Archive for the ‘literary’ Category

Here’s a tip. Leave them the fuck alone. I live by myself, because to cohabit with someone would involve handing them a list of rules that would alert them to the fact that they were about to sleep in a house with a lunatic. It would include:

1. Don’t talk to me when I’m reading (and don’t ask me what’s so funny, either. It’s probably only funny to me.)

2. Don’t talk to me if I have a pen and notebook in hand.

3. Don’t talk to me  at the computer, even if I’m not typing and especially when I am.

4. Don’t read my magazines (see previous post.)

5. Don’t try and tidy up after me. I never put things ‘away’ because to me, something belongs where it was last used. If I read books on the couch then there should be books on the couch, because obviously, that’s where they get used!

6. If the house runs out of coffee and/or tea, there may be blood spilled.

7. Bathtub time is sacred, and may well last as long as the tank contains hot water. Find a Dunkin Donuts if you need to pee.

8. There are 8 teacups on the desk because today, I drank 8 cups of tea. That’s my intake problem, not yours.

9. Wear headphones, and preferably, a viewing hood, if you’re going to watch TV. If I’m reading, you can still do whatever the fuck you want, but if you’re watching TV, so is everyone else, and just because I tolerate Don Draper and his gigantic schlong does not mean I want to share your viewing habits.

10. Read all my work and praise it. That’s what all of Hemingway’s wives were for, and I’m not saying it worked out for them or him, but it may be the only way to soothe the lunatic after you’ve done any of the offending items 1-9.

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If you have it, you should go here:

Motto is an art book/ zine shop in Kreuzberg that I highly recommend (see, there I go, sounding like a super happy positive travel blog again. But no, seriously go, it’s a fucking awesome store full of weird things to look at.) Especially if you’re the type of person that walks into a room full of obscure literature and claps their hands. If you grope books, like to handle all the pages and have a weakness for exotic bindings and typeset, this is the place for you. It’s almost mildly stressful – so many to look at! How to pick?? What to buy? (Because you know you’re not walking out of there unscathed. Browse all you want. Eventually you’ll  cave.)

I bought a shiny new art magazine and pulled it out at a cafe table. My friend gestured for me to open it up, so we could flip through together and I felt a kind of possessiveness. I realized that I didn’t want him to read it first, and moreover, I didn’t even want him to look at it.

It was like I had bought a virgin at a slave auction and now wanted to defile it in private. I wanted to get to know it at home, alone, to bury my nose in its glossy pages and thumb through all the pages slowly and at my leisure – and yes, again in private. (This post could also be titled Why I Live Alone.) Who knew I had such a Madonna/ Whore complex about my printed content? I finagled it back from him as quickly as possible without suspicion and hid it. (Before you ask, no, it’s not even that kind of magazine. It’s a copy of Frieze.)