‘The town is silent.
The night boils with eleven stars.
Oh starry starry night!’
[Anne Sexton]
Well here I am again with my little posts about stars; the thing I seem most keen to write about, along with winter.
And Woolf.
Falling deeper in love with celestial bodies.
Falling deeper in love with the bodies that write the self; the hands and the hearts and the heads that record those cotton wool moments & those great revelations of our existence with truth and tenderness.
This duality of existence to which Woolf speaks, how she feels that our task as writers is to navigate the relationship between the two, us rings like a beautiful bell for me right now.
I’ve been spending so much time with
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