Week 25
Carina at work Friday telling me we don't exist. Kathy doesn't exist, Carina doesn't exist, Carrie doesn't exist.
Listening for all the new sounds.
Dream of steps made of sand, in the water.
Because we are a subject matter.
I have so much to say and when the time comes I say nothing.
Lucy and Lucy and Lucy and Lucy
The books are kicking out the clothes.
Fucking up your marketing campaign on purpose.
Changed the sheets in middle of the night, after discovering I'd spilled ice cream all over them.
Stretching out the silences slightly longer.
Behind the carousel, or part of the carousel?
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About Diary of a 36th Year
I started writing in a paper journal right after my 36th birthday in October, 2008; it has become a collage of scrapbooking, diary writing, a lady's common place book, printed out web articles and blog entries, photos and pictures, poems, dreams, emails, lists, receipts, found items... What is excerpted here is the less embarrassing, and more textual fragments thereof.
Never, never forgetting Anais Nin, with an eye toward Joanne Kyger's journals & journal poems, and remembering Virginia Woolf's insistence that everything must be documented, the diary blog is a palimpsest of new narrative, old narrative, and post modern collage styles.
Updated every Sunday.
Never, never forgetting Anais Nin, with an eye toward Joanne Kyger's journals & journal poems, and remembering Virginia Woolf's insistence that everything must be documented, the diary blog is a palimpsest of new narrative, old narrative, and post modern collage styles.
Updated every Sunday.
