Today, in Pheats of Phrasing: James Morrow’s City of Truth (1990).
Saturday: pigs have wings, dogs can talk, money grows on trees—like some mindless and insistent song the litany wove through me, rolling amid the folds of my cerebrum as it always did when one of my nieces was scheduled to get burned. Stones are alive, rats chase cats—ten lies all told, a decalogue of deceit, resting at our city’s core like a dragon sleeping beside a subterranean treasure. Salt is sweet, the Pope is Jewish—and suddenly the child has done it, suddenly she’s thrown off the corrupt mantle of youth and put on the innocence of adulthood. Suddenly she’s a woman.
Your humble blogger/author (or “blogthor”) will be making regular postings of random passage excerpts from various tomes in his far-too-large library.