[b]Jeff VanderMeer
I really wanted to lose myself. People my entire life have told me I am too much in control, but that has never been the case. I have never truly been in control, have never wanted control.[/b]
Control. In this day and age it’s never been trickier.
What are we going to do? Where do we go from here? How do we move forward? What is our mission now? As if purpose could solve everything, could take the outlines of what was missing and by sheer will invoke it, make it appear, bring it back to life.
Purpose. In this day and age it’s never been trickier.
Was he the woman with no clue where the ant was or the ant, unaware it was on the woman?
Worse: a fucking tick.
Let me tell you what happens when you burn a person’s body, pull out all of his teeth, glue his head to a plate, and shove a bomb in his ear. You become that person’s object of undying hatred.
Well, sure, assuming they survive.
The words would linger, form in his mind, but never become sound, trapped between his need and his will.
Don’t you just hate that?
God, but the coast here was painfully beautiful, the dark lush greens of the fir trees piercing his brain, the half-raging sky and sea, the surge of salt water against the rocks twinned to the urgent wash of blood through his arteries as he waited for her to kill him or hear him out. Seditious thoughts: there would be nothing too terrible about dying out here, about becoming part of all of this.
Actually, I have no idea how that might feel.