Oof. One of the best imaginations of our generation. Miranda July has a gift for expressing loneliness, and the desperation in searching for connection when your brain seems so singular.
Miranda July, it’s such a comfort that you make things. Thanks.
Excerpts from The First Bad Man:
She gave me a betrayed look, because she’s a working mom, feminism, etc. I gave her the same look back, because I’m a woman in a senior position, she’s taking advantage, feminism, etc. She bowed her head slightly.
Then I realized we all think we might be terrible people. But we only reveal this before we ask someone to love us. It is a kind of undressing.
He cleared his throat, then was silent. Maybe he wouldn’t say anything, which is the worst thing men do.
I flitted around the city, either turning heads or else walking by heads just as they were turning.
Sometimes I looked at her sleeping face, the living flesh of it, and was overwhelmed by how precarious it was to love a living thing. She could die simply from lack of water. It hardly seemed safer than falling in love with a plant.
It won’t make sense until you’ve read the book, but once you have, visit The First Bad Man store, with auction proceeds going to The National Partnership for Women and Families.
Also, old related post: Learning to Love You More, Assignment #9.