I'd just finished reading Iris Murdoch's A Fairly Honourable Defeat.
Not without a dizzying perspective of satanical engulfment and Julius King is Lucifer, the beautiful and gifted playmaker for honest persons to cheat about themselves.
How easy it is to deceive and be deceived!
Have always had a thing for Irish authors.
Iain Banks and Iris Murdoch. Two favourites and they're Irish.
And while reading Bank's Walking on Glass, I read and think about the damning final chapter with Stereophonics' Drowning in the background (in my head and on the stereo alternatively).
Mornings I can't breatheI annoyingly caused the passengers of my car to dread listening repetitiously to it while I was still haunted by the characters of the book, and I must apologise. Good thing its good music.
Wave crashes over me
And drowns me
Wind's running rings around me
It takes me time to see
What is real?
-Drowning by Stereophonics
And to Murdoch's classical attempt to define the philosophical realism, social intimacies and the morals of having none, I'm reminded to Damien Rice's 9 Crimes.
Leave me out with the waste
This is not what I do
It's the wrong kind of place
To be cheating on you
It's the wrong time
She's pulling me through
It's a small crime
And I've got no excuse
-9 crimes by D. Rice
Must I always have this accompanying music to help me feel the characters in books I read?
I can't help it.
Books are the literary spirit and lyrics are the haunting factor.
I cannot help but not to separate them two.
If I did, its like being Julius King.