Twenty answers without questions

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Sixteen, in the bathroom, with a safety pin, one afternoon

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In my room at night, the light on, weeping - waiting for my mother no longer to be drunk outside

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More times than I can count

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Myself, with a pair of scissors, in my room one night. It took a while, to go that deep

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No, never. Until now

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Various stories: a nail on the wall coming down the carriage house stairs; a broken bottle in a fight

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Be him. But I would rather not choose

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That amazing self-sufficiency. However illusory it may be

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Curry and Ginger. They were sisters. Once they fell from the second story window, into a bush

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Voraciousness, or desire. And the inability to contain it, to keep it within bounds

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One of two: Building a fort in the backyard out of snow during a blizzard, though I think this may be a false one because I remember there being a lit bulb in its ceiling, and that can't be right. Or: going to the doctor after a little girl at nursery school had slammed my head into a brick wall and I had to get stitches above my eye. I remember getting candy, and tape over the stitches, but that, too, could be a fabrication from things I was later told

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Remarkably little, I think, compared to most people. But then, that is true even today. Books, movies, you name it. It's amazing, particularly for someone in my line of work

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My own mind, and the minds of others. Really, I think it's a draw

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Words

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Space, or the physical world

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To desire above all something that I can control, or that at least no one else controls

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Men. Which irritates me to no end

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For as long as I can remember

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Kristine

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The way they are, so in love with each other, lying on the floor together. The graying head on the pillow. So many green sweaters. The morning-after bruises. Childhood friends, still. How the bike meanders home across town, post to post over the course of days. Such a mess at 2am, bearing candy, cigarettes, a lighter. Comparing hands. The manner of moving through a grocery store: wandering, cart at the end of the aisle. Walking late at night toward home past all the crack people and knowing that no one will touch us. That ability to make or fix anything. Meteor shower, sheet on the grass, heating pad. Odd sandals and mismatched socks. The lists that cover the walls. The crack pipe rose and gas station tattoos. So many ideas. The all-American family by the sea: stars, science, puppy, recliner, vegetable garden. The beautiful terrible arms. No one thing. Everything.

 

- Kleine Fliege