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

Humid Breath is pulled from my lungs. My throat goes hollow every time a howling fire truck wails down the street. My throat goes hollow, I could swallow those anxious faces peering from the fire truck wailing down the street. It would be safer in my mouth— I could swallow those anxious faces peering, despite […]

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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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