Angela Bocage


These days

Difficult times. To get my blog happening again, went back and took out a lot of the stupid innocent happy things I wrote in the late  ‘oughties, replacing w brief observations. A couple I left as is or only abridged.

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WIPs

– House Haunted and Ablaze


Write to forget

And be forgotten, like a desert hermit. (They actually had nifty tiny underground studio apts)


You are an adult when…

You can take a joyful bath with another person and no one yells at you for splashing


Need to dispatch an earworm?

Try “Some Other Time” by X


Comparison is only going to be depressing

Don’t compare the roller-coaster careen of one’s own life to anyone else’s. What seems devastating may well have saved you.


Do you love someone who’s an artist?

Play them Mal Blum’s song, ‘For Making Art’


Morning Has Broken

Is old Episcopalian hymn #8, the woman poet Eleanor Farjeon wrote it, and another woman poet, my late, beloved aunt played it beautifully on piano.


There is an age—

YMMV—after which one is far less inclined to indulge bullshit.


Why arachnophobia?

 

I started wondering why. Is it that they can appear so suddenly? There’s the dropping down on you on a little thread thing. But is it mostly the fact that something that can touch you so softly can then stab you with burning and possibly fatal pain?


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