HOLD ON TIGHT

HE SAID, MARIE, MARIE, HOLD ON TIGHT And when we were children, staying at the archduke's, My cousin's, he took me out on a sled, And I was frightened. He said, Marie, Marie, hold on tight. And down we went. In the mountains, there you feel free. I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter. ~ The Waste Land, "The Burial of The Dead", Eliot Saturday, December 08, 2007 strangely familiar i usually open the windows of my room. outside the fallen snow is crisp. and the sounds outside seem strangely familiar. where am i? new york? singapore? there is traffic from rt 79, certain people singing. i wrote something for my sister today, conversations about love, sex, parents and death. i will bind it and illustrate it. in one a girl talks to her dog, and asks why, it choses only to speak to her when it is dying. it replies, am i really talking to you, or is it your voice you are hearing for the first time? it could be quite a pretty book. i wish someone wrote those sentences to me when i was her age--especially those about sex and love. posted by dawn # 7:54 PM Comments: write something for me too lar. pak # posted by Anonymous : 1:13 PM Post a Comment << Home		[publishing] Publishers Weekly . Dystel & Goderich . New York Center for Independent Publishing . Association of American University Presses . Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators [people] clarisse . nurul . aunty zarina (ummi's bakery) . jeremy . pak . cyril . softblow . karen & kenny (booksactually) . eric . joel . [other loves] digitaljournalist . ballet dictionary . poetshouse . urbanwordnyc [me] dawn, singapore, new york city, ithaca. [yesterday] groundhogs week in review announcements! like engines snow under streetlight trauma and the heart breathe pretty the memory of a goldfish letter to yantai [archives] January 2007 February 2007 March 2007 April 2007 May 2007 July 2007 August 2007 September 2007 October 2007 November 2007 December 2007 January 2008 February 2008 March 2008 April 2008 May 2008 June 2008 July 2008 August 2008 September 2008 October 2008 November 2008 December 2008 January 2009 February 2009

HE SAID, MARIE, MARIE, HOLD ON TIGHT

And when we were children, staying at the archduke's,
My cousin's, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.

~ The Waste Land, "The Burial of The Dead", Eliot

Saturday, December 08, 2007

strangely familiar

i usually open the windows of my room. outside the fallen snow is crisp. and the sounds outside seem strangely familiar. where am i? new york? singapore? there is traffic from rt 79, certain people singing.

i wrote something for my sister today, conversations about love, sex, parents and death. i will bind it and illustrate it. in one a girl talks to her dog, and asks why, it choses only to speak to her when it is dying. it replies, am i really talking to you, or is it your voice you are hearing for the first time? it could be quite a pretty book. i wish someone wrote those sentences to me when i was her age--especially those about sex and love.

posted by dawn # 7:54 PM

Comments:

write something for me too lar.

pak

# posted by

Anonymous : 1:13 PM