Talk to me jerk off

Description:In times of crisis, the former will brook no excuses, even of being On The Path. I can still see the good father reading from the baptismal text, his mouth in the shape of a sugar scoop, trying to scoop out the words for us to hear. He comes from New York City, from that generation ours that was allowed and encouraged and accustomed to go after anything, anything at all — and if the pursuit soured, to turn around and blame everything on our parents. They plopped willy-nilly into the lagoon, and I sat on the bumper of the truck and played on the stereo the last of the Winterreise, that great cloying monument to nineteenth-century German Romanticism, in which the student, gazing out over the winter scene before him, eyes the organ grinder barefoot in the snow, his empty cup in hand, no one at all listening to his music, the dogs snapping at his feet: The panic begins to reflect back on itself, mirrors in the barbershop; terror evokes terror of terror. His father, he tells me, is Jewish; his mother, Catholic. And then thinking about.

Views: 8517 Date: 2018-08-13 Favorited: 85