April 2010
6 posts
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Hi.
One more time with trepidation.
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Stages
of awareness. of men. of interest.
It took two boys four nights and resulted in a fair amount of pain and blood.
And I really didn’t care a lot, but I couldn’t think of a reason why not.
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YOU so soon
The first time we came to this city together it was to see Pina Bausch’s new work, Bamboo Blues. At intermission we spoke candidly about being drawn into the onstage environment, about the ecstasy that accompanied feeling so close to something we only understood as exotic, and about what a force she was for successfully generating images and ideas. He halted the momentum of my sentences by...
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The only clean socks were the ones meant for those shoes. The socks that make those shoes look better, fit better, slide on and off better. Those shoes that click when I walk. The clicking that draws my own attention even further into myself. I think about exactly how I must look with each step. Little adjustments to posture and how my skirt falls and my shirt clings with each step. As if anyone...
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“We love to be hurt and we love to have our unhealing wounds opened and reopened...”
– Allen Ginsberg
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It matters that the sun was shinning. It matters that it was a relatively warm day after many cold ones. It matters because, they thought themselves justified in wearing shorts. It matters that she was sitting on a low stone wall and that it was imprinting the backs of her legs. It matters that when she stood up she would brush herself off and the tiniest flecks of stone would fall from her...
