Any fragment of my body given from the outside must be experienced ... by me from within myself, and it is only through this experiencing from within that it can be rendered part of myself, part of my once occurrent unity.
My memory is trimmed with Christmases at my grandparent’s home. Traditions wrapped in love mound under the tree.
Christmas won't be the holiday it once was, staying home all day in pjs, curled up with cat, watching Christmas movies, and eating per no schedule nor health. I am thankful God graces me with celebrating as I know how right now.
This is the first in a series of three stories written by a child who knows the abuse of parents and the spark of writing.
In the 19th century, the Paris morgue was a building where bodies were laid out for exposure to the public, originally for identification.
Blessed are the weird people: poets, misfits, writers, mystics, painters, troubadours for they teach us to see the world through different eyes. ~Jacob Nordby
We are a people who want to believe the extraordinary.