Lost Light is the ninth novel in Michael Connelly's Harry Bosch series. It is the first Bosch novel to be narrated in first person; all prior Bosch novels had utilized an omniscient third-person style.
Lost Light is the first novel set after Bosch retires from the LAPD at the end of the prior story. Having received his private investigator's license, Bosch investigates an old case concerning the murder of a production assistant on the set of a film. The case leads him back into contact with his ex-wife Eleanor Wish, who is now a professional poker player in Las Vegas, and Bosch learns at the end that he and Eleanor have a young daughter.
The poem referenced in this work is from Ezra Pound's "Exile's Letter:"
What is the use of talking, and there is no end of talking, There is no end of things in the heart.
Lost Light is distinguished by the inclusion of a soundtrack CD to accompany the first hardback edition, featuring jazz music that Harry Bosch would have been listening to, including music of Art Pepper, Sonny Rollins and John Coltrane.
I've finally lost my grip, so I'm killin god and prophets. Your stupid ass beliefs of Christmas make me fucking nauseous. I vomit in the mouth of God, and make him chew it up. And like a snuff film, I do it while I'm writing all my thoughts, yup. I keep it murderous, and on this black holiday, your probly gonna read your bibles, but ya never celebrate. Your exchanging gifts, but their objects, and not a form of worship, but a way to fill your prospects. See it's all shit, I dont give a fuck, so I'm packing up to Bethleham to let em know whats up, yup. I'm getting fucked up, and droppin acid on the way. Going after infants til their dead, so you can never pray. Never say a god damn word, til he speaks. But he'll never fucking speak, he's a product of the weak. An invention of the mind, cause humanity is hopeless. I never lost my focus, and your god is gonna choke, bitch.
Fuck god, for this I say! (Merry Christmas motherfuckers, its the last fuckin Holiday.)
You will never see the light of day! (Hallelujah, Hark Herald, in the name of Hate)
Fuck god, for this I say! (Merry Christmas motherfuckers, its the last fuckin Holiday.)
You will never see the light of day! (Hallelujah, Hark Herald, in the name of Hate)
It's December 24th, in the middle of the night. Singing carols to the sheppards, overcome with ghastly fright. Cause they know the antichrist is coming closer to the child of light. "I dont give a fuck about your saviour, just die." (Just die). So I creep in slow. I can feel the demons enter in and take over my soul. And no I dont give a fuck about a fake, I keep it real. I Plunged a blade into his chest and stabbed away with stainless steel. Lookin into his eyes, he's asking why I had to come, and so I let him know "Nobodys gonna know that I approached. Aint nobody gonna know that your god even exists, cause to me he's just a lie, an ornamental crucifix" And I creep to the manger, I see the saviour. The virgin Mary's gettin fucked while I strangle her. And then I mangle her guts on the wall, movin down to the level, killin god, kill em all.
Fuck god, for this I say! (Merry Christmas motherfuckers, its the last fuckin Holiday.)
You will never see the light of day! (Hallelujah, Hark Herald, in the name of Hate)
Fuck god, for this I say! (Merry Christmas motherfuckers, its the last fuckin Holiday.)
You will never see the light of day! (Hallelujah, Hark Herald, in the name of Hate)
One for the baby, in a manger up in Bethleham. Two for the devil and the power of the left hand. Three for the beast, watch your soul as it feasts. On that faggot motherfucker, watch him bow on his knees. So he'll take it real good, suck my dick like a nightstand. He's nothin to me but a worm whos feeding off the holy land. I gotta plan, to take his twiggy neck and watch it crack. He's about to meet his maker in the form of wire bats. It's just a lie to me, a faggot formed hypocirsy. How the fuck could God have ever loved or fuckin wanted me. I dont give a fuck about a Hell, but if I die, I'm gonna visit. In this prison, killin Christ is like a drug, and I'm addicted. So I say Fuck God, with a blow to his head, seeing nothing but this triple 6 thats burned into my hand. And on this night, I am taking everything from your belief, to turn it upside down, and put your saviour to sleep. Yeah.
Fuck god, for this I say! (Merry Christmas motherfuckers, its the last fuckin Holiday.)
You will never see the light of day! (Hallelujah, Hark Herald, in the name of Hate)
Fuck god, for this I say! (Merry Christmas motherfuckers, its the last fuckin Holiday.)
Lost Light is the ninth novel in Michael Connelly's Harry Bosch series. It is the first Bosch novel to be narrated in first person; all prior Bosch novels had utilized an omniscient third-person style.
Lost Light is the first novel set after Bosch retires from the LAPD at the end of the prior story. Having received his private investigator's license, Bosch investigates an old case concerning the murder of a production assistant on the set of a film. The case leads him back into contact with his ex-wife Eleanor Wish, who is now a professional poker player in Las Vegas, and Bosch learns at the end that he and Eleanor have a young daughter.
The poem referenced in this work is from Ezra Pound's "Exile's Letter:"
What is the use of talking, and there is no end of talking, There is no end of things in the heart.
Lost Light is distinguished by the inclusion of a soundtrack CD to accompany the first hardback edition, featuring jazz music that Harry Bosch would have been listening to, including music of Art Pepper, Sonny Rollins and John Coltrane.
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