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Alison smokes to the history of the Suffragettes. Women, wizened into endless meaning. Recently Alison has been living staccato, sleepless, sexless nights. Frank, 9, in bed by 9, sleeps easily, breathes long, exudes peace, that she absorbs but daren't disturb, from her perch at the door. So, to the dining room where she can second-hand the curtains safely, Frank is rarely in the dining room, except for holidays and the occasional chore.
Alison looks through the photos and extends each one like a string stretching behind the image. Women of manly features, surveilled maybe for this very fact, women of delicate grit, women of purpose, of struggle. No 2 is a fighter, no 5 has untapped power, no 8 is a dinner party delight, no 9 is boundlessly caring, no 11 rides a penny farthing, no 12 is an Alison lookalike, no 18 is a brilliant mind. But no 10. No 10 is disturbing. It's a doctored photo. The original has a guard, physically restraining her while they take her photo, and then when the photos were sent to officers, the guard's arm was removed. Something in this, this ghostly unpersoned shackle, this unseen leash, moves her to tears. Remove the man, show the woman how she is, ruined forever by the very man. Alison checks her email 'drafts' folder. Still ten unsent letters to Edmund. She chooses one at random and hits 'send'. It has the subject line "Soulmate vs. Sole Mate" [Out May 15th, until then, older stuff]Posted by Dan at April 4, 2012 5:47 PM
oof.Posted by emma at April 4, 2012 6:40 PM
daaammnnnn, son. love this one.Posted by John at April 12, 2012 12:17 PM