We’re all lonely, wisps
of drunk breath and sobered heads
We’re never alone
One day I woke up
and we no longer spoke
the same language.
I haven’t heard from you since.
I think we ought to read only the kind of books that wound or stab us. If the book we’re reading doesn’t wake us up with a blow to the head, what are we reading for? So that it will make us happy, as you write? Good Lord, we would be happy precisely if we had no books, and the kind of books that make us happy are the kind we could write ourselves if we had to. But we need books that affect us like a disaster, that grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves, like being banished into forests far from everyone, like a suicide. A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us. That is my belief.
Cats vs. Fruit
Previously: Cats Giving High Fives
Cats are hilarious. I like the one where it swats the peel AT ITSELF and seems to think it is being attacked.