When Nureyev went back to Russia, he said, he was accosted by an old woman who asked him, "Where is home for you?" And Nureyev said: "Home? What is home?" And the babushka replied: "Where someone waits for you."
from Andrew Holleran's Grief
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You are reading an intensely dark book. I found myself dreaming of Mary Todd Lincoln. Holleran is MY writer. I've not read anything of his that did not move me deeply...soulfully. I think he's brilliant; some would say darkly maudlin with no hope. Maybe that's the voice he reaches within me.
*click* *click* *click*
There's no place like home. There's no place like home...
::opens eyes::
Ah, shit.
the babuska seems right to me.
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