Monday, June 29, 2009
my blackbird dress
Sunday, June 28, 2009
tigers and cupcake sheets
Sunday, June 21, 2009
The Language of Foxtrot
Friday, June 19, 2009
junko revival
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Monday, June 15, 2009
a yellow book opened
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Lady sings the blues so well.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
On the right day, the hundred acre woods could seem like thousand acre woods.
Friday, June 12, 2009
my live-action natural history museum
Saturday, June 6, 2009
animal and light
She was wearing a British postage stamp as a beauty mark. One day, watching the postman fill the boxes, she’d realized that the stamp was the perfect signal for movement- it sailed paper from one place to another with beautiful precision. And it was more original than a mole.
‘Queen Elizabeth,’ she said.”
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“When she’d seen the bird in the window of the pet store on Patchin Place, the yellow feathers like loud singing in the morning, the sassy little beak, full of bird obscenities, she’d decided she needed him, a light to flutter in the corner of her room, a tiny beaming heartbeat. "
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“He had not loved her, yet she’d made a gift from this lack.”
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“’Wayne Caldwell was right – the poems are small explosions,’ said Jane. Her accent was plain and low, as if she were flattening the words so that she could speak more rapidly.
‘They’re the lingerie of English,’ said Margaret. She spoke as if she were mocking bells, her high voice ringing out and then lingering. ‘Hidden close to the body. One would have to know how to unbutton in order to read them properly.’”
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"For now the only way Elsa could reach Franz was her correspondence, but it consoled her to tell him everything. She resolved to be surgically precise in her dealings with him, to get rid of every duplicity that she’d harbored in herself."
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“...the marching band’s shiny tuba like a bright sea creature”
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"The things she wrote were like private little mirrors, phrases only she would recognize, rhythms she’d heard one day but couldn’t recall later.”
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“She was writing entire books of desire, words with colors and smells.”
(all quotes from Holy Skirts by Rene Steinke)