Sunday, May 29, 2016

the voice

The voice.
The voice is the implement of rage.
Once you can let that rage from your hips hurtle out past your open throat in an inchoate roar into the universe, you can drop into the grief that inevitably comes after. I think grief is a music that shakes up the ribs, the abdomen. And when that is done, you can drop into the softness of your heart; find words to love with, words to fuck with, words to make peace with.

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