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Alice's avatar

I jotted this down in about 2 minutes so I wouldn't over think it. So here goes. It's from the novel "My Life as a Rat" by Joyce Carol Oates.

“Turning his eyes from her, the bloated white belly, flaccid thighs, breast like a cow’s udders.”

Can’t escape the indelible image

I cringe at the thought

Maybe return to the Motherland

Get drunk and forget it all

No patience for fatherhood

It’s not my fault

But possibly my flaw

Lost in the path of what might have been…but isn’t

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Tracy Bachman's avatar

From Pamela Lu’s Ambient Parking Lot

“We found ourselves standing in a mini-mall amidst a crowd of blasé evening shoppers, mere blocks away from the park”(8).

The potential for nothing or trouble is always present.

It’s not more sleep that I need but rest—real rest.

The kind that happens in an afternoon nap—guiltless.

The music I make will never be heard.

That was never the point.

Cannot continue because the women I have been writing about have changed so much that it is hard to know where to restart or begin again.

Patsy is dead. Maria has possibly become more destructive in some sense as she seems to have nothing to lose.

I do not want her to die—the suicide thing could change—and I could focus more on aging.

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