I don’t really love how this series starts, but I do kindof like the way it ends. Transcriptions below images.
When she meets an interesting man, she wonders if he likes her and whether she could make him love her. Her compulsion is to try.
She started out very low on the taste ladder, falling for one man after another until they loved her back.
Anything attainable became detestable.
Her taste was so refined as to be rarefied.
Nothing was ever enough.
He says her name as though he could look her up in a dictionary.
There are thoughts she dances around in her head. They are hot lava.
Her mind is a complicated house. Even she gets lost there.
Strange places always seemed haunted. Every place was strange.
something must have happened under the moon. It was like the night knew her. It never minded if she didn’t speak. There were no questions.
In quiet hours she carved her temple.
There was an outline of a man in her mind. A black silhouette of a life. She tried to color it in with her mind, but it always looked like the same cowboy.
That same lawn ornament of a father figure could be seen guarding front yards across the country with less effect than a scarecrow.
Understanding things takes a certain amount of silence.
As a child, she was blessed with a lot of quiet spaces and a distance from which to watch.
As an adult, you can’t get away with not talking.
I fell in love with every man who looked my way for the better part of 30 years. Only it wasn’t love, it was need. I wanted to be a good girl, whatever that meant, and I needed them to prove that I was. But I also sought out experience of badness, which brought along experiences of being judged, which hardened in me a subversive spirit and a slight but growing ability to disregard the opinions of others.
The need for validation causes good girls to make very bad decisions.
Fashion is a disease.
Society itself is an epidemic.
Commentary: No comment.