last night, again, the house so vivid, so immediate, so physical, so real i said to myself, "Oh my god, I'm here. I'm back in the house
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(sometimes i find myself an audience member of the book, too, and it's never enough when you have to look at the poem you've written for confirmation of a feeling; it only works with someone else's poem.)
A writer out of loneliness is trying to communicate like a distant star sending out signals. He isn’t telling or teaching or ordering. Rather he seeks to establish a relationship of meaning, of feeling, of observing. We are lonesome animals. We spend all our lives trying to be less lonesome. One of our ancient methods is to tell a story, begging the listener to say-and to feel-“Yes, that’s the way it is, or at least that’s the way I feel it. You’re not as alone as you thought.”
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lovelovelove.
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(sometimes i find myself an audience member of the book, too, and it's never enough when you have to look at the poem you've written for confirmation of a feeling; it only works with someone else's poem.)
Reply
http://90north.livejournal.com/312876.html
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A writer out of loneliness is trying to communicate like a distant star sending out signals. He isn’t telling or teaching or ordering. Rather he seeks to establish a relationship of meaning, of feeling, of observing. We are lonesome animals. We spend all our lives trying to be less lonesome. One of our ancient methods is to tell a story, begging the listener to say-and to feel-“Yes, that’s the way it is, or at least that’s the way I feel it. You’re not as alone as you thought.”
Reply
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