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I'm watching her talk. Watching her jaw move and collecting her words one by one as they spill from her lips. I don't deserve them. Her warm memories. I'd like to paint them over the bare plaster walls of my soul, but everything I paint seems to peel.

Isaac Marion

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Isaac Marion
Age: 42
Born: 1981
Born: December 30
Music Journalist
Novelist
Writer
Seattle
Washington
Memories
Walls
Talk
Lips
Plaster
Words
Warm
Plasters
Moving
Paint
Peel
Seems
Watching
Spill
Soul
Deserve
Spills
Everything
Wall
Bare
Like
Move
Collecting

More quotes by Isaac Marion

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I notice faint scars on her wrists and forearms, thin lines too symmetrical to be accidents.
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One mistake, one brief lapse of my new found judgement-that's all it took to unravel everything. What a massive responsibility, being a moral creature.
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I crush her against me. I want to be part of her. Not just inside her but all around her. I want our rib cages to crack open and our hearts to migrate and merge. I want our cells to braid together like living thread.
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It's more eerie to be alone in a city that's lit up and functioning than one that's a tomb. If everything were silent, one could almost pretend to be in nature. A forest. A meadow. Crickets and birdsong. But the corpse of civilization is as restless as the creatures that now roam the graveyards.
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Why is it beautiful that humanity keeps coming back? So does herpes.
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If there are rules, we're the ones making them. We can change them whenever we want to.
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Every time I go to sleep, I know I may never wake up. How could anyone expect to? You drop your tiny, helpless mind into a bottomless well, crossing your fingers and hoping when you pull it out on its flimsy fishing wire it hasn't been gnawed to bones by nameless beasts below.
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How do I appear unthreatening when her lover's blood is running down my chin?
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It's a strange feeling, being so utterly surrounded by her. Her life scent is on everything. She's on me and under me and next to me. It's as if the entire room is made out of her.
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Came to . . . see you.” “But I had to go home, remember? You were supposed to say good-bye.” “Don't know why you . . . say good-bye. I say . . . hello.” Her lip quivers between reactions, but she ends up with a reluctant smile. “God you're a cheeseball. But seriously, R—
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Are we all just Dark Age doctors, swearing by our leeches? We crave a greater science. We want to be proven wrong.
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I can no longer believe in any voodoo spell or laboratory virus. This is something deeper, darker. This comes from the cosmos, from the stars, or the unknown blackness behind them. The shadows in God's boarded-up basement.
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I sigh inside, so exhausted by these ugly questions, but when did a monster ever deserve its privacy?
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Of course, if I eat all of him, if I spare his brain, he'll rise up and follow me back to the airport, and that might make feel better. I'll introduce him to everyone, and maybe we'll stand around and groan for a while. It's hard to say what 'friends' are any more, but that might be close.
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It’s sad to see them staring wistfully through the window when the door isn’t locked.
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I don't want to hear music, I don't want the sunrise to be pink. The world is a liar. Its ugliness is overwhelming the scraps of beauty make it worse.
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No praise, no blame. Just so.
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Everything you see, you might be seeing for the last time.
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In my palm I can feel the echo of her pulse, standing in for the absense of mine.
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You should always be taking pictures, if not with a camera then with your mind. Memories you capture on purpose are always more vivid than the ones you pick up by accident.
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