I’m cheating. I’m going through my writing group writings and taking out good lines and gathering ten here, for your pleasure and mine.
some of them i love, truly.
only you know how you feel.
see how much good therapy does a girl?
- Erotic, potential, slow, focus… the narrowing down of the vision to that single spot on the skin. Focus it all on that one spot on your hand, and feel the heart slow, the heat rise… i suppose there has to be some intention on heat, or I’d just be meditating. I can heat at will.
- And how i wish i could pinpoint that time i woke up from my marriage, the moment i knew that the ‘break’ i needed was really a ‘i cannot survive this if it stays’ moment. Its too drastic to say its a do or die type of thing but there was an element of that, though i didn’t know it for several more years. My body and my angels and my life force took over, and i lifted the car.
- I remember five hours ago, when i woke with this headache that is attached to my flow, and also to the ounce of red wine i had before bed. It is this headache still with me that screams at me, because i laughed. This feeling that i am out of control, that a natural consequence is a punishment. What i mean is, my inner world somehow feels better when there is a wall i cannot climb, a punishment of boundary. Not that my world loves its headaches, but i do suppose that there is a part of myself that wants the structure, the kink of restraint, a ‘place you cannot go’’. It is the mystery, the secret door in the wall, so maybe i can, in fact, make my way through.
- Not one single damn or motherfuck here. Not even this one.
- The dishwasher gurgles, the three are all watching things. Last night was a new planet of the apes and it was good. It was a joy to sit with them and cover some eyes and cry along with boys. Don’t tell them i told you. So there is this, those sweet less-than-seconds that might make it all allright.
- I think sometimes of that brick building. I wonder if it had ever been clung to for safety, hugged for its normalcy. Now there’s a thread i could pull. The personification of the inanimate. I’ve always done it.
- (my space bar was stuck. I would fix it but it fits the mood of it.) Doyousee thistoo? Thispattern of withholdingsolution frommyself? Solace?I’mreadingnow,a ‘miss smilla’s feelingfor snow’ by peter hoeg. Translated fromdanish. andwhen ever i reada nordic book, i am reminded of my own harsh innerworld. Thecoldness, thealoof distancefrom humanity. Thereis a piece of me on some icy precipice,lookingdown on theglowinglightsofthetown andturningaway,backtothe polarbearsandtheisolation of thecomplete darkness.
- I’ve been loved, i’ve known that too. And i’ve known how lucky i am, to have different layers to fall back on when one strand of love has gone away. To be in a hammock of love.
- Certainty that there is goodness, that light wins by holding hands with darkness and not any other way. That there is no tinge, that things can be pure. I want less fear, less wobble. More curls in sweaty hair in the morning, less hair unwashed for over a week.
- I want meaning. Rich Knock Your Socks off meaning. MEANING. I want meaning to pour out of everything, make it so i can read the meaning in my bare toes, read the meaning in the late arrivals, the sadness resurges. The meaning, the meaning.
I want the meaning behind all of it, rising up, knocking back fear and being a chalk outline on the ground full of meaning and IMPORT. I want the pauses to be full of whispers, the whispers and mutters to be explained, to have captions on every human chest, so that i can figure out meaning and hold on to it.