Top Ten: major boobs and sodas

Top Ten: major boobs and sodas




Only The Good Parts: Top Ten Amateur Ex-Girlfriend Sex Videos

Top Ten Ended the shower, I came into chamber still naked. We were in bed reading ...
I carried around and approached her face. I stared at me with malicious air and lifting it burst into and kissed my bullets.

It's short enough for kisses--within instants they became the small licking and it stimulated me all over--erections arrived exuberant! She made into her mouth and started moving slowly ... feeling language wheeled around the chapel and I could do nothing but to enjoy! Whilst I continued unbuttoned the bra and I started, pal ... major boobs and sodas. I have agreed that would be my shift, I have paving and I removed the panties. Was already wet and I went immediately to the clitoris, taking in my mouth and licking it good. One loud groan made me understand the thing she loved and thus I went on ... move my tongue slowly from the ground up and reaching until the Coitus ... 

This oral relationship has lasted a dozen minutes and then by movement of her catchment I realized I was for coming ... I have accelerated the rhythm and it was silent and intensive climax ...
At this point I could restrain myself the most, I crashed above the the stomach and lapping the tits and .. I threaded bottom. Did a wail, had not expected ... felt a bag wrap my cock. I have immediately took a fast rate and heard the intense pleasure of army mind .... the movements of her womb were nearly hypnotics. I kept long as I felt they had attained the threshold.
I mined and approached to the breasts ... you can imagine the ending?

One of the greatest boons of having a girlfriend is that fantastic sex is always within arm’s reach. One of the greatest things about having an ex-girlfriend is watching your hardcore bucketfuls and getting yourself off with an arm’s reach — all without a bit of emotional baggage!

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Ripe For The Bonin’: Top Ten Amateur Pregnant Sex Videos

Top Ten June 12, 2012 | 0 Comments

It must be biological hardwiring that makes us sweat pregnant babes so hard. They’re like fertile flowers in full bloom, glowing with the dew of the natural world. Oh, and their tits are huge.

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The Thinking Man’s BJ: Top Ten Amateur Chicks In Glasses Blowjob Videos

We know that chicks in glasses being smarter is a myth, but this particular group of bespectacled babes lends some truth to that postulation. Each wields tongue, hands and fingertips deftly along the head, down the shaft, and around the balls — we feel we are in the presence of true BJ masters.

Bone Like No One’s Watching: Top Ten Amateur Public Sex Videos

We’ve all been caught with the urge to fuck a companion’s brains out right there on the spot. The more demure of us jump in a cab or car, touching and fondling all the way home. Others among us, however, heed the call of the wild (even in man-made environs) the moment it strikes.

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Threesome’s The Charm: Top Ten Amateur Three-Way Sex Videos

Top Ten June 1, 2012 | 0 Comments

The more the merrier, right? Except perhaps when it comes to bathroom lines or sharing pizza. But when it comes to the sweet world of knockin’ boots, three’s never a crowd. So grab your partner and your bestie, because it’s time to do-si-do.

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Make Way For The WILFs: Top Ten Amateur Wife Sex Videos

Top Ten May 25, 2012 | 4 Comments

Thou shall not covet another man’s (or woman’s) wife. Hmm. But when these wives are sucking, fucking, gushing, and presenting their fine pussies and asses, well, we’ve got some mighty strong cravings indeed.

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In The Driver’s Seat: Top Ten Amateur POV Sex Videos

Top Ten May 22, 2012 | 2 Comments

Naturally we’re fans of a fabulous bone from any angle, but there’s something extra titillating about being atop the peak of fuck mountain. Really it makes for a stunning panorama — the slippery luster of cock-craving pussies, the first hand view of a rock-hard dick thrusting its way inside. Every part is highlighted in its full, fucking sensational glory.

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Who’s The Hottest Of Them All: Top Ten Amateur Mirror Sex Videos

Top Ten May 18, 2012 | 0 Comments

If there’s anything better than boning someone sexy, it’s watching yourself bone that sexy piece. Thanks to our centuries-old friend the mirror, people have been able to get off on themselves getting off with ease.

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Lie Back And Close Your Eyes: Top Ten Amateur Missionary Sex Videos

Top Ten May 15, 2012 | 0 Comments

It’s likely the first position we turned to when exploring the world of sex for the first time. It’s a position that’s gotten us coming through the ages, and will carry us forward for centuries more. Like a pea coat or little black dress, missionary never goes out of style.

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We Heart Heavy Metal: Top Ten Amateur Pierced Sex Videos

Top Ten May 11, 2012 | 0 Comments

Although we love all parts of the naked body, genitals are generally our very favorite. They deserve to be adorned and embellished and laden with jewels, celebrating all they do for us. Then they deserve to be smashed together in a metallic symphony of joy.

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Rise To The Occasion: Top Ten Amateur Standing Sex Videos

Top Ten May 4, 2012 | 0 Comments

Did you know 91% of all sexual encounters* occur in a horizontal position? Though any sex is good sex, there are some gallant fuckers among us who choose to swim against that current — and we salute you. So now, let us take things off the bed and up against the wall.

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Playing Where The Sun Don’t Shine: Top Ten Amateur Ass-Eating Videos

Top Ten May 1, 2012 | 0 Comments

Let’s take a trip to ‘the dark side’. After all, for guys it offers the lovely-feeling prostate that sends shivers up and down a boner’s spine. For ladies — a whole new arena of enthralling sensations.

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Super Size Us: Top Ten Amateur Big Tit Sex Videos

Top Ten April 27, 2012 | 0 Comments

A field of wildflowers, a rushing mountain stream, a West Coast sunset, a pair of massive, bouncing breasts — all of these are things of beauty, which make us pause in quiet reflection.

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Journey To The Center Of The Puss: Top Ten Amateur Fingering Videos

Top Ten April 24, 2012 | 0 Comments

Ah, the pussy. It has long remained a place of mystery; an enigma many have pondered but few have mastered. It is a thing of slippery wet wonder, fascination, and beauty.

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Ride ‘Em Hard & Put ‘Em Back Wet: Top Ten Amateur Cowgirl Sex Videos

Flesh Flicks April 20, 2012 | 0 Comments

We imagine for a dude, cowgirl might be the position of all positions. You get full boob views and grabbability, all while seeing your cock sliding in and out of a bouncing babe.

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This Summer I Went Swimming: Top Ten Amateur Pool Sex Videos

Top Ten April 17, 2012 | 0 Comments

With the sun sparkling warm on glistening waters, warm, glistening parts just a slip of fabric away… the pool makes a perfect place to bone your hearts out.

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You’re Not Going Anywhere: Top Ten Amateur Bondage Sex Videos

Top Ten April 13, 2012 | 0 Comments

Ah, the gateway to kink. A little light BDSM can open the floodgates to a wild whitewater world of miscreant sexual escapades… So hop on your rafts, ’cause we’re goin’ in!

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And I’ll Fuck If I Want To: Top Ten Amateur Birthday Sex Videos

Top Ten April 10, 2012 | 0 Comments

Birthday parties. Birthday presents. Birthday suits. Birthday sex. Fuck clowns and toys, adult birthdays are where it’s at. Especially considering the best gift one can get is absolutely free.

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Where The Cups Runneth Over: Top Ten Amateur Tit-Fucking Videos

Top Ten April 6, 2012 | 0 Comments

You’re here; we’re here — it’s pretty safe to say we all love us some tits. From there, we don’t think it’s too far a stretch to assume we’d all love to plunge our figurative (or literal) dicks into a particularly bounteous pair if given the chance. Ladies and gentlemen, let’s live out our fantasies.

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Please Pass The Pussy: Top Ten Amateur Table Sex Videos

Top Ten April 3, 2012 | 0 Comments

Whether it be the place you set your coffee and the morning paper, lay out an elaborate spread for a friendly dinner party, or set your bare ass on to get bent over and neatly fucked from behind, tables are a person’s best friend.

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Ex-Girlfriend bucketfuls

One of the greatest boons of having a girlfriend is that fantastic sex is always within arm’s reach.

One of the greatest things about having an ex-girlfriend is watching hardcore bucketfuls and getting yourself off with an arm’s reach — all without a bit of emotional baggage!

There’s no nagging about leaving clothes all over the floor, no asking if she looks fat, no requests to be taken to the newest Kate Hudson room at the box office.

About one of the greatest blessings of the friend girl is ever-splendid sex at your fingertips.

Any one of the coolest things as to who watches a bucket ex-friend of the hard core and obtain by themselves through the scope of an arm everything - completely non-emotional baggage!

There are not quarreling products, left garments about the whole soil, do not request whether you like dense, making hits on the final B Kate Hudson Bay on the website.

Sur un des plus grands bienfaits de l'ami d'une fille, c'est le sexe magnifique toujours à portée de main.

Une des choses les plus cool de savoir qui regarde un seaux ex-ami du noyau dur et obtenir par eux-mêmes par la portée d'un bras de tout - tout à fait sans un bagage émotionnel!

Il n'y a pas chicaner les produits ont quitté les vêtements sur le sol tout entier, ne vous demandez pas si vous semble épaisse faire des hits sur la dernière Breakfast Kate Hudson sur le site.

One could put the video on mute if so desired, and just extract the best parts of ex-girlfriend ad infinitude.

 

And then maybe get yourself a new gal…

·Above: Mi **-Novelia Colombia / My colombian ex-girlfriend!! (YouTube.com)
Previously: Top Ten Video Archive

Ex girlfriend blowjob (YouTube.com)

Getting Ready to Fuck my Ex-Girlfriend Part 2 (tube.com)

ex-girlfriend gets fucked from behind… (YouTube.com)

Ex-Girlfriend Swallows My Load (tube.com)

Ex girlfriend ass fucking (YouTube.com)

Wife and our ** Girlfriend 2 (YouTube.com)

My Ex-Girlfriend Part 2: Fuck and Mugshot (tube.com)

ex girlfriend taking a facial (yuvutu.com)

Ex girlfriend loved to squirt (yuvutu.com)

 

 

Of one of the largest benefactions of the a girl friend is magnificent sex always close at hand.

One of the most coolest things about who looks out an ex-friend hard core pails and getting in themselves by an arm's reach - everything entirely without some emotionally baggage!

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The Traci Lords Story: X-Rated Ambition

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Barry Hannah, preeminent—like so much wastepaper (1942–2010)

Barry Hannah, preeminent—like so much wastepaper (1942–2010)

Barry Hannah’s Dangerous Syntax

By  Jamie Quatro

 

“Stop (Anytime)” (1999) by Damian Loeb, Acquavella Galleries, New York City

Plus I hated English composition, where you had to correct your phrases. They cast me out like so much wastepaper.

—Barry Hannah, “Coming Close to Donna”

Despite the fact that he’s published eight novels and four story collections (his first novel, Geronimo Rex, was a National Book Award nominee and his last collection, High Lonesome, a Pulitzer Prize finalist), Barry Hannah remains a cult figure: You’ve either never heard of him, or you can rattle off long passages of his prose and work up a sweat debating whether or not he’s a successor to Faulkner. (For the record, Hannah has rejected the label.) You may even be able to cite the make and model of his newest motorcycle. On his Facebook page—yes, he has one, though apparently Hannah himself isn’t the one updating the site (he still writes longhand)—you can learn that Jason in Cheyenne, Wyoming, has a belt buckle carved in the shape of the author’s visage. Jason says he’s invincible when he wears it.
So why has Barry Hannah—considered by many writers and scholars to be the current Great One of Southern Letters (and most would drop the modifiers “current” and “Southern”)—continued to fall under that lackluster rubric, the Writer’s Writer? It isn’t for shortage of compelling material: Hannah’s work touches on such disparate themes as heroism and violence; racial politics; misogyny (Hannah’s characters often have distorted views of women); religious guilt, atonement, and judgment; what it means to be male (treacherous!) or artistic (laughable!) in the modern world; and the relationship between jazz music and narrative improvisation.
The answer for the neglect may be, in part, the sheer strangeness of Hannah’s imagination (Truman Capote once called him the “maddest writer in the U.S.A.”): an old woman roasting and eating a man during a future Second Great Depression in America; a walrus sexually assaulting a woman who’s having an affair with her nephew; a drunk man in an overcoat staggering around Oxford, Mississippi, with a starving cat in one pocket and two shoplifted lobsters in the other and, later, the same man naked on the dance floor, lifting and shaking his enormous penis at everybody, shouting, “You can’t hurt me!”; a group of survivors of a future American environmental holocaust, sitting inside a rocket, again au naturel (Hannah’s characters seem to prefer nudity to clothes), aiming for outer space. And take a look at the opening paragraph of “Green Gets It,” one of the stories in his much-acclaimed collection Airships (1978):

Unable to swim, he had maneuvered to fall off an old-timers’ party yacht in the Hudson River. His departure was not remarked by the revelers. They motored on toward the Atlantic and he bobbed around in the wash. He couldn’t swim. But he did. He learned how. Before he knew it, he was making time and nearing the dock where a small Italian liner sat dead still, white, three stories high. Nobody was around when he pulled up on a stray rope on the wharf and walked erect to the street, where cars were flashing. Day after tomorrow was his seventieth birthday. What a past, he said. I’ve survived. Further, I’m horny and vindictive. Does the fire never stop?

It took me several reads to understand that Quarles Green had attempted suicide. Had the paragraph simply begun, “He had maneuvered to fall off an old-timers’ party yacht,” I might have suspected as much. The “unable to swim” clause disoriented me; who, unable to swim, maneuvers to fall? And in one paragraph, Hannah has an attempted suicide, a near-drowning, a self-rescue, and now the survivor, roaming the streets, concupiscent. Miraculously, the dude remains clothed. (Not to worry—a few sentences later we learn that Green’s housekeeper performs her duties in the buff, while Green rolls around in a wheelchair, pretending to be crippled so that his penchant for derriere-sniffing won’t “disgust her from the room.”)

“But that’s farfetched,” says one of the characters in Hannah’s second novel, Nightwatchmen, “and worse than that, poetic, requiring a willing suspension of disbelief along with a willing desire to eat piles of air sausage.” When it comes to the masters, since when have we not been willing to suspend belief and eat air sausages? Think George Saunders in our generation; Barthelme a generation earlier; Faulkner and Joyce before them. Few rules dictate what—and how—they write. A look at the reviews and criticism over the course of Hannah’s career reveals it isn’t just his subject matter that’s disorienting, but what Thomas McGuane called Hannah’s “moon-landing English”—a virtuosity of language so poetic and acute that critic Kenneth Millard says it “defies rational explication and even the interpretive paradigms that critics might bring to it.” Hannah’s prose has at once inspired the most lavish of praise (Allan Gurganus says Hannah possesses “more talent in the little finger of his right fist than certain humid Southern states do…never a careless ordinary syllable, not a mark that hasn’t first been sung aloud at three A.M. beside some river at a hunting camp”) and the harshest of criticism (Dave Reilly, on the Salon website, cites Hannah in particular when he speaks of works in which “a lot of pretty words get strung together as the writers struggle to make poetry out of every sentence and the result is gibberish”—to which Hannah has responded: “I don’t know whether others are producing gibberish, but I’ll watch out. I certainly never intended to. You must make sense.”).

I read Hannah’s work for the first time after hearing him praised in a Bennington writing workshop. For me—a firstborn, rules-following, English-teacher’s pet—Hannah’s syntax held almost pornographic allure. That said: I couldn’t take Barry Hannah lying down. Here were paragraphs I had to read sitting up, preferably with two sharpened pencils beside me. Here was linguistic anar-chy, the wanton abandonment of verb tense and point-of-view consistency; here were misapplied modifiers and narrators shifting randomly between first-, second-, and third-person voices.

Richard Ford notes in his 2004 introduction to Airships that Hannah’s sentences “had a perilous feel; words running almost sedately at precipice-edge between sense and hysteria; verbal connectives that didn’t respect regular bounds and might in fact say anything.” 

In “Testimony of Pilot,” from the same collection, the narrator describes Quadberry’s exquisite BOLERO saxophone solo this way:

When he played, I heard the sweetness, I heard the horn which finally brought human talk into the realm of music. It could sound like the mutterings of a field nigger and then it could get up into inhumanly careless beauty, it could get among mutinous helium bursts around Saturn.

Despite the conspicuous use of the N-word (Hannah’s characters rarely shy from such racist language, a grim dose of realism given their physical/cultural landscape), here was the image I needed to describe precisely what Hannah’s stories accomplished: a re-invented language that soars off the page (mutinous helium bursts/music) while not detracting from the story on the page (field mutterings/talk). Generations of prose writers—Gertrude Stein and Donald Barthelme among them, according to Ford—have “banged themselves and their sentences against conventional and intransigent American prose syntax…with often unstained results—failing most often to express the matter at hand.” Ford mentions only a few who succeed in forging a fresh idiom while keep-ing a rigorous eye on the “matter at hand”: Faulkner, Alice Munro, and Raymond Carver.

And Barry Hannah, preeminent.

But what makes style style? How, on a micro level, does Hannah work his spell? I’m aware he’s breaking rules—but which “rules”? Are there rules? And how is Hannah able to do so without disrupting the “continuous dream”? Faced with Hannah’s grammatical mutiny, the question isn’t Gardner’s “How come they let him get away with a thing like that?” but, “How does he do a thing like that?”

Hannah blasts three “rules” that typically govern what prose writers are taught. I’m not talking about the rules most of us intuitively sense are arbitrary and love to break—“never write in dialect,” for example—but the more widely accepted rules of grammar and narrative that would generate massive editing efforts in a typical writing workshop.

1) Fix your misplaced and/or misapplied modifiers—they’re downright confusing.
Hannah’s genius in structuring sentences often comes out in his placement of the modifier precisely where it does not belong, an edgy technique whose misplacement jolts us awake and forces the imagery to wander in our minds longer than would be the case with more predictable structuring.

Consider the following illustrations, where the syntactically “expected” versions precede Hannah’s:

Expected: “The croakers swam underwater in a burlap sack tied to a piling.”

Hannah: “The croakers swam in a burlap sack tied to a piling and underwater.” —“A Creature in the Bay of St. Louis”

Expected: “His supposed sweetheart was in a stall, all naked and tied with rope underneath a bull.”

Hannah: “In a stall was his supposed sweetheart, tied underneath a bull with rope, all naked.” —“Quo Vadis, Smut?”

Expected: “But she was red in the face and nearly weeping.”

Hannah: “But she was red and nearly weeping in the face.” —“Carriba”

Expected: “In fact, her only public poem was the one Cornelius had chosen and carved, in quotation marks, on her gravestone.”

Hannah: “In fact her only public poem was the one Cornelius had chosen for her gravestone in quotation marks.” —“Snerd and Niggero”

Expected: “She and the architect were having some fancy drinks together at a beach lounge when his ex-wife from New Hampshire showed up naked and screaming with a single-shotgun gun.”

Hannah: “. . . when his ex-wife from New Hampshire showed up naked with a single-shotgun gun that was used in the Franco-Prussian War—it was a quaint piece hanging on the wall in their house when he was at Dartmouth—and screaming.” —“Love Too Long”

Given Hannah’s sui generis idiom, we simply get carried along with the music and lyrics, after some initial confusion.

Whatever the hell he’s doing, he’s doing it very effectively. In fact, he is re-calibrating American syntax. And with regenerative effect: Notice the lulling, almost deadening cadence of the “expected” versions. Hannah’s poetic language requires an intensity of concentration that forbids palliative reading.

2) Never, ever switch verb tenses within paragraphs, and certainly not within single sentences.

In the story “Eating Wife and Friends,” we meet Mrs. Neap, owner of a “rambling inn of the old days.” The first-person narrator of the story is one of several “vagabonds” living in Mrs. Neap’s inn. The story is set in a future South during a New Depression that has, presumably, followed in the wake of an ecological disaster. No slothful ease of life (a frequent Hannah target) in this America: Citizens must forage for food; the Surgeon General has warned survivors to “be sure whatever food you were after surpassed in calories the ef-fort getting it would burn up.” Celery, bad; moths and cockroaches, good. (“Wash the cockroaches if possible,” the Surgeon General warns.) Eventually, Mrs. Neap herself rotisseries an Asian man who was shot dead for jumping off a resettlement train. “I used to know Chinese in the Mississippi delta,” Mrs. Neap says. “They were squeaky clean and good-smelling. They didn’t eat much but vegetables. Help me drag him back.”
We’re outside of any recognizable ragtime, which opens textual space for verb-tense play. Hannah obliges, switching tenses frequently. In the story’s opening paragraph, note the movement from the simple past, into the past perfect progressive tense, and from there straight into the present (emphasis is mine):

We were  very fond of Mrs. Neap’s place—even though it was  near the railroad. It was  a rambling inn of the old days, with its five bathrooms and balcony over the dining room. We had been harboring  there for a couple of weeks and thought we were getting on well enough. But then she comes  downstairs one morning holding a swab, and she tells  me, looking at the rest of them asleep on the couches and rug: “This is enough. Get out by this afternoon.”

It’s subtle, the way Hannah slips from a reminiscent narrative (“we were fond”) into present-tense idiom (“she tells me”). 
This shifting continues throughout the story; until, eventually, the tenses begin to change by the sentence:

“My God, one of them jumped off,” says Mrs. Neap. (simple present)
“I saw. It was an Oriental.” (simple past)
“He is wobbling on the gravel in the front of the yard.” (present progressive)

At the end, Hannah dispenses with any rules of time, allowing his first-person, present-tense, reminiscent narrator to interject this paren-thetical—which describes what is going to happen to the hunter JIM outside the bounds of the story:

(To complete his history, when we move on, after the end of all this, JIM kills a dog and is dressing him out when a landowner comes up on him and shoots him several times with a .22 automatic. JIM strangles the landowner and the two of them die in an epic of trespass.)

The information is not even narrated in the past tense—as one might expect given that JIM is dead and the narrator has lived to relay the information.

In the story “Snerd and Niggero,” the continual changes in tense make it read, initially, like a bum workshop piece:

She had her dress folded back on her thighs with her gift out to Snerd, who was minutely rolling the hem onward so as to roll it even more to her globes’ bottoms. Then his rolling goes even more up her so her dress was as a rolled flag around her neck. . . . Mr. Snerd liked her earlobes even better than that, though, now after these long years. He has his fingers up to them and nicks and fondles them as Mrs. Niggero consumed him up to his navel to her chin, even mashing her freckles there, and sobs around his fundament. Mrs. Niggero didn’t want this at first because she was married to another man, Cornelius.
But she had been doing this eighteen years with Snerd whom she can’t not love in another way. So Snerd played with her ears and croons to her while she sobs preparing him for the inevitable though now somewhat sad primary entrance. She squeezed her eyes blind and he with resignation pushed in amidperson, a little deaf with grief and wild comfort.

What’s Hannah up to? One clue may be in the length of the affair—“she had been doing this eighteen years.” The shifts in tense, then, would capture the habitual nature of their lovemaking (we’ve been at this so long that what we’re doing now, and what we’ve done in the past, are indistinguishable). But unless you knew this was Barry Hannah, you might not give the writer the benefit of the doubt. The opening sentences still read like mistakes, until you read on and realize that Hannah is not just tinkering with, but is flagrantly overturning, the “standard” notion of how time progresses in a story. After the opening two graphs, Hannah delves into the characters, Snerd and Mr. and Mrs. Niggero. Aha—this will be a tidy little love-triangle story. Then this sentence: “When Mrs. Niggero died of an acutely quadraplegical muscular thing that roared into her almost overnight, three years later, Robert Snerd thought for a while that the formality of his public expression of grief had damaged his true sorrow.” Note: “almost overnight” (the sudden), “for a while” (the vague), and “three years later” (the extended period)—all in a single sentence.

Based on their shared experience of loving the same woman, Snerd and Niggero come to a gentlemen’s agreement. And then this final paragraph:

In the next fifteen years, before Snerd died—buried promptly by his wife, who remarried avidly and with great whorish avarice a widowed doctor of their acquaintance—it was said the two men enjoyed a friendship such as had hardly been known in the whole north part of the state, and even up through Memphis.

In one sentence Hannah has summarized not just fifteen years, but also—between the dashes—the bereaved wife’s future activities, which occur well off the page. Not many writers would even attempt this. 

3) Don’t keep switching around from first to second to third person in a single narrative voice.
“Green Gets It” begins in the third person: “Unable to swim, he had maneuvered to fall off an old-timers’ party yacht in the Hudson River.” As the story continues, the line between third- and first-person narration blurs. Green’s dialogue is not placed within quotation marks, making it difficult to distinguish between what Green thinks and what he says aloud. It’s almost as if Quarles Green himself wants to take over and tell his own story—Hannah is barely able to hold him with he-asked, he-said tags, which decrease in frequency until, three pages in, Hannah inserts a white space and finally gives in to Green: “My car was full of prime confiscated booze,” Green begins abruptly.
Once Hannah makes this narrative shift, Green breaks loose: “All you care about is moving chairs and pictures, from room to room,” Green tells his wife.

“Between me and a bucket of paint to freshen up the front porch, you’d choose the paint and we both know it. Me and God hate you.”
She fell in a spasm. She cried out how she could be a full wife.
“Let’s go all the way,” says I.
“Anything to please you and the Lord,” says she.

Green then tells the stories of two men he shot when he was working as an “agent” (presumably during Prohibition), until Hannah reins him in with another white space and a return to third-person narration: “Like me now, said Quarles on his bike. He saw the lights of La Guardia. I’m going to make it. Again, dammit.”
The story’s third section moves from “he said” right into “says I”—this time with no white space: “If only I’d married a good pagan woman who never tired of the pleasures of the flesh, said Green” is followed, one paragraph later, by “‘What?’ I said.”
Finally, Hannah inserts both a white space and asterisks and assumes a more firmly distant third-person voice to depict Green’s heart attack and subsequent death: Green is on an airplane, listening to music on headphones, when “a terrific fist bashed him directly on the heart…. He sat there awhile and died…. The stewardess walked back to look at Quarles Green. He had a tight smug smile on him, his eyes closed, like every dead man who finally hears his tune.”
Note the distancing elements: the matter-of-fact depiction of Green’s demise, with nothing of Green’s interior life revealed; the introduc-tion of the stewardess’s point of view (“[She] wanted to know the tune the old white-haired boy was grooving on”); and, in this final sec-tion, the narrator calls Green for the first time by both his first and last names.

“Mother Rooney Unscrolls the Hurt,” the final story in Airships, also begins in third person: “Mother Rooney of Titpea Street…crept home from the Jitney Jungle in the falling afternoon of October 1965.” We learn it’s a “falling” afternoon in more ways than one when she takes a fall in her dilapidated and “perilously drooping” home, which slants backward over a kudzu-covered cliff. Mother Rooney begins to slide toward the back stairwell—until the pin on the large brooch she’s wearing impales her chest, catches the wood floorboards, and stops her. “How wonderful of the brooch to act like a brake, Mother Rooney thought.”
The rest of the story is the unscrolling of Mother Rooney’s memories as she lies there, waiting for help or death. As her thoughts emerge, the narrative point of view also begins to lose its footing and slips, almost imperceptibly, into first person: “Let them take me to another movie. . . . I peep around and see Mr. Silas. . . . I wait, wait, not sure of anything.” The first-person mode continues for seven paragraphs before Hannah inserts a white space and returns to third person (and to the present scene) with: “The brooch was standing up like the handle of a dagger. . . . The pin of it was sunk three inches in her bosom.”
From here, the story’s narrative stance begins to shift among the first, second, and third person without warning: “It came to her then that she might make her brain like a scroll” (third); “I remember once in front of the King Edward Hotel…I was tired” (first); “It was a thrill to cover your head with a scarf because you were such a low unclean sex” (second). The slippage continues until Harry Monroe, one of her former boarders, shows up—at which point we get the story from his point of view as well.
Would “Green” and “Mother Rooney,” with their radically unconventional narrative shifts, come through a writing workshop unscathed? Wouldn’t we encourage the writer to choose a particular perspective and stick with it? As close-zoom grammarians we may well suggest this—but we’d be missing the panoramic point.
When the poet Sharon Olds writes—

How do they come to the
come to the  come to the  God  come to the
still waters, and not love
the one who came there with them, light
rising slowly as steam off their joined
skin?

—we hear the pulse and rhythm of the sex act itself in the repetition of “come to the” with caesuras in between. Likewise, in prose, a shifting narrative stance can work, but only if it is linked to the content of the narrative itself. Without this link, poetry and prose would be reduced to mere acrobatics. Not so with Hannah. In “Green Gets It,” the narrative “quarrel” works precisely because Green is, by nature, a belligerent, quarrelsome fellow. (Look no further than the first sentence of his suicide note: “My Beloved Daughter, Thanks to you for being one of the few who never blamed me for your petty, cheerless and malign personality.”) The constant slipping between first-, second-, and third-person voices in “Mother Rooney” works because everything within the narrative is already shifting. The house is sliding off the cliff; Mother Rooney slips on the floor, slips in and out of consciousness. Form informs character; character informs form.

In a November 2008 article, Wells Tower admits the “syntactic rigor and strange music of [Hannah’s] fiction occasionally get him classified as a difficult or, less appropriately, a postmodern writer, and are probably why Oprah Winfrey hasn’t called him yet.” Yet Hannah has rejected the term “postmodern” as anything other than a historical marker: “I don’t know what post-anything means. Postmodern is a historical term referring to the period after World War II.”
Like Hannah, Donald Barthelme was, at best, dubious about the term. Here’s Barthelme in a 1980 interview: “Critics, of course, have been searching for a term that would describe fiction after the great period of modernism—‘postmodernism,’ ‘metafiction,’ ‘surfiction,’ and ‘superfiction.’ The last two are terrible; I suppose ‘postmodernism’ is the least ugly, most descriptive.”
In his essay “Not-Knowing,” Barthelme details the criticisms leveled at so-called postmodern writers, who write prose that “has turned its back on the world, is in some sense not about the world but about its own processes…is masturbatory, certainly chilly, excludes readers by design, speaks only to the already tenured, or does not speak at all.” Theirs is art that looks at itself in the mirror rather than at the world outside. He goes on to say he would “ardently contest each of these propositions,” but admits that it’s “rather easy to see what gives rise to them.”
What gives rise to them? In Richard Ford’s words, fiction that fails to focus on the matter at hand. 
With Hannah’s storytelling, we ultimately reach the question: Is there a human heart beating here? Are we moved to a deeper under-standing of, and empathy for, the human condition? Or is the allure of Hannah’s fiction simply its linguistic high-wire act? 
In answer, an Old Testament metaphor. In Ezekiel 37, the prophet has a vision of a valley filled with disordered piles of dry bones. The Lord asks him, “Can these bones live?” While Ezekiel watches, there is “a rattling sound” and the bones come together: “I looked, and tendons and flesh appeared on them and skin covered them, but there was no breath in them.” Until the reconstructed humans receive breath from the divine, they are nothing but constructs—clever, indeed miraculous, tricks, but constructs nonetheless. These forms become human only when they receive breath from the Artist who introduced them.
And here is where empirical literary analysis hits a wall. Perhaps one can say only that: Hannah’s characters, pushed to the extremes of human depravity and weakness, somehow wind up communicating a single message: All of life is sacred. How else to account for the numinous quality of Hannah’s fiction, his breathing of life into the “bones” on the page? There is nothing untouched by the divine; there is, as Hannah has said, “a little of the divine in all of us.” Hannah’s prose defies simple categorization. Like music, “it’s ineffable. It is the highest thing you can reach for. It is beyond good and evil; that’s why I don’t like to attach morality or philosophy to the deepest things I feel. They’re just beyond it.”

In “Midnight and I’m Not Famous Yet,” Bobby Smith is tormented by the atrocities he witnessed in Vietnam. At the story’s end, Bobby, now back in his hometown, attends a golf tournament. When Whitelaw, the favorite, loses, Bobby observes the despondency of the crowd and utters what is a fitting response to anyone who might decry the merits of Hannah’s literary achievement:

Fools! Fools! I thought. Love it! Love the loss as well as the gain. Go home and dig it. Nobody was killed. We saw victory and defeat, and they were both wonderful.

Common terms and phrases

ain't America the beautiful anymore asked Baby Levaster ball Barry Hannah beauty beer body body odor Bolero Carina Carlos dead deaf door drink eyes face False Corn father feet French Edward front girl going hair hand Harry Monroe head hear heard heart Hoover Second horn horse hurt Jeb Stuart Jitney Jungle killed knew Lardner leaning Leet legs Levaster saw Lilian looked Mississippi Mother Rooney Mount Auburn Neap never nigger night Ole Miss Oliver pistol play Prender pulled Quadberry Quadberry's Radcleve Ralph Vaughan Williams running saxophone screamed shoot shot Silas smile standing started stood street talk tell tennis thing thought told took Tubby turned ugly Vicksburg voice walked wanted watched wife Wilbur woman Word yard

Popular passages

Page 20 - ... triplets, insistent, insistent, at last outraged and trying to steal the whole show from the horns and the others. I knew a large boy with dirty blond hair, name of Wyatt, who played viola in the Jackson Symphony and sousaphone in our band— one of the rare closet transmutations of my time— who was forever claiming to have discovered the central Bolero one Sunday afternoon over FM radio as he had seven distinct sexual moments with a certain B., girl flutist with black bangs and skin like mayonnaise,...‎

Appears in 9 books from 1983-1994

Page 32 - He doesn't play the saxophone anymore," she said. This made me angry. "Why not?" "Too much math and science and navigation. He wants to fly. That's what his dream is now. He wants to get into an F-something jet." I asked her to say this over and she did. Lilian really was full of inner sweetness, as Quadberry had said. She understood that I was deaf. Perhaps Quadberry had told her. The rest of the time in her house I simply witnessed her beauty and her mouth moving. I went through college. To me...‎

Appears in 10 books from 1983-1998

Page 33 - I am a dragon. America the beautiful, like you will never know.' He wanted to give you a message. He was glad you were here." "What was the message?" "The same thing. 'I am a dragon. America the beautiful, like you will never know.'' "Did he say anything else?" "Not a thing." "Did he express any love toward you?" "He wasn't Ard. He was somebody with a sneer in a helmet." "He's going to war, Lilian." "I asked him to kiss me and he told me to get off the plane, he was firing up and it was dangerous.‎

Appears in 17 books from 1978-2006

Page 15 - We singled out the house with heavy use of the binoculars. There were children in the yard. Then they all went in. Two men came out of the back door. I thought I recognized the drunkard from the other afternoon. I helped Radcleve fix the direction of the cannon. We estimated the altitude we needed to get down there. Radcleve put the M-8o in the breech with its fuse standing out of the hole. I dropped the flashlight battery in. I lit the fuse. We backed off. The M-8o blasted off deafeningly, smoke...‎

Appears in 12 books from 1983-1998

Page 36 - B-52s, and a SAM missile would come up among them. Two of his mates were taken down by these missiles. But Quadberry, as on saxophone, had endless learned technique. He'd put his jet perpendicular in the air and make the SAMs look silly. He even shot down two of them. Then, one day in daylight, a MIG...‎

Appears in 9 books from 1983-1994

Page 24 - ... Quadberry was going to remain with his saxophone strapped to him and conduct us as well as play his solo. The judges, who apparently hadn't heard about Prender's death, walked down to their balcony desks. One of them called out "Ready" and Quadberry's hand was instantly up in the air, his fingers hard as if around the stem of something like a torch. This was not Prender's way, but it had to do. We went into the number cleanly and Quadberry one-armed it in the conducting. He kept his face, this...‎

Appears in 6 books from 1989-1998

Page 39 - Oh, yes. Her Methodist preacher and a big crowd over at Wright Ferguson funeral home. Your mother and father were there. Your father shouldn't have come. He could barely walk. Please get up." "Why? What am I going to do, where am I going?" "You've got your saxophone." "Was there a coffin? Did you all go by and see the pink or blue cloud in it?" He was sneering now as he had done when he was eleven and fourteen and seventeen. "Yes, they had a very ornate coffin.‎

Appears in 9 books from 1983-1994

Page 17 - What's your name? You're not in the band," I said, focusing on the saxophone. "It's Ard Quadberry. Why do you keep looking at me through the binoculars?" It was because he was odd, with his hair and its white ends, and his Arab nose, and now his name. Add to that the saxophone. "My dad's a doctor at the college. Mother's a musician. You better quit what you're doing .... I was out practicing in the garage. I saw one of those flashlight batteries roll off the roof. Could I see what you shoot 'em with?‎

Appears in 10 books from 1983-1994

Page 18 - Good!" I called to him. Quadberry was trying to move out of the sunken row toward us, but his heavy shoes were impeding him. "Sounded like a duck. Sounded like a girl duck," said Radcleve, who was kneeling down and packing a mudball around one of the M-8os.‎

Appears in 9 books from 1983-1998

Page 30 - Clinton, who put all the sundressed things around the stage in the shade. In my mind I had congratulated him for getting up next to this beauty, but in June and July, when I was still hearing things a little, he never said a word about her. It was one night in August, when I could hear nothing and was driving him to his house, that he asked me to turn on the inside light and spoke in a retarded deliberate way. He knew I was deaf and counted on my being able to read lips. "Don't . . . make . . . fun...‎

About the author (2007)

Barry Hannah (1942–2010) was the author of twelve books:

Geronimo Rex, Airships, Ray, The Tennis Handsome, Nightwatchmen, Captain Maximus, Hey Jack, Boomerang, Never Die, Bats Out of Hell, High Lonesome and Yonder Stands Your Orphan.

His work was published in The New Yorker, Esquire, Harper's, The Southern Review, The Oxford American, Gulf Coast Review, and many other magazines.

His achievements in fiction have been honored with an Academy Award in Literature by the American Academy of Arts & Letters, and he was nominated for the American Book Award for Ray and the National Book Award for Geronimo Rex, which won the William Faulkner Prize. He has also received the Arnold Gingrich Short Fiction Award for Airships, and his body of work has been recognized with the PEN/Malamud Award for Short Fiction.

Hannah was director of the MFA program at the University of Mississippi in Oxford for three decades, and also taught at the Iowa Writers' Workshop, the Sewanee and Bennington summer writing seminars, and held teaching appointments at many other colleges and universities.