October 13, 2009
October 12, 2009
October 11, 2009
October 9, 2009
All I want inside a car is music. When a favorite old song comes on the radio, I can never hear it past the first few notes. The song, evocative, will take me to the place and time where I first came to hear it. I’ll be take over for the length of the song, and returned when it stops, having missed it, only knowing it was there because now it isn’t there. The same thing happens when I think about you.
Amy Hempel, from Tumble Home.
October 5, 2009
Farther up the coast is where you have to go for stuffed plush whales and orange rubber crabs, for T-shirts and mugs, placemat maps. Postcards are what the store can manage. That’s okay with me. I don’t have to hunt up souvenirs. It is enough to feel the pull of the old home, pulling apart the new.
from Amy Hempel’s The New Lodger.
September 27, 2009
September 11, 2009
The text is a tissue of quotations and the writer can only imitate a gesture that is always anterior, never original.
(Barthes)
March 5, 2009
In fact, it’s a good rule of thumb to know that white people like anything that old writers and artists liked: typewriters, journals, suicide, heroin, and trains are just a few examples.
Stuff White People Like.
February 12, 2009
How cute is this?

How cute is this?

February 6, 2009