(no subject)
there are real people I wish I'd written,
"Yes, but there’s a regret afterwards. I always think of that Damien Hirst title, The Physical Impossibility of Death in the Mind of the Living. The impossibility of post-chocolate in the mind of the pre-chocolate. I am not going to run then eat a Twix-all that stupid running just for one Twix. As I am with chocolate, I am with everything. It's better to not do it at all, because if I begin I'll go as far as I can."
"He is sad about the cat just now. He came back to London after filming in the US and has so far been unable to reconcile their relationship. "He just uses the house as a place to get food. He comes in the middle of the night like a truculent teen. In an attempt to win him back, I put a trail of Madagascan prawns, starting with one by the cat flap, on espresso saucers leading up to my bedroom, like some ghastly Grimm fairy-tale hell for felines. The next day they were still there, tragic reminders of a broken-down relationship."
"How do you test being good at it?"
"A requiem of screams."
"How do you know it’s real?"
"There's eye-rolling ecstasy, the bacchanalian loss of self where they’re ready to tear up the trees, the grapes are being ripped from the vines, animals are being strewn across the forest. I think the roots of misogyny are in the unity women have with universal forces when they come. Men go, 'What are they doing?' They become goddesses with oceanic pleasure that looks like it may never end and could devour us."
"Yesterday he went to Père Lachaise, to Oscar Wilde’s tomb. "Littered with kisses, it is - the pilgrimage of the dispossessed that he has inspired to go to that place."
"The bulimia, though, was about wanting to fit in. “I was eating all those Penguins. I couldn't leave them. Blue followed yellow followed green. An army of Penguins, marching into my mouth and out again. They didn't stay long. Terrible state they were in. They went in all proud and came out bewildered, like Vietnam vets."
"Yes, but there’s a regret afterwards. I always think of that Damien Hirst title, The Physical Impossibility of Death in the Mind of the Living. The impossibility of post-chocolate in the mind of the pre-chocolate. I am not going to run then eat a Twix-all that stupid running just for one Twix. As I am with chocolate, I am with everything. It's better to not do it at all, because if I begin I'll go as far as I can."
"He is sad about the cat just now. He came back to London after filming in the US and has so far been unable to reconcile their relationship. "He just uses the house as a place to get food. He comes in the middle of the night like a truculent teen. In an attempt to win him back, I put a trail of Madagascan prawns, starting with one by the cat flap, on espresso saucers leading up to my bedroom, like some ghastly Grimm fairy-tale hell for felines. The next day they were still there, tragic reminders of a broken-down relationship."
"How do you test being good at it?"
"A requiem of screams."
"How do you know it’s real?"
"There's eye-rolling ecstasy, the bacchanalian loss of self where they’re ready to tear up the trees, the grapes are being ripped from the vines, animals are being strewn across the forest. I think the roots of misogyny are in the unity women have with universal forces when they come. Men go, 'What are they doing?' They become goddesses with oceanic pleasure that looks like it may never end and could devour us."
"Yesterday he went to Père Lachaise, to Oscar Wilde’s tomb. "Littered with kisses, it is - the pilgrimage of the dispossessed that he has inspired to go to that place."
"The bulimia, though, was about wanting to fit in. “I was eating all those Penguins. I couldn't leave them. Blue followed yellow followed green. An army of Penguins, marching into my mouth and out again. They didn't stay long. Terrible state they were in. They went in all proud and came out bewildered, like Vietnam vets."