Vertigo

I wear tight clothes, but tight clothes make me neater. If I wear loose clothes, my body flows out and pushes against them.

I folded my life in on itself, seven times. The last few folds it only bent. I was surprised it was so bulky

I think we eat what we need. I could eat the whole earth if you broke it down into pieces, if the pieces were small enough.

Games are maths things, stories are not, or maybe they are.

Why was it impossible to forget what had happened, impossible to look at time only one way?

In any case love must be passed on with no return. Not even with feedback

My mind does not tell me everything it thinks

Vertigo is the sense that if I fall I will fall not toward the earth but into space. I sense no anchorage. I will pitch forward, outward and upward

To other people, perhaps, I still look fresh: to people who have not yet seen this dress, these shoes, but to myself, to you, I can never re-present the glamour of a first glance.

To appear for the first time is magnificent.

There is something about my face in the mirrors that catch it. Even at a distance it will never be right again, not even to a casual glance. Beauty: it’s the upkeep that costs, that’s what Balzac said, not the initial investment.