truck driver emerge from the bar and stand on the porch and he knew what happened to those poor girls and he felt both cheated and angry at the same time and he wished he could do it all over again, everything. Especially the last five minutes. Then nothing. No sound, smell, or sight. Peace.