
Saved by Thomas Unterkircher and
The Ten Thousand Doors of January
Saved by Thomas Unterkircher and
Something about having a child bends you back to your beginnings, as if you have been drawing a circle all your life and now are compelled to close it.
insofar as it was possible to love someone so naturally comfortable in three-piece suits, I loved him.
It felt like donning a suit of armor or sprouting wings, extending past the boundaries of myself; it felt an awful lot like love.
to find my own power and write it on the world.”
but eventually rage burns out and leaves nothing but ash, a muted landscape drawn in charcoal gray.
The will to be polite, to maintain civility and normalcy, is fearfully strong. I wonder sometimes how much evil is permitted to run unchecked simply because it would be rude to interrupt it.
Maybe all powerful men are cowards at heart, because in their hearts they know power is temporary.
I should have known: destiny is a pretty story we tell ourselves. Lurking beneath it there are only people, and the terrible choices we make.
Its name is Modernity, I am told, and it carries Progress and Prosperity in its coal-fired belly—but I see only rigidity, repression, a chilling resistance to change.