[01 Oct 2004|11:55am] Goddamn. One more thing, just so you can say, "goddamn, Cora is mad crazy." And maybe, just maybe, I am. And P.S. This one's PORNY! Wee! Your long fingers again tracing the curvature of my breast and I, arching with impatience brushing your neck persuasively wih eager lips eyes wild, caught momentarily between restraint and recklessness 1 comment|post comment

[01 Oct 2004|11:39am] Okay, what the hell. Here's everything I'm currently working on, just for the sake of total soul-baring and in hopes of good counsel. 1] Your lips are reminders of everything I should have done today but didn't. And my mind melts a little falling out of my eyes and stinging your cheek. I can vaguely, faintly remember a time when I wasn't restless. An eight-year old girl in a harvard sweatshirt carefully piecing together... [I think I was called away from this mid-thought. Unfortunately, I seem to have forgotten to take note of the thought I was in the middle of. Thus I have no idea where I was going with this.] 2] Strangely enough, she hadn't seen him come in. bent over a sketchbook, her neck cramped from holding the position and waiting for a spark [not sure about phrasing here] he watched her there for a long time eyes sweeping over scraps of tweed, purple cotton and a bolt of printed something before coming to rest again on the exaggereated curve of her back. [Again, not quite sure where I'll go with this, but I really like the "crazy artist in a too-dark studio" feel happening here.] 3] In the late August dusk, I almost believe in heaven. Becasue of headstrong frat boys whipping a frisbee across the green, and the steady pressure of my newly painted bicycle. This, the best sort of night, is orange and I can feel the air on my hands. I'm wearing my favorite dress, the green paisley wrap, "a throwback to the seventies," purchased on a whim at a thrift store in Brooklyn. The worry that its kelly ties might catch in my spokes hasn't crossed my mind since early afternoon. [I think I actually thought this was done for a little while. Poor, silly, deluded Cora.] Any ideas/advice/candy will be gratefully considered. 2 comments|post comment

[01 Oct 2004|11:17am] These are too new to title. I remember the time I hit myself with the door of your silver-blue Taurus, astonished by the body's ability to block out pain and by the russet-stained sand of my parents' driveway my mother, the seasoned nurse, who turned squeamish at the sight of her daughter's blood and my father driving a steady seventy-five along the back roads of Hardwick while making sure I kept steady pressure over my ruptured eyelid and the weeks after I wore a hand made eye patch to cover the alarming bruises and stitched laceration and to keep my waning dignity intact ****************** Nathan and I hopeful under the jungle gym looking up through the rusted bars at the heavy August sky he laughs when i name August "the orange month" we wonder about this time next year how our shoes will pile in front of the door late-night movies are our sustenance and we wake with stiff necks and rise from our makeshift couch I touch his cheek remembering how we were in January practical which is a synonym for unhappy [to avoid confusion, this last one is only new in that I just finally finished it this past week. I started this one the summer after the beginning of Nate-n-Cora, sooo...summer of...2002? Yeah.] post comment

And something that may need a little work: [01 Dec 2003|07:30am] My hair is at my shoulders now and often, I touch my back where I wish my ponytail would hang. Can you see the metaphor in this? Pricing rents in Manhattan, you're far from alone. I push these words together, searching endlessly for the perfect synonym fo "loneliness," simply out of refusal to aknowledge the word, and to realize that my need for such a word is no one else's fault. Alright, parts I'm not sure about: --middle stanza - I think it may be lacking something, makig it a little confusing. --"no one else's fault" - just doesn't sound quite right. 3 comments|post comment

Something done: [01 Dec 2003|07:28am] There were nights when her chest would retain its soft blush for hours. When they were in the kitchen, she making hot cocoa and he, lemon ginger tea, he would touch her rosy cheek, marvelling at the peculiarities of the body. post comment

[25 Nov 2003|12:06pm] Why not do a little archiving, I say? ( Old Stuff ) See? I haven't always been at such a loss. 3 comments|post comment

[21 Nov 2003|01:13pm] I find that when I ride the red ten in the morning from the Springfield terminal all the way out to the small suburb of Westfield, there is less intrusion. I can fit my bags easily, and there is no one to talk to, no one to look at my naked feet and when I lick the edges of my pink marbled notebook, there is no one to imagine the multitudes of mental disorders with which I am afflicted. I can dance unabashedly, battered dicman loyally producing the music which I usually react to only with carefully restrained shoulders. The difference becomes apparent. Suck, suck, suck. It'll come back to me, I know it will. This is what I was born to do. Or something. 2 comments|post comment

[13 Nov 2003|05:16pm] Just finished. Or not. No title, because I suck at titling things. As it is, I don't know whether I'll be able to leave this place next year. My uncertainty holds me to a place too similar to everything that has come before. I fret, rubbing my thumb and forefinger togther until both are raw, and still I come to no conclusion. Should I leave in search of a more impermeable self, or is such a notion best left to the wishful musings of a dissatisfied woman? I can't imagine I've done enough to be called "woman," yet I know I want more. Critique, anyone? God, it's been too long. 3 comments|post comment

[12 Nov 2003|10:15pm] Right. So. This is my new journal. As stated in the info [which I'll probably change at some point, making this sentence nonsensical], it's for Writing. I don't know what to post first. post comment

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