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Famous Karl Kristian Flores Quotes

“Withhold your trust from the critics, the scholars, the writers, the award-winners, the showrunners, because they will write about crime and decorate their art with crime, and it will bring you to tears, but identification of a burning building does not extinguish a fire. Knowing what is right doesn’t make us right. It makes us responsible.”

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Book:The Goodbye Song
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“But imagine,” said Mars, “being a comet. I want you to imagine a divine force in someone that pushes them through the world, infinitely, in each choice, melting barriers in its own perfect path, out your mouth, out from your hands, across countries, through rooms—” “—through terror—” “—past regulations—” “—past people—” “—every time—” “—every day...” “Their life would go so much further,” continued Mars, “so much—as if absorbing hundreds and hundreds of years of ordinary life experience while still their real age. If death is no secret, why do we hunch? That doesn’t make sense to me. I don’t get the hunching! We retreat even when we always know the most favorable thing to do. If you took every risk, you’d have everything. You’d have all that was all.”

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Book:A Happy Ghost
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“How do you know how you are if you wear the same things as before?” she asked. "You have to shake your life until you rid yourself of everything you thought you were. You will shiver during the transition and then replenish with non-identity. After that, you’ll see clearly. What does that mean? Well, you may have to move out of this country. Build your closet from the ground up. Befriend those you despise. Take a left. Trade different things, you see? One must refresh themselves. Stay current with the needs of our soul.” “The adventure isn’t real though... like, people don’t actually do those things. It’s very romantic, but it’s not true. People don’t actually do that.” “What in the world? Do you know your history? We are anything– anything!—we are... in medieval times, kings would behead their brothers. Rulers would commission the most talented artists in the world to paint their bathroom ceilings. People have defeated mammoths with sticks. People have loved. People have killed the innocent to hurt the guilty. Waited until dawn. Mocked death. Staged coup d'états. Go further in your emotions and convictions. Increase your tolerance for extremity. Life can stretch.” “I think you’re mad,” giggled Andrei, shifting his feet. “Like a comet,” she stared with a firm jaw.”

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Book:A Happy Ghost
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“People acted how they looked like. The reactions of the world to one’s appearance were an invisible estimation of one’s perception of themselves. The beautiful and the hideous each got treated a certain way—experiencing wildly different kinds of years. The beautiful were told phrases the hideous never heard. The beautiful struggled more with envy, while the hideous spent more time practicing courage, for things never easily bent their way. Every person accepted how they were treated and sank into that role. It showed in the way they sat. How their heads turn. When they spoke. If they spoke. Mannerisms were then not a matter of individual personality, but collective decree. Andrei would notice in a stranger all the things their body did, memorize them, and project them imaginarily on a different person. The imagined transference would never work! It seemed odd, like a miscalculation, to visualize a gorgeous Adonis walk with his head down and fidgety fingers the way a shy man did. There was undeniably a pattern of traits between strangers, courtesy of the strangers they meet.”

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Book:A Happy Ghost
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“Live like a comet. An unstoppable rock through space. Travel with so great a speed that there is no time or desire for explanation. Live. Live without brakes," she said. His heart raced. Andrei shifted his gear to second. This was his key. The spine of an upstanding life was character. If all else was rid of, that was all a human had. The decisions in one’s own identity was like the wardrobe of the spirit, as discussed by Mars and Andrei. If a human being was fearless, she told him, they would act on all the things they desired. They would speak all the thoughts they were afraid to say. This pulled them closer to the sublime and away from obvious lands. Their life would gain access to moments of intimacy that were never far— only camouflaged. There was no one Andrei knew who lived like that. Not one. The comet was the most optimal way of life. Nothing could stop the person who decided to nail their foot on the gas. No interaction, rejection, weather, or obstacle of any kind would arrest them for too long. Everyone else had delays and was set back by their excuses. “Tea?” she asked. “Please.”

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Book:A Happy Ghost
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“The reality of life on sidewalks is it was a lot easier to imagine grandeur than to actualize it. There was no ceremony to any given second. There were patches of gray concrete. Moving machines. People who looked impossible to interrupt. So much unconquerable space in the air. It was as if an alien species dropped a smoke bomb poisoned with monotony and anywhere a man goes, he suffocates in idleness along with every element in his immediate universe. The most important event to take place was the red crosswalk signal switching to green pedestrian travel. The closest chance of romance was playing at 5:30 p.m. in the theatre. Happiness was making it to one’s destination without embarrassment. Nothing appears achievable to a singular, puny ghost who is not aided by alcohol, a camera team, or a cheering crowd—only more sidewalk and sky.”

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Book:A Happy Ghost
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“What a vibe! Do you wanna walk with me? I’m headed this way.” “No,” said Andrei. “But thank you.” David shifted his arms and laughed. He did not expect rejection. David considered himself friendly and a young man of great energy and there could be no possible reason why anybody should deny his invitation. “Oh, why not?” “David...” Andrei started on an effortless admission. The comet knew exactly how he felt and did not measure his blow. It was fair this way, so he locked his eyes kindly on David and shared: “I do not want to walk with you. There’s nothing wrong with that. We don’t need to be friends. And this is okay.” “Oh. Did I...say something bad earlier?” “Mate, it’s just who you are. And who I am. I don’t want to pretend that it’s pleasant to be with you.” “Dude, that really hurts me that you said that, Andrei.” “What can we do, honestly, David? Lie instead? That’s how it is. It can’t be changed. It’s nothing on you—just the both of us combined Not every person we meet is right for us. If we treat everyone like friends, nothing is earned, you know what I mean?” “Alright, dude. Whatever. That’s totally your choice, so all good. But that literally makes no sense, so.” Andrei looked down the road, which he owed, and not David, and so withdrew. “Then let me make no sense. Cheers. Good luck with everything.”

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Book:A Happy Ghost
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“The shouts continued to sound at the bus stop across the street. A shirtless man wearing a backpack was going around and grabbing women, stumbling here and there, and yelling with hostility. Everyone at the bus stop backed away. A group of able-bodied humans paralyzed by violence seemed incomprehensible. But that was the smoke bomb of monotony entering terrified lungs, lungs alive but too shocked to act. They were afraid of getting harmed themselves to rescue those who cried out in front of them. It was amazing that regardless of how much anger was in someone, the character they might have, and what adventure films they had seen, their body did not want to move when a monster ate in front of them.”

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Book:A Happy Ghost
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“The children who played the Scorpion game in daycare knew the point. Before the beach, Andrei walked past a group of little boys and girls through the front window. He spectated their game. The kids were placed within a circle marked on the ground as a boundary. One blindfolded child played the Scorpion. And then the Scorpion violently tagged each student they found, eliminating the group one by one. The game would eventually end. The Scorpion would eat everyone. Andrei watched the children choose their mortal dance and run carefully in all directions. Then the circle of watchers applauded the child who won— that was, the timid, clever boy who had laid down patiently on the floor, away from the Scorpion, as still as a manhole cover. The unseen kid held his breath in the name of survival for the duration of the game. Though there was one player who moved unlike the rest. Bless that spirit who dared to dance teasingly in front of the Scorpion, inspect the circle to learn its space, had fleeting looks of love with other bugs, and was the only one to know what it felt like to belt their endangered voice in a loud, delightful cry toward the heavens. The dancing crier was killed. But the shy, certain statue of a boy died twice.”

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Book:A Happy Ghost
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“The pub. It remained the only place in the world that had not evolved into anything more sophisticated. The buildings rose, the towers hit never- ending growth spurts, the concrete sidewalks turned to polycarbonate glass billboards, and the cars drove people. But the pubs—the pubs with their gritty melancholy—endured time. No matter how advanced this species grew to be, the human heart was never short of confusion and in need of the rugged, little lullaby of alcohol and alone time.”

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Book:The Goodbye Song
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“I don’t want to spoil us with the color red," he thought. Sometimes, flirtation that led to nothing was everything. The coquetry remained harmless. If fortunately ceased, momentary sparks would not be damaged by a chair-throwing, divorce-filing, property- debating future. It was one of life’s little treats to meet someone amazing, have perfect chemistry, and walk away flattered and regretful, and best of all, forever remember a stranger who was so right and yet, by then, so far away. A perfect memory tastes sweeter than an exhausting series of normal ones. People could have each other without possession. Nothing needed to last forever when good memories lasted forever.”

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Book:A Happy Ghost
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“No one cares about anyone else’s life, but their own, bro. That’s the thing. We’re just selfish," said Raphael. “Some surprise us though. Those unique ones who interest us— they do something new with their body. They mean words differently. They bring us in. The people who amaze us are how we know that the selfishness inside us all along was never selfishness. We were only far from certain people.”

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Book:A Happy Ghost
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“Normality seemed suspicious to him. He avoided smart routes, healthy decisions, and standard trajectories. Andrei fancied the forsaken, the dreadful, the dusty. He intentionally said yes to what other people said no to. "There must be something worthwhile," he always thought, "in the apparently worthless, seemingly dangerous, and painfully obvious.”

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Book:A Happy Ghost
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“Life often functions in dull repetition, but humanity does not operate in patterns. Experiences are random to the point of them never happening again. People are different and they shift throughout space over time. Nothing may repeat. There is no one in a million. There is one in one. It was why no summer was the same. It was why some lips in history never got to test if they were good kissers. It was why Ali lost to Frazier but Frazier lost to Foreman. It is why film does not get another Marlon Brando and no music, however similar, can be compared to Debussy. To resurrect these greats is like trying to re-enter a lost dream. The shore motions toward the feet and never meets them exactly again.”

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Book:A Happy Ghost
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“And here lies our conundrum: we hate the world when we talk about it, but if all of us hate the world for being mean, there is no world to hate. We’re stuck in theory and are entertaining an invisible villain. Up close, you get along with those supposed monsters. The world is made up of individual people who despise the world, but when meeting, they get along all the same. There is no evil society, only people we haven’t met yet.”

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Book:The Goodbye Song
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“Our circumstance at birth is that we are placed on a planet with no prior choice and appointed sensation and awareness—and then nothing after it. There won’t be an opportunity to look back or to be ashamed. What to do? Walk the rock and see more of the earth? Fill our playtime with the current inventions? No, I want to go toward other people. Other moving humans. No technology or machine in the world could match the pricelessness of life. It’s a universally precious. It can’t be saved and so has the most value.”

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Book:A Happy Ghost
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“His mattress was his bathroom was his dinner plate And he fights for food against roaches and rats And the all-purpose pavement gets colder as the year gets late, So the roaches get bigger and the vermin turn to bats. We never have enough money to hand to cardboard holders, But always enough for extra açaí, bacon, or premium. And we bet they're scamming us, those damn freeloaders, But that's just it: a bet-- and premium is just premium. We guarantee the next has it covered, that car behind us, Ignoring how they like premium the same way we do. First judgements have always been our widespread virus, But truth is the property of man and that we can't lose.”

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Book:Can I Tell You Something?
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“And after some months, the exposure to beauty and wealth took a toll on his mind. He could not pinpoint it at first. Andrei thought human change came from decisions, but actually it came from observation. The brain was a special piano whose song history was never forgotten; one wrong key could destroy the instrument and necessitate years of healing. For Andrei, the multitude of wealthy guests, their walks, accommodation requests, secrets, women, and jewels had achieved his natural lust for luxury ten times over and turned him into a complete ghost.”

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Book:A Happy Ghost
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“Plenty of evil happened inside that building. One may encourage Andrei to cheer up, that it was only the building: “Don’t sweat it, man. It isn’t real. That’s only one part of the world,” assured Andrei’s co-workers on his first week. But it was real. I mean, it was upstairs for Christ’s sake. “And one part of the world,” Andrei said to himself, “is still of the world.” It was too easy to try and remedy depression by widening one’s perspective and proclaiming there were a million other avenues in which to see life. It did not change the fact that such hotels existed. Hotels with affairs. Abuse. Drugs that scared. All of this told him that people did not sit on grass fields, melting under the sun, sacrificing their afternoons with friends to love. Instead, they purchased king suites with escorts and ordered wagyu rare.”

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Book:A Happy Ghost
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“It was hard to invest in a person when one saw how things passed. Take the ball player, for example, who dedicates his life, gets injured, and then watches the sport proceed without him. He sits on his leather couch, watching better athletes run across his television screen, younger ones on renovated fields. And he, who sacrificed his sweat, youth, and sanity to the sport and knew coaches, teammates, and even janitors at the stadium like brothers—is forced to still live afterward. His teammates said kind words before a match, hugged him after a goal, but now seem to be focused on new seasons and new goals. He gets left behind. Did none of it mean anything? He cries for the fast world to stop and says, “Slow down. This pains me. We were just here. I used to joke with you. We said we loved each other. Wait for me. Will you just wait for me?” Those hands he shook after a victory could not care for the weeping, broken-footed man hiding in the shadows of his home, once lit by the sun, once the life of the party. When Andrei walked into a job now, or even met someone for the first time, he thought: How long will it take you to forget me?”

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Book:A Happy Ghost
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“Sometimes, Andrei would feel like the moon. When he dined in solitude, when he masturbated to the couple at the hotel, or when he finished a book he could tell no one around him about, he felt singular and unaccompanied, like the stupid, radiating circle stuck in the sky. His soul would glow softly, through the darkness, deadened, but there, as if solemnly leaving a light on for anyone to come join him. Andrei would feel so far away from everyone else, like a floating object in space, lost in orbit, that no hand worried about, remembered, or attempted to retrieve.”

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Book:A Happy Ghost
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“People had tried to reel Raphael in from his silence. Their attempts were precisely why he felt so uncomfortable. He did not want to be saved or included. He liked to listen. When he asked a question, it was because he wanted to know the answer. But then they turned it around to ask, “What about you?” and this bothered Raphael, who believed the speaker only returned the question out of manners and so was never a real inquiry. Raphael would be pressured to respond and endure the painful seconds of saying something someone did not want to hear. He would trace their faltering eyes, then his words would crumble into sand, and his listener would never notice because they were not interested in the first place.”

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Book:A Happy Ghost
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“Every artist loved their art for the same reason, and this caused no suspicion to the world. They regularly say: 'My field captures the human experience.' 'And what is the human experience to you exactly?' questions O’Hare. 'I want to be a storyteller who inspires and expresses their imagination.' 'But how does your chosen art differ from other mediums?' questions O’Hare. 'I am a quiet observer who innately loves philosophy.' But here you are screaming this in a room, cries Dr. O’Hare. 'I am beyond grateful for the people I’ve worked with who made this the greatest collaboration I could have ever asked for.' 'But how did you collaborate—with thought and rehearsal?—or did you just perform some damn thing and sign both your names on it?' asked O’Hare.”

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Book:A Happy Ghost
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“A man, perhaps an inch shorter than Andrei, sensing the height comparison, slowly passed him. The stranger still wore an N-95 mask. The pandemic ended three years ago, but Andrei identified why masks were still worn by others. While millions had died from COVID-19, others silently and ashamedly rejoiced in the virus’ demands. The requirement of face masks made it mandatory for everyone to cover more than half of their face. And for those who disliked their face, they, for nearly two years, had the chance to go out in the world and not be ugly for once. Suddenly, while they were not beautiful, they were not hideous. Neutrality can do so much for someone. This period was like a gift for those with horrid teeth, large features, cystic acne, injuries, scarring, and discoloration. Never before were so many people looked straight in the eyes. Masks were some people’s only chance to show who they were. And now, when the pandemic had ended, they were back in the shadows. Large groups of people, however, as Andrei had seen, still wore them, beneath the excuse that the virus could still return. "I would love to kiss one of you on the cheek, he thought.”

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Book:A Happy Ghost
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“Andrei was in an elusive period in life, much like a snow leopard. He’d spent a couple of years having successfully filtered out all that was terrible and ugly in his life, from old shoes to lifeless people. However, the purification finished and he had not yet found the glint of gold to replace the damned. He had nowhere to place his lifted foot. Instead, his moral foot hovered, awkwardly, a crepuscular flesh, trembling every night, unable to set itself in a correct place. He lived in that hanging imbalance every day, and some would say this period of searching takes a while. But to him, all it did was take. Not a while. The peace of his life just takes. And takes. And takes. While Andrei may not suffer from the heat of stress or common negativity that improperly placed feet do, he lived cold, in a void, without the luxury of finding a worthy arrangement for his leopard paw.”

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Book:A Happy Ghost
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“He did not want to write a book about it. He’d tried once, attempting a novel, even some poems, but they broke his heart and he could not bring himself to art anymore. 'So the only way to end this painful curiosity is to transfer it to someone else? To fictionalize it? To talk about it and still live the same problem tomorrow? To appear as if you’ve beaten it just because you can identify the problem?' He would sob in museums, where he sought refuge but escaped in horror. 'Fuck that—art’s not an answer to life, it’s a disguise.”

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Book:A Happy Ghost
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“The shit thing about beauty is only another can redeem it. You can love yourself, but because beauty is in the eye of the beholder, those without beholders aren’t beautiful. They cannot trick themselves into thinking they are. Someone has to say it. Someone has to say, “You are beautiful.” One’s beauty is like the classic fallen tree; “If no one was near the tree when it fell, did it really fall?” If people called you a beautiful baby and now you’ve grown, are you still beautiful?”

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Book:The Goodbye Song
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“He hated walking. It was the most excruciating activity in his day; that was, because of the screaming. You see, passing strangers on a walk is terribly painful for people like Andrei, whose every muscle fights to pretend their mind is not yelling questions like: “DO YOU GO LEFT?! OR DO I? Do I know you? Are you looking at me? Do I look familiar to you? Look down! Peruse the floor, scan left now right. Where are your headphones? It would have been so much easier to look busy if you had just remembered to bring your headphones! They’re coming closer. Don’t look at them. Rub your eyes. Sniffle. Good. Good...We made it. OH GOD ANOTHER ONE.”

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Book:A Happy Ghost
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“Andrei understood people were social animals who needed others to survive, but arguments that used biological outlines of life always creeped him out. He did not want to consider himself a thing that needed to gather in a group, or regard other evolutionary facts of his species, like needing to procreate or choosing a partner to make one feel safe. No. There were things he could choose between, like Earl Grey or jasmine green tea, children or no children, or having any friends at all.”

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Book:A Happy Ghost
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“This blond Brett boy was very tall. And in his disposition seemed an incompleteness. People who talked to Brett usually first referenced his height. Thus, a compliment or statement regarding his figure was the first thing he heard. Andrei could imagine that the first fraction of every conversation in his life had to do with how tall he was. And since conversations did not last that long, Brett had mastered the form of receiving the compliment, but compared to folks with a shorter body, had a considerably lower percentage of conversations in his life about other things. It was merely the way it had turned out. The world acknowledged Brett’s height and Brett monopolized this attention and innocently adjusted by mentioning his height for all sorts of topics—for being the butt of jokes, for flirtation, to compete in the quiet dance of masculine dominance in rooms that men knew so well. Andrei located the offness to him—a certain naïve, boyish way Brett spoke and moved. If Andrei and Brett had been the same age, not in a hotel restroom, and most importantly, friends, Andrei would have offered him some advice: “Accept comments on your height quickly, my friend, and then never address it again. Change the topic fast and carry on. You don’t want to lose out on the higher picture.” And the same words would apply to every living thing: “Rather than be swayed, strike through everything you do. Your mighty sword is your identity, not mirrors, reflections, or other eyeballs.”

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Book:A Happy Ghost
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“Holding onto feelings was far more delicate than holding onto words. Feelings were carried, like invisible fairies caught by chance in the woodlands that one holds in their hand, and feels its weight, but cannot see. They were ethereal, exclusively and tenderly known to the people involved, and usually deeper and more colorful than speech, but more prone to extinction from doubt. Words, alternatively, could be written down, were easy to remember, and worked well for stories— but they limited feelings by nature and could be exaggerated or confused by newer words.”

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Book:A Happy Ghost
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“We cannot know everything. We cannot do everything. We are what we chose to have known. We are what we ended up doing. This condition is why you could look around and tell people apart. Time is ticking and we are all fugitives fleeing from random death. And we all flee differently. Thus, with the responsibility of choice, humanity is magical this way.”

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Book:The Goodbye Song
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“Organize their money on a chopping board. Sort out your worth. $15,000 for outdated textbooks K-12. $1,000 for a lifetime of flu vaccinations. $8 an hour to help someone else make money. $300 a year for food coupons. $1,000 additional salary for any job that has a chance of expected death. $600 co-pay on medication for an illness they cause you. $2,000 for social security. $15,000 for pension. $150,000 for the average life insurance policy. $250,000 for a doctor’s fatal mistake. $350,000 if the doctor made it in a different state. 2/5 of a soul lost in the workplace. 3/5 of a soul lost to fuck for food. $4,000 to bury someone in the soil. And there you have you. Easy to make. Affordable. Special.”

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Book:The Goodbye Song
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“The Environmental Protection Agency, Department of Transportation, and other bureaus reserve that a budget for a human life is worth anywhere from 4-10 million dollars. Like a sports car. Like a construction site. Or an airplane. As if the mysterious gift of consciousness could fit in the box of a W-2 form. To them, we are 4 inches of digital ink on a computer screen. Money: if we can’t get rid of it, we can at least admit it doesn’t deserve us.”

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Book:The Goodbye Song
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“Beside him was a small employee sweeping the floor, just by Andrei. The cleaner clenched the broom with effort and quick movements. She moved forcefully, with so much vigor that one saw a girl scout. But wrinkles had already formed on her neck, that sweated, moistening her black wig. Andrei stared, noticing she was damn good at her job, but too good. She would bend her legs to sweep the difficult corners of the shop. The woman would adjust the picture frames on the wall and wipe down the chairs, tasks which were not part of her required duties. Whenever her co-workers talked casually, the woman steered the conversation to the topic of the conditions of the store, which she knew, or to certain customers, who she knew, or to how business was, which she knew. She drove back home with a smile, knowing she’d done a great job that day. “They need me! Otherwise, who else would have caught the slip hazard by the trash? No one, not even my manager!” she would say before bed. She was naturally helpful. It was tragic to see that kind employee, happy like a little child, be so great at some stupid shop, when in her pumped a heart large enough to fuel the future, a forest, or a country. There was no structure of life, or invention yet created, whose mechanism could righteously allocate the innocence and love embedded in the warm blood of a human being. There deserved to be. She was sacred. But the world, decidedly corporate, had seized her, eaten her up, devouring what was left of the lively.”

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Book:A Happy Ghost
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“And so now. Listen to yourself. Tune in. What do you want?’ “What do I want?” he repeated. He thought. And instantly, he knew. Andrei’s heart pounded while the suite was still. In fact, it was the type of stillness that men and women knew all too well. That familiar, embarrassing calm, which in seconds usually soared an unquestionable fact. Minds in that room could only come to the single conclusion Andrei feared to admit. “I want to...” And Andrei, taking Mars’ hands in his, bent over and kissed her with an angle of awe and the timing of gratitude. “Right,” she said, knowingly. “Did you know I was going to do that? Was that weird?” “Why explain feelings, Andrei?” she professed sincerely. “We’ll end up dissatisfied. If you feel the truth, so do I. That’s how rooms work. You have to keep doing that. Listening carefully, then acting fiercely. It’s a contrasting relationship.”

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Book:A Happy Ghost
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“After finishing his breakfast. Charlie decided to clean the kitchen, but wanted to do it entirely with one leg. He laughed his way through the cabinets, inside the sink, on the floor, under the table, and against the walls like a kid who gets a kick out of making things harder for themself. It was none other than the heart of sport, for what was a sport but a project made to be harder for a player? To pass the ball but only with your feet. To have three chances to bat. To play catch with a friend, but without gloves. The fun was to see if you could do it. But when non-athletic hardships come, the adults mysteriously run.”

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Book:The Goodbye Song
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“Whenever he contemplated death, he felt he would miss thinking most of all. There was a delicate pleasure of thought and sensation. The awareness of it. The inner voice of thoughtless reasoning, effortless analyzing, ceaseless tingling. It was the only thing a person had if everything were taken away from them. It was what continued to exist before they touched any object or heard any sound once awaken from slumber. That personal conversation was irreplaceable. Andrei would be upset at death, whenever it came, because of what it entailed: no longer being able to look down and see one’s hands. No longer being able to feel a breathing belly. No longer able to wonder, or to remember a memory. It surprised him, in such a stupid, sad way, that there was no save button in life. Yes, yes, we die, I get it, he thought, but for some reason, he’d pathetically assumed he could take something with him. That death would be okay because at least he would still be able to reflect. In theory, he would die and get to say, “Whew, I died. Now let’s think about it.” But he wouldn’t. All the memories he had earned would wash away instantly. The work done on oneself could not be transferred. He would not trim his fingernails or have the chance to check out another woman’s ass ever again. Death was flat. Aliveness had texture.”

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Book:A Happy Ghost
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“This living organism breathed, could roam around the world, see and be seen, and make any mess it wanted. And here Andrei was, pulsing in a field with another pulse. How miraculous that for a short period, the two of them could focus their eyes, turn their heads, lift their limbs, and run straight into the arms of another person. The living were not rocks or wood, incapable of being affected by chance, but rather forces of momentary magic that could digress and collide with anything it chose. Should a human ever feel bored lying atop their bed, they could change reality and within thirty seconds walk outside and strike up a new conversation with another pulse on the street. The living sound an ancient, sacred, temporary hum that is exclusive to them. Once gone, it can never be retrieved. But if there still, it could do anything.”

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Book:A Happy Ghost
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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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Book:A Happy Ghost
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“Persistence used to be his goal; perhaps, he once believed, if he endured more days, eventually life would come together, either ultimately or through a single event. Books and art and politics said to keep going. But while persistence was other men’s answer, their conflicts were not his. How could a man totally trust history’s advice when today, the sparrow breaks its old route and flies over that jacaranda tree and not the usual? Persistence was not Andrei’s answer. He needed deviation.”

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Book:A Happy Ghost
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“He'd told Alejandra this many times, but his comments had been so small in the grand scheme of things. She now knew that the largest parts of people escaped in tiny ways, tiny words, and tiny looks. One was not permitted to let themselves go and because they gripped so tightly trying to keep together the puppet they presented, parts of identity snuck their way out of holes, and released, transforming into something like a harmless quip their lover would forget. But their lover would remember it. Afterward. The schedule of human understanding was almost always set: afterward.”

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Book:A Happy Ghost
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“It was a situation sincere hearts find themselves in of raw, dirty discomfort they cannot share. A day-to- day, on-the-ground, actual trouble of skin and reality—like flat tires, psychotic parents, immobilized brothers—a pain that the restless world would have no patience for and so was kept secret in the shadows of tragedy along with lost people, lost things, and real life.”

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Book:A Happy Ghost
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“My antidote is to constantly create a world for me and stick to it. I don’t go out much. When I do, people start planting thoughts in my head that I don’t want. I would go home and think their thoughts. Bad seeds... unimportant seeds and I lose my streak of knowing what’s true. That’s where I’m at. I’ve this need to be sensitive to my inner voice. And what feeds that are movies I like... the book I’m reading... some paintings. Instead, when I am with others, my mind is occupied with repetitious jokes, and their envy, and ego. My antidote is the equivalent of a cozy castle of reality—protecting things and people I choose," she said. "A customized balance of my favorite worlds.”

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Book:A Happy Ghost
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“Freedom sounds phenomenal to the preoccupied young. But when one is an adult and has “free days” there is simply not much to do. Even in Los Angeles, where everything was. There was an unspoken spell of solitude cast on the city. Once one has been to the main parts of town, and had their fair share at the beach, Los Angeles turned unbreathably lonely. The biggest risks took place in grocery stores where a quiet shopper chose to switch to multi-grain bread after two years on sourdough. One could use their afternoons to create art— maybe writing a poem or painting a picture—all of which pass time but are isolating activities in and of themselves. The child begs for freedom and the adult wants to be told what to do.”

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Book:A Happy Ghost
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“Do people really like the way they’re fucked? he thought. Do wives like their husband’s faces? Does my weak vocabulary annoy these intelligent CEOs? How long can I speak until I bother someone? They will all smile and shake your hand, but I am afraid I am just another omelet missing the ingredient they want. I am the wrong piano key fiercely played by a pianist’s regretful pinky finger in a concert hall blaring false to the audience’s disturbed ears that certainly caught the note but whose controlled heads do not dare betray their feigned enjoyment.”

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Book:A Happy Ghost
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