Alison Bechdel

tragikomiks rodzinny

Fun home

from Chapter 1: Old Father, Old Artificer

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For if my father was Icarus, he was also Daedalus—that skillful artificer, that mad scientist who built the wings for his son and designed the famous labyrinth…and who answered not to the laws of society, but to those of his craft. 

…but it was impossible to tell if the minotaur lay beyond the next corner. And the constant tension was heightened by the fact that some encounters could be quite pleasant. 

…his absence resonated retroactively, echoing back through all the time I knew him. Maybe it was the converse of the way amputees feel pain in a missing limb. He really was there all those years, a flesh-and-blood presence steaming off the wallpaper, digging up the dogwoods, polishing the finials…smelling of sawdust and sweat and designer cologne. But I ached as if he were already gone. 

cedar winslow

Colette could write better than anyone about physical things; they include the feel of a peach in one’s hand. A man could only write in this way about a woman’s breast. 

They say that grief takes many forms, including the absence of grief. 

But it was impossible to tell if the minotaur lay beyond the next corner. And the constant tension was heightened by the fact that some encounters could be quite pleasant. 

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