Rachel was looking into the mirror at an angle of 45 degrees, and so had a view of the face turned toward the room and the face on the other side, reflected in the mirror; here were time and reverse-time, co-existing, canceling one another exactly out. Were there many such reference points, scattered through the world, perhaps only at nodes like this room which housed a transient population of the imperfect, the dissatisfied; did real time plus virtual or mirror-time equal zero and thus serve some half-understood moral purpose? Or was it only the mirror world that counted; only a promise of a kind that the inward bow of a nose-bridge or a promontory of extra cartilage at the chin meant a reversal of ill fortune such that the world of the altered would thenceforth run on mirror-time; work and love by mirror-light and be only, till death stopped the heart’s ticking (metronome’s music) quietly as light ceases to vibrate, an imp’s dance under the century’s own chandeliers ….

From V. by Thomas Pynchon

A woman’s body under the rush of a mountain waterfall, her brief cries of surprise and joy, the movement of her limbs in the rapid foam that carries red coffee berries, sugarcane pulp, insects struggling to escape the current: this is the exemplary happiness that surely never comes again.

From “The Snow of the Admiral” by Álvaro Mutis

Every day we’re different, but we always forget that the same is true for others as well. Perhaps this is what people call solitude. If not, it’s solemn imbecility.

From “The Snow of the Admiral” by Álvaro Mutis

Out here, they wanted to dive between the worlds, to fall, turn, reach and swing on journeys curved through the shining, through the winter nights of space - their dreams were of rendezvous, of cosmic trapeze acts carried on in loneliness, in sterile grace, in certain knowledge that no one would ever be watching, that loved ones had been lost forever…

Gravity’s Rainbow by Thomas Pynchon (via theblogoflonging)


Every weirdo in the world is on my wavelength.

Sez Thomas Pynchon.


When You’re By Yourself by Jeffrey Lewis

4 months ago - 38

I am feeling particularly testy at being separated from
the one I love by the most dreary of practical exigencies money
when I want only to lean on my elbow and stare into space feeling
the one warm beautiful thing in the world breathing upon my right rib

From “Les Luths” by Frank O’Hara

So here I am the coolest in New York
what don’t swing I don’t push

From “Three Laments” by Diane DiPrima

I sleep like a heartless egg.

From “The Man. The Woman.” by Hans Arp 

Parra Parra Parra Parra Parra Parra Parra Parra Parra Parra Parra Parra Parra Parra Parra Parra Parra Parra Parra Parra Parra Parra Parra Parra Parra Parra Parra Parra Parra Parra Parra Parra Parra Parra Parra Parra