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“There is a theory that watching unbearable stories about other people lost in grief and rage is good for you—may cleanse you of your darkness. Do you want to go down to the pits of yourself all alone? Not much. What if an actor could do it for you? Isn’t that why they are called actors? They act for you. You sacrifice them to action. And this sacrifice is a mode of deepest intimacy of you with your own life. Within it you watch [yourself] act out the present or possible organization of your nature. You can be aware of your own awareness of this nature as you never are at the moment of experience. The actor, by reiterating you, sacrifices a moment of his own life in order to give you a story of yours.”
― Grief Lessons: Four Plays by Euripides
― Grief Lessons: Four Plays by Euripides
“There had to be an origin for ruin. I was suddenly jealous of that tornado, the way it tangoed on the page, the way her hand ran down its length like a spine. The photo was taken from the perspective of someone who loved it, and I wanted to be captured that way, to be chased from my body.”
― Gods of Want: Stories
― Gods of Want: Stories
“In it, I was sitting across from my wife, who was nude but wrapped in a gauzy fabric. She had a clipboard in her hand, and was moving a pencil down it as if ticking off entries on a list.
"Where are you?" she asked.
"Devil's Throat," I said.
"What are you doing?"
"Carrying a basket through the forest."
"What's in the basket?"
I looked down, and there they were: four beautiful spheres.
"Two eggs," I counted. "Two figs."
"Are you sure?"
I did not look down again, afraid that the answer would change. "Yes."
"And what is through the forest?"
"I do not know."
"And what is through the forest?"
"I am not certain."
"And what is through the forest?"
"I cannot tell."
"And what is through the forest?"
"I don't remember."
"And what is through the forest?"
I woke up before I could answer.”
― Her Body and Other Parties: Stories
"Where are you?" she asked.
"Devil's Throat," I said.
"What are you doing?"
"Carrying a basket through the forest."
"What's in the basket?"
I looked down, and there they were: four beautiful spheres.
"Two eggs," I counted. "Two figs."
"Are you sure?"
I did not look down again, afraid that the answer would change. "Yes."
"And what is through the forest?"
"I do not know."
"And what is through the forest?"
"I am not certain."
"And what is through the forest?"
"I cannot tell."
"And what is through the forest?"
"I don't remember."
"And what is through the forest?"
I woke up before I could answer.”
― Her Body and Other Parties: Stories
“Get a Job, she shouted silently to God. Get a real Job.”
― Birds of America: Stories
― Birds of America: Stories
“I see the way you wear your hands without worry, but someday they’ll bury something. Someday this story will open like a switchblade. Your hands will plot their own holes, and when they do, I won’t come and rescue you.”
― Bestiary
― Bestiary
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