I’m too smart for you. You’d have to carry around a dictionary constantly. It would get heavy. “But you’re my dictionary. I can just ask you what you mean every time you speak.” I’m just saying, you’re barely literate! And I’m a writer. How would that work? You wouldn’t be able to read my books, [...]
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An Urban Hermit can’t afford to be squeamish. I mean, if I’m a journalist of LIFE, you know, really diggin’ into the nitty gritty, the creaks and cracks and crevasses of this thing called The Human Experience, then that means I have to see it all. Even the seedy underbelly. It was meant to be [...]
Read More» Posted by Isabell'a-museHe never wrote a song about me. Not one. Not even a note, which he might have carried to me in a small, brown paper bag and deposited on the doorstep, where, of course, I might have looked upon it, feeling trepidacious. Percussion: Djembes with their high gloss sheen, ropes swelling over bulbous bodies—Gatam, clay [...]
Read More» Posted by Isabell'a-museI / There is no husband for this would-be wife, kerchief-absent, broom stilled in the corner, empty oven—cavernous affair of crumbs so black they disappear in the cold depth— cast-off life. Words pass over the wires, electric with grief— the absolute absence of man, hand-holding, hugs, good morning wishes as the sun dapples stippled ceilings [...]
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