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Jobs & Workexpand_moreHe’s not the skinny hippie all the paintings make Him out to be.
I once watched a man wax a hallway with an overweight rotary brush.
The man said in a hard voice, “I wanna fuck you, little Indian girl.”
Get all of it. Set up the shots. Get beautiful stuff and get the ugliness.
We’re fat! So what? They hadn’t yet tired of this chant, the play’s refrain.
Lori & Garry Marshall
Design a way to kill those rats, and do it now, Fiori, do it now.
What about writers who come suddenly into full power late in life?
What about writers who come suddenly into full power late in life?
If he could not evade a serious question by a joke, he bolted.
I had forgotten how to breathe, and then I learned again, all at once.
The onus is on you, because you care about your car and your life.
The lion was still near them, stalking. Crazed against its cautionary nature.
We can be naked in black light, the smell of unwash and old pot.
My job requires me to make things disappear like a Vegas magician.
Oh they pay me well. I make a small fortune. Yes they pay me well.
Dad is catnip to the lady residents. He’s tall and lean, plus he’s got all his hair.
América, make me wings large enough to carry me back and forth.
Dexter was unconsciously dictated to by his winter dreams.
He never stopped reminding me that I was born in Harmony, Georgia.
You’re going to have a difficult life if you can’t figure out where to stand.
No one else ever seemed to mind working side-by-side a murderer.
Something is wrong with that place. Someone’s still there . . .
Literary gatherings are a nightmare because writers have no shop talk.
You’re supposed to hit is the bull’s-eye, that black spot, precise spot.
“The basis of literary friendship is mixing the poisoned bowl.”
“Ki o tsukete!” she called, and he knew the words. Be careful.
You’ve seen her almost every day, going to and from the gardens.
Not the Olympics, the guard said. Just chuck yourself down the tube.
“O youth! The strength of it, the faith of it, the imagination of it!”
