Trichotomy

One night she said, “I want it,” and so she took it. The next she said, “I know you need it,” and so she gave it. The last she said, “What was it?” and left taking all, taking nothing.

Notes from my iPhone

Today, a man in the lower El station was frightening strangers. He’d scream “Boo!” at every lone woman who walked by with her head down.
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1/4 cup lemon juice concentrate, 2 teaspoons chicken flavor instant bouillon, 1 7oz package of pasta, 1 lg tomato, 4 cups thinly sliced lettuce
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Hyde Park—where there are almost as many gang shootings as Nobel Prizes given away.
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6428 #3, North
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Once I went to a bar at a Holiday Inn in some beach town, and there was a bride in her gown dancing alone, no groom in sight.
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Beatles- In My Life
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Saturday the 15th, 4 pm, Eye Doctor
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Each part of Spain has a different dialect of Spanish—(don’t forget that)
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Character names: Toby. Palmer.
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1-get wrapping paper, 2- get box, 3- get gift
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My hair seems extra bushy as of late.

"What are you doing on this side of the dark?
You chose that side, and those you left
feel your image across their sleeping lids
as a blinding atomic blast…"

— An excerpt from Mary Karr's poem "Face Down," in this week’s issue. (via newyorker)

(via newyorker)

http://www.brainpickings.org/index.php/2013/06/07/annie-dillard-the-writing-life-1/
From Annie Dillard’s, The Writing Life
"Writers will have to free themselves from human enclosures, and go outside to study the green world…If we are to survive, we must look outward from the charmed circle of our own works, to the stupendous theatre where our tiny, brief play goes on."

— Scott Russell Sanders, Secrets of the Universe

theparisreview:

“Thunderstorms were what death, and dramatic events, generally should be like, but usually were not; the idea that our life’s dramas rarely look as dramatic as they are. Our most cataclysmic moments are typically free of gravitas, of necessary thunder; a person dies, but instead of the sky darkening and lightning striking, the sun continues to shine and the birds to sing.”
—Alain de Botton, from “Drama or Melodrama.” Art: Amy J. Greving.

theparisreview:

“Thunderstorms were what death, and dramatic events, generally should be like, but usually were not; the idea that our life’s dramas rarely look as dramatic as they are. Our most cataclysmic moments are typically free of gravitas, of necessary thunder; a person dies, but instead of the sky darkening and lightning striking, the sun continues to shine and the birds to sing.”

Alain de Botton, from “Drama or Melodrama.” Art: Amy J. Greving.

slaughterhouse90210:

“Like so many other nerdy, disaffected young people of that time, I dreamed of becoming an ‘artist’, i.e., somebody whose adult job was original and creative instead of tedious and dronelike.”― David Foster Wallace, The Pale King

slaughterhouse90210:

“Like so many other nerdy, disaffected young people of that time, I dreamed of becoming an ‘artist’, i.e., somebody whose adult job was original and creative instead of tedious and dronelike.”
― David Foster Wallace,
The Pale King

"When I am really feeling life and being truthful, the resulting prose is comic. The world is comic. It’s not always funny but it is always comic. Comic, for me, means that there is always a shortfall between what we think of ourselves and what we are. Life is too hard and complicated for a person to live above it, and the moments when this is underscored are comic. But, of course, they are also deep. Maybe the most clearly we ever see reality is when it boots us in the ass."

-George Saunders

http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/books/2014/06/george-saunders-humor.html

The Voice of Rock and Roll

newyorker:

image

Sarah Larson remembers Casey Kasem: http://nyr.kr/1q2qldc

“Unconcerned by cool, and possibly unaware of what cool was, he was a clean-cut, sweater-wearing authority, somewhere between disc jockey and anchorman.”

Photograph: The LIFE Picture Collection/Getty.

(Source: newyorker.com)

Tuesday, February 28, 1950. My new plans for March: soon as I get my money, I’ll join the morning club at the Y and work out almost every weekday. Also, black coffee (no cream and sugar); chinning from the door (which has no real grip, so I can only do ten or eleven or twelve); and less sleep. I’ve been getting fat and lazy. Time for action, time for a new life, my real life. I’ll be twenty-eight in two weeks. Two meals a day instead of three. Much travelling. No stagnation. No more sorrows! No more metaphysical awe! Action … speed … grace … Go! Writing from true thoughts instead of stale rehashes. I’m going to express more and record less in “On the Road.”

From Kerouac’s old journals, via the New Yorker.

http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/backissues/2014/05/letter-from-the-archive-jack-kerouacs-journals.html#entry-more