Christian Molenaar

Category: Nothings

  • Souvenir

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    I have walked this earth for 30 years, and, out of gratitude, want to leave some souvenir. Read more

  • Yeah, There Was Always Going to Be a June 5, 1968

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    My telephone rang in the middle of the night, Read more

  • Dogs Are All the Time Licking My Hand

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    Harper (1966) Read more

  • Should He Remember?

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    May 30, 1593. Eleanor Bull’s Tavern, Deptford Strand. Read more

  • Blooming

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    That’s me in mourning. When is it? May the twenty-second. Sure, the blooming thing is all over. He turned to the right and on his right Master Dignam turned, his cap awry, his collar sticking up. Buttoning it down, his chin lifted, he saw the image of Marie Kendall, charming soubrette, beside the two puckers.… Read more

  • The Mortician in San Francisco

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    This may sound queer,but in 1985 I held the delicate handsof Dan White:I prepared him for burial; by then, Harvey Milkwas made monument — no, myth — by the yearssince he was shot. Read more

  • Afterwords

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    Read more

  • May 19, 18—

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    “I’m thinking about writing a book,” I said, “a book that would be a sort of symptomatic journal of my disease that could serve as a source of information for doctors and literary types both. This idea came knocking at my door as twilight fell… I let it seduce me as though I were just… Read more

  • A Movable Festival

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    May-day — I forget whether by Zenobia’s sole decree, or by the unanimous vote of our community — had been declared a movable festival. It was deferred until the sun should have had a reasonable time to clear away the snowdrifts along the lee of the stone walls, and bring out a few of the… Read more

  • Mustered

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    Donald Barthelme, “The Expedition” Read more

Thought:

“Eros is an issue of boundaries. He exists because certain boundaries do. In the interval between reach and grasp, between glance and counterglance, between “I love you” and “I love you too,” the absent presence of desire comes alive. But the boundaries of time and glance and I love you are only aftershocks of the main, inevitable boundary that creates Eros: the boundary of flesh and self between you and me. And it is only, suddenly, at the moment when I would dissolve that boundary, I realize I never can.”

Anne Carson | Eros the Bittersweet