Chrisoula reminds me she identifies with hobbits, I remind her that hobbits like gardening but also drinking beer and getting high, to which she replies “I said what I said.” In a way, the wasps opened my heart, or passed through it the way light passes through a prism.
Chosen hemlocks. We are in this relationship with monotheism, reaching through the Christian catastrophe to Jesus (who comes into view when you are ready for Christ) to Judaism to star-gazing shepherds who were obviously – it’s obvious right – deeply confused about what was going on with men.
Rivers don’t ramble, they flow. The easy part is what again?
Working through the sentences under the watchful eye of a pale facsimile – though no less honored – of Emily Dickinson, as close as I’m going to get in this life. Imagine imagining a new God.
Ragged quilts tossed over my legs while I sit reading Mark’s Gospel, which is basically propaganda, and wondering what it is that goes so wrong in us, even those who were still – relatively speaking – close to Jesus. Turkey salad with bacon, how much do you love me now?
I waited for days for a sign I was to cross the bay and visit Castletownbere, the ancestral village, and no sign came, save the witch who let me ride her horse along the rocky Irish coast and later fucked me by a little fire. Funny how much ended up depending on my reading of Shogun.
What if upon death you do take something with you only it’s a memory, which would you choose? You’re breaking up.
Never forget that it matters how you say things, even more than what you say. Yeah you’re sexy but are you as sexy as an umbrella?
Growing up Greek factored into my thinking in nontrivial ways that were not anticipated. Telling lies because I can, I’m good at it, but also because I truly don’t know how else to keep this terrible secret that’s murdering me from the inside out.
Johnny Mathis songs in my head at odd hours. Who is keeping score and why, turned out be an important question I did not get around to asking until it was almost too late.
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