At play amidst the Strangeness and Charm
Install Theme

ALL I CAN DO IS MAKE LISTS. lists after lists after fucking lists.
Then I make lists
out of my lists and cross-list in colors and fancies
like a thick weave
or sturdy thatch; then, I pull this quilt of lists
up over my head
and count myself to sleep…

•vomit•

Almost nothing can match the horror of being trapped in the attic with a two-inch red wasp crawling towards you through the boxes…

And just like that I became a lusty old woman.

The first major truth was accepting my humanity and realizing that I had been a piece of shit and needed to change. This came through confession, determination, a form of prayer (non-religious, more like meditation), and time.

The second, and harder to accept truth was realizing that everyone else was a piece of shit too, and most would rather avoid light than see their own twisted faces. 

The longer you keep a lie, the harder it is to accept the truth.

Old paint on a canvas, as it ages, sometimes becomes transparent. When that happens it is possible, in some pictures, to see the original lines: a tree will show through a woman’s dress, a child makes way for a dog, a large boat is no longer on an open sea. That is called pentimento because the painter ‘repented,’ changed his mind. Perhaps it would be as well to say that the old conception, replaced by a later choice, is a way of seeing and then seeing again. That is all I mean about the people in this book. The paint has aged and I wanted to see what was there for me once, what is there for me now.

— Lillian Helman

…The air so still it aches like the place where the tooth was on the morning after you’ve been to the dentist or aches like your heart in the bosom when you stand on the street corner waiting for the light to change and happen to recollect how things once were and how they might have been yet if what happened had not happened.

— Robert Penn Warren

Well, I guess I’m tired…but I’d rather watch something burn.
He jus stay on some Barney the purple dinosaur shit n be makin songs for drunk people wit bad taste in music n low standards in life nahmean.
George Drake was the straw-boss of the in-betweeners and he was a real son of a bitch.

— Bill Peet

Tell me a story of deep delight.

— Robert Penn Warren