Some spit clogged in my hair and snot dripped down to my mouth.
Sadness pervades. That's of course nothing unusual, sadness and poetry are bosom buddies.
A giant home, all cubes, angles, and no soul. Whose party? Whose house? There was a man who resembled Jesus on cocaine floating around in a scarlet bathrobe. His name was Maximus and he said he does IP acquisitions. Why’s everything in this town so damn vague?
The official San Francisco LESBIAN GAY BISEXUAL TRANSGENDER PRIDE parade was the social highlight of our year.
You see Truth in yourself, and you realize we’re all having this complex, beautiful, and sometimes very dark human experience. Nothing is original. We’re all in this together.
Put simply, Swinehart writes like Wallace, and this similarity reminds me of something Wallace once said in an interview with Richard Powers and John O’Brien about his ideal reader: “If stuff is going well, it feels like I’m talking to somebody. Or like there’s somebody there. And I think it’s somebody rather suspiciously like me.”
Love is like a museum. You have to look around, experience things, and then leave.
"I loved reading Exit, Carefully. It’s unusual, and in my opinion exciting, to publish a play without previously receiving a major production."
-Walker Caplan, Lithub
