Television wasn't getting rid of animals, but they were no longer cast as creatures that were omniscient and heroic. They were talking horses like Mr Ed or an absurdist pig like Arnold Ziffle...Just like the heroic animals in silent films became come...
I thought maybe she'd whisk us off by magic, or at least hail a taxi. Instead, Bast borrowed a silver Lexus convertible. "Oh, yes," she purred. "I like this one! Come along, children." "But this isn't yours," I pointed out. "My dear, I'm a cat. Every...
We sat on the dusty floor like that for what felt like hours, our legs intertwined in the kneeling position. Like the demon and the angel reaching for one another on Jet’s arm, I felt half of everything. Half pure, half used. Locked in a dark, beau...
Everywhere we went, every step we took, girls stopped talking and turned to stare. I'd never seen anything like it. But then, I don't suppose they'd ever seen anything like Reason. We found two seats together in the middle of the room and sat down wh...
I think: I would like to take N back to a story right now, like a rake. I would say, "Oh, this rake is uneven. Do you have any where the tines go straight across?" I would like to do a straight exchange. But there are things that cannot be returned. ...
This is our story to tell. You’d think for all the reading I do, I would have thought about this before, but I haven’t. I’ve never once thought about the interpretative, the story telling aspect of life, of my life. I always felt like I was in ...
Any big hotels have got scandals," he said. "Just like every big hotel has got a ghost. Why? Hell, people come and go. Sometimes one of em will pop off in his room, heart attack or stroke or something like that. Hotels are superstitious places. No th...
There are no words and there is no singing, but the music has a voice. It is an old voice and a deep voice, like the stump of a sweet cigar or a shoe with a hole. It is a voice that has lived and lives, with sorrow and shame, ecstasy and bliss, joy a...
Breaking away from old psychological memes requires a Herculean effort in many cases. In essence, we are outgrowing a worldview while maintaining a relation-ship of sorts. Transcending an ideology can feel like going through a divorce and having to s...
Her entire life, she’d been told sin was wrong, a black and white interpretation of what is evil and what is holy in the world—colored like a priest’s robe and collar—but she never believed it to be true. Sin was colorful: scarlet like rose b...
The glove suddenly feels much heavier, now, more dense. The rush of power didn’t come through me, but wrapped around me; invisible and strangely empty, like a purely mechanical force. It wasn’t like I just got stronger; it was separate from me, l...
Then I felt something inside me break and music began to pour out into the quiet. My fingers danced; intricate and quick they spun something gossamer and tremulous into the circle of light our fire had made. The music moved like a spiderweb stirred b...
The little prince went away, to look again at the roses. "You are not at all like my rose," he said. "As yet, you are nothing. No one has tamed you, and you have tamed no one. "You're like my fox when I first knew him. He was only a fox like a hundre...
My grandmother is dating a grandfather clock, and I’ve started wearing a wristwatch on my ankle. I also wear my love for Agatha like a raincoat, and I am jealous of every umbrella I see.
On my first date with Agatha, I wore tight green Spandex, which made my skinny legs look like asparagus. Knowing no heterosexual woman could resist such a temptation, I set out to seduce her.
When I’m in a relationship, I love like a burrito. And if you’re a taco, don’t talk to me. At our core we may seem similar, but trust me, we are two different items on the menu.
I could name my penis Steve, and it would be appropriate, as it is sort of shaped like my dad’s face, whose name is Steve. Not just his face, but his whole body and person is named Steve. And he’s a dick.
I applied for your love like a recent MBA grad might apply at Walmart today. I grew a beard on my chest and laughed through my ass just to get your attention.
Agatha had so much love she could fill a room. A room filled with strange men, which she often did. I don’t care if every single man in that room looked exactly like me, they were strangers.
To me love is like a cup of soapy dishwater. Sure, I’ll drink it, but I won’t swish it around in my mouth while you try to stuff filthy silverware down my throat.
If I could convert my love into clay, and then shape it, I wonder if Agatha would expect a Rodin or a Branscusi. In reality it would be neither, as my love sculpture would look exactly like the Grand Canyon.
