“What is one person’s betrayal in all of that?” -- This story is full of mystery and evasion, but there’s no escaping its pain. The strategy of not-telling is bold. The speaker can’t change what happened but tries to give it tolerable perspective; feels blame but doesn’t want to tell the story in a way that puts blame in the center. Inventive and artful. I hope you are having a generative retreat!
How? Really, how how how did you DO this? It’s stunning, breathtaking. So many winking stars of beauty, like this one: “This is the inverse of deja vu, where something novel seems to be already known, instead what is known has become unrecognizable.”
"The island I live on has been cleft, it has become a pair of islands that no longer know each other. It was done with a wooden spoon, the kind that every kitchen has, a well-used spoon, softened by a thousand pots of spaghetti sauce, a spoon in the hand of a child. It was not one spoon, but two, and it was not one child, but twins." That's just such a beautiful passage, in a tender, thought provoking piece.
This is quite unlike anything I've read. I felt like I was reading a painting. Guernica.
“What is one person’s betrayal in all of that?” -- This story is full of mystery and evasion, but there’s no escaping its pain. The strategy of not-telling is bold. The speaker can’t change what happened but tries to give it tolerable perspective; feels blame but doesn’t want to tell the story in a way that puts blame in the center. Inventive and artful. I hope you are having a generative retreat!
"I had been writing a poem with my body in space." All this..
How? Really, how how how did you DO this? It’s stunning, breathtaking. So many winking stars of beauty, like this one: “This is the inverse of deja vu, where something novel seems to be already known, instead what is known has become unrecognizable.”
The trust you show here. I’m in awe.
"The island I live on has been cleft, it has become a pair of islands that no longer know each other. It was done with a wooden spoon, the kind that every kitchen has, a well-used spoon, softened by a thousand pots of spaghetti sauce, a spoon in the hand of a child. It was not one spoon, but two, and it was not one child, but twins." That's just such a beautiful passage, in a tender, thought provoking piece.