In the foreign lexicon, there is a word for space. It opens, and carpenter ants file out, forward momentum of the villain and the god. Middle-class ennui lacks stakes. What will advance the plot, save for Archimedes’ proof, the caves
Anatomical Gift
The happiness of six slow women is dependent upon me. That is what I tell myself, while driving to work, where I provide succor to tired families responsible for the full-time care of their mentally challenged adult daughters, dropped off
Après Moi le Déluge
I’m a DJ. Weddings, funerals, mostly. The occasional bat or bar mizvah. The latter being way more fun. Young Jewish girls are not encouraged (are they ever?) to kick up their heels, let down their hair, and, propriety be damned,
Somatic Writing: A Breath or Battery-Fueled Life?
Repetition is the only form of permanence that Nature can achieve.–George SantayanaOur work now is to embody intelligence.–Eve Ensler Yoga (“to yoke, or join”): the art of union, not the fetish of fragmentation, between breath and movement. A commitment to
Romance of the Hand and Thumb
It is a pity it is evening, Li Po:would that we could all sit,cracking brazil nuts and muckracking with the moon.And yet look! The supinated limbs of factory laborers, sewing buttons onto starched shirts untilnimble fingers bleed, reattachto wrists, arms,
Dolores Haze’s Love Letter to the World
The crepe de chine of my floor-lengthgown dusts the corridor through whichI pass, en route to the governor’s ball,glass of Crémant d’Alsace in myfusilladed hand. Were this anopera, the flautist would bepoised, instrument aloft,in the orchestral pit:as it stands, it’s