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Writings from an Attic Office: October 2006

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Writings from an Attic Office. Thoughts, poetry, and ramblings from a Midwestern Attic. Wednesday, October 04, 2006. Just another thing to long for. Yes my heart is pounding. Though you can’t feel it. Through these breasts of mine. Yes, it is weird to put my hand up here. And not feel the rhythm. While I feel it inside,. Feel the knot in my stomach. The shaking of my hands. With fingers long and narrow. I never really thought of it. How I haven’t felt my heart. The same since I was about. Her Kind of Blog.

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Writings from an Attic Office: March 2006

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Writings from an Attic Office. Thoughts, poetry, and ramblings from a Midwestern Attic. Monday, March 27, 2006. Could you come up here right away. Can’t do her times tables. With these fears swirling in her 9 year old brain. Fourth graders lined up. She blends in with the others. Except for the red puffy eyes. And the dimple on the left like yours. Amid black history month. Colorings of MLK and Rosa Parks. It comes like the pangs of 19 hours of labor. Your labor with her. You cannot save her and the.

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Writings from an Attic Office: July 2006

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Writings from an Attic Office. Thoughts, poetry, and ramblings from a Midwestern Attic. Monday, July 10, 2006. O My Darling Clementine". In an incestuous moment. That reminds me of my father. While in a sanctuary of bass drumming. Savannah ritual your rat-a-tat. Heartbeat makes my lips quiver,. Your broken poetry sliding. Like a tear down my thigh. Meanwhile you write of a woman on traintracks. I see the soul of the rope and its pain. As it's tied in knots by the river. Without bubbles and the plexiglass.

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Writings from an Attic Office: December 2005

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Writings from an Attic Office. Thoughts, poetry, and ramblings from a Midwestern Attic. Friday, December 02, 2005. Typical Day for a 3L. Through the ficus tree I see a fellow student. I heard he’s married to an old chick,. An attorney already with lots of money. She supports his blond haired ass while. He goes to school to be one of her. He always has a fucking smile on his face. Not the shit eating grin my mom used to accuse my brother of,. No, the I’m genuinely happy smile that you don’t see very often.

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Writings from an Attic Office: June 2006

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Writings from an Attic Office. Thoughts, poetry, and ramblings from a Midwestern Attic. Monday, June 12, 2006. When I lie flat on my back. I tend to put my hand on my belly. Sort of move it around and search. For those pelvic bones of pre-1996. Before I ballooned in maternal. Awe and willed my skin to accommodate. In my search there is this sense. Nothing pre-1996 was of any importance. Not even my young bones. That were once humped by. That one girl in college, the dark. Like honey, amber and slow.

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Ramblings from the Edge: July 2003

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Ramblings from the Edge. Everyone surrounds himself with his own writings as with a wall of mirrors cutting off all voices from without." Milan Kundera, " The book of Laughter and Forgetting". 1980. Sunday, July 27, 2003. I never knew it existed, until. Spiralling cigarette smoke vanishing like. An Indian rope trick to the ceiling. Men laughing at their own nakedness. As the drinks peeled layers of shyness,. Waiters, harried, running to and fro. Looking tipsy with all the brews fumes. Some dope asks," Is.

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Ramblings from the Edge: January 2004

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Ramblings from the Edge. Everyone surrounds himself with his own writings as with a wall of mirrors cutting off all voices from without." Milan Kundera, " The book of Laughter and Forgetting". 1980. Friday, January 30, 2004. On Reading a Letter from your Beloved. I read the hand written. Letter from my beloved,. Not with my eyes. All are very special. And enlightening to me. The commas, full stops. I even hold the letter. Against the light,. To see if there are any. The style of the. Feeling the kind of.

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Ramblings from the Edge: October 2003

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Ramblings from the Edge. Everyone surrounds himself with his own writings as with a wall of mirrors cutting off all voices from without." Milan Kundera, " The book of Laughter and Forgetting". 1980. Thursday, October 23, 2003. Down, but not out. There is no heart ache more. Painful than the first rejection. However, after a couple of rejections,. You become a pro. But nothing comes near to that. The pain, the bitterness,. The loss of face. It is an exquisite feeling. Of shame, hurt. You wish you were an.

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Ramblings from the Edge: December 2003

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Ramblings from the Edge. Everyone surrounds himself with his own writings as with a wall of mirrors cutting off all voices from without." Milan Kundera, " The book of Laughter and Forgetting". 1980. Saturday, December 27, 2003. Still pond awakened from. Its siesta by playful dragonflies. Skating on its surface. Posted by sigmund fraud at 9:59 AM. Links to this post. Friday, December 19, 2003. Sometimes when I reread. I get these scary out-of-the-body. Who is this stranger, I wonder. Why is he unsocial.