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To Write in Water: January 2015
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To Write in Water. Friday, January 2, 2015. What a long, tumultuous year it's been. Full of growth and change, painful and necessary and good. I wouldn't know, though. I wasn't there. This year has been full of moments like that, moments where I, usually so in tune with my inner self, have not been sure what I was feeling. When I wasn't even sure there were. Some things you can't unhear. But for now, I'll just say it ended ugly. The kind of ugly I'd never experienced before, a kind of ugly that found...
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To Write in Water: Down the Rabbit Hole, Straight Into Hell
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To Write in Water. Tuesday, January 26, 2010. Down the Rabbit Hole, Straight Into Hell. I wake up on an unfamiliar scene, and the scene is terrifying. We have to get out of here. We have to get out of here, NOW. Nighttime. We're in a field- a town square? Get out get out get out of this dream get out get out now. If the voice that remains sane in a nightmare is terrified right along with you, it's a bad situation. A really bad situation. THERE I motion to her and point. Halls of the dead, get out get out...
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To Write in Water: December 2007
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To Write in Water. Friday, December 7, 2007. Children are Humans, not Handbags. When we were originally given the topic "Sexual Ethics", my immediate thought-because I'm a sick bastard like that-was of Aristotle, Spinoza, and Nietzsche in various compromising positions. With toys. Maybe whips and chains (Aristotle, in particular, liked the kink). I told you I was a sick bastard, didn't I? Words could not express. No, *sigh* I have Avery and Blaine.". Avery and Blaine. But of. And it suddenly occurred to ...
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To Write in Water: 2014
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To Write in Water. Friday, January 2, 2015. What a long, tumultuous year it's been. Full of growth and change, painful and necessary and good. I wouldn't know, though. I wasn't there. This year has been full of moments like that, moments where I, usually so in tune with my inner self, have not been sure what I was feeling. When I wasn't even sure there were. Some things you can't unhear. But for now, I'll just say it ended ugly. The kind of ugly I'd never experienced before, a kind of ugly that found...
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To Write in Water: Come Hither, Girl...
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To Write in Water. Tuesday, January 26, 2010. Come Hither, Girl. Gather ‘round, children. Gather ‘round and huddle close, for the night is dark and cold and there are things that would reach out and snatch you…take you away, if they could…and change you…. Let us talk of fear. But let us not talk of ordinary fear, the heebie jeebies that sometimes come creeping, skittering up the back of your neck…on a night…much like this night…. And a girl. Let us talk of a girl. I want to tell you a story…. For a momen...
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To Write in Water: Open Letter to a Future Daughter
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To Write in Water. Tuesday, January 26, 2010. Open Letter to a Future Daughter. What would I teach her? What wisdom could I possibly impart that I would hope she'd never disregard? And so, I write letters in my head, sometimes to myself; sometimes to my future children and I tell them everything I wish I had been told, even if I know there was no other way to learn it but on my own. These are the laws I hope I never break. Hello, honey,. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). Come Hither, Girl.
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To Write in Water: January 2008
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To Write in Water. Thursday, January 31, 2008. Ideology of september 11, 2001. Compassion is a stone age. We shove it underground,. Or toss it into the sky. Like a handful of. Dead dust and then wipe. Our hands on our pantlegs. Ridding ourselves of the. The silence between us is. Absolute precision. our very. Synapses shriek when bridged. They used to sing, they used. To sing back in a time when. Handshakes were money and. Contact wasn’t a dirty word. Our ideology fell down on. Our heads and we became.
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To Write in Water: Childhood Memories
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To Write in Water. Tuesday, January 26, 2010. I've never been a normal kid. I blame my father. I don’t think it surprised my parents when I told them I wanted to be a writer. Certainly not my father, who had always wanted to write a book, and in his heart, I believe secretly wished me to do what he was never able. When I was a little girl, there was a show on USA called Saturday Nightmares. Keep in mind, I was seven at the time. Seven. And my Dad thought this a fantastic. As the weekend drew nearer, and ...
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To Write in Water: Full Circle
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To Write in Water. Tuesday, January 26, 2010. She said, and he merely looked at her. Let's go somewhere, anywhere, let's just go. He gave her a puzzled frown, and she turned away, sighing. Her gypsy blood was whispering to her again, the fire in her mind starting to spark and pop. Her life had ever been a series of waves, and now she wanted to go, go, go. He didn't understand. Had he ever understood? Go West, young woman. Go North, South, and East. She wanted to see the world, and why not? She didn't wan...
