A.S. King Quotes

Sarah. Sarah. Sarah. I can't get away from myself.

Tell that guy to kiss my white vivacious ass. He never met me.

They disappear and it echoes.
I'd really like to talk about it now

I demand to break rule number #5
I demand to kiss her today. Right now, even.

No patience. No kisses. No hugs. Just a tweezers and some rubbing alcohol, and a stinging sensation that never goes away.

That realization: Her love was a lie, just like everything else was.
The day I'd be old enough to handle it: my seventeenth birthday

Listen to me. They may control what you do, but no one can pee on your soul without your permission.

She said, 'This will be a time of asking questions and not rushing to answer them. A time of poking holes in your own theories. A time of thinking and not knowing.

Here's to bullshit.

Oh. I get it now. God had Nader beat my ass and my mom leave my dad just so Jodi could learn how to chop onions and use a propane grill. Great. Awesome.

I can't stop myself from reaching for the bottle that's under my seat. I've gone all night without a sip, but it's not about being addicted. It's about being told what to do my whole life and doing it and then losing everything anyway.

Graduation day means you must now do something with your life. You must grow up and buy your own train tickets, accrue student debt so you can become part of the machine. You must pick a major. The light comes only after that. Sorry about saying that graduation is the light at the end of the tunnel. That was a lie.

Maybe most other people are messed up, too. It just wasn't aired on TV.

How many things do I have to invent in my head to survive this?

My eyelids get heavy, and i feel an instant urge to make today disappear by falling asleep until it's tomorrow. But i can't move.

It occurs to me if we kissed now, we'd be like a folded map of America. My Pennsylvania scab next to her New Jersey black eye. I wonder, then, how many other kids could join in. Where are the Montanas and the Colorados? Where is the Vermont? Florida? How many maps would we make?

Maybe if I hadn't been so hell-bent on not becoming my parents, I could have saved Charlie. Maybe I would have been his girlfriend. Maybe we could have gotten married and been happy, regardless of who our parents were and what they did to each other.

We're alive. We have words and shapes and ideas. We will throw them at you when you do not believe. We will throw our love and our hate and our failure and success. We'll split in two right in front of you and be our best and our worst. We'll lie and tell the truth.

She talks about how she can't exercise because of the ailments-a bad back, sore knees, breathing difficulties-all caused by her weight gain.

Most people don't think past themselves. I know that. But I want Vera to see other people. To respect other people. To realize that the whole world is not here for her. I want her to see her duty to the world, not the other way around.

Because it's true. Isn't that the only reason to ever say anything?

I am the barrier between the bullshit that falls from the sky and the humans who do not want bullshit on their pantsuits. In eight days of riding around, that's what I've discovered. It's raining bullshit. Probably all the time.

I place us where we are a happy couple who are madly in love, and we are kissing the way people kiss on their wedding day. With joy and relief and love. Without guilt. Without Shame.

I look back at Danny and I think about what Ginny said to me: Friends act like friends. My stomach tightens.

Could I ever respect myself again if I stooped to their level?

Even though I know that breaking your brain is the same as breaking your arm, I'm still ashamed that my brain is broken.

Mom walked out on us, remember? Because she never got over her own baggage, not because of you or me, right?

I try to find some pity for Tasha. I don't have any. I try to steal some from how I feel about my mom, but there isn't enough to share it.
I scream, "Fuck this shit!" and kick the chair over. Then I go looking for Hannah

I'm not questioning *my* sexuality as much as I'm questioning the strict definitions and boxes of all *sexualities* and why we care so much about other people's intimate business.

Hey - the whole freaking world was built from delusional optimism and folly. What makes you so special? We're all just making it up as we go along. No one really knows what they're doing. Anyone who tells you otherwise is talking out of their butt.

Why do people think there are clear answers for things anyway? There aren't.

I've never understood white people who can't admit they're white. I mean, white isn't just a color. And maybe that's the problem for them. White is a passport. It's a ticket. The world is a white amusement park and your white skin buys you into it. A woman in economy argued with me about this once. She said, "I've heard this idea and it makes me uncomfortable."

"It probably should," I said.

Dad and I have been broke since he got cancer and sometimes he can't put the heat on over sixty-two or put food in the fridge, but we were always white and he always made sure I knew that. Which sounds stupid because how can a person not know they're white, right?

You don't have to be racist to not know you're white.

But sometimes you do. And Marla has no idea she's white or that the whole world was made for people like her.

The pastor is saying something about how Charlie was a free spirit. He was and he wasn't. He was free because on the inside he was tied up in knots. He lived hard because on the inside he was dying. Charlie made inner conflict look delicious.

What Vera doesn't know is: I'd kill to be a pickle on her Big Mac - ground to relish between her perfect white teeth.
I'd kill to be a bug she squishes with her holey Army-issue combat boot.
But she's too good for me. She always was.

I wager that most human beings do five things a day they cannot logically explain.

This is where the runaway train started down the track. I was inside the dining car enjoying a plate of cookies or something. I didn't feel it then. But the train had been boarded on Saturday night when we drank the bat. And this was the beginning of its journey. Right here.

It didn't work. It didn't work because I knew not to give the best of myself to the worst of people.

I took pictures of the people who thought they were my friends, but who I'd never let all the way in.

I don't even use the stupid shampoo.

I'll just be another human on a planet full of humans, but better equipped because I have demands.
For my family.
For my life.
For the world.
For myself.
What acceptable behay-vyah.
What acceptable behay-vyah

Suicide isn't something people do to hurt other people. It's something people do to release themselves from pain.

I knew that once I went looking, I'd need a man like Dad - dependable and respectful toward women, and not into porn or weird rich old guys who bought teenage kids' underwear.

My one regret was that I never photographed the bat before we drank it.

After I lie there for a while, I realize that Dad isn't every going to do anything but be there to drive us home from the airport. And cook. And if I want something bigger to change, it's up to me. I'm scared shitless, yes. I'm doubtful, yes. But I'm angry. Angry that I am doing this because Dad can't. But then I sniff breakfast, and I know that Dad is doing what he can.

We have this judgmental way of looking at the idea of leaving a home or a family, and our society has reinforced this idea that if we "run away," we are "running away from our problems." In some cases, though, to face certain problems (in this case, two family members who are not mentally stable and who are not going to face up to their issues) the family members who are capable of facing reality must realize that leaving is a viable option. Some environments are harmful. As fellow humans it is our job to judge less and encourage more when others choose to remove themselves from harmful environments.

I only hope that for right now, you remember that there is no place for hate in a happy life. I don't care who you are, where you come from or what God you believe in. I can guarantee you that if you hate, you will never achieve true happiness.

Humans want to conquer everyone they can, and buy everything they see. I think this is because humans have forgotten how to be happy. It's not their fault - it's not easy figuring out how to be happy in these days of anything-but-moderation.

But I'm not just my genes, Dad.

Smile, son! That's the ticket out!

As I load my shirt into the washer for the night, I daydream about making a sign and hanging it around my neck. It could read, I MISS CHARLIE KHAN.
As I drive home, I picture other signs- one for everyone who has a secret. Bill Coro's would say, I CAN'T READ, BUT I CAN THROW A FOOTBALL. Me. Shunk's would read, I WISH I COULD TOSS YOU ALL ON AN ISLAND BY YOURSELVES. Dad's would read, I HATE MYSELF FOR NO GOOD REASON.

The boys on the front had magazines with pinups, and they talked about how one day they would score women like that, but they're kids. They don't know what love is. Here they learn what hate is, and I am so sad that they might never know love because hate came first. Maybe they will miss out on having a woman like you, and I feel sorry for them.

Until cancer, you care about a lot of bullshit that doesn't really matter.

Look at our culture. Look at the computer-enhanced people we compare ourselves to. Look at the expensive cars and trinkets we're all supposed to have. Look at how many people are wrapped up in that! Imagine how much money and worry we'd save ourselves if we stopped caring what kind of car we drove! and why do we care? perfection. But there is no such thing, is there? And if there is, then everyone is perfect in their own way, right?

I guess when you believe the word of a complete liar, logic doesn't come into it.

I don't smile. I have all these thoughts. Crazy thoughts. Like, on the one hand, I want to kiss her passionately, like they do in movies, and just paralyze her with the feeling of how much I want to take care of her

It's safe to tell us stuff, okay?"
This means it's not safe to tell them anything.

Dear Gerald,

I know it's a little early for me to be saying this, but I think you're probably the best friend I've ever had.
This isn't saying much because I've never had a best friend.
Once I thought I had a best friend, but then she started to get interested in clothes and we ended up not being friends anymore.

I like you a lot because you give a shit, Gerald. You really give a shit.
I know we don't talk much about some stuff because of the rules, but I never felt like anyone could give a shit about Hannah McCarthy.
Everyone knows I'm the junkman's daughter and I decided awhile ago that I was okay with that because there's nothing I can do about that.
And today you turn 17 and I think it's about time that you know that you're the boy from TV and until you leave here, you will always be the boy from TV and I will always be the junkman's daughter.
And I feel a bond with you because of this.
Because neither of us is happy here and I want to find a way out.
Out of Blue Marsh. Of my life. Of my house, of my family. I want a way out. And it looks like you want that, too.
I know this girl from my old job and she wanted out of her family, too, and so she married a guy when she was 17.
Don't worry, I'm not about to propose to you. But I also think that maybe we could find a way out early.
I can't handle senior year. I can't handle another day as Cinderella. I can't handle one more day of living like the j

You can't change people with love. It doesn't work that way.

It's where my mother hopes to read classic novels again one day when she isn't working nine days a week,

Why trade a chance at real happiness for a misery I already knew?

Because we were suffering.
Lisi and I told you.
You asked and we told you.
And even though you knew and didn't do anything to help me, I'm okay. And I want you to know I hope you're okay, too.
Sincerely, Gerald Faust

As I fall asleep, I think about Ginny and the look she gave me at church, and it makes me feel that familiar sinking in my gut-the way I've felt every time I've seen Nader McMillan in the hall since I was seven. He didn't even need to say anything to me. Just his existence would make me fell powerless and stupid. The difference, I guess, is that he gained his power by humiliating me. Thurns out when someone you actually give a shit about turns on you, it's even more powerful.

Well, if it's as easy as catching my future from a blood relative, then I guess I'm due to be a drunk, pregnant, dropout stripper any day now.

I wish we could go back in time and climb trees together again. I love you, Vera. I always will.

I want to be the joint that she smokes so that we can finally talk about
everything without having to use words, because I will be a drug in her brain.

Some of you have it ingrained in you. You weren't born with it. No baby has hate for anything. We were all babies once, right? This little guy doesn't care what country you were born in or what religion you might practice or how much you weigh or who you might love.

It's like I'm a little me inside the big me and I'm holding an umbrella and the rain is bullshit and I am the rain and I am the bullshit.

In nature, crying is okay. Waterfalls cry all the time.

It also makes my father right again. How will I ever soar with the eagles if I'm surrounded by turkeys?

I stare out the window and smile because just dreaming it is nice ... even if it doesn't happen. Just dreaming it is nice.

I remember asking everyone else in my life for forgiveness, but I realize I never asked myself.

The willow is green; flowers are read. The flower is not red; nor is the willow green. Same went for Charlie. Charlie was my friend; he was very nice to me. Charlie was not my friend; nor was he very nice to me.

I get the urge to feel it, too, so when she takes her hand away, I turn her toward me and I feel the edges of New Jersey. I kiss Hoboken and Atlantic City. I kiss Newark and Trenton. I kiss Camden, and then I follow the road west, over the Walt Whitman Bridge into Pennsylvania. And I kiss home.

You two would make a cute couple, she says as she passes by with a full dough tray in her arms. I don't know why she says it. We aren't doing anything but folding boxes with the other drivers and telling dirty jokes.
But we would.
We would make a cute couple.

The ants say: aren't we all bleeding a little?

You are not your virginity. You are a human being. The state of your hymen has nothing to do with your worth.

I picked up my camera and held it at arm's length and took a picture of myself not caring. I called it: Glory Doesn't Care.

If Darla's question was Why do people take pictures?, then what sort of answer was that? Or were pictures like that why Darla was asking in the first place?
I say to the empty room, "I take pictures because sometimes I can't find the words to say what I want to say.

Maybe she woke up. Maybe she's happier now.

Since that day I saw you in chemistry class with thatt canary yellow shirt, I wanted to make every day Christmas for you.

The simplest answer is to act.

Then, Valentine's Day came. There was a dance, and balloons and flowers and cheaply made rings and all sorts of lame teddy bears and stuffed animals, as if teenagers can be wooed with the same shit as five-year-olds. It was the Dietzes' most hated holiday of the year, too, because it dealt with the consumerization of something sacred. Mom and Dad had agreed never to buy each other anything on the day. It was a false, Hallmark holiday. A sham. A moneymaking sideshow for insecure couples who didn't have true love. I agreed with this, for the most part.

MAKE SMARTER MISTAKES!
STOP BEATING YOURSELF UP!
CONTROL YOUR VARIABLES!
BLEND AND STRAIN!
CHANGE YOUR MIND!
The Freak knows this sounds corny because you're so used to looking at hateful shit, right? News shows and conspiracy theories. Rape jokes and dank memes. You're so used to the humor of the put-down that you didn't see that you slid down a hole and into a tunnel.
DIG YOUR WAY OUT!

I have wrinkles. I am not tortured by them. I am no one special and so what if I have wrinkles? One day I will be no one special and be dead.

Sure, Mom.
They stop and say hello, and then once you pass they talk the back off you like you were nothing. They assess your outfit, your hairstyle, and they garble what you say so it comes out ugly.

Always? I know this sounds totally stupid, but sometimes I really can't see the point in living if I will always have to deal with this crap. I know I will have better times in my life, and I might even make myself into someone important, but if the whole time I have to deal with assholes, then what's the point?

Have you ever loved somebody?" I ask him.
"Yes."
"Does it always hurt so much?" I ask,
"When does it hurt?" he asks.
"All the time."
"I'm not sure that's love," he says, "You may be sick.

It's a question. And I'm answering it. But I don't know the answer yet, and I'm sorry.

I don't think most humans are dumb," I argue.
"So you think most humans are smart?"
"I think all humans have potential.

You know that saying about how you don't know what you have until it's gone? I already did know what I had, and now that she's gone, I know even more.

Look. This isn't a temper tantrum. I'm not some teenager you can blow off because you made a myth about teenagers being dramatic.

Instead of replying with my usual open-your-mind speech, I send love to my mother. Mom, I love you even though you are a critical, unforgiving horror show. This casserole sucks, but I like the way you roasted the walnuts.

You wonder why I'm so uptight about entitle white culture? It's not just that I live here half the time and see real poverty. It's not just the snack baskets in first class. It's because entitled white culture encourages those inside it to never look outside their own fucking worlds. We blow everything off because we're so concerned with looking good we can't just feel.

I demand a different childhood.
I demand a mother who cares.
I demand a do-over.

I wish for world peace, because it's about as likely to occur anything else I can wish for.

And really–I would rather suck truck fumes than deal with this sort of shit forever. Mom says that Nader is a loser who will grow up to be a loser and that I'll understand when I'm forty. But I want to understand now.

And if any of you has a problem with any of it, then it's *your* problem. Being gay is hard enough without having to worry about your family being weird about it.

Dad used to tell me about the guys at the VFW who could feel their amputated limbs. I feel like one of those guys-wiggling my weak tortured, pathetic self from only a month ago even though I've amputated him.
It's a little like being two people at once. One minute I feel like the old Lucky who had nothing, and the next minute I realize I have everything I could possibly need.
While I'm in the driveway, I hear the neighborhood kids playing. Normal kids doing normal things. They probably don't know that as of today more than 1,700 servicemen have still not been accounted for. They probably don't know that about 8,000 are still missing from Korea, or that approximately 74,000 never surfaced after World War II. They don't know that amputees sometimes try to wiggle limbs they lost.
I don't envy them. They have a lot to learn.

I had so many things to say.
I had so many things to say

Only two hours earlier she was telling me how great I was because I could cook eggs. Now my egg-making means I'm a homicidal maniac. Now I might wipe out random people at a mall because I don't smile enough. Why are the adults in my life so determined to bring me down when I'm feeling good?
I find myself thinking that it would be nice to be able to fix my life the way I'm fixing the patio. I wonder, is there enough terracotta-colored cement to fill the hole where my father should be? Or where my mother's spine should be? Or where my guts should be?