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A Happy Ghost

Book by Karl Kristian Flores · 9 quotes · Society, Loneliness, Life

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A Happy Ghost Quotes

“Life was never about survival. For a long time, it was proposed that all living organisms shared a single purpose: to survive—but this was not the appropriate case for humans. Survival was all along but a secondary basis to man, while attendance to life was the first. One must secure something to survive for, as the cells of the straightforward body will, regardless of permission, do their job. Men do not breathe without air first around to inhale. A sailor cannot know his passion for sailing without an existing body of water. Similarly, a man can only survive if there is something larger in him that lives—not a beating heart, but a moving one. If he only “holds on,” prolonging preservation and supervising health, there is nothing in that lingering lifeform to endanger or threaten. And since no system of security can defend from death’s next play, there is no use in mortals wearing armor. The essence of chance had loitered since the beginning of time, anticipating a being who adhered to its expressions. The human priority is one’s comet.”

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“He eyed her fingernails, painted bright blue. Her wrists smelled like peppermint and she said her name was “Stella.” Andrei was impressed by her femininity, the subject of which was a dangerous thing. When some men are exposed to a certain kind of woman, they become so absolutely entranced by their iridescence that they would do anything to be around them for longer. Lie. Linger. Kill. It was a pure, wild attraction, that started from a collarbone, that would make a man agree to rip out his tooth if only to hear a woman talk again. Lastly, she had these devilish eyes exclusive to brown and only ever sometimes encountered. Those types of eyes were so dark they had death in them, but were framed with such sweet, narrow eyelids that took death, swirled it in a sizzling adorableness, and communicated a dangerous, impatient capability for sex. It seduced men throughout history—what lived behind the mischievous, delicate, hickory fire.”

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“Beautiful people were led to think their beauty needed to go somewhere. On a person’s phone. In a magazine. Outwards. Why do anything with it? Maybe all the models on runways loved it, but maybe most just walked in because they fit inside the doors. Here was a pretty man who did not share himself and very much could have. It was rare to meet someone with that kind of jaw, sweet eyes, and those arms, who did not fall into modeling or influencing. There was magic in this. Lorenzo inadvertently alchemized his reserve into a valuable currency: the only time someone could see his beauty was if they were in the same room he was in or if they heard about it from someone who was there. Lorenzo had planted a kind of beauty in the world not captured by a camera, but a beauty that passed through and could only ever be run into.”

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“Throughout the years, the ugly boy had lost belief in the practicality of love. He argued there would always be a better version of a man somewhere in the world and thus, no sound reason for a woman to commit to one. Plus, he believed, there was nothing to a woman—they did not love. They chose men for certain seasons and focused to enjoy life above all, in all its grandeur, intentionally saving sincerity for the end—once they were finished. How can men with eyes not sink into depression? And if a woman ever welcomed a man as a companion, she always smelled his feelings, which were gratifying and advantageous to her, and rosily sipped a man’s glad spring of generosity until she was satiated. Andrei saw a woman’s timeline and in response, froze his heart dry and hammered it to pieces. Steel or emptiness—these were the only two available armors available and adequate to withstand the ephemeral nature of women, who he regarded not as individual people, but as a collective entity of superficial vampires. So he promised himself he’d never woo the dead.”

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“Pornography did not serve him either. Andrei used to have his personal kinks and fetishes, but after a while, nothing could get him off. For a long time, the only videos he would search were the ones titled: “Who is she?” The only thing that vitalized his self-play was the prospect of some woman on the earth no one knew of and could not find. There was something infinite to these tapes, not the appearance of the girls, but the agitating dissatisfaction and momentary access of a not-so-innocent stranger who men innocently lost forever. It consisted of poorly recorded videos, posted from a smartphone or webcam, and a desperate number of melancholy comments trying to search for the mystery woman. There were plenty of these recordings. But it broke Andrei even more when eventually he knew all the girls no one knew.”

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“Andrei perched on the rooftop of the cinema and looked out at Westwood’s nightlife bustling before him. He was mounted on the single, cream, stoned gargoyle built above in the corner of the theatre. He and his gothic animal breathed under the cold moon. Yes. He always felt like the moon—generally unnoticed by the world, that never minds—and navigated richly through his life alone and uninterrupted, like a ghost. Truth is an unobvious color. Those who attempt truth will never make billboards or conversations but usually sift in the background in awkward veritas.”

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“The thing about guys his age, Andrei thought, was they all morphed into one big “bro.” Certain phrases like, “Nah, you’re good... damn, wow, that’s sick... I appreciate you,” have taken such enormous space in the air. Young men use them habitually, and accompany it with that general, polite airiness in the voice that communicates there is no incoming trouble. But that nice tone took a shape on vocal cords, and those phrases redesigned the brain all into one puzzle piece: the modern man. It was like taking a pair of scissors and cutting a man’s unique shape into a rectangle, so all men could be properly put back into place, like gathering playing cards to be shuffled.”

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“A man shined to her left. He was called Lorenzo and he drank a hot chocolate with whole milk. He sipped it with fleshy, pink lips and 60 k.f. gulped it down his large neck that seemed to be a kind of engine. The gulp went down his chest, where his muscles cooled after his calisthenics, and sunk somewhere behind the walls of his tight, tan stomach. He was a chess set of a man. He had burly knights as biceps, thick bishops as legs, healthy pawns as his troop of fingers, and the battlement of rooks as his fortified abs of stone.”

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