Mark Phillips' Pages: Workbook: November 2003

Workbook: November, 2003

November 30, 2003: Kafka as the great coward in face of the world.
November 29, 2003: How the cat rubs her face on the end of my pen.
November 28, 2003: "I kicked out my roommate..."
November 27, 2003: "I still think of you as mine," she said.
November 26, 2003: "My therapist says it's healthy to fantasize during sex."
November 25, 2003: North Carolina Nouveau Riches.
November 24, 2003: The gentle undulation of the swells...
November 23, 2003: Blackmail.
November 22, 2003: "I'm not sure I even like sex..."
November 21, 2003: Death is only dream.
November 20, 2003: Ideology as filter.
November 19, 2003: The flowers she brought me...
November 18, 2003: She has a unique ability to invest the most mundane things with all the wonder of childhood, as if seeing for the first time through brand-new eyes.
November 17, 2003: "This is so much fun!"
November 16, 2003: Those kisses I remember with such sweet longing:
November 15, 2003: The burn scar on my lip.
November 14, 2003: Later we walked with arms around each other, or held hands.
November 13, 2003: Gasoline stop on the interstate.
November 12, 2003: And then the biggest little breakthrough in all this time.
November 11, 2003: It's like someone recorded me speaking my most secret fantasies aloud...
November 10, 2003: Looking up with soft doe eyes she said...
November 9, 2003: Shufen.
November 8, 2003: Small boy, dayschool.
November 7, 2003: Afternoon sunlight on a pasture outside Hebo, Oregon.
November 6, 2003: Like a little child, burying herself in me.
November 5, 2003: She took me to see her friends play, the local blues boys...
November 4, 2003: For two or three nanoseconds: lunchroom tables, voices, a blue and gray wash of everyday faces.
November 3, 2003: If I had the skill I'd draw a magic circle around her...
November 2, 2003: "You're like a constant slumber party."
November 1, 2003: The way she pronounces the word "all"...