pregnant antediluvian moment

Hortensia

Extremely primitive or outmoded is what he called me, as if what I say and do really matters.

I was born in Chickamaw with an archery practice arrow through my foot.

There were groups of ladies in peculiar Neo-Gothic rooms who betrayed the generals who themselves were busy with warlike appurtenances (such as throwing axes) in the morning hours before anyone’s swollen belly could complain or break open with vermiculite parasites named Hortensia.

The light was particularly bad in the rooms and coyotes could be heard waiting down the hall near the bathroom.

So get your facts correct and your ducks in the basement row because we’re waiting on that pregnant antediluvian moment when the first drop is heard.

Before the first shot is fired…

“Pay attention. It’s all about paying attention. It’s all about taking in as much of what’s out there as you can, and not letting the excuses and the dreariness of some of the obligations you’ll soon be incurring narrow your lives. Attention is vitality. It connects you with others. It makes you eager. Stay eager.”

— Susan Sontag

About istsfor manity

i'm a truncated word-person looking for an assemblage of extracted teeth in a tent full of mosquitoes (and currently writing a novel without writing a novel word) and pulling nothing but the difficult out of the top hat while the bunny munches grass in the hallway. you might say: i’m thee asynchronous voice over in search of a film....
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