Why We Tell Stories I Because we used to have leaves and on damp days our muscles feel a tug, painful now, from when roots pulled us into the ground and because our children believe they can fly, an instinct retained from when the bones in our arms were shaped like zithers and broke neatly… Continue reading Lisel Mueller
Who has never killed an hour? Not casually or without thought, but carefully: a premeditated murder of minutes. The violence comes from a combination of giving up, not caring, and a resignation that getting past it is all you can hope to accomplish. So you kill the hour. You do not work, you do not… Continue reading Mark Z. Danielewski
Come live with me Before winter stops To use the only pillow The sky ever sleeps on Our interior cavities Brimming with snow — John Yau, from “Ill-Advised Love Poem” Further Adventures in Monochrome. (Copper Canyon Press; Advance Reading Copy edition July 3, 2012)
One day, you and I are gonna wake up and be alright. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow but one day. One day. I promise you. — Fisher Amelie, Callum & Harper. (Published December 24th 2011) Originally published December 22nd 2011.
Nothing lives long Only the earth and mountains — Dee Brown, Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee: An Indian History of the American West. (Holt Paperbacks; 30th Anniversary edition January 23, 2001) Originally published 1970.
The silence does not reside on the surface, but is held like smoke within. It is unfathomable, eternal, a disembodied vision cast upon a point in the void. — Haruki Murakami, Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World, translated by Alfred Birnbaum. (Prakash Books India; 3817th edition 1994) Originally published 1985.
may the tide that is entering even now the lip of our understanding carry you out beyond the face of fear may you kiss the wind then turn from it certain that it will love your back may you open your eyes to water water waving forever and may you in your innocence sail through… Continue reading Lucille Clifton