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Quote by Maria Dahvana Headley

“I know everyone has dreams of flying, but this isn’t a dream of flying. It’s a dream of floating, and the ocean is not water but wind. I call it a dream, but it feels realer than my life.”

Quote by Maria Dahvana Headley

Book:Magonia
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Work

Magonia

Magonia is a work of speculative fiction that delves into the concept of extraterrestrial life and the profound effects it would have on human society. The novel presents a scenario where humans have made contact with beings from another world, known as the Magonians, and follows the lives of individuals caught in the midst of this extraordinary event. more

Author

Maria Dahvana Headley
Maria Dahvana Headley

Maria Dahvana Headley, born on June 21, 1977, is an accomplished American novelist known for her unique imagination, profound themes, and rich narrative techniques. Her works have gained popularity among readers. more

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“Ricky Marigold was his name up at the commune. He was seventeen, had run away from home in Pacoima and was a righteous grasshead. He wasn't a bad kid, just fucked up. He was for: love, truth, gentleness, getting high, staying high, good sounds, pleasant weather, funky clothes and rapping with his friends. He was against: Viet Nam, the Laws with their riot sticks, violence, bigotry, random hatred, nine-to-five jobs, squares who tried to get you to conform, grass full of seeds and stems, and bringdowns in general. He met Jack Gardiner on the corner of Laurel Canyon and Sunset, across from Schwab's where the starlets went to show off their asses. He saw Jack Gardiner as a little too old to be making the scene, but the guy looked flaky enough: lumberjack shirt, good beard, bright eyes; and he seemed to be friendly enough. So Ricky invited him to come along. They walked up Laurel Canyon, hunching along next to the curb on the sidewalkless street. "Gonna be a quiet scene," Ricky said. "Just a buncha beautiful people groovin' on themselves, maybe turning on, you know." The older man nodded; his hands were deep in his pants pockets. They walked quite a while, finally turning up Stone Canyon Road. A mile up the twisting road. Jack Gardiner slipped a step behind Ricky Marigold and pulled out the blade. Ricky had started to turn, just as Connie's father drove the shaft into Ricky's back, near the base of the spine. Ricky was instantly paralyzed, though not dead. He slipped to the street, and Jack Gardiner dragged him into the high weeds and junk of an empty lot. He left him there to die. Unable to speak, unable to move, Ricky Marigold found all the love draining out of him. Slowly, for six hours, through the small of his back.”

PainDeathMurderCaliforniaDeceitLos Angeles1960sCountercultureHippiesSixties
Book:The Deadly Streets
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“There's plenty in the world that doth not die, And much that lives to perish, That rises and then falls, buds but to wither; The season's sun, though he should know his setting Up to the second of the dark coming, Death sights and sees with great misgiving A rib of cancer on the fluid sky. But we, shut in the houses of the brain, Brood on each hothouse plant Spewing its sapless leaves around, And watch the hand of time unceasingly Ticking the world away, Shut in the madhouse call for cool air to breathe. There's plenty that doth die; Time cannot heal nor resurrect; And yet, mad with young blood or stained with age, We still are loth to part with what remains, Feeling the wind abaut our heads that does not cool, And on our lips the dry mouth of the rain.”

LifeDeath
Author:Dylan Thomas
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