The truth will set you free, but not until it’s done with you.’ The.
A neutral and affectless silence. The sort of all-defensive game Schtitt used to have me play: the best defense: let everything bounce off you; do nothing. I’d tell you all you want and more, if the sounds I made could be what you hear.
Never trust a man on the subject of his own parents. As tall and basso as a man might be on the outside, he nevertheless sees his parents from the perspective of a tiny child, still, and will always. And the unhappier his childhood was, the more arrested will be his perspective on it. She’s learned this through sheer experience.
I am in here. Three.
That a little-mentioned paradox of Substance addiction is: that once you are sufficiently enslaved by a Substance to need to quit the Substance in order to save your life, the enslaving Substance has become so deeply important to you that you will all but lose your mind when it is taken away from you.
Derivatives’re just trig with some imagination.
He never leaves home, which home is one room, the converted Children’s Reading Room of what used to be the Waltham Public Library, which is the whole third floor.
She used party as a verb several times.
By simple definition. Every telling creates and limits and defines.
It Was a Great Marvel That He Was in the Father without Knowing Him.
Verstiegenheit: Low-Bavarian for something like ‘wandering alone in blasted disorienting territory beyond all charted limits and orienting markers,’ supposedly.
Blue Springs Memorial Hospital Palliative Care Unit, Independence, Mo.
We await, I predict, the hero of non-action, the catatonic hero, the one beyond calm, divorced from all stimulus, carried here and there across sets by burly extras whose blood sings with retrograde amines.
Step into the skin and disappear.
What terms might be used to describe such a solipsistic, self-consumed, bottomless emotional vacuum and sponge as she now appeared to herself to be?
It’s all optional; do it or die.
So and then the only really cardiac-grade romantic relationship of Orin’s life took bilateral root at a distance, during games, without one exchanged personal phoneme, a love communicated – across grassy expanses, against stadiums’ monovocal roar – entirely through stylized repetitive motions – his functional, hers celebratory – their respective little dances of devotion to the spectacle they were both – in their different roles – trying to make as entertaining as possible.
It’s the automatic, unconscious way that I experience the boring, frustrating, crowded parts of adult life when I’m operating on the automatic, unconscious belief that I am the center of the world and that my immediate needs and feelings are what should determine the world’s priorities.
A middle-aged tennis instructor preparing to instruct his son in tennis, becomes intoxicated in the family’s garage and subjects his son to a rambling monologue while the son weeps and perspires.
As everyone is well aware, it is so difficult to do something nice for someone and not want them, desperately, to know that the identity of the individual who did it for them was you, and to feel grateful and approving towards you, and to tell myriads of other people what you ‘did’ for them, so that you can be widely acknowledged as a ‘good’ person.