It was hard for me to believe. When recess was over I sat in class and thought about it. My mother had a hole and my father had a dong that shot juice. How could they have things like that and walk around as if everything was normal, and talk about things, and then do it and not tell anybody?

I pretend to understand because I don't want anybody to be hurt

What were you going to do tonight?" "I was going to listen to the songs of Rachmaninoff." "Who's that?" "A dead Russian.

I'm too careless. I don't put out enough effort. I'm tired.

I am this fiery snail crawling home.

Can you remember who you were, before the world told you who you should be?

I wish to weep but sorrow is stupid. I wish to believe but belief is a graveyard.