Twilight Flight ~ American Sentence Day 101 of 108

Meanwhile, I was moseying along on my bicycle in this little mountain town – I found myself transported back to the east village – the food, the smells, the people, the clothes, the bookstores, the creative collaboration. Ah. The best of both worlds. 

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sometimes you are helpless

. . . Fire was one of my greatest fears when I lived in the city. There is nothing like the sinking feeling of walking home and seeing firetrucks on your block, or a friend’s block. How quickly fire can spread on those tenement buildings pressed up against one another . . .

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Nada Moves Me

So the other day, I almost wept when I watched this video. I know, weird, it’s of a woman talking about lyric poetry and flarf in her kitchen. But she also talks about poetic forms as a response to the absurdity and insanity of our world, a way to cope with the craziness that we live in—and if a creative response isn’t a positive one, I don’t know what is.

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“Nighty night, little bunny rabbit.” -more looking back

“Nighty night, little bunny rabbit.” And we all go to sleep, dream, drip. My heart is racing. I am going to forget about men altogether right now and just create create create. I am miserable and a fiend, a total hyperactive freak. And the Goddess is not coming out. The Goddess is shrinking under me. […]

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1968 – How Does it Feel?

Fascinating interview covering topics of homosexuality, women, writing, aging . . . Mr. Crisp used to have breakfast frequently at a restaurant I worked at in the East Village. He was very generous.

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