When I went to the nuthouse, I brought two books with me: Orhan Pamuk’s Snow and Gyorgy Konrad’s Stonedial. The latter is the closest I will ever have to a bible; every time I’ve gone somewhere new, that book has come with me. After all, Dragoman wouldn’t have walked through the double doors of the psychiatric hospital with shoulders rounded, arms clenched, flinching at every touch and trying to make himself as small as possible so as not to be hurt; Dragoman would have walked in like he owned the place, grinned, cracked a joke… he would have treated their confiscating of his clothing as amusing and, if I’m […]
i look like a normal girl. twenty years old, 5’4″, blue eyes, blonde hair, skinny. quiet. smart. funny. i play the piano. sometimes i read keats, and i like dipping vegetables in ranch dressing and my favorite dress is blue and slinky and soft.
but here’s a secret: i’m scared of cameras.
everywhere i go, i know they’re there, recording and tick-ticking. every time i’ve wanted to spend the day naked or steal a book or cheat on an exam, i’ve stopped myself because of the cameras. i feel guilty when i babysit for my friends, because i spend hours sitting on the couch watching TV after […]