Joe Meno

“He wants to say: First ofall, you were wrong about pop music. And art and all of pop culture. And all kinds of things.Because all of it matters. Even if it is awful. Everybody knows all the bad movies and the badsongs on the radio. Because it’s the only thing anybody has in common anymore. It’s all anybodyhas. So you were wrong about that and you were wrong about us and you were wrong about me,but he doesn’t actually say any of this out loud.”

“I don’t think I’m special. I want you to know that,” Odile says sharply. “I don’t think I’m better than everybody else.”

“I told you why. If I don’t do it now, I never will. I’ll just be some office drone ten years fromnow, wishing I had done something interesting at least once in my life.”

“It’s pretty hard not to like her,” he says. “Even whenyou know you shouldn’t.”

“The last four dayswhere everything has finally made some sense. And why is she so ready to throw this away? Because.Because eventually every relationship she’s been in has turned to shit. Eventually she ends upscrewing everything up. So maybe it’s better to leave now before people’s feelings get hurt.”

“As a boy, all I ever wanted was this: alife dedicated to art; every idea, every breath an artistic gesture. And here is this girl before me,blowing on her hands to keep warm. And why am I so worried it’s not going to last?”

“I’ve been thinking alot and it’s not that anyone did anything wrong. We just didn’t know what we wanted. We weren’t thepeople we were supposed to be yet,”

“Listen, I’m going to give you some advice, not because Ithink you need it, but because I feel like I’ve earned it. The right, I mean. To give advice. Here it is:don’t hold onto things. It’s a problem the men in my family have. It’s taken me a long time to figurethis out. Me, my father, my grandfather, we collect things. We collect miseries. It’s what we do. Butsometimes the best thing to do is to just let things go. To let them pass.”

“I really do. It’s the first time I don’t have to think at work, you know. It’s really simple. Youjust answer the phone and put in people’s orders. It’s pretty laid back. You don’t like it?”“No. I feel like it’s killing my brain.”“Maybe that’s why I like it. I don’t mind not having to think.”

“Maybe. Because he’s got to try. Because she is too interesting, too beautiful not to even do anything.”

“We’re adults,” he says quickly. “I’m only here to work. I won’t bother you or anything.”“Fine,” she says. “Great.”“Great,” he repeats.“We’re too good of work friends anyways.”“We are?”“I mean, we’re probably too much alike,” she says.“Yeah, it would be too weird. If things didn’t work out.”“These things never work out,” she says.“Exactly,” he says.“Exactly.”“Right,” he adds. “Exactly.”“And who needs all the weirdness?”

“As the liquid paper’s fumes quell his brain activity, Jack finds himself staring ather again and what he thinks is this: Wow.”

“And he says, “I’m trying to figure out what’s wrong with me. And I think I realized that I’maverage, that there’s nothing remarkable about me. And I wanted to know if this is something otherpeople think about.”

“Maybe, he thinks, as he’s riding on through the snow, maybe this is why she’s leaving. Maybeshe fell in love with me when we were kids. And now: and now: and now: we’re not kids anymore.”

“...the city is just too big and too full of people to be alone.”

“How’s life?”“That’s the stupidest question I’ve ever heard.”

“Imagination is a place where all the important answers live.”

“Мир полон зла ровно настолько, насколько мы это ему позволяем.”

“What lasts?What lasts?What lasts?What lasts?What lasts?And so he stares for an hour or so at all her notes, at the poorly sketched drawings for an art movement that has now come to an end, and realizes how there are all these moments, moments just like this one, there are all these moments, and how everyone lives their lives in these short, all-too-short moments. There are all these moments and what's so interesting, what makes them beautiful, is the fact that none of them last.”

“...and realizes how there are all these moments, moments like just this one, there are all these moments, and how everyone lives their lives in these short, all-too-short moments. There are all these moments and what's so interesting, what makes them beautiful, is the fact that none of them last.”

“And it's exactly what's wrong with the radio. It's like...anything that tries to appeal to everybody always ends up sounding so cheap.”

“I'm still trying to figure things out too. All I know is a couple of very unimportant things.”

“Jack: Well, I've never been to New York, but I hear it's for assholes. Odile: It's not.Jack: Well, that's what I heard. Cool people don't live there anymore, They all live here. In Chicago.”

“Apples are kissing other apples. Gray cats are kissing other gray cats. Trees are kissing trees. You and I are not kissing. We work in an office together. We are both married to other people. It is okay because we only have ideas, you and I, about whether we should kiss or not. These ideas are both good and bad, probably. At work, we do not say these words aloud but make elaborate diagrams for one another. You write these words: Kissing you would be like this, and draw a picture of two butterflies being struck by lightning. I stare at it and wonder if you may be right. I do my own drawing and write, Kissing you would be like this, and sketch a picture of a man made of ice kissing a woman who is actually a stove. We have made hundreds of these drawings. We do not actually do any work.”

“It is no parlor trick: There is a skull and, in the dark, it is glowing. Somehow it is now floating above us all. Listen: The skull is speaking. It is saying your name. It knows about you and your favorite flower and all about your tenth birthday. But it does not matter. You are not convinced. For some reason, you are still full of doubt. You stare into the dark, looking for wires. Grasping for strings, you hold your hands out.”

“The only thing all men have in common with one another is their inherent capacity to make mistakes. But there is wonder in the attempt, knowing we are all destined to fall short, but forgoing reason and fear time and time again so deliberately.”

“But why? Why did you do the evil things you did?' Billy asks suddenly.'Ah, because I could not imagine consequences,' the Professor says. 'To do harm, to live through evil, is to align oneself with chaos. Now it is the same chaos which is slowly destroying me.”

“-Are you ready to return to the outside world, Billy?-No, definitely not, sir.-Well, you can't stay here forever now, can you?-Why not? I'm not bothering anybody, sir.-Because it's not healthy. You're a very special young man, Billy. It's time you found that out on your own, out there. The world may not be as terrible as you think.-I would like to stay here one more month, if I may, sir.-One more month? Why?-Summer will be over, sir. I can't go out there if it's going to be summertime.-And why not?-I wouldn't want to see any young girls playing. I would not want to see any flowers outside.-Why?-Because everything happy right now is going to die.-But Billy...-I would not like to be reminded of anything pretty.-But Billy, of course, anything might...-I would not like to be reminded.-OK, OK. We will se what we can do, Billy.”

“Slow as your own dubious grace.”

“Go to a goddamn priest if you wanna be lied to. I've seen too many of your kind slip back inside to fool myself. If you wanna think you're a new man, hell, that's fine. But don't think you're looking any different in anyone else's mind.”

“Maybe that's why people have friends at all. Not because they like them so much but because they don't make them feel so much worse.”

“Above the dirt of an unmarked grave and beneath the shadow of the abandoned refinery, the children would play their own made up games: Wild West Accountants! in which they would calculate the loss of a shipment of gold stolen from an imaginary stagecoach, or Recently Divorced Scientists! in which they would build a super-collider out of garbage to try and win back their recently lost loves.”

“...a book is actually a place, a place where we, as adults, still have the chance to engage in active imagining, translating word into image, connecting these images to memories, dreams and larger ideas. Television, film, even the stage play, have already been imagined for us, but the book, in whatever form we choose to interact with it, forces us to complete it... The fact that books provide us the place to imagine is critically important, as it is there, in the imagination, that all sense of possibility rests.”

“We did something very simple," Effie says."Yes, and what was that?"Effie Mumford stares off the porch into the night sky. The first stars of the evening are quietly arriving, and Billy, following her gaze, listens as the small girl speaks."We allowed ourselves, for one brief moment, to believe in something we could not see.”

“It is what we see when we imagine what the afterlife must be like: our happiest triumphs, our most sincere moments, stolen from the seam of our lives, a respite just before the onset of imminent tragedy.”

“Where do you go when you die? Ha ha. Go on, go on and tell her, Billy."Billy smiles. "You become a little voice in someone's ear telling them that things will be alright.”

“When she cries, it is quiet, tearless, almost completely imperceptible: one more unheard prayer.”

“The more I write, the more I've come to realize that books have a different place in our society than other media. Books are different from television or film because they ask you to finish the project. You have to be actively engaged to read a book. It's more like a blueprint. What it really is, is an opportunity... A book is a place where you're forced to use your imagination. I find it disappointing that you're not being asked to imagine more.”

“After school the very next day, El Rey's mobile home was gone. I laid in bed and wondered what happens to people when they go, if they become like shadows, if they fade away when they disappear from your life. The only thing I could see was the broken picket fence. The only sound I could hear was the cry of birds being killed in the night.”

“Attention, God the Judge, God the Father, who Art in Heaven, give me one miracle, please. If You exist as I know You do, even if no one else in the world believes in You, please give me a brain tumor. Please tear my limbs from their sockets and let the backseat and my older sister be totally covered with blood. Please make me dumb and blind and deaf, please make me a martyr, please, dear heavenly Father. Tear my heart right from my chest. Drive spikes into my eyes and let hot lava shoot out of my mouth. Make me silent and thoroughly dead, but please hurry. Before we get home, before we reach the next stoplight, let the only sound be no sound, the silence of my death burning in the empty sky. If You are a mighty and true God, if You are not just a dream I have made up, please, before another hour, another minute passes, let the wire in my bra poke through my heart. Dear Lord, please, please, give me this one miracle. I have begged You every day, every evening, so please, let Your will be done, let Your will be done. Give me a gruesome death as fast as You possibly can. Thank you, God. Amen.”

“Please let there be a heaven for everything that is too pitiful to believe.”

“I did a bad thing tonight, one of the most terrible things ever: I waited for her to fall asleep, then stole the sheet from under her head. I am missing you or maybe just the idea of you. I have begun seriously thinking about other men. I am afraid I am not strong enough or tough enough for this. I am afraid all the time. I have not slept well in months. When are you coming back, you jerk? We are all trying to be brave without you and doing a real crummy job of it. I do not want to have to be brave anymore without you.”

“Kristin nods, marching ahead of Clark, who gazes as the impossible smallness of Kristin’s ankles and feet. Years later, while imprisoned for drug charges, he will think of those tiny feet and know he is forever doomed for having lied to her, for having harmed something so delicate, so defenseless, so small, so weak.”

“An apple could make you laugh: You are so charming. On our lunch, we find our way along the crowded boulevard. You stop abruptly and pluck two green apples from someone selling them on the street. You look at them and decide they are in love, these two apples. You make them whisper to one another. You make them dance: The kinds of dances they do are dainty. spontaneous. At the end of the dancing, the apples get marries in a little ceremony. After the two apples kiss, you and I laugh. It’ll be okay going for the two apples, they will get on fine, anyone can tell. Together, we walk back to the office and hate each other for how easily we can laugh about this.”

“People are just greedy animals, after all.”

“Being decent is the only thing that matters in a terrible world like this.”

“You scan the cheering bleachers for the strange boy’s face: handsome, reserved, with the eye patch, a little dramatic, a little scary. You finally find him sitting there in the middle of the sixth row. He is wearing a dark green army jacket and is staring back at you. He looks sad and beautiful, like a watercolor in a hospital room.”

“We have fun acting like this, acting like we are incredibly offended. Really, we are just bored to tears with everything.”

“I figured Alan wasn’t really Alan anymore, that maybe the meds or the disease had made him someone else, someone more timid, someone I actually felt close to. I kept hoping that this would be it, that this would be as bad as it would ever get.”

“His face almost looked the way it did when he was a teenager, when there was the subtle expression of both confidence and mischief in his darkly handsome eyes. When I think of him now, though, I don’t picture his face the way it is. What I see is from a memory, from a moment when he must have been eleven or twelve years old and we were both in our backyard and it was summertime and I was drawing in a coloring book and he was there in the green grass and he didn’t know I was watching him. He was crawling around on all fours; he was practicing being a lion or a tiger or more probably a leopard and he was growling to himself, stalking the shadow of a bird, and he didn’t see me staring at him and I think my mother was there, looking at us from an upstairs window, watching us both and gently smiling, and what I remember most is that all of us were happy then with who we were at that moment; at that moment, all of us were quietly happy.”