AnonymousI'm Claire and these are little blurbs, odd thoughts, images I like, songs I hum, etc. Apologies in advanced for cute animals, talk of alcoholic beverages, fangirl moments, and posts of personal regard.
"It’s not ‘clever lonely’ (like Morrissey) or ‘interesting lonely’ (like Radiohead); it’s ‘lonely lonely,’ like the way it feels when you’re being hugged by someone and it somehow makes you sadder."
One time I was in New York City with a friend. We went to the Bronx, up above Spuyten Duyvil to see someone who was housesitting.
It was about ten o’clock in the morning and the sky was low and dark gray. We arrived at the house, which was set into an odd-shaped lot. The lawn was mown and everything else was overgrown. There were bare trees whose trunks were wet. The house was a two story white-plank and didn’t have a front. We walked up to a sliding glass door on a brick pathway that had veins of moss living in the mortar.
The inside of the house didn’t have a plan. There was a long, unfinished wooden table with mismatched dining chairs. There was a wide-brimmed hanging lamp whose single bulb was quite close to the surface of the table. The gray light shone through the windows and met the yellow light from the lamp on a worn Persian carpet. The border between the two lights got lost in the pattern on the rug.
There were yellow and gray plank bookcases on every wall. They were filled with hundreds of books. The books had been in their cases for such a long time that they had taken on the soft colors that the room produced.
The three of us ate bagels, cream cheese, and smoked fish at the long table. The bagels weren’t sliced. We tore them up piece by piece, spreading the cream cheese and placing the fish on the ragged ends.
After we had eaten we got up and stood in front of the bookcases and tilted our heads to the right. We called out the titles of books we’d read and books we hadn’t. We asked if this book was any good. Sometimes we pulled out books that we had liked and read the first lines to each other.
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