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A review by lelex
The Mobius Strip Club of Grief by Bianca Stone
5.0
I loved this. My favorites were “Making Applesauce with My Dead Grandmother,” “Blue Jays,” and “Ones Who Got Away with It.”
“You have to show a scar to the bouncer to get in - any scar will do. And you have to tell a story about your mother. Something she suffered through. But once you’re in, you’re in forever.”
“I hold court all day on my own intellectual shortcomings. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“The known universe is saying Fuck, softly into the unknown universe. It’s a very long winter. I can’t remember anyone’s name or whether I finished my beer.”
“Your brother got too serious,” Mom said, smoking in the car in her wool jacket with the elastic loops for shotgun shells and the flannel insert and loose M&M’s in the pockets (I loved her in that coat). “He said I was sinning for drinking coffee.’”
“I had no taste for wine then, no feel for maps. I was always stopping and staring for too long at sculptures, which were everywhere - I didn’t even have to know where I was going, they came to me, those statues - men with their swords up in the air and severed heads in their hands, women with small perfect gray breasts - and my brother would disappear into the crowded streets as if he’d lived there for decades and was late to work.”
“(the greatest trick of humans, making the sky into matter -)
“What to do with this mind? Throw everything into the fire and scream into the internet that there’s nothing to do but stand in the dark recesses throwing a bright red doge ball against the bone facade and fall in and out of love with suffering?”
“You have to show a scar to the bouncer to get in - any scar will do. And you have to tell a story about your mother. Something she suffered through. But once you’re in, you’re in forever.”
“I hold court all day on my own intellectual shortcomings. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“The known universe is saying Fuck, softly into the unknown universe. It’s a very long winter. I can’t remember anyone’s name or whether I finished my beer.”
“Your brother got too serious,” Mom said, smoking in the car in her wool jacket with the elastic loops for shotgun shells and the flannel insert and loose M&M’s in the pockets (I loved her in that coat). “He said I was sinning for drinking coffee.’”
“I had no taste for wine then, no feel for maps. I was always stopping and staring for too long at sculptures, which were everywhere - I didn’t even have to know where I was going, they came to me, those statues - men with their swords up in the air and severed heads in their hands, women with small perfect gray breasts - and my brother would disappear into the crowded streets as if he’d lived there for decades and was late to work.”
“(the greatest trick of humans, making the sky into matter -)
“What to do with this mind? Throw everything into the fire and scream into the internet that there’s nothing to do but stand in the dark recesses throwing a bright red doge ball against the bone facade and fall in and out of love with suffering?”