March 2010
6 posts
2 tags
I wrote a novel in fifth grade. I did it to avoid people. “I’m at work! I’m at work!” I said, although only to myself, on the bus with my head bowed into my notebook. Girls, usually bad ones—smokers—sometimes ventured into my space to see what I was doing. They left quickly. I was being anti-social in the wrong way. I wasn’t drawing swastikas, anarchy...
1 tag
Reality Hunger
Collected from the book.
501
Every man has within himself the entire human condition.
529
We are adrift, alone in the cosmos, wrecking monstrous violence on one another out of frustration and pain.
531
Nothing can make of Kafka a bad writer, but there were things that lay outside his ken: the communal, the shared, the necessary social lie, and, most frequently, other people. That...
3 tags
I am not Jodi Picoult! Fine! But I have a bag of nuts and figs that has spilled into the shopping bag. Everything here comes with a baggie of MOISTURE ABSORBENT. Do not eat! I like to buy seaweed. I’ll eat a whole package on my walk home from work sometimes. Chickens live outside a tire shop about 10 blocks from here. Chickens, Max. I stopped drinking and I felt happier. I stopped writing...
1 tag
In the morning I saw Filipino and Indonesian maids exiting a bus onto the sidewalk ahead of me. Some held hands, others pulled wheeled luggage behind them. These women, they wore polo shirts of their respective employment agencies. They streamed around me like a school of fish, like varieties of koi.
1 tag
I collected a $1000 note at the bank today, but I have spent it already, foolishly perhaps, on rent. The teller flashed it at me as a payment option and I went for it. So large! So pink! I am making real money for the first time in my life. Unrelatedly perhaps, I’ve taken to herbalism. Chamomile at night. St. John’s Wort during the day. I might try creatine. I swim and swim and swim...