She liked to think. What did she like to think? She was having a dumb day and wanted to blame the fog.Maybe he falls, he slides, if that is a useful word, from his experience of an objective world, th...
I thought about soccer in history, the inspiration for wars, truces, rampaging mobs. The game was a global passion, spherical ball, grass or turf, entire nations in spasms of elation or lament. But wh...
I feel sad for people and the queer part we play in our own distasters.
He was thinking about automated teller machines. The term was aged and burdened by its own historical memory. It worked at cross-purposes, unable to escape the inferences of fuddled human personnel an...
He walked among the bookstore shelves, hearing Muzak in the air. There were rows of handsome covers, prosperous and assured. He felt a fine excitement, hefting a new book, fitting hand over sleek spin...
He imagines they are uniformly smiling, showing the face they squeeze out with the toothpaste every morning.
He and Kennedy were partners. The figure of the gunman in the window was inextricable from the victim and his history.
Fuck you. Show some amazement.
Everything was on television last night
A word is also a picture of a word.
Brilliant people never think of the lives they smash, being brilliant.
A writer takes earnest measures to secure his solitude and then finds endless ways to squander it.
In the face of technology, everything becomes a little atavistic.
I felt Joyce was an influence on my fiction, but in a very general way, as a kind of inspiration and a model for the beauty of language.
Who knows what I want to do? Who knows what anyone wants to do? How can you be sure about something like that? Isn't it all a question of brain chemistry, signals going back and forth, electrical ener...
When I get real high I can feel the space between sounds.
We seem to believe it is possible to ward off death by following rules of good grooming.
War is the ultimate realization of modern technology. For centuries men have tested themselves in war. War was the final test, the great experience, the privilege, the honor, the selfsacrifice or what...
There is another kind of belief, a second force, insecure, untrusting, a faith that is spring-fed by the things we fear in the night.
There are dead stars that still shine because their light is trapped in time. Where do I stand in this light, which does not strictly exist?