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Tag Archives: Abigail George
Gulf, I am apprehending the riverbed stream of this river’s language. I am in mourning for what I have lost, and the world has lost. I think to myself what a wonderful arriving. What an auspicious beginning flowers have, the … Continue reading
Time wasted by distractions gives you an unplanned day. The clouds look uniform enough from where I am standing. You lose time worrying about the things you have to do. Like for instance, concern about fatigue. Being an outsider, and … Continue reading
I am Emily Dickinson’s winter revisited in Amherst-land. I am so more aware of age and getting older than I have ever been. Czech- hair as bright as the invincible sun. State of volcano inferno in his eyes. Homer, Goethe, … Continue reading
The veil and the green curtain of grass falls away during the vertigo of nightfall. I am still, composed like the poets of Russia, or, the poets during the revolution. The gulls hover as if they know something about the … Continue reading
I live on a nowhere-island as if I am surrounded by velvet monkeys. I try to monkey-eat understanding things, and monkey-work the stigma, mentalism, matter out of my system, monkey-see my so-called mum being her own person, loving us although … Continue reading
I think of the divided self of Jean Rhys in Dominica, her invisible self in London, and the depth, scope, scale of her writing: What was achievable in her lifetime is achievable now, the winter’s tale of Jean Rhys, and … Continue reading