January 2012
2 posts
animals are divided into:
• those that belong to the Emperor,
• embalmed ones,
• those that are trained,
• suckling pigs,
• mermaids,
• fabulous ones,
• stray dogs,
• those included in the present classification,
• those that tremble as if they were mad,
• innumerable ones,
• those drawn with a very fine camelhair brush,
• others,
• those that have just broken a flower vase,
•...
December 2011
1 post
November 2011
3 posts
In time you need to learn, to love The ebb just like the flow Grab hold of your bootstraps, and pull like hell until gravity feels sorry for you, and lets you go As if you lack the proper chemicals to know the way it felt the last time you let yourself fall this low
“Everything is more complicated than you think. You only see a tenth of what is true. There are a million little strings attached to every choice you make; you can destroy your life every time you choose. But maybe you won’t know for twenty years. And you may never ever trace it to its source. And you only get one chance to play it out. Just try and figure out your own divorce. And they say there...
October 2011
2 posts
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September 2011
3 posts
August 2011
3 posts
“Oh! Be men, or be more than men. Be steady to your purposes and firm as a rock. This ice is not made of such stuff as your hearts may be; it is mutable and cannot withstand you if you say that it shall not. Do not return to your families with the stigma of disgrace marked on your brows. Return as heroes who have fought and conquered and who know not what it is to turn their backs on the...
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July 2011
1 post
“It will never be okay,” a friend who lost her mom in her teens said to me a couple years ago. “It will never be okay that our mothers are dead.”
At the time she said this to me she wasn’t yet really my friend. We’d chatted passingly at parties, but this was the first time we were alone together. She was fiftysomething and I was forty. Our moms had been dead for ages. We were both writers with...
June 2011
2 posts
May 2011
4 posts
April 2011
6 posts
“Drinking is an emotional thing. It joggles you out of the standardism of everyday life, out of everything being the same. It yanks you out of your body and your mind and throws you against the wall. I have the feeling that drinking is a form of suicide where you’re allowed to return to life and begin all over the next day. It’s like killing yourself, and then you’re reborn. I guess...
March 2011
5 posts
“He picked up a pebble
and threw it into the sea.
And another, and another.
He...”
February 2011
12 posts
“You’d better get busy, though, buddy. The goddamn sands run out on you every...”
January 2011
15 posts
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