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disregard for germs and more so those who feared them.
Already I missed my bass guitar.
thing straight off. “Look at the uncle over there!” she yelped—pointing,
Not Suicide
a box of puppies and not a face-up bloated corpse with a lipless grin and strangely bright bad teeth glinting all directions. I didn’t understand uncle but she explained she’d lost two uncles to Superior, one before she was born and another who worked alongside her parents in what
his shoulders. We rolled him in face-up, then placed stones on him carefully. We did not hurry. At this
a kite before?” She hadn’t. To put her at ease I described what it was, a bit of cloth stretched over a frame that came alive in the wind and went ranging around at the end of a long string. “I don’t see any string. It’s just flying around up there, watching us.” In fact we were too far away to see the string. The big kite did look autonomous
Nothing sinks your spirit like your own cruelty.
settled back askew as if from a bomb or tornado, and a boxy addition had detached and leaned away. It didn’t look
Rubicons get crossed for all kinds of petty reasons.
adorned
Metaphorically?
How did it not seem strange that her dock line fluency surpassed my own?
People of goodwill can disagree!”
chili, coffee. “Haven’t
How nice that people try to help .So many dystopian novels are overwhelmed with evil. This book is refreshingly optimostic so far.
mainlanders were happy and took care of their houses and had good jobs and compliant women. The islanders were filled up to here with the sin of envy.
cult of rage.
You try to occupy this actual world but man there is always a Douglas, always someone ready to fly his pants and call them a flag.
machine
was a robed wanderer with
She was a solemn totem pole until her eyes gave
on, and his eyes filled the
May all hanging judges be judged themselves at last.
though to be clear it’s rarely smart to burn a bridge.
man who often mistook his worldview for the world,
refuse Apocalypse in all its forms and work cheerfully against it.
flying out of cupboards and tinned fish skittering
was unconscious. He’d raved a while, spoke in anger
and the lake had not refused me. I’d given myself to storms, and it had
known less than three weeks bewildered
” “All right.” The door opened. He was a short broad man with hair black as rubber and skin that twitched like horsehide. He didn’t meet my eyes and carried himself braced for violence. Despite his claim I saw no weapon on him.
some,” he
I wanted to vanish—to fade from his sight and if possible
Pinned by radiance they looked like fresh exhibits in a museum of distress.
fretboard as if obeying orders. The wind still blew
drift of it on the rug beneath the open port. The seabird
chemistry kept right on messing with biology.
memory—his hard pointy boots turning frantic. His
but that didn’t matter, didn’t stop what was happening or change
But I couldn’t despise Burke; I could’ve been Burke. That’s what I believe.
