I guess there is a measure of wish fulfillment in the detail of my description of Anna and Tom’s apartment. Sometimes I ask myself if this makes the arc of the novel a kind of revenge fantasy.
Clem wasn’t worried that Joshua would be a catfish.
While trying to sleep, I abandon the sex fantasies and imagine the feeling of being held by another. They’re soft and accepting and faceless, one of the pillow-folk from the Ringling Museum.
"There are no actual pages. They are hollow. They are just for show. I think how perfect that is, how much of the literary world is just for show. Hollow. Superficial. More often than not it doesn’t matter the words inside, only the name on the book, the book as an object, the author as object. Author as persona. Author as capitalistic commodity. Minor celebrity. A name to drop at a New York City party."
Before that glorious year, I was relegated to the “husky” section, which is clothing not for dogs but overweight children.
But in this Freudian foreshadowing, Toto doesn’t quite realize that he’s far from Catholic school, with its rules and fall-in-line rigidity.
This story’s about a trip. It’s a strange word. Trip. As a noun, it means a journey or excursion, going somewhere and returning, especially for pleasure, or to stumble or fall. It’s also the word used
'It's a Catch-22 situation,' she said contentedly.
And I thought, 'Fuck this shit into tiny, tiny pieces.'
I extended my time at the Hotel de Paris to fall into the bad habit of making love to the maid. And to recover and regain my strength, as my flu-ish bug was stubborn and I feared being on the road for too long with it.
I feel sexy / as a sheared sheep
in the mirror the face you see yourself | I’m so fucking good at this | the eye is an aleph and every place is you
The idea behind this silencing was that new views might have an easier time taking hold if the old one weren't always barging into the fish schools and stamping on the new view's seeds before the seeds had latched.
The winding roads were scattered with sneakily merging lanes and work-ahead signs. This would have set my head in a whirl if I weren't driving. We spotted sage, turquoise, and navy blue hues on our
I think HH resented me for making him feel pedestrian, a cliché to himself; the male artist requesting a sort of self-censorship of the female artist on his behalf. (Image is everything and/but he wanted to control his; I had no right to it, to my version of it/him, in his male mind.)
Delve a little deeper into the mind of author Wilson Koewing
Finally she told him she was feeling the same way, but that she didn’t have the words for it. Just the emoji of the face with only eyes and nothing else.
The more lucid among them felt an uplift in his presence; as if, as one patient put it, they were passengers on a luxury ocean liner bound for Europe.
what to do with this boyfriend sized chasm?
fell into two traps—both of which I later found out were common coping mechanisms for those of us heavily affected by COVID isolation: a toxic relationship and belief in astrology
