nathan > Recent Status Updates

Some nights I want Jude so badly that I imagine I am giving birth to him....Mostly I think this because that's how badly I want Jude's head between my legs.

..Jude was bleeding all the things he couldn't tell anyone because it might kill him.

…because this is the thing about youth You change your mind.

Every day at Tom Lake was a week, every week a month. We spent hours in a dark theater, saying the same things to the same people again and again, finding ways to make the world new…at Tom Lake rehearsals were our life. Where we stood and how we stood and how we placed our chairs and looked into the lights and spoke to one another and listened, all of it mattered.

There is no explaining this simple truth about life: you will forget much of it. The painful things you were certain you'd never be able to let go? Now you're not entirely sure when they happened, while the thrilling parts, the heart-stopping joys, splintered and scattered and became something else. Memories are then replaced by different joys and larger sorrows, and unbelievably, those things get knocked aside too

Secrets are at times a necessary tool for peace.

It is sentimental and useless to tell someone you would gladly give them your past because the past is nontransferable, and anyway, I would have wanted to give her only the good days.

…the first time is luxury, the second time privilege.

I blame myself for what happened. I was hideously disloyal to the person I loved in order to be with a person I didn't love at all.
But I was also sixteen, and as sure as fifteen will get you twenty, sixteen doesn't stand a chance against twenty-two.

Past, present and future are not amenities of lan-guage. Time unfolds into the seams of being. It passes through you, making and shaping.

How could such a surplus of vulnerability find itself
alone in the world?

How could such a surplus of vulnerability find itself
alone in the world?

She was looking at the backs of her hands, fingers stretched, looking and thinking, recalling moments with Rey, not moments exactly but times, or moments flowing into composite time, an erotic of see and touch, and she curled one hand over and into the other, missing him in her body and feeling sexually and abysmally alone and staring at the points where her knuckles shone bloodless from the pressure of her grip.

The brain is a remarkable thing, what's lost snaps right into focus and you've done nothing at all.

The gym was the gym again, site of all humiliations: the run-ning, the kickball, the dancing, the play. I wanted to teach En-glish, join the Peace Corps, save a dog's life, sew a dress. Acting had not been on the list.

What I was seeing was nothing less than how to present myself in the world. Watching actors who had memorized their lines and been coached along for months was one thing, but seeing adults stumble and fail was something else entirely. The magic was in identifying where each one went wrong.

I kept thinking that this was the first day of my true education. None of the books I'd read were as important as this, none of the math tests or history papers had taught me how to act, and by
"act" I don't mean on a stage, I mean in life.

…she raced through the days with their small ravishing routines, days the same, paced and organized but with a simultaneous wallow, uncentered, sometimes blank in places, days that moved so slow they ached.

It was who he was in the dark, cigarettes and mumbled sleep and a hundred other things nameable and not.

You know more surely who you are on a strong bright day after a storm when the smallest falling leaf is stabbed with self-awareness. The wind makes a sound in the pines and the world comes into being, irre-versibly, and the spider rides the wind-swayed web.

Time seems to pass. The world happens, unrolling into
moments, and you stop to glance at a spider pressed to its web. There is a quickness of light and a sense of things outlined precisely and streaks of running luster on the bay.

"it is like erasing time because all those faces etched in my memory become fixed, and so my relationship to the world in movement is somewhat altered; and that is how I erase time - blowing once on the palm of my hand I extinguish the awful flow of hours. Don't you find it flows too quickly? That it sweeps us away too soon, only certain trees are centuries old, shouldn't there be an extra century of existence?”

In a hollow of the corridor shivering men can be seen who have a few memories in common, but above all share a vocation for remembering: something brutal and celestial, related at one time to innocence and the powers unleashed by the earth. They seem kind, appealing, even capable of sorrow; fusty and remote, they shake hands, embrace; it is a farewell rather than a greeting.

he was someone who lived entirely in dreams or on walks-

…it's the last fantasy nature indulges in, it's all color, on fire. Yes, the sun is disintegrating, a squalid pretender to the glory of that Void denied to any who might mention its name or cling to it. It was as though it were saying, "True life is beyond words."

Though the years vanish as swiftly as ever, sorrow, and life coming to an end make time seem too long. I spend entire days ob. serving nature, the gradual calming of nature: at such times my ideas become vague, undecided; without tiring them, a wild sadness rests in my eyes, and my gaze wanders over…

Luz found herself recalling moments, echoes of conversations, images of her parents together and individually. She didn't trust they were memories and asked herself whether she was making them up because she wanted to have a history.

“She needed three languages for all the things she had to say.”

This is the definition of the word begotten: brought into existence. This is something I learned from the movie Jurassic Park: life finds a way.

"He said he was dying of nostalgia because he'd never see his shadow again in the place where he grew up.”