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The clearest joy
is the ceasing of great pain.
When the iron bell rises from the head,
when the clanging shock subsides along the nerves,
when the body slides free
like a worm from a hook,
how the putrid city air
bubbles in the lungs.
Light glides in honey over the eyes.
The austere ceiling is made of meringue.
The body uncoils, uncoils
wonderfully empty like a lily.
Breathing is dancing.
Dumbly and wholly
like the basil plant on the sill
I lift my nose into the sun.
-Marge Piercy

Hokay. This Monday I'm going to be part of a demonstration in NY by the lovely gentleman mentioned in the 'Secretary' entry some time ago, called "Humiliation for Fun and Profit." To prepare, we had a discussion yesterday about what to expect and while it's always interesting to talk with him, I didn't expect the conversation to be so, er, spot-on. Instrospective. A bit painful. Cut for a snippet of the conversation. Nothing too bad, I don't think. And no NWS photos! )

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myblackeyedfire

January 2016

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