he says your name out loud, in miniature rooms where no one's found; it's a desperate sound. you're on the distant shore! and he wants to tell you stories, stories of boys who stomped their feet, saying, "shut, shut up—I am dreaming of places where lovers have wings."

A B C D E

writing / ask

"I discovered that my obsession for having each thing in the right place, each subject at the right time, each word in the right style, was not the well-deserved reward of an ordered mind but just the opposite: a complete system of pretense invented by me to hide the disorder of my nature. I discovered that I am not disciplined out of virtue but as a reaction to my negligence, that I appear generous in order to conceal my meanness, that I pass myself off as prudent because I am evil-minded, that I am conciliatory in order not to succumb to my repressed rage, that I am punctual only to hide how little I care about other people’s time. I learned, in short, that love is not a condition of the spirit but a sign of the zodiac."
—Gabriel García Márquez, Memories of My Melancholy Whores

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