she’s out there playing Chopin too fast but I don’t know, I don’t mind. I want to resent her but she brings it a certain brio the tubercular Pole probably didn’t have the breath for but that’s her interpretation, her spirit
damn it's so throwaway but i love this
Max went with me to see the maestro today, at the faculté de droit. He spoke before, I don’t know, a couple hundred people, mostly students training to be analysts, but also scholars in other fields, and even, I heard, some actors. He’s a man of science who speaks like a mystic. Every word has its …
Florence is reading Willa Cather. What is she thinking, as she lies there, what is she thinking. Florence on the couch, her eyes closed, her personality off. The way she looks lying there. Like at night, in the bed beside me. So tame, on her side, gently snoring. And then she turns over and she’s s…
Florence is practising the piano and I want to go out. I don’t want to go out with her but I want to go out and if I want to go out I have to run it past her. It’s an antisocial act, a marriage-betraying act, simply to leave. So I sit here behind her, watching her back, waiting for a pause.
When…
His name is Weisz, like vice, and he is that, a wicked indulgence and something that grips me. I’ve never had such big hands on my body. We sit together in his office and he plays me his records and then he puts his hands on my body.
I am in love with him, I am in love with his shirt, with the w…
