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She thinks I protest too much.”
classic
What stands between the married pair is no more than protective irony.
But I’m old enough to take responsibility for myself and try to be the master of my fate.
This is how it is, how stories work, when we know of murders from their inception. We can’t help siding with the perpetrators and their schemes, we wave from the quayside as their little ship of bad intent departs.
Small talk. Or what he considers small talk to be. “These migrants, eh?
Conversational whiplash there Claude
It doesn’t matter whether love endures. What matters is that it exists. So.
This is ugly, sure to go wrong, too late in my term. I’ve been saying this for weeks. I’ll suffer.
Hours of scheming have accidentally delivered the conspirators into the art of deliberative lovemaking.
The line, the stated border, between dreaming and waking is vague.
She’s made herself my only parent.
However close you get to others, you can never get inside them, even when you’re inside them.
She hates Elodie more than she loves John.
Oh proverbial fly, oh wall, when will he learn to speak without torturing me? Speaking’s just a form of thinking and he must be as stupid as he appears.
I can’t imagine wanting such a thing for myself. But it’s a lifted burden to have Claude satisfied many kindly inches away.
“He’s dead…dead.” She doesn’t seem convinced. And after several seconds, in a murmur, “Oh God.”
Okay lady Macbeth let’s get a grip here
The loving future is a fantasy.
Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves, Confucius said.
you're a fetus but sure
I’ve absolved myself, not of thoughts, but of actions, of avenging his death in this life or in the postnatal next.
Adult life, a faraway oasis. Not even a mirage.
Only two sexes. I was disappointed. If human bodies, minds, fates are so complex, if we are free like no other mammal, why limit the range?
I mean yeah
If I turn out to be white, I may identify as black. And vice versa. I may announce myself as disabled, or disabled in context. If my identity is that of a believer, I’m easily wounded, my flesh torn to bleeding by any questioning of my faith.
Buddy what
My identity will be my precious, my only true possession, my access to the only truth. The world must love, nourish and protect it as I do. If my college does not bless me, validate me and give me what I clearly need, I’ll press my face into the vice chancellor’s lapels and weep. Then demand his resignation.
My guy what are you on about
Her status as a murderer is a fact, an item in the world outside herself. But that’s old thinking. She affirms, she identifies as innocent.
Not my Hamlet!! What is happening here!!!!!!
Yes, I was there when he tempted her again to bed, called her his mouse, pinched her nipples hard, filled her cheeks with his lying breath and cliché-bloated tongue.
You know what I’m really tired of hearing about her sex life
And I did nothing.
Hamlets inaction is a lot less compelling when it’s a fetus
I can’t quite dispel the worthless notion that the very beautiful should live by other codes. For such a face as I’ve imagined for her there should be special respect.
You would say that
He pulls her face towards his and kisses her long and hard with icy, putrefying lips. Terror and disgust and shame overwhelm her. The moment will torment her until she dies.
Mans a fetus and already daydreaming about women he seems worthy being sexually assaulted, very cool!
And then I feel it on the top of my head, my crown—one centimetre dilated!
This is the fastest birth ever lmao
I travel a section where I know a portion of my uncle has passed too often the other way.
oh my god fetus ENOUGH
My advice to newborns: don’t cry, look around, taste the air.
man thinks newborns cry for fun
