Nexus: The Rosy Crucifixion, Book 3

Nexus: The Rosy Crucifixion, Book 3

Henry Miller

Language: English

Pages: 316

ISBN: 0802151787

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

Nexus, the last book of Henry Miller's epic trilogy The Rosy Crucifixion, is widely considered to be one of the landmarks of American fiction. In it, Miller vividly recalls his many years as a down-and-out writer in New York City, his friends, mistresses, and the unusual circumstances of his eventful life.

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‘Maybe,’ she replied. And that was that…you haven’t got a drink around here, have you?” “Sure I have.” I went to the closet and got out a bottle. “What’s this?” he said, grabbing the bottle of Vermouth. “That’s a hair tonic,” I said. “I suppose you want Scotch?” “If you have it, yes. If not, I’ve got some in my car.” I got out a bottle of Scotch and poured him a stiff drink. “How about yourself?” “Never touch it. Besides, it’s too early in the day.” “That’s right. You’ve got to write that

coquetry, mimicry, war, famine, torture, intrigue, vice, lust, joy, sorrow. A Tibetan scroll, with its mandalas, its gods and devils, its strange symbols, its prescribed colours, was as familiar to me, some part of me, as the nymphs and sprites, the streams and forests, of a European painter. But what was closer to me than anything in Chinese, Japanese or Tibetan art was this art of India born of the mountain itself. (As if the mountains became pregnant with dreams and gave birth to their

follow her?” “Better than that, Hen. I’ve got it all figured out. Soon as I learn what boat she’s taking I’ll go to the steamship office and, even if I have to bribe the clerk, I’ll get a stateroom next to hers. When she comes out that first morning I’ll be there to greet her. ‘Hi there, sweetheart! Beautiful day today, what?’” “She’ll love that.” “She won’t jump overboard, that’s for sure.” “But she might tell the captain that you’re annoying her.” “Fuck the captain! I can handle him…Three

not allow them to keep drooping away down low as a great many of them are now doing and thereby give plenty of height to walk beneath the same…” It went on and on in this vein, always detailed and explicit, the style never varying. One more paragraph – “I wish that you would kindly have the boughs and branches pruned, trimmed and pared off and down considerably below the roofs of the houses and other buildings and not allow them to protrude over, lap over, lay over, cross over or come in

Mona. “He was like a dog that wants to be stroked and patted, wasn’t he?” “A very lonely man, no doubt.” “Didn’t he say he played the violin?” “Yes,” said Mona. “Don’t you remember, he mentioned that the string quartet met at his home once a week…or used to.” “That’s right. God, how the Jews love the violin!” “I suspect he thinks you have a drop of Jewish blood in you, Val.” “Maybe I have. I certainly wouldn’t be ashamed of it if I did.” An awkward silence ensued. “I didn’t mean it the

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