Wednesday, July 30, 2008

Parts of her are disappearing slowly. What used to be mine…swallowed inside the gyrating hole of another being. Can I have a piece? Of what used to be mine? She takes what she’s given me and gives it to somebody else. Living in chains of donation. He can have my physicality until I withdraw, pass it on. He’s not done with me emotionally, until she comes along with the sweeping hair and long heart. Giving parts of ourselves away like a game of telephone…transmitted through the line…always distorted on the other end.

4 comments:

Julia said...

What I like about your writings in general is that I feel as if it's exaggerated, in a very good way.

"gyrating hole", "long heart"

The exaggeration (for the lack of a better word) makes your writing so sensible, yet untouchable and inflated. It's like emotions exploded.

Imogen Mutama said...

wow, thank you! ummm, writer much yourself? your description... "untouchable yet inflated" was very superb. Perhaps you should get back into it.

Christine said...

i really like this line: "giving parts of ourselves away like a game of telephone...transmitted through the line...always distorted on the other end." funny thing is sometimes i don't even know the message i'm trying to transmit!

you really have a special way with words imogen :) thank you for sharing your gift of writing! i'll be sure to visit ur blog regularly.

Imogen Mutama said...

gosh, thank you so much for even visiting once..I'd be happy if you even looked again! haha.

haha yeah that is true..one does not always know the msg that they are trying to transmit..very interesting observation..perhaps a good place to write another piece!!