July 27-31, 2012
“I need you the way living things need food or the grass needs rain, and to attain the peace that only you can give me, I fight with myself the way a miser struggles with his wealth. One moment he enjoys his wealth proudly, and the next he’s worried that someone from those thieving times will steal his treasure. One moment I think it’s best to be alone with you, but then I think it would be better if the rest of the world could see my pleasure. At times I feel oversatisfied from looking at you excessively, but a little later I’m starving to get a look at you. I can’t experience or pursue any enjoyment except what you give me or I can take from you. That’s why I suffer and feel hungry day after day, because I either get too much of you or none at all.”
July 26, 2012
“dreaming, surely I dream now: I can still shake my hair down long and billowing like waves upon the sea, how tender I am how fair I can see in the reflection of water and shield and a man’s eyes, and his softer hair makes no difference I still turn a man to stone who looks at me, the part of him that snakes inside me, a clefting of stone, and my body weeps the sea…”
July 25, 2012
“…the voices begin to speak not in my head not in the place where I think but in my ear directly in my fingertips a computer screen before me the clatter of keys like tiny clawed feet running in a wall, come to me little ones nibble from my hands snuggle into my pockets and curl your naked tails in peace like these words already fixed and bound and tucked beneath my arm, half a dozen autographs signed tonight and thanks for buying my book I step into the elevator and I am alone and the air buzzes in silence and I consult the crap of paper in my pocket to see where I belong and I push the button and down the hall there are voices agitated ardent full of yearning and i lean forward and i stick my head out to listen”
July 24, 2012
“A definition not found in the dictionary:
Not leaving: an act of trust and love,
often deciphered by children.”
July 21, 22, 23, 2012
“People observe the colors of a day only at its beginning and ends, but to me it’s quiteclear that a day merges throughout a multitude of shades and intonations, with each passing moment. A single hour can consist of thousands of different colors. Waxy yellows, cloud-spat blues. Murky darkness. In my line of work, I make it a point to notice them.”
July 19, 2012
ShrinkLits by Maurice Sagoff
Alice in Wonderland
July 18, 2012
I do not like my state of mind;
I’m bitter, querulous, unkind.
I hate my legs, I hate my hands,
I do not yearn for lovelier lands.
I dread the dawn’s recurrent light;
I hate to go to bed at night.
I snoot at simple, earnest folk.
I cannot take the gentlest joke.
I find no peace in paint nor type.
My world is but a lot of tripe.
I’m disillusioned, empty-breasted.
For what I think, I’d be arrested.
I am not sick, I am not well.
My quondam dreams are shot to hell.
My soul is crushed, my spirit sore;
I do not like me any more.
I cavil, quarrel, grumble, grouse.
I ponder on the narrow house.
I shudder at the thought of men.
I’m due to fall in love again.