Status Updates From Suttree

Somebody has been fuckin my watermelons. [...] What do you aim to do? Hell, I don't know. It's about too late to do anything. He's damn near screwed the whole patch. I don't see why he couldnt of stuck to just one. Or a few. Well, I guess he takes himself for a lover. Sort of like a sailor in a whorehouse. -- C.M.

Unhinged vocabulary, extremely vivid and immersive but you have to google every other word

The last time I drank some of that shit I like to died. I stunk from the inside out. I laid in a tub of hot water all day and climbed out and dried and you could still smell it. I had to burn my clothes. I had the dry heaves, the drizzling shits, the cold shakes and the jakeleg. I can think about it now and feel bad. -- C.M.

pretty good, I think (based only off blood meridian) that I prefer the southern novels to the western novels

Early times. Best little old drink in the world. Get ye a drink, Sut. Suttree held it to the light. Small twigs, debris, matter, coiled in the oily liquid. He shook it. Smoke rose from the yellow floor of the bottle. Shit almighty, he said. -- C.M.

From all old seamy throats of elders, musty books, I've salvaged not a word. In a dream I walked with my grandfather by a dark lake and the old man's talk was filled with incertitude. I saw how all things false fall from the dead. -- C.M.

The shadowed earth in which he squatted bore the stale order of a crypt. -- C.M.