In the Dust

I read "Flags in the Dust" in 3 days. I'm not a speedreader, but I have been known to misinterpret a syllabus, so that I'm spending a full weekend cursing my professor for being a cold hearted bastard (or bitch). Turns out I read too much. Anyway, there were moments of unadulterated adoration for Faulkner's elegance and an ardent frustration awakening those deeprooted pyromaniacal tendencies of mine over style. He's a lunatic with all this time business. And lately, it's a sore spot - I've got time, but not really. Also, Faulkner manages, sometimes, to capture an entire mood within an endless page with such patience & precision I wonder if his hands ever touched dirt. My mind is racing tonight because time means memory. Another sore spot since discovering how forgetful one can be... or better yet, how I've managed to make heros out of past loves and heaven out of past lives. According to the book, everybody does.