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One or more of these excerpts will change regularly. AUTHOR'S NOTE TO THE READER Because Harley is a tale of extremes I thought it appropriate to "forewarn" the reader, as it were, prior to purchase. Harley was a hard write and will, no doubt, be a hard read for most who purchase it. The language is both sophisticated and coarse, crude. If you consider yourself "vocabulary-challenged", you will probably find it cumbersome to read. If, on the other hand, you appreciate "different" usages or applications of the language, then you're sure to find it educational, if not all the more enjoyable. Those easily offended by the use of expletives or four-letter words should brace themselves, because it's going to be a bumpy ride. There is a rhyme and reason for it, however, as I will get to shortly. In particular, the potential reader who has a problem with extremely graphic violence and/or sexual content is best advised to stop reading now. Naturally I would like as many people as possible to read Harley, and I'm certainly not trying to turn anyone away. But in fairness I also feel that I have a moral obligation to let everyone know in advance what he or she is about to undertake and let the choice be made with this knowledge as one is reasonably inclined. As it will ultimately become clear Harley is not laced with gratuitous violence and sex for the purpose of sensationalism. Quite the contrary, it is, put simply, a moral story about an "extremely" immoral man. Richard D. Kennedy EXCERPT # 1, Chapter 3 ...Otherwise occupied, Harley ignores him. As much as he is to himself, Dusty is an enigma to him. "...I'm curious about something." "What's that?" "...You." "What about me?" "...Why are you trying to help me?...Why did you bring the food and that blanket, and take me around to all of those places, and buy me all these things?...I don't understand. You don't know me. What am I to you? What do you stand to gain by helping a total stranger? I could be a serial killer for all you know...It's just doesn't add up." Using a rusty Swiss knife, Dusty lops off another slice of bread. The blade is chipped and charred from many a fiery dip. "It's like I told you before. It's the neighborly thing...You see, out here no one makes it on his own, not for long anyway. So, we help each other out when we can. It's a mutual thing. Today I show you the ropes, and maybe one of these days you'll be able to help me, like Tank did by giving us this bread. He didn't need it tonight, but he may tomorrow, and maybe then we'll have something to spare for him. So, it's really not all that complicated. It's called survival." Harley sits up, draws in his legs, and wraps his arms around his knees. "...So, how did you make it to the streets?" "It wasn't hard, believe me!" Dusty replies with a laugh. "No, I'm serious...What happened? How'd you get here?" Dusty holds his smile, but there is a hint of sadness in his flippant reply. "...It's a long story, friend. But then, aren't they all?" "Have you been here long? I saw you with those people today. You don't get to know that many people overnight. And you sure seem to have a lot of clout with them." "I've been around a while all right. But not that long. Like I said, time blurs as much as it flies." "You're an intelligent man who obviously has the ability to climb out of this mess, it seems to me. So, why haven't you?" "Oh, I will one of these days when the time is right. Right now, though, I don't have a choice." Harley looks reflectively toward the blackened bayou. As it was when he asked about the past, Dusty's reply is more riddled than straightforward which, considering the amount of generosity he's exhibited and the unusual interest he seems to have taken in him, keeps him suspicious and wary, despite his superficial philanthropy. Without looking, he takes up his bread, bites into it, chokes and spits it out. "...What the matter?" Dusty asks. "Sand!" gasps Harley with a hand at his throat. Copyright ©1996-99 by Richard Kennedy All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means, including informational storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review. For information email the author: ricola125@hotmail.com. EXCERPT # 2, CHAPTER 27 "...There was something about her that appealed to me. It wasn't sensual...Well, it was. But it was more than that...I talked and she listened. I guess it was because she was a good listener... I got the impression that she was new there, too. I asked her about it, and she said she was...She said her husband had jilted her and run off somewhere with another woman, leaving her with a kid to support after ten years of being a housewife... She told me they'd recently gotten a divorce and she was trying to get back into circulation...Trying to learn how to live again...". "...I jokingly suggested that she could do a lot better than a dive like that. She heartily agreed, but said it was the best she could at the time because she didn't have a car and it was within walking distance...And then I asked why she wasn't up front with the lounge lizards and mingling. And she said she was a little leery of that crowd, that they were a little too red neck for her...I asked why she didn't go somewhere else, and she smiled and said: 'Why don't we?'...I asked her what she had in mind, and she said she didn't know. She said it really didn't matter all that much...Because she'd been feeling awfully lonely for a long time...When a woman says that, it usually means one thing." "'You mean a motel?'" I said. "'Yes,'" she said in her husky cigarette voice without blinking. I told her I really wasn't in the mood for that. "'...Why? I thought men always were,'" she said. "'You're wrong,'" I said. "'...You're not married, are you?'" she asked. "'No,'" I replied. "'I just don't feel like it tonight.'" "'...I just want to feel like a woman again. I want to feel loved. I've forgotten what it feels like,'" she said. "...She reached across the table and took my hand and practically begged me...What the heck, I thought. I put a bill on the table, and we went out the back...When we got outside I could see that she was dressed better than I thought. She had on a hip-hugging dress and long, spiked heels...She filled them well...She called a cab. She said she knew a place where we could go...Said she'd take care of everything...We went to a motel a few blocks down the street...On the way over I had the driver stop at a liquor store and got a bottle of Chevis...She said she didn't drink much, but when she did she drank only scotch...I waited outside while she got the key. The room was like an extension of the bar...It was dark and dank and had the funny smell of mixed scents to it, like a rank perfumery...It all came from the bed, you know , where a thousand whores before her had laid...There were insipid prints on the walls; roaches on the floor, and the furniture looked like it had been penciled in from a mobile home...She turned on the lamp and sat on the bed...I sat across from her in a munchkin swivel chair in front of the window that was draped with what seemed like dull-brown sackcloth...The pull-string blinds were yellowed and bent...We talked a while...It was like the room; hackneyed and sparse. Somehow it didn't matter, though...She took off her earrings and laid them on the night stand by the bed. Then she took off her shoes and carefully set them down at the foot of the bed where the carpet had been worn to the drugget. Then she took mine off...There was something smooth and assuasive about the way she did it, about the way she smiled and looked at me, as if her only thought was to please and be pleased...I was already erect when she went to the bathroom to prepare herself...She came out a few minutes later in a black satin chemise. She had her dress in one hand and her stockings in the other...She stopped at the door and leaned against it, smiling somewhere deep inside of me, when she saw the way I was looking at her...She then came back and sat down on the bed...She moved so smoothly it was like a dream...She poured the drinks...My wife hadn't done that for me in years...We could hear the cars out on the street. Someone ran a light and there was an accident...I swivelled around and peeked over my shoulder through the blinds, leaning back to see what had happened. She got up to look, but instead of going around she leaned over me, bringing herself full sway up from my stomach, grazing me with her long, red hair and gracious breasts until they were in my face as she stretched her lissome self out all over me...It was like being drenched in warm butter...She never looked out. Instead, she kept her eyes on me and took my hand away from the blind and guided my dusty fingertips around to the small of her back. And then she slowly lowered herself down on top of me, wrapping her neck and her smile around the side of my head as she pressed my face into her freckled breasts...I lowered my hands and pulled her ass hard against my throbbing cock. It grew tight in my hands, and she moaned and raised up, throwing her head back. She then lowered her head, covering my lips with hers with her mouth open and her tongue darting in and out, like she was screwing me with it...She unbuttoned my shirt, throwing it open, as she lowered her face against my chest, like and kissing it hungrily. Then she unbreeched my pants and pulled them down and sunk her lips to the nub of my penis...But before she did she hesitated a minute to look up at me with a smile that laughed...It was like she was embarrassed and at the same time full of gleeful anticipation...I'm telling you this in such detail because it was far and away better than any of those high-priced hookers I'd had before and a thousand times better than it had ever been with my wife. As good as they were, the call girls were all business, and my wife's approach to sex with me was like doing the dishes, something to be put off as long as it could and then taken care of as soon as possible...I'd never been made love to like that before with such complete abandon, and I never will again...And the funny thing is I never knew her name. She never said, and I never asked...We laid there in each other's arms for long time afterward without saying a word. Talk would have spoiled the euphoria we felt at being so wondrously fulfilled and satisfied...". ORDER THE DUNNING OF HARLEY NESBIT DOWNLOAD- Click on BuyIt ORDER THE KENNEDY LIBRARY TODAY!- Click On BuyIt |
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| SIMON | ||
EXCERPT # 1, CHAPTER 3 ...As for himself, he wasn't that far along; far from it. He was still in that awkward, in between stage when from time to time and for no apparent reason he would suddenly be besieged by weird compulsions that caused him to do the most bizarre things. A few months earlier he was coming home from school when he was suddenly seized by an irresistible urge to go over to Teagan's house. It was absolutely uncanny. He had this irrepressible desire to talk to her, possibly to ask her something; what he couldn't imagine. In retrospect, he now realized that he should have done something else- anything else, like trying to split rails with a rubber hose. Maybe it was because she was the firs t and only girl he'd known who hadn't given him a "go thither" look or a confusing array of mixed messages. It was all very intriguing and baffling at the same time. She sure didn't seem to be too perplexed when he arrived, he recalled. As he was about to discover, she was light years ahead of him in boy-girl relations; that and just about everything else. She was already on the porch, sitting in the swing. It was almost as if she'd been waiting for him, and she had the strangest look in her eyes. It was like nothing he'd ever seen before. They almost seemed to be saying, "...What took you so long?" How she could have known he was coming over still gnawed at him. He remembered later thinking that she must have been equipped with some sort of sonar, like bats or dolphins; or his mom. Anyway, there she was, wearing what looked like a brand new dress. At least it was one he'd never seen before. She looked all doll-like in it, different somehow, as if she'd changed skins. It was baby blue and fringed with white ribbons and lance, like the one in her silky black hair. Any more than that he couldn't remember very well, except that when he first saw her he was reminded of Alice In Wonderland. It made him feel as if he were wildly out of place and character; that he should have been a smiling card with a red heart on each corner. This didn't do a thing for his concentration. She smiled funny, too, he recalled. It was a different smile- bigger, almost hungry-looking. Why he didn't wave and keeping on going while he still had the chance, he didn't know. Before he knew it he was on the walk and headed for the porch, as if in a semiconscious state and powered by batteries. On he went, mounting the steps one by one. He stopped at the top. The air up there was surprisingly warm. And thin. He could scarcely breathe. Climbing Mt. Everest would have been easier. Before that moment there were only two things that made him sweat- needles, of course, and soccer; now there was this, whatever that was. Up to that point neither of them had said a word. They just looked at each other; he in awe and she in her own special way. That was strange, too- for her anyway. Finally her lips moved. That's when he seemed to awaken and realize just where he was. He remembered how odd he felt. It was as if he had been put in a powerful trance and teleported by an extraterrestrial with a stick sense of humor. The mission then which he had no choice but to accept was to explain what in the hell he was doing there. That was the funny part. It was also terrifying. Before opening his mouth, he remembered wishing that he carried a special card around with him. It would have had a disclaimer on it, like the ones on TV- something stating that the opinions he was about to express weren't necessarily his own; neither was he responsible for them. Looking back, that would have been a splendid idea because he preceded to unleash one of the most fantastic monologues in the history of human kind. To his utter astonishment she seemed impressed, enthralled even. Oozing honey, she seemed to hang on his every word. This made him feel even worse because he didn't have the slightest idea what he was talking about. Painful as it was, on he pressed knowing he was making a royal ass of himself. Eventually he began to exert some control over himself and was rewarded with an invitation to take a seat beside her; the one clearly marked: For Idiots Only. Fortunately she seemed to sense his extreme discomfort. This was due in part to the many nifty turns of phrase he was ejecting, such as, "...Well" and "Uh". No doubt looking like he needed a wet-vac for his face also helped. In any event she finally decided to help him out by joining in the conversation. Like bread crumbs, she dropped little questions along the way, guiding him down the darkest path he had ever seen before. After a few moments of this, he began to feel a bit more at ease, though he was still sweating bullets and trying to think of a way to depart gracefully. He even managed to break a lengthy string of monosyllable words and wow her with a real sentence that had a subject and predicate and even some adjectives. This amazed him because he was actually engaged in a real conversation and his confidence began to soar. That's when she spoiled everything by reaching for his hand. The instant she touched it he became much more than less comatose. Except for his hand, he was an instant invertebrate; someone also pulled the plug on his tongue again. In spite of the fact that his brain was functioning only marginally, he was able to observe how she incapacitated him. He'd been sitting there talking almost casually while her dark blue eyes roamed all over him as if she were gazing under a Christmas tree. Looking oddly fascinated- weird really, they suddenly settled on one of his hands. Seeing her expression, he had the sense that something scary was about to happen. He tried to take evasive action, but she was too fast for him, and she seized his hand and had it wrapped in her web before he knew it. She eyed it like a curious toy. Drawing it nearer she then secured it in both of her hands where she could examine it at her leisure. Coyly she tugged his fingers this way and that, seeming to know he had no control over them. He had two problems with that. One was what she said and how she said it: "...Oh, Simon! You're so intelligent!...So witty and imaginative!" she exclaimed with her eyes fluttering wildly. Her voice sounded strange, distorted somehow, almost theatrical. If that wasn't enough, her eyelids were dong enough rpms to take off on their own and light the nearest tree. And the way she flattered him! Never in his life had anyone ever spoken so highly of him; never had he heard so many out and out lies. Still, she was very convincing. She was at least twice as smart as he, if grades counted for anything, and from the way she talked it was obvious that her imagination was a good deal more fanciful than his as well. The other problem he had was what she eventually did with his hand. This was the bit that shut his system down. Drawing it nearer she maneuvered his arm in such a way as to brush it across her chest; not once, not twice, but repeatedly. Fuses began to blow, and before he knew it he was on overload. Seconds later he was virtually brain dead. Oddly enough, a few neurons still flickered; enough for it to be revealed to him why he was there. It was also in this was in serious jeopardy. state that he began to get a glimmering that the simple life he'd known theretofore. Ever since then he'd been more or less in a state of continual turmoil, marked by only occasional periods of tranquility and functional lucidity. What happened after that occurred in the space of an almost complete blackout. He could barely remember finding an excuse to leave. He remembered backing down the porch with his tongue in his smoldering hand. He remembered missing the last step and splitting his jeans up the crotch. He remembered slipping on a stick and his legs sliding apart, bowing him over involuntarily. He could remember being in an awful hurry to get home, and he could remember trying to remember later what had happened to him. But that was about it. "...a thoughtful and unique novel...As a published fiction writer...I commend Kennedy ..." G.T.- Commerce, TX EXCERPT # 2, CHAPTER 25 ...He spent a lot of time with his sister, reminiscing mostly. After supper, while his mom and Willie May saw to the dishes and Chuck took Mikie into the living room to watch the big game with his dad, they moseyed out onto the back porch. He didn't ask her out and she didn't ask him. They just went. There they plunked themselves down in a couple of lawn chairs and stared out across the yard, enjoying the sights and the sounds and the smells that surrounded them. Click Here To Continue And Register For Your FREE Kennedy Library |
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| HOUSE OF DECEMBER | ||
| EXCERPT # 1 THE CREATION Placed before us as from the potency of the universe, its imagination drained complete, is the creation of moon and sun and earth, of life as we know it; as if as far as the eye can see all things were of silhouette suddenly stricken with color and rendered with a perception that is reality... And so life became of limb, of the soft breast, the taste of liquids, the smell of spring perfume and of sounds unlimited, as the eye is given to motion... And so we have lived, generation after generation, as a story after a story, making after the things of life that we have been able to see. And it is wrong.... Why then a need for God? Why when we come to passing do we not clutch the soft breast, but rather cling to dear memories? Why when we possess all that we can see do we lose heart and succumb to the damnation that is reality?... It is because that we can see ourselves that we assume this the nature of our existence. Existence based on sight. is of necessity based on false premise... We are but a spark in the night that is infinity. And as of light it is our nature that we be forever moving. How else can we be linked with the infinite space That is the sea of all creation? And how can we be sure that we are not space to what is to us at present vacant?... We must of necessity accept the perpetuity of the universe. And as the most minute atom of its smallest part, we must assume no limits upon our existence. And of eternal purpose must be the keeping of our house, and the improvement of it- however small... And this can be done only in keeping the truth of one's existence outside Of this world; and in being true to one's self as the single most important element of the universe... Copyright ©1996-99 by Richard Kennedy All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means, including informational storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review. EXCERT # 2 VARIATIONS ON GREEN And now it is the time of morning, night eclipsed in brightness and a blue sky, clear and as cool as October will be on turning and pretending to be free, disclaiming the day and the darkness as one in the same and unrelated to the purpose of everything green... Those who know green are nonbelievers in night, truth-seekers found in fields where first lost, deeper than every kind of blue, free as the grass appears to be, freer yet than every dimension of mind and love, and first dew on dried earth; equal at least to a child's first moment at breast... Green is time, a word both releasing and binding, sunset on the heels of sunrise a day, a night, a love, a life of feeling and finding the rhythms of the universe, the rhythm of a single life, sadness in joy, and joy in the greatest sorrow, and an appreciation of the day on first touching... Green is truth in its purest form, unlike the miles of sky jammed into minds in place of truth for those in search of it; green is the shaft of love that pierces every charlatan's heart, and the humanity reflected in the eyes of those undone and beginning again this time with giant strides... Green is the color of love, love first beginning, like a spring, and once ended green is the color of search and seeking. Green is the sweat on lovers' breasts and between hands and bodies entwined, like love-clouds twisted in unison; green is one soul comprised of two parts- two emotions that total one feeling fused in mystery, like sun and earth- a riddle no man can solve... Green is mind once surpassed itself, beauty without description, song without words which fall on first hearing; words spoken in the totality of silence and ring like bells for the undeaf, and bring incalculable joy for no apparent reason; green is the heart that beasts in dead eyes and brings rapture to those already paralyzed by the joy of enjoying... Green is music for no ears, a symphony for the savage who fears only the sound of himself thinking and knows not what to think; green is for the intellect who has survived a sea of thought only to question his motives; green is for beast and man who are filled will all but green and would see no further than their humble beginnings- and it is the time of morning, and the morning is born into green. ORDER THE HOUSE OF DECEMBER DOWNLOAD- Click On The BuyIt Button ORDER THE KENNEDY LIBRARY TODAY!- Click On The BuyIt Button ORDER THE KENNEDY LIBRARY TODAY!- Click On BuyIt
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