s h igh.

lolita is one of the best damn books ever. a piece of writing. o god, can you feel my heart beating in my tongue?

along with american pastoral.

a couple days ago, michelle and i were talking about nabokov. and i said something like...hm..."what would you do if you were nabokov, and you'd just finished lolita? would you sit down and steady yourself and say, "damn, i just wrote. i wrote. i. i generated art." and gaze stupefied or what? would you know it was that good, or be skeptical of your own powers of self.perception, or be so sick of the thing (neither of us know much of the context in which it was written, nor nabokov's approach to writing it...did it flow like a lyric? was it painful? did it gauge his eyes out and rip the paper to shreds? did his pen leak faraway salt? minerals. ...mm. both of us, however, were aware of the book's volatile reception through the times) and of noodling with it (if he did) that you'd just not care anymore (but how do you make yourself not care, anymore)? and she said. hum. she replied with, and in a hushed sort, "honestly, if i had written lolita, i would have cried. knowing i'd made something so. . i would cry."

i miss her. and she's only four hours from now.