I think Rilke might be curing me of atheism, though e.e. cummings certainly makes it palatable. I believe that Whitman makes hard truths more beautiful even, and I still turn to Plath like a moth to flame, and then turn away at the last minute. I just don't love Sedaris, though he really is funny, but then what?
If I was trapped in an elevator for hot sex and good conversation I'd want Bacall with me, but John Cameron Mitchell would get my sympathy vote.
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