Claudia > Recent Status Updates

“Bro, Fate can fuck you up.”

"You found God?" It came from my mouth like the deepest routine.
He looked me up and down, side-smiling. "I found you."

Remember is the name of all children. In that name is the seed and the thaw.

“Live oaks, wetlands, inlets, rivers, fast-food franchises, big-box stores, rehab clinics: Life on the American road.”

It’s exactly noon now, but one isn’t aware of the sun in this forest. Anyway, Art is a magic which makes the hours melt away and even days dissolve into seconds, isn’t that so, dear lady?

Two people who live their lives alone in rooms doing strange, gentle things can sometimes be together in the middle of a dangerous storm in a house made of glass.

I stretched out my arms and laid my palms on the earth, and, yes, the rocking persisted, the rocking of the island as it sailed through the sea and the night bearing into the future its freight of gulls and sparrows and fleas and apes and castaways, all unconscious now, save me. I fell asleep smiling.

“Can I say something out loud? Is anybody listening?"
"Everybody. Nobody. Does it matter?”

Remember how they outlawed acid soon as they found out it was a channel to somethin they didn't want us to see? Why should information be any different?

All Sicilian expression, even the most violent, is really wish fulfillment: our sensuality is a hankering for oblivion, our shooting and knifing a hankering for death; our laziness, our spiced and drugged sherbets, a hankering for voluptuous immobility, that is, for death again; our meditative air is that of a void wanting to scrutinize the enigmas of nirvana.

"We'll go to El Dorado together. You'll have your vengeance and I'll have my woman. We have all the time in the world, but let's hope it doesn't take that long."

The desolation of that place was a thing exquisite.

Death has come in the pantry door: stands watching them, iron and patient, with a look that says try to tickle me.

It is not a sin, he tells himself, there is no sin left now, there is only the blood and the water and the ice; there is only life and death and the gray-green spaces in between. He will not die, he tells himself, not now, not ever. When he is thirsty, he will drink his own blood; when he is hungry, he will eat his own flesh. He will grow enormous from the feasting, he will expand to fill the empty sky.

She dreamed of him, his face, filling the dream. 'Things are ending,' he told her. 'This civilization; things are closing in on it. It has been quite the culture, brilliant and foul, cannibal and Christian, the glory of the world. We should celebrate it while we can; until night falls.'