nobodyhere

I lay my head in my hands
and my sorrow is immediately interrupted
by the possible asymmetry of my ears.

jump

'See the cat? See the cradle?'

Kurt Vonnegut has made me happy happy happy.

Newt's painting was small and black and warty.
It consisted of scratches made in a black, gummy impasto. The scratches formed a sort of spider's web, and I wondered if they might not be the sticky nets of human futility hung up on a moonless night to dry.

Newt remained curled in the chair. He held out his painty hands as though a cat's cradle were strung between them. 'No wonder kids grow up crazy. A cat's cradle is nothing but a bunch of X's between somebody's hands, and little kids look and look and look at all those X's...'
'And?'
'No damn cat, and no damn cradle.'

--

Her eyes were closed.
I was flabbergasted.
She was great.

She improvised around the music of the Pullman porter's son; went from liquid lyricism to rasping lechery to the shrill skittishness of a frightened child, to a heroin nightmare.

--

Tiger got to hunt,
Bird got to fly;
Man got to sit and wonder, 'Why, why, why?'
Tiger got to sleep,
Bird got to land;
Man got to tell himself he understand.

'What's that from?' I asked.
What could it possibly be from but The Books of Bokonon?'
'I'd love to see a copy sometime.'
'Copies are hard to come by,' said Castle. 'They aren't printed. They're made by hand. And, of course, there is no such thing as a completed copy, since Bokonon is adding things every day.'
Little Newt snorted. 'Religion!'
'Beg your pardon?' Castle said.
'See the Cat?' asked Newt. 'See the cradle?'

when i was eleven years old, i got the mumps, around the time of my final exams. i was exempted from those exams, based on my past performance; they never really fail you in school. however, however, i cried and cried and cried because everyone else was studying and i wasn't.