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Christopher Buehlman

Christopher Buehlman Biography

Playwright

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“Envy and respect are not the same things... Before I endow you with respect, I should find out whether your curiosity is intellectual or merely morbid. Not that those who gawk at train derailments are so different from those who conduct autopsies; both want, at some level, to know what has happened, and, by extension, what will happen. Did the liver fail because of the decedent's alcoholism or was some toxin administered? If the deliverer is found, he or she may be imprisoned or, in more honest times, hanged, and thus pose no further threat. Or for the gawker at the accident, espying loose parts not unlike his or her own parts strewn amid wreckage may lead to a sense of awe at death's power, or horror at life's fragility, either of which may be instructive in any number of ways.”

WantLifeBodyDeathDarkTeachPowerHonestFutureHorrorIntellectualRespectMurderTrainEnvyCuriousVampireFragileLearnDifferenceKillDiscoverMorbidFragilityAccidentWreckageCuriousityAutopsyPartsInstructDerailGawkAutopsiesInstructive
Book:The Lesser Dead
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“I assume you are the sort of person who would go backstage after the opera in hopes of hearing the prima donna crying on the telephone, or walking in on the baritone fellating the basso buffo. I respect that-I was always the same way myself-though I suspect you are not very happy. Happiness is the province of those who ask few questions. I remember, even before this was visited upon me, how I envied those who eagerly did what they were told: those who married without complaint at father's behest; those who looked up rather than sideways in church; those, in short, who honestly believed in God, good kings, and righteous wars.”

LifeWarGodTruthHappinessDeathBeliefDarkPersonalityRespectEnvyHappyGiftCuriousVampireCurseQuestionsPersonEnviedComplaintAssumeCuriousity
Book:The Lesser Dead
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“She was maybe fifty, mouse-brown hair, pretty once was my first thought, then I realized she was still pretty. I had just seen such ugly things that this cold loft with its naked brick and bare lightbulbs and a mattress on the floor with a pile of books for a nightstand was beautiful, and she was beautiful for making it that way and keeping it as nice as she could and for not having the heart to throw away the Gerber daisy wilting, already dropping petals from its place in the Coke bottle on the counter by the stove. And she was beautiful for wearing a raincoat with a sweater under it because that was all she had.”

Beautiful
Book:The Lesser Dead
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“Yeah, I miss those days some. But all I gotta do is get a whiff of blood, anybody’s blood, and all those days of sunlight on girls’ hair and sunlight on chicory flowers and the hot wind blowin’ in your face and shine money and sheriffs swearing a blue streak ’cause I cut their tires, all of it just blows away. If Mitch Lily was still alive and walked in some bar, I’d drink with him and talk about old times for as long as I could stand it, and then, when that hot brick of hunger started cookin’ my guts, I’d ask him what he’s drivin’ now, and he’d say, “Aw, nothing like in them days,” and I’d say, “Show me anyway, Mitch Lily,” and out we’d go to the parking lot and I’d bend him down between two cars and first he’d think I was playin’ a joke and I’d laugh, too, and then he’d try to stand up and say, “Quit horsin’,” and say, “I ain’t,” real cold and he’d smell death in my mouth under the whiskey and he’d get a little scared and start tryin’ hard to stand up and push me off and he’d be surprised that he couldn’t stop me and I’d open up his throat and drink. Because as strong as he was, I’m stronger now. And as good as those days were, these nights are better, and the reason is blood and blood and blood. No shine, no pussy, and no love of Jesus ever tasted as good as the dirtiest nigger junkie’s blood, and that’s how it is. And that’s all right. Life, or whatever this is, is all right.”

LifeBlood
Book:The Suicide Motor Club
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