So, yeah, it would be nice to have somebody that you shared a life with and allowed yourself to be happy and confused with.
To find someone who, whatever mental landscape you’re in, they’re gonna be in it too.You have to find someone who will fit any landscape you can imagine.
I think being shy basically means being self-absorbed to the extent that it makes it difficult to be around other people.
When I want to alone, like, to write, I really do want to be alone. I think if you dedicate yourself to anything, one fact of that is that it makes you very, very self-conscious. And you end up using people.
She’s pretty in a very sloppy, very human way.A lot of women in magazines are pretty in a way that is not erotic because they don’t look like anybody that you know.
What are you doing here? I mean why are you not in New York?
Every time I go to New York,I get caught up in this…There’s this enormous hiss of egos at various states of inflation and deflation.
At that point, my ego was all tied up in my writing. It's the only thing that I'd gotten any, like, food pellets from universe for. And I felt very trapped. And I felt stuck. It was like I felt my life was over at 28.
I’m gonna have to kinda feel all of this now, instead of just sleepwalk through it.I’ve sort of unplugged myself the past three weeks.Meeting a whole lot of new people and having to do the stuff, you’re in this constant low-level state of anxiety.This deep existential fear you feel all the way down in your butt hole.
You know, tomorrow, you drive away.And you get on a plane, and the whole thing is over.I go back to knowing, like 20 people.
I’m gonna have to decompress from all this attention, because it’s like getting heroin injected into your cortex.And where I’m gonna need real balls, is to sit and go through that.And try to remind myself of what reality is…that I’m 34 years old and I’m alone in a room with a piece of paper.
It was much more that I had lived an incredibly American life.The idea that if I could achieve X and Y and Z, that everything would be okay.
There is a thing in a book about how when somebody leaps from a burning skyscraper, it's not that they're not afraid of falling anymore. It's that the alternative is so awful. And so you're invited to consider what could be so awful that leaping to your death would seem like an escape from it.
Feeling as though every axiom in your life turned out to be false and there was actually nothing.And that you were nothing.
And that it's all a delusion and you're so much better than everybody cause you can see how this is just a delusion, and you're so much worse because you can't fucking function.
I don't think that we ever change. I'm sure that I still have those same parts of me. Guess I'm trying really hard to find a way not to let them drive.
He wants something better than he has.I want precisely what he has already.Neither of us knows where our lives are going to go.And the conversation is the best one I ever had.Divid thought books existed to stop you from feeling lonely.If I could,I’d say to David that living those days with him reminded me of what life is like, instead of being a relief from it.
