Illicit Blade of Grass

(Rozelle Zofen)

Published: 2007
Language: English
Wordcount: 23,772 / 67 pg
Flesch-Kincaid Reading Ease: 86.3
LoC Category: PZ
Downloads: 654
Added to site: 2009.05.10 24125
License: by-nc-nd

A writer feasts while a ghost and her hungry soul wait in the south of France.American scribe Metofeaz Litigatti swaps places with a published writer who once dated his wife. Metofeaz begins to write while staying at a villa in the south of France that is haunted by the ghost of Rozelle Zofen, a singer who was unlucky in love and who had waited in vain for a poet all her life after he recited the poem Illicit Blade of Grass during a party at the villa sometime around World War II.Metofeaz meets the Tourist, a young woman looking for a place to stay for the night, at the local village restaurant. Not long after they meet, Metofeaz returns to New York, where he is unhappy and eventually loses everything, including his wife. The Tourist ends up staying at the villa, which she makes her home, and even takes on the identity of Rozelle, as if the ghost’s misery were her own destiny.Years later, Rozelle comes to New York and tracks down Metofeaz, who is by now an Author, not just any author, but the co-author of John Lazoo, the novel. They now have the right to be together, but Metofeaz has an apatite for creating and is dead set on making the most of the fame he has gained from the success of Lazoo.

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east. As the creature's head turns slowly to see Metofeaz descend the stairs with Rozelle, it stands in her honor as Lunid bows his head in disbelief.

The two writers stand in front of the statue. The sun comes up.



All who bend an earlobe to confirm detail deemed the arrangement, once spoken, to be decorous. Lunid is to return home with Desine to visit his publisher. Metofeaz is to stay and enjoy the clean air so that he can, he hopes, inject realism into his work.

This is Lunid's idea. "The flatness of your work, my friend, will fatten by the air in your blood," he tells Metofeaz. "Breathe in and bubble the blood. Each bubble full of nature's character transpires, deliberately creating a homophonic bosom of full milk, as ink from an elk that is yet to spew from a soul fucked with pollutants and billboards. Stay here. Find finery in this." He points to the surrounding vineyards and the hills that rol

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