The Throughline

once active blogging begins, this is the thread, as current as I can make it

Oh, Baba Yaga: A Good Score Is Between 40 and 60

The Throughline, Thoughts

I love that my soul is in ten sweeping universes as we speak. I love that however terrible forty-five minutes can go, a weekend approaches. With dancing and ill, malformed, delighted wiggling and sweet wine. I love that there is purple hair dye in my bathroom calling me. I love that silk robe that seems to make the world on my shoulders feel escapable by parachute. I love the kind whispers saying the kind words, all done as if we’re in a film noir. I love that I saved myself. I love that I knew what to do and did it. I love that I am willing to throw myself into the fire and burn myself to bones for a good idea. I love that piercing eye.

The Strid

The Throughline, Thoughts

It would be a dangerous thing. Dangerous in that it would convince me, perhaps convince others who might take me as an object lesson, that…

Hard Livin’ in Bitch City

Old Lessons, The Throughline, Thoughts

So mad they have chase me, they have to catch me, hold me down to screw my jaws shut and then I want to scream so hard I pull the wires apart like some kind of maniac. Break out of there like metal is paper. Like Aeolian gusts are taking hold of my throat. Banshees’ll need earplugs. Like I want to break out of a straitjacket and roam the streets howling and kicking soft things in their faces.

Lily

The Throughline, Thoughts

She didn’t do anything more than the least required of her: be warm, be sweet, caper about a bit, and live. Standard.