�to write is to descend, to excavate, to go underground.�do I need excuses? perhaps I do. after all I copied the quotes here, didn�t I? next, a quote and thought that i am wading and sifting through.
�we write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospection.�
�anxiety is love�s greatest killer. it makes one feel as you might when a drowning man holds unto you. you want to save him, but you know he will strangle you with his panic.�
�Man can never know the kind of loneliness a woman knows. Man lies in a woman's womb only to gather strength, he nourishes himself from this fusion, and then he rises and goes into the world, into his work, into battle, into art. He is not lonely. He is busy. The memory of the swim in amniotic fluid gives him energy, completion. The woman may be busy too, but she feels empty. Sensuality for her is not only a wave of pleasure in which she has bathed, and a charge of electric joy at contact with another. When man lies in her womb, she is fulfilled, each act of love, a taking of man within her, an act of birth and rebirth, of child-bearing and man-bearing. Man lies in her womb and is reborn each time anew with a desire to act, to BE. But for woman, the climax is not in the birth, but in the moment the man rests inside of her.�i suppose, in one sense, this is an answer, that i wasn't aware was out there already--at least not in the form that i was expecting to see it--to a question i had once posed. a thought that i once held, a small marble in the center of my closing palms. i must answer this question. i must keep answering this question because it is the fabric of who i am. being the only child and a girl raised by the love and attention of two people. the mother who was stern, more often when i was young, and the father who was my hero. i am, sometimes, so divided by elements and action--by emotion and thought, strengths and weaknesses, sex and sex. duality embedded in gender and gender roles. i avoid talking about it, naturally, but its there. i avoid politics, but its there. a creature screaming wildly and carving new places inside this vessel, from which to hear itself echoing. because i like the idea of (or maybe what i mean is that i like the image these suggestions produce in me when i say what i say): the force of sound, a felt sensation and unseen, responsible for pressing visible dents into bodies, prone and awful. sorry. somehow i became unhitched from the train that held my (initial) thoughts on the quoted lines above. what i started out with, some years ago, was the question i posed to myself (which was taken from someone i've now forgotten and then altered, of course, by me): men have the luxury of solitude and all the gifts that singularity can bring. all the wisdom that a man who can and does choose himself.. "and all of a man's single adventures", i often found myself saying it over and again, to myself, in hushed speech. obsessively. i have drawn no conclusions, niether have i stopped the meditations..but i must leave it, for now or another day to come along. i must leave it, the water having been stirred and churned and furious. [quotations from anais nin]
10:23 - Sunday, Feb. 27, 2005
Recent entries:
oday.html">the 3 month countdown begins - 05 May 2018
anothrburst.html">another burst - this used to be my playground
newlife.html">begin at the beginning. - 10 April 2008
moody.html">a blanket for a bad mood under the sun. - 25 March 2007
emilludwig.html">...kissing a fool... - 05 December 2006
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