A New Year to Give Thanks

Happy New Year, Dear Friends. Like the last two years, 2018 was another tough one for many of us. I haven’t said much about that for me and had fallen silent of late.  I guess that’s because I have a tendency to close off when I’m deeply troubled. Aren’t we supposed to stay positive, feign anything but the sadness and fear we might feel? NO. WE. ARE. NOT. I can’t afford to do that at all. Nor can I hold back my gratitude and love. For this reason, I’m giving thanks today. My gratitude for life is lodged in my…

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Grrrl Chillin

Grrrl Chilling Studio by J.A. Kauppinen

As I sit down to write this #MondayBlog today, I realize I am late. However, I won’t worry about that. I’m getting one in long before Tuesday, which makes me happy. Speaking of joy, I feel good today. Why am I happy, you ask? Especially when: There are 540 fires burning in my province and, even in Vancouver, the air quality is BC’s worst in history and the worst in the world. I am stuck indoors in hot temperatures (no air con) because I don’t want to risk endangering my health any more than it already is. I would love…

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In Honour of My Friend Who Is In Stage Four – One of Her Favourite Poets

Fear Fear of seeing a police car pull into the drive. Fear of falling asleep at night. Fear of not falling asleep. Fear of the past rising up. Fear of the present taking flight. Fear of the telephone that rings in the dead of night. Fear of electrical storms. Fear of the cleaning woman who has a spot on her cheek! Fear of dogs I’ve been told won’t bite. Fear of anxiety! Fear of having to identify the body of a dead friend. Fear of running out of money. Fear of having too much, though people will not believe this….

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How Do You Change When You Are Writing? Part II

How do I change when I am writing? I become a person who knows with certainty that I am visible. My deeply rooted self-hatred takes a bit of a back seat when I witness myself. By word swapping, I force myself to see Terry as I would an undiscovered friend. Any lovable soul, scarred by betrayal (including by self), powerlessness, hurt, isolation and little hope. Unwittingly, I make friends with people who find some thread of commonality with me. Our worlds are often radically different but that does not stop us. Writers discover and thread themselves together in deep, lasting…

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Lean Into Me

As I stand small in my own forest, on the shaky feet of an infirm body, I close my eyes, pretending I am one of them. I hear the rustle of leaves, like a quiet shifting of papers on my desk, a pleasant sound to me. In that, I imagine they’re saying, “She’s okay, mate.” My body quakes but I still stand. My legs are like jelly. I wish for the power to maintain my balance, while I hear ‘Lean In’ whispered on the breeze. I do. Birds sing a familiar melody and I inhale deeply. I look around with…

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‘One Art’ by Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn’t hard to master; so many things  seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster.   Lose something every day. Accept the fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. The art of losing isn’t hard to master.   Then practice losing farther; losing faster: places, and names, and where it was you meant to travel. None of these will bring disaster.   I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or next-to-last, of three loved houses went. The art of losing isn’t hard to master.   I…

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Hold On – A New Blog Post from My Story Our Story

  I cannot hold on to old humiliations. I cannot let them seep into present-day interactions with friends, colleagues or my spouse. When I write these thoughts and feelings, they startle me with their power. They frighten me by their power. I cower and writhe under scrutiny from their power. Sunday evening, I fell prey to that might. My defences were down. Stress and defeat had tired me out. Suddenly, I was hit by an onslaught of subconscious memories. The sting of a fresh welt. A creaking bed. Stepfather grating my nerves raw. Laughing. My cheeks flushing hotly over an…

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I Want A 24 Hour Truce During Which There Is No Rape – Andrea Dworkin

Copyright © 1984, 1988, 1993 by Andrea Dworkin. All rights reserved. This was a speech given at the Midwest Regional Conference of the National Organization for Changing Men in the fall of 1983 in St Paul, Minnesota. One of the organizers kindly sent me a tape and a transcript of my speech. The magazine of the men’s movement, M., published it. I was teaching in Minneapolis. This was before Catharine MacKinnon and I had proposed or developed the civil rights approach to pornography as a legislative strategy. Lots of people were in the audience who later became key players in…

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Cafe Paranoia – Terry Gibson

What do you want? What is it you want? As your amethyst eyes Slither over my face Paw my neckline Denting my nonchalance My demeanour so cool – You’d swear I drank milk. What do you want? What is it you want? Do you assume me Your answer, so easily? Nanny, lost sister, Your ‘other half’ gone missing So vital but unnoticed Till you’re about forty-three. What do you want? I must know what you want! As you approach me with gall, Crossing unspeakable lines– At last the secret spills From a so-kissable mouth What is it you want? Aw,…

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The Salt God’s Daughter – Ilie Ruby

5.0 out of 5 stars Do Not Miss This Book, October 17, 2012 By TD Gibson “T. Gibson” This review is from: The Salt God’s Daughter (Hardcover) The Salt God’s Daughter, Ilie Ruby’s latest novel, is set in the 1970s in Long Beach, California, on the frigid, mysterious and unassuming Pacific Ocean. With remarkable diction and cadence, Ruby has skilfully sculpted an epic tale about the lives of three generations of women and written it with such eloquence, the pages often sang to me, leaving me salt-drenched, feeling protected by fuchsia bougainvilleas, and in a state of breathlessness. From the…

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