““I don’t know that it had anything to do with us,” my father said. But how could it have not? Doesn’t the blood of every suicide splash back on our faces?”

David Sedaris

Now We Are Five



"I’ll see you later?" asks his voice, a husk

of heavy morning languor on his throat,

the question not forthright as bed sheet musk

by which I was not smitten, though it smote.

Myself, I do not answer with a word,

but bend my neck to him and nod my head,

an answer steeped in honesty, immured 

in silent fleshly faith, in false words’ stead.

But really, can I claim more honesty,

retreating from uncertain words, and lies, 

when even now I write pert poetry

that, more than any lie, must be devised?

Well, no. We’re both bilingual, he and I.

Or even more than that: we switch between

the silent and the voiced, both truth and lie.

Can we ourselves know all of what we mean?

A word is truth in mouth, but lie in ear,

for what one says, the other does not hear.

“beauty is a witch/Against whose charms faith melteth into blood.”

Claudio, Much ado about Nothing

II.1 171,172

William Shakespeare 

“…men forget more easily the death of their father than the loss of their patrimony.”

Machiavelli The Prince

Chapter XVII

“Nineteen is old enough to know that if you have got somethin that means the world to you it’s all that more likely it’ll get took away.”

Carla Jean Moss

No Country for Old Men

Cormac McCarthy


Pizza triptych. Bow down. 

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