I just remembered, somewhat embarrassedly, that there is a star out there named Lindsay Hunter/K___ M_______. A lovely thing at the time, and if I twist my brain a bit it is still a lovely thing. Stars are outside of time because time is a manmade convention. That is, the passing of time. What once was beautiful is still beautiful, because it was.
Currently obsessing over a novel about obsession. A hearty name. The heart of the sea, the unfathomable deep. Moby Dick.
I need my brother to hear a song, but he's unavailable. This will be the hardest to forgive. "'I'm not crying wolf,' you whisper. 'I'm really dead this time. I'm really dead this time.'"
Ernest Hemingway woke up at 6 and wrote until noon, every single day. He sharpened ten pencils before writing the first word. When finished, he went to the bar. Was it Flaubert who wrote from 5 until 8 every morning, and, if finished with one novel during these three hours, simply turned over a page and began the next one? Mark Doty told me Virginia Woolf's writing desk in Sussex looked out onto a graveyard and the river in which she drowned herself. In the end, the graveyard was the river, the river the graveyard.
Gawd. God. There but for the grace of ____ go I.
Tomorrow is Valentine's Day. For you: please listen to Troublesome by the Jealous Sound. For you: please sink your teeth. For you: Valentine's Day covered by Portastatic. For you: superpowers. For you: the perfect vibrator.
Sometimes I think they come here
Just so you can say that you can
And I can't get alone in my bathroom
I need to give myself a hand