Christian Molenaar

Category: Nothings

  • October 7, 1849

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    At forty, in Baltimore. Filthy, starving, drunk and/or with delirium tremens, crying out at unseen creatures. Read more

  • Run Off

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    Holme looked at him. Then he said: I’m huntin a woman. Read more

  • I’m Not Sure Any More

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    I can’t forget anything. That’s my problem, or so I’ve been told. I am the mother of Mexico’s poets. I am the only one who held out in the university in 1968, when the riot police and the army came in. I stayed there on my own in the Faculty, shut up in a bathroom,… Read more

  • September 28

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    Poet, critic and “father of imagism” T. E. Hulme died 108 years ago today. Read more

  • New Corduroy

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    Fall had arrived, and a feeling of hope and freshness suffused the city. The sky was a vivid, seersucker blue. I was finished with my first day back working with Marvin and Eric at Bowery Film, strolling under a canopy of green leaves that were big and floppy, a few gold or ruby-red around the… Read more

  • Welcome Home

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    Here Trenmore glanced quizzically at his friend, and again Drayton blushed. Viola, however, was far too intent on the burglar’s tale to give heed. ”That must have been before my brother and Mr. Drayton opened the vial,” she observed. “How did you come—“ ”I’ll get to that in a minute, lady. We’d missed the bottle… Read more

  • Facts

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    Perhaps, thought Tancredo, it was best to confine oneself to the pleasure of objective, brief facts. On September 17, after four hours of deliberation, Virginia McCallister, also known as Viviana Luxembourg, was sentenced to twenty years in prison, pending any new charges. The defendant didn’t cry when she heard the sentence. Read more

  • Summer Stars

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    Maybe it was secretly a blessing that night when you couldn’t see the Big Dipper. Read more

  • Never Learn

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    It was at Victor’s Café, on Rue St. Sauveur, on September 11 in 1983. A group of masochistic Chileans had gathered to remember that dismal day. There were twenty or thirty of us and we were scattered around inside the café and at the outside tables. Suddenly someone, I don’t know who, started to talk… Read more

  • Send the Word Over There

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    One evening, as we were absorbed in these peaceful pursuits, Martinetti informed us that the moment had come. A challenge had been sent to the Canal gang, and they had accepted. The battle was to take place on neutral ground, behind the station. That night, at nine. Read more

Thought:

“If one is striving to create a realistic space, the same thing must be done with sound. While I am writing these lines, I can hear church bells ring in the distance; now I perceive the buzzing of the elevator, the distant, very-far-away clang of a streetcar, the clock of city hall, a door slamming. All these sounds would exist, too, if the walls in my room, instead of seeing a man working, were witnessing a moving, dramatic scene as background to which these sounds might even take on symbolic value — is it right then to leave them out?”

Carl Theodor Dreyer

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