dennis scharnberg

Please name the film:

1.      “It is a bright, guilty world.”

2.      “Come in, sir!  Have a mint julep, sir!  Yack yack yack.”

3.      “They have a name for faces like that.”

Jeremy Breedlove,  A Sardonic View of the Movies.

“Please,  won’t someone admire my confusion?” whispered Helen to herself.   “Or at least respect it?”

Trent Bendix,  Patricia Knows Best.

Poetry Fragments:

1.      right onto the dirty floor of the world

2.      there is no place for art to park (it is so quiet when it’s dark)

3.      in the hallways, in the grove, I see the lips (and eyes that rove)

4.      fire is fool and feel is fear

5.      warblers of the whorled-yew night

6.      he hates that picture, loves that frame

7.      a fish in the flood am I

8.      a speck or two of dusty light,  the empty shell of something trite

9.      falling is what we do so well

Tessa Fielding and Constance Gogarty,  A Book of Lists.

And then Bob tore the sheet right along the perforations.   Clean and true.   Like a good citizen.   It was wonderful.

Devona Twilly,  Shallowness, a Novel.

History isn’t made, it’s played.   Like a silly pop tune.

Tyrone Sommer,  Circling the Drain.

Try doubting for thirty seconds.   Now, try again for sixty.   (What is doubting?   How do we doubt?)

Daniel Brasso,  The Infinite Regress.

“Some things are awful, and some things are less awful.”   Immediately, Reggie wondered whether he had stated the case too harshly.

Nicholas Crisp,  Unfit for Murder.

                       I think…   I believe…   I see…   I feel…   I know…   I want…   I prefer…   I like…   I look…   I yearn…   I enjoy…   I deplore…   I disagree…   I say…   I  do…   I don’t…   I will…   I won’t…   I would…   I could…   I did…   I didn’t…   I…   I…   I…

Anselm Bligh,  A Collection of Miniatures.

We are the holes in our bodies.   We are absences.

Pamela Hrothgar,  No Stone Unturned.