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Quote by Julius Grosserode

“Zee Prime hatte wie jeder Mensch viele Sachen, die ihm Spaß machten. Er hatte eine Menge Bücher, die er noch Lesen wollte, er wollte jemanden finden, mit dem er den Rest seines Lebens verbringen konnte. Er wollte sich Sonnenuntergänge auf exotischen Planeten anschauen. Und er wollte endlich Autor werden und seine eigenen Geschichten schreiben und verkaufen. Es gab so viele Sachen, die er machen wollte. Und der Tod war seine Motivation, sie alle in der ihm gegebenen Zeit zu erreichen. Er war notwendig”

Quote by Julius Grosserode

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Julius Grosserode

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“As that fucking chandelier twinkled overhead, Blay said roughly, "I'm still in love with him." Saxton dropped his eyes and brushed a the top of his thigh, as if there might have been a tiny piece of lint there. "I know. You thought you weren't?" As if that were rather stupid of him. "I'm so fucking tired of it. I really am." "That I believe." "Im so fucking..." God, those sounds, that muted pounding , that audible confirmation of what he had been ignoring for the past year-- On a sudden wave of violence, he pitched the brandy snifter at the marble fireplace, shattering the thing. "Fuck, Fuck!" If he'd been able to, he'd have jumped up and torn that goddamn cocksucking light fixture off the goddamn cocksucking ceiling.”

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“Life aboard ship was like living in paradise for my agile friend and he could have continued this way forever if he hadn't discovered a splendid new game. When the stevedores were loading or discharging the ship, Peanut would hop onto the edge of the hatch and urinate down on them. Oh what great fun he had, never thinking that they would object to what he was doing. At first they would try to catch him but he was far too agile for them. Not that I understood what they were saying but I knew enough to know that the stevedores were shouting Bassa swearwords at him. Frustrated they would flip him the bird as they climbed down into the hold, foiled again. What a wonderful time Peanut had! His safest refuge was on top of the Wheel House, where the stevedores couldn’t go. Sometimes as a place of last resort he would dive through the open porthole into my state room. He didn’t like the Engine Room, as an alternate route to safety, since it was too hot and noisy. Besides the engineers didn’t much like a monkey messing with their things and who knows what trouble he could get into down there? Peanut, was wonderful entertainment when visitors came aboard. The Pan American flight attendants, they were called stewardesses back then, thought him adorable. I always had roasted peanuts for them to feed him, which he would pick and chew apart, littering the deck. The stewardess’s that came for my famous pizza parties always tried to pick him up and cuddle with him. Monkeys are unpredictable so I cautioned them to be careful but being such a cute little guy they seldom were. Ear rings were a favorite piece of jewelry to tug on, causing the ladies to scream. Most often he would let go but the wings above their pockets was another matter. Peanut would yank and pull on the insignia until it was his. I knew where he usually hid his loot and so could return their stuff but some of the stewardesses flew home without their wings.”

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“Isn't everything cuter heart-shaped?" Roisin asks, gesturing towards the homemade pizza we constructed. She chose to be creative, selecting a pesto base, topped with lavender goat cheese and grilled peaches. Something about her playfulness relaxes me. There's an innocence as she sprinkles cheese into her mouth and leaves handprints on the counter with her powdered palms. It reminds me of being a kid, when things weren't so scary and we could just have fun. That time in my life hadn't lasted long. I always wanted to please my parents. They made sure everything I did was done with heart, and I was cautious not to disappoint them. But being with Roisin reminds me we can still create something while having fun. "You know," I say, "I think heart-shaped cookies would be extra cute with this heart-shaped pizza. Don't you think?" She squeals. "Oh, I love that idea!" In between licking the spoon and adding extra teaspoons of vanilla, I draw kitten whiskers on Roisin's face with the flour. She tosses a handful of powder at me, and I squeal when it hits me in the face. We laugh, sinking onto the hardwood floor. I lean my head against her shoulder as the smell of cinnamon intensifies. We relax for a moment beneath the hot sweet air.”

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