Maybe I feel Miranda July is an entity?
So, I stopped going to my therapist?
Off all medicine, strangely enough, can you identify the difference?
If love isn’t an ambition, I would indeed rather be pickling.
Friends in need are friends indeed, because.
"A NOTE ON READING
Reading as a writer is different than reading as a scholar. You read as a writer to steal. Everything you read should be a potential exploit, something you can learn and draw from. Obviously, that’s the point of this class. I don’t need you to understand every word. I don’t even need to understand the plot: I just want you to use Joyce’s astute punctuation as a lens to understand—differently—this complex and important text.”
From this syllabus: http://htmlgiant.com/vicarious-mfa/syllabus-share-2/
Fairly insulted; a proper dedication to a man who died in Delirium tremens, 6 fingers of Scotch was awwwed (shock of Awwww) and appreciated by a single New Yorker(?) who wanted and took the time to talk about the statue(action figure?) with me.
We discussed the works attributed to the statue(?) ‘‘The Raven,’’ ‘’The Pit and the Pendulum,’’ ‘’The Masque of the Red Death’’ and ‘‘The Tell-Tale Heart.’’ We also discussed the Magical Realism inspired by Poe in Spain during the Revolution.
The conversation ended in a talk about how far “Americans” live away from the spirit realm, and how odd it is for her countryman(the Irish) to hear a call from her. She is in touch with the spiritual energy that reigns our world, as she tells it, and bad feelings, dreams, premonitions, correlate to phone calls home. As she said she woke in a sweat, quickly feeling the desire to call home, “a banshee has visited, I needed to reach my family.” Telephoning she reached many members of her family, “everything is fine, no one is unwell, we are all safe.” The unanimous reply. The following morning this poor woman with a premonition awoke. Her voicemail flooded. Across the Atlantic her family members had been calling to tell her that an uncle, staying in London was in a severe car accident.
We must not forget we step on Earth, that nothing matters, that we are all connected. This is why I laid my offering for Poe, with a few sips of scotch would have lived, with a little nourishment would have returned, and with a little connection would have written again.
No one knows it is my birthday. It is my Birthday, my mom did all the work. I worked roughly nine months earlier; maybe (a part of me.)
No one should know, I could send my mom a thank you, and apology, but I am doing what I should do, getting more cynical, drinking, being contrary, sleeping.
Remarkable things did happen though. I breakfasted with my dad, I found a bicycle wheel for the bike I’ve been building for the past year, Joe, an old boss recognized me and said he’d like me to return to the company.
Things happen on your birthday. They could happen any day, but on a birthday they carry the import of being remarkable. I always recognize my birthday, people always said Happy Birthday on Facebook, when I did that, a birthday is a reflective day. Absolutely not a day of recognition, recognition is reserved for death.