Avi Steinberg in The New Yorker
Blogging has added a new vex to my writing life, which was fraught with self doubt, paranoia, crippling disappointment at one's own limitations, anyway; and with, the rarer, fleeting bubbles of pure, adulterated, joy when everything comes together, or so you think until the sun comes up and you reread the previous night's blubber with a what was I thinking? sort of detached, persona non grata bemusement.
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After Love There is no magic any more, We meet as other people do, You work no miracle for me Nor I ...
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After Love There is no magic any more, We meet as other people do, You work no miracle for me Nor I ... -
Dickinson Of all the lives I cannot live, I have elected one to haunt me till the margins give and I am left alone. One life will vanish fro...
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