Iris Tiernan > Recent Status Updates

Desire made a volcanic island, on which they lay in a trance, feeling the subterranean whirls lying beneath them, dance floor and table and the magnetic blues uprooted by desire, the avalanches of the body's tremors.
Beneath the delicate skin, the tendrils of secret hair, the indentations and valleys of flesh, the volcanic lava flowed, desire incandescent.

(If everyone in L.A. did Sun Salutations instead of drive-by shootings, the fires would have been within, instead of without.)

To be in love:
I couldn’t tell him that I saw, or thought I saw, his car everywhere in the street, or that I repeatedly started to dial his telephone number without completing it, or that I feverishly questioned my landlady whenever I came in, or that everything led back to him and i utterly resented myself for it.

To be in love: But even if I had the pain more or less at my beck and call, I couldn’t prevent it from resurfacing unexpectedly during a class or at lunch, taking me by surprise and causing me distress. There were other things I couldn’t prevent either: the daily, perfectly understandable sense of boredom, a larva-like existence in the rain, my fatigue in the mornings, uninspiring classes, conversations.