source: geapress |
girlSentimental
I
remember lying under you on that bathroom floor as we slowly reverted back
into human form.
You
felt so warm, so close, so utterly tender as you whispered, “We’d make a good
couple… don’t you think?”
I
said, “You must never, ever leave your wife.”
“Why
not? Don’t you want to be with me?”
“Because
without her you would die,” I said, feeling more wedded to you than ever.
Was
it hard to give you up? No, because I love you. (Something neither of my alleged
husbands found the strength to do while there was still time to, you know: end it honorably.)
Women
chew up their lives trying to heal themselves from the bad arrangements they’ve
made with men
says lorrie moore (lorrie te amo)
my arrangement with you being the only one I still draw
strength from after all these years; and this must be why a part of you comes out of me in these lines from time to time.
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the mystery of interspecies love
from cambodia to cannes!
A temporary trailer for the new feature film by Ilaria Borrelli and Guido Freddi, Talking to the Trees. One woman's quest to rescue the child her husband had abused in a brothel and return her home to her village. The film will have its first industry screening during Cannes 2012. Trailer by Antony Ford, music by Winter People.
producer GUIDO FREDDI director ILARIA BORRELLI cinematographer DAVID GARCIA VLASITS
editor MARIE CASTRO music GUIDO FREDDI production designer PIETRO FREDDI sound DUCCIO SERVI
script supervisor STEFANIA FUMO second AD PIPHALLAREE CHAMPA first AC ALEXANDER ROBINSON
and this is us, with our heroic Cambodian crew:
you'll find me in a berlin bar in a corner brooding
The only true paradise is the one we've lost and regained. I sit on the balcony with the pale early spring sun on my bare skin
as the first bee of the season in this northern city hovers in front of my face,
drawn by christopher’s lavender perhaps, all the way from the park threading along
the nearby canal with its ducks and swans,
which I can see from here as I look out over the wide gritty
avenue, at the gigantic mural on the side of the ex red brick factory across
the empty lot where a muscular old lady in a parka watches her rottweiler nosing
around gently in the unkempt grass and a lone sapling stretches a silvery crown
of leaves towards the sky,
and rickety vintage café tables spill out onto the sidewalks which
are interspersed at regular intervals with thickets of parked bicycles, across the street the age-old rock and roll club spells Lido in cursive blue
and it’s all as seamless and specific, as familiar and serene to me as Avenue C, as though I never left, or had just this moment returned, and I go very quiet as I listen to the city's heart, which is glamorous and louche as suzanne would say, also radical and mellow, welcoming and courageous, transgressive and civilized, and it's beating so very close to me, something special indeed.
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