"All men fear death. It’s a natural fear that consumes us all. We fear death because we feel that we haven’t loved well enough or loved at all, which ultimately are one and the same. However, when you make love with a truly great woman, one that deserves the utmost respect in this world and one that makes you feel truly powerful, that fear of death completely disappears. Because when you are sharing your body and heart with a great woman the world fades away. You two are the only ones in the entire universe. You conquer what most lesser men have never conquered before, you have conquered a great woman’s heart, the most vulnerable thing she can offer to another. Death no longer lingers in the mind. Fear no longer clouds your heart. Only passion for living, and for loving, become your sole reality. This is no easy task for it takes insurmountable courage. But remember this, for that moment when you are making love with a woman of true greatness you will feel immortal.
I believe that love that is true and real creates a respite from death. All cowardice comes from not loving or not loving well, which is the same thing. And when the man who is brave and true looks death squarely in the face like some rhino hunters I know or Belmonte, who is truly brave, it is because they love with sufficient passion to push death out of their minds. Until it returns, as it does to all men. And then you must make really good love again. Think about it.”
happy birthday, hero.
"Earlier that day I had found a sheet of paper on which Min’s grandmother had written her definition of the “superior woman.” At the top of the page it said, “Formula for Woman, According to Dignity.” The formula was “Has excellent posture, which is two-thirds contentment and one-third desire.”
At first I thought this a bit arbitrary. But all day the idea had been passing through my mind like a mantra. I began to think, in this strange place—half kingdom, half city—that the grandmother’s formula caught the entire world in its tiny palm. Two-thirds contentment, one-third desire. Of course, I thought, as I spiraled my way through the trees to Asia Foodstore, that is the composition of the world."
maybe we never will, but we’ll never not.
Do not teach these lovers how to humanize you; they have never humanized you. Do not teach them the depth of your worth or the heights of your kindness and how many ‘benefits of the doubt’ you’re willing to offer them. Your strength is as foreign to them as your skin; they’ll rub against it several times and still never know it. I learned that I will always be groped, always be left for white girls, always be invaded, and then ultimately told to always be grateful. If there was speculation, or a cautious generosity, this has been my ugly proof of the impossibility of that generosity.
I learned how close white hands were always to my ass. I learned how close touch and fucking and desirability always are, and how far love always is. And I’ve been wanting love so badly, with my gut and my teeth, with my fingers out like kites…like I’ll always be in the air, always here to reach to, and always so untogether and unrooted. Like by being a ghost, I’ll become more white, and eventually, more lovable. Like if I could get closer to the surface of something real and then ocean-out – expanding and expanding because in love, we just want to be larger. And now, I’ve been spread over so many people that I can barely see myself. A horizon body without eyes. I have trusted so hard and so raw and so swollen and with heart well-stitched on sleeve. And I’m done.
"There is a loneliness that can be rocked. Arms crossed, knees drawn up, holding, holding on, this motion, unlike a ship’s, smooths and contains the rocker. It’s an inside kind — wrapped tight like skin. Then there is the loneliness that roams. No rocking can hold it down. It is alive. On its own. A dry and spreading thing that makes the sound of one’s own feet going seem to come from a far-off place."
i’m your birthday cake and i’m lit