←Chapter Twenty-Nine July 27, 1973: Third summer at Haven. Every time I come, I feel like I’m getting closer to something, and I want to know what. Derek tells me to be patient. I ask with what. He says, “Everything.” I told him I’m ready, and he said that he had to be sure this time. It’s a big change from last summer when he was telling me to be
The rich really are different from the rest of us. Exhibit A is the woman who asked an advice columnist if it was alright to not give Halloween candy to the poor kids who carpooled into her wealthy neighborhood. Studies support this difference as noted by Fitzgerald. The rich give much less to charity. They have no clue how the 99% live. They think the poor shouldn’t vote. But, most
“Future historians may well look back and write about our time, not about how many pounds of pesticide we did or did not apply; but by how willing we were to sacrifice our children and jeopardize future generations based on flawed promises and flawed science, just to benefit the ‘bottom line’ of a commercial enterprise. Greed has been a very powerful motivating factor and it is out there and it
We live together, we act on, and react to, one another; but always and in all circumstances we are by ourselves. The martyrs go hand in hand into the arena; they are crucified alone. Embraced, the lovers desperately try to fuse their insulated ecstasies into a single self-transcendence; in vain. By its very nature every embodied spirit is doomed to suffer and enjoy in solitude. Sensations, feelings, insights, fancies -
I spent some time with Dracula Sunday night at a local art center. He was so dashing and such an elegant gentleman in his fabulous cape. Then, with a wickedly sexy smile, he started teasing me by calling me “Buffy” and “Slayer” as terms of endearment. I was immediately mesmerized by his exotic charm and became moonstruck. I am now intensely compelled to explain why you should hang out with
Monday, June 2 Water everywhere! Flying, rushing, torrents! Surrounding! Enclosing . . . Struggle. Blackness. Nothing. Zera fought to wake up. Sobs forced themselves through her constricted throat. A honeyed voice whispered, “It’s okay. Go back to sleep.” Zera’s eyes opened and her rigid body slowly relaxed. Her breathing returned to normal. She turned on her nightstand light. The room was empty, her thin cotton blanket knotted around her legs.
