The last 33 years of my life have been a blur, like a hummingbird’s beating wings. Time flies, but not backwards, like a hummingbird can.
I am five, I will never understand why we are stranded in our selves but in this moment I know my own story is understanding our singleness that I am destined to move my body and time into the body-time the story of Others.
I keep trying, and manage some workmanlike stuff that doesn't require inspiration, and then I check my phone, check my email, go on Facebook. I read other people's posts, make jaunty comments, flitter away the time, profane the time.
It's sort of my go-to stock image of my childhood, actually. I think it has something to do with knowing I'll never be able to go back to that time that makes me cry every time I listen to it.
I realized it for the first time in my life: there is nothing but mystery in the world, how it hides behind the fabric of our poor, browbeat days, shining brightly, and we don't even know it.
I enjoy the sounds of morning. My favorite is the shush of orgasm. If you tell me you love me, I might tell you the time.
I think you’ll find that in the long run, marathons are more of a sprint. So it is with my love, and no matter how many times you flush, the water level remains constant.
I suppose this was the first time I had ever felt an urge not to be. Never an urge to die, far less an urge to put an end to myself - simply an urge not to be. This disgusting, hostile and unlovely world was not made for me, nor I for it.
Wrapped up in the music, I threw myself into an overstuffed chair and let my legs dangle over the arm, the position in which Nature intended music to be listened to, and for the first time in days I felt the muscles in my neck relaxing.
It’s impossible for me to applaud your successes when my hands are too busy patting myself on the back. But if I clap for you, and you pat my back, we can both feel like winners.
It's not that I'm ahead of my time, it's more that the world is running late
I had a choice. My instincts told me to hurry up and give the choking man the Heimlich maneuver. My brain told me to stay still until he expired and chalk this one up to divine intervention.
It is time to float on the waters of the night. Time to wrap my arms around this book and press it to my chest, life preserver in a sea of unremarkable men and women, anonymous faces on the street, a hundred thousand unalphabetized things, a million ...
This is where I have always been coming to. Since my time began. And when I go away from here, this will be the mid-point, to which everything ran, before, and from which everything will run. But now, my love, we are here, we are now, and those other...
Women, if I understood them half as well as I understand fractions, I'd have said a third. But I don't have time for a third, or even my other half, because I spend all my time trying to stretch a quarter into a buck.
I breathe slowly and deeply. I make my eyes still under eyelids, I make my mind still, and soon, Sleep, seeing a perfect reproduction of himself, comes to be united with his facsimile.
yes, Wagner and the storm intermix with the wine as nights like this run up my wrists and up into my head and back down into the gut
I found the best thing I could do was just to type away at my own work and let the dying die as they always have.
Truth is, something that I thought was perfect was taken away from me, and I never wanted perfect again. I wanted middle of the road, stuff I didn’t care about so that I couldn’t lose anything I really loved ever again.
You see in this life. Many people know what to do. But, few people actually to do. Knowing is not enough. You must take action.
I have learned, in my life and work as a sportswriter, that big-time Sports and big-time Politics are not so far apart in America. They are both a means to the same end, which is victory... And why not? Victory is good for you, and don't let anybody ...
