I fell asleep last night unaided by the wiles of Nyquil. My dreams were clear and pure.
You and I were at a coffee shop; we had just met and were now engaged in marvelous conversation. Gabriel Garcia Marquez watched us with a keen interest from a few tables over. He was narrating our tale, noting that a great deal of our fates had been defined by that simple act of having met one another. But we were wholly oblivious to the wise, old Colombian observing us. I was very glad to be in your presence and we carried on unencumbered by our fates.
• • •
It’s Tuesday and the city smells like motor oil. Whoever you are, you certainly don’t talk to me anymore.
“NEXT STOP HEAVEN,” a sign outside a soup place proclaims. It didn’t sound like a bad idea after such a weary day of occupying the earth.
— Augustine of Hippo, Confessions
— Djuna Barnes, Nightwood
I have learned how to differentiate male and female carpenter bees so that I can identify whether or not my apprehension is legitimate as they fly unnervingly close me as I read beneath the eaves.
(Male carpenter bees cannot sting; females rarely do. A male has a large white patch on his forehead.)
— Walt Whitman, Preface to Leaves of Grass, 1855
— Walt Whitman, Preface to the 1855 Leaves of Grass
- A Proposal.
He drove us to Pyramid Point. The seasonal road had not fully thawed, so we parked at the base of the trail and walked to the parking lot...
Tonight when I was coming home the windows in St. Demetrios were all glowing with light, in the rain. It was so beautiful, and it made me think of...
- “In the end, we all die. As do most societies. As do most states. As do most planets. If America is fatally flawed, if white supremacy does truly dog...”