Gerhard > Recent Status Updates

that’s the thing with ellay says the other hiker forget about therapy you have to go to the next level here
all we’ve got here is gurus

we all live in scare city under capitalism so we all have to make an effort to deprogram a scare city mentality as like our central driving force

I think of all the nights we’ll spend together

this man and his guts and me

“The fuck? ‘Please provide more on supersonic phallus’! What have you done with my newspaper?”

"“It’s Government. And earlier he was telling me what they’re really worried about: mass hysteria. You know, like the Salem witches? Or St. Vitus’ Dance in the Middle Ages - whole villages of peasants dancing themselves to death?"

I was put on Earth to do my best as a journalist to bring truth to light—battle the forces of darkness, ignorance, obfuscation, repression and misdirection as best I could with the powers at my command...

"Of course as a married man there was no question of my unzipping him, but we scrubbed each other while monitoring each other’s breathing, our excitement mounting, until—uttering those gasps that are the most eloquent parts of human speech—we cried out in a long, shared orgasm."

Of course, the UFO would appear at that exact moment ...

"Now that F.D.R. was safely dead, the backlash against the New Deal was coming into gaudy blossom, preaching fear and hysteria about Communists, liberals, women, homosexuals, Negroes, Mexicans—you name it."

Sounds familiar ...

"What did it look like? What kind of shape did it have?"
"Like the biggest prick you ever imagined," said Andy, grinning at Dean, "but please don’t quote me."

In science fiction (I’m a big fan of Frederick Pohl, Arthur C. Clarke, Robert Heinlein) space aliens are green or red with snakelike limbs and elongated heads, but secretly I think my fellow humans about as grotesque...

“Bad feeling it’s the Russians,” one man said.
“Better Russians than Martians?” a woman ventured.
“Reds or Martians, what’s the difference?” scoffed another."

These are the unspoken rules of their neighborhood. Drink your vinegar, but pretend it’s champagne.

...frankly everything she’d ever heard about pregnancy seemed like body horror. But Chris wanted so badly to be a father. A king needs an heir, he’d joked.

Theory is almost never practice.

Want to know the actual first such usage of “alpha” to describe animal group dynamics? Chickens.

I do want to ask the aunties out there: were men always like this? I thought they were supposed to be evolving, but maybe they’re regressing!

It is widely believed that there are more tigers in captivity in the United States than exist in the wild worldwide.

Anyone, Eliza is thinking, who describes dying as ‘slipping away’ or ‘peaceful’ has never witnessed it happen. Death is violent, death is a struggle. The body clings to life, as ivy to a wall, and will not easily let go, will not surrender its grip without a fight.

All Agnes wants is the green of a forest. She craves the dappled, animate pattern of light on ground, the merciful shade of a leaf-canopy, the not-quite-quiet, the repeating seclusion of trunks, disappearing into the distance.

...she can feel him switch from one character to another; she can sense that other, big-house, self melt off him, like wax sliding from a lit candle, revealing the man within.

How baffling the adult world seems to Hamnet at that moment, how complex, how slippery. How can he ever navigate his way in it? How will he manage?

How frail, to Agnes, is the veil between their world and hers. For her, the worlds are indistinct from each other, rubbing up against each other, allowing passage between them.

My God, Tremblay is good. I thought I had this novel pegged and filed by page 100. 290 pages in, and my main theory is torn to shreds in a single throwaway line. I have no idea where this is going now. Which is the best writing.

'Agnes will marry a farmer, by and by – someone with prospects, someone to provide for her. She’s been brought up for that life. Her father left her a dowry in his will – I’m sure you know that, don’t you? She’ll not marry a feckless, tradeless boy like you.'

Erm, Shakespeare.

He has a tendency to slip the bounds of the real, tangible world around him and enter another place.

Every life has its kernel, its hub, its epicentre, from which everything flows out, to which everything returns.