He later admitted that he had been so desperately lonesome that he wrote letters to himself. And posted them.
Chadwick Graves, One Damned Thing After Another.
“And whom did Huddleston despise?” asked the Narrator. “Anyone with intellectual pretensions.”
Chadwick Graves, Maoist Struggle Session and Other Stories.
The Eleventh Commandment: “Admire thyself.”
Mills Verbruggen, The Isle of Dogs.
Today in art [2012], we are at the swarming insect phase of activity. The bones of the carcass are almost bare.
Hill Boothby, The Dazzling Realm of Almost.
“No, Harold,” said Mr. Silas, “the harm done does not interest them.”
Douglas Cristobal, Feel the Logic.
“I am insane,” confided Jessica. “Yes, I am. But it’s the good kind of insanity.”
Benedict Elder, A Cosmopolitan Paradise.
“Feminism,” cried Deborah, “is about making life better for everyone.”
Thaddeus Crewes, Crowded Evil World.
Let’s see if I can cover this. Our ancestors bequeath to us the greatest way of life in human history. And now we condemn them for not being nice enough, we declare ourselves to be morally superior to them, and we piddle away our inheritance stupidly.
Jackson Currothers III, The View From the Cauldron.
It is almost worth putting up with cubism in its various stages in order to arrive at Kurt Schwitters of the twenties and thirties.
Crispin Trove, The Viewer as Pest.
On the shelf above stood a jar full of old keys, and then there was what Roger referred to as “phantom” first editions of Tristram Shandy….
Gareth Spence, She Braved All.
dennis scharnberg 