Brief Interviews With Hideous Men

by David Foster Wallace

And two weeks of a deep and frightening ache this past spring left you with something dropped down from inside: your sack is now full and vulnerable, a commodity to be protected. Hefted and strapped in tight supporters that stripe your buttocks red. You have grown into a new fragility.

You have decided being scared is caused mostly by thinking.

Her suit is full of her.

The rungs hurt your feet. They are thin and let you know just how much you weigh. You have real weight on the ladder. The ground wants you back.

you see that the two dark spots are from people’s skin. They are skin abraded from feet by the violence of the disappearance of people with real weight.

Bees have to move very fast to stay still.

Cold is just a kind of hard.

The lie is that it’s one or the other.

storm and drag

I’m lending the ear to her

she’s got on these pink jeans and heels that say fuck me in like myriads of major world languages—’