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In his autobiography, Frank Lloyd Wright: I have been black and blue in some spot, somewhere, almost all my life from too intimate contacts with my own furniture.

sat on a metal bench in a bar that sits snug between two opposing buildings. one is full of architectural offices and the other is a yarn shoppe. it felt damp, mossy, covered in branches and tealights. drank a few beers and listened to donovan, the byrds, fleetwood mac while a large lesbian latino couple and, what i assume to be their son, sat next ( Read more... )

all you have to do is see how volatile people are -- how inexplicably intricate and beautiful -- and then, only then will you clearly understand.

it felt like someone had died. or was in the middle of dying. or had the promising threat of death. and i just laid in bed, listening the the phone ring and ring and ring, and then heard the robotic voice of the answering machine -- an unexpected comfort -- pick up, and listened to him leave messages yelling at her. she was, of course, too drunk to ( Read more... )

This wobbling, undulating world with all of its misfortune and incredulity shows me that we are all strangers - friends and family.

It's like someone accusing you of being an inadequate version of a previous self.

paltry, it is
boring, maybe,

to attempt to
think of something,
anything,
to say

at a party

whose main compulsion
is unaffected,
simple-minded

people.

When a man pulls his wheeled suitcase
too slowly through the airport, when
the car in front of me doesn't signal,
when the clerk at the pharmacy
won't say Thank you, I don't remember
they're going to die.

From: If You Knew by Ellen Bass

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