Welcome to Bookmarker!

This is a personal project by @dellsystem. I built this to help me retain information from the books I'm reading. Currently can only be used by a single user (myself), but I plan to extend it to support multiple users eventually.

Source code on GitHub (MIT license).

159

10

1990

0
terms
2
notes

Lenore visits Clarice Spaniard and watches Kopek Spasova and then the Spaniard family theatre performance; Rick continues the Fieldbinder collection and has a dream about infinite urine streams; Rick is offered a generous contract from Stonecipheco in exchange for allowing Lenore to visit her brother

Foster Wallace, D. (2004). 10. In Foster Wallace, D. The Broom of the System. Penguin Books, pp. 159-174

164

A truly, truly horrible dream, last night. Don't even want to talk about it. I am fresh out of bed. Urinating. I look down. Just a lazy stream of early-morning maple-syrup urine. Suddenly the single stream is a doubled, forking stream. Then a tripled trident stream. Four, five, ten. Soon I am at the node of a fan of urine that sprays out in all directions, blasting the walls of the bathroom, plaster shooting everywhere, contents swirling at my feet. When I awaoke--alone, Lenoreless, hence the dream--I was really afraid I had wet the bed, the windows, the ceiling. I may murder Jay over this one.

right after note 575

—p.164 by David Foster Wallace 1 year, 5 months ago

A truly, truly horrible dream, last night. Don't even want to talk about it. I am fresh out of bed. Urinating. I look down. Just a lazy stream of early-morning maple-syrup urine. Suddenly the single stream is a doubled, forking stream. Then a tripled trident stream. Four, five, ten. Soon I am at the node of a fan of urine that sprays out in all directions, blasting the walls of the bathroom, plaster shooting everywhere, contents swirling at my feet. When I awaoke--alone, Lenoreless, hence the dream--I was really afraid I had wet the bed, the windows, the ceiling. I may murder Jay over this one.

right after note 575

—p.164 by David Foster Wallace 1 year, 5 months ago
164

Do pictures tell? I have a color Polaroid of Vance at seven and Veronica at twenty-nine traversing a rickety dry-gray dock in Nova Scotia to board a fishing boat. The water is a deep iron smeared with plates of foam; the sky is a thin iron smeared with same; the mass of white gulls around Vance's outstretched bread-filled hand is a cloud of plunging white V's. Vance Vigorous, as he holds out his white little child's hand, is surrounded and obscured by a cloud of living, breathing shrieking, shitting, plunging incarnations of the letter V; and I have it captured forever on quality film, giving me the right and power to cry whenever and wherever I please. What might that say about pictures.

an unexpectedly beautiful and sad paragraph

—p.164 by David Foster Wallace 1 year, 5 months ago

Do pictures tell? I have a color Polaroid of Vance at seven and Veronica at twenty-nine traversing a rickety dry-gray dock in Nova Scotia to board a fishing boat. The water is a deep iron smeared with plates of foam; the sky is a thin iron smeared with same; the mass of white gulls around Vance's outstretched bread-filled hand is a cloud of plunging white V's. Vance Vigorous, as he holds out his white little child's hand, is surrounded and obscured by a cloud of living, breathing shrieking, shitting, plunging incarnations of the letter V; and I have it captured forever on quality film, giving me the right and power to cry whenever and wherever I please. What might that say about pictures.

an unexpectedly beautiful and sad paragraph

—p.164 by David Foster Wallace 1 year, 5 months ago