http://www.negativespace.net/island-revival/ Can't quite get right. en Copyright 2008 Wed, 23 Apr 2008 08:55:18 -0800 http://www.sixapart.com/movabletype/ http://blogs.law.harvard.edu/tech/rss no more than three per second. This, of course, accounts for why we as individuals say dastardly things to one another when we're angry: we quite literally don't have the mental capacity to weigh the consequences, as our 2 - 6 other synapses have completely fucked off. I'm convinced that this is why I should NEVER write and post something when I'm upset. There's so much emotion flowing that I assume I'm writing beautiful, elegant prose, and articulating what has never quite been articulated before. In actual fact, I'm usually spouting cliche at an alarming rate. Unfortunately, my mental defenses against crap are weakened and I can't tell the difference. In short, this accounts for a rather weak start to the resurrection of my personal blog, in the form of some weepy Breakfast Dishes. I've decided to keep the post up (we must always remember our humble origins), but I have plans for this space that don't involve whiney personal lamentations. Really, I do...]]> http://www.negativespace.net/island-revival/archives/006391.html http://www.negativespace.net/island-revival/archives/006391.html Wed, 23 Apr 2008 08:55:18 -0800 I stand at the sink, where women go to mourn. As he leaves the kitchen I scrub the cutting board furiously, but as he clears the door I stop, and the tears, the fat tears, they roll off the edges of my cheeks. They roll off the tip of my nose and fall to my hands, now clasped above the soapy water. This is where women have said their prayers, dishes stacked around them like a shroud, their pew the steadying comfort of counter against belly. From here, buried in the pretense of women’s work, I escape bewildered eyes, and do not have to acknowledge what they confirm: I am alone. He and I share passion, we share a warm and pumping, vital heart, but we will never truly share our thoughts. My mind is mine, alone. The front door opens, slams behind my angry and sheepish lover, and I shake with sobs. Each dripping dish a lamentation for what we’ve lost. http://www.negativespace.net/island-revival/archives/006300.html http://www.negativespace.net/island-revival/archives/006300.html Sat, 01 Mar 2008 13:36:32 -0800