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Writing.Com Time

Saturday
May 26, 2012
2:10pm EDT


Content Rating Notice:  Recommended for Readers 18 Years and Older Only
  >> Book >> Experience >> ID #1438989  |   Show DetailsPrinter Friendly Page Tell A Friend
The Mind of Louisa Gholson
Today I started over; I refused walking down the path I had been on for a near decade.
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This journal answers many of the questions asked in Perfecting Your Purpose by David D. Ireland, PhD. Many programs promise an enriching journey into self in steps. This book is one of many using the 40 day model.

I started many and never returned, but I keep returning to this one. On its cover a road lined with trees points to an alcove, an alcove that shadows more trees or from a distance something (or someone) forming, asking that I come further. So I do.
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2.  Reading My Dream of You by Nuala O'FaolainID #591617 
Posted: 6-17-2008 @ 8:29 pm EDT 

I'm not a fiction reader. I spend so much time in self-help and business management books that I have little time for fiction. But then, your life becomes repetitive. You start wondering if you are missing out on something, but I know better. It's just my mind playing tricks on me. I cracked open My Dream of You in Hastings (fairly large bookstore)and read one page and left the world for a moment. Kathleen de Burca. I became Kathleen de Burca or maybe I had lived her life and knew why she was asking "those" questions? So I continue with her story, lying with her on the psychiatrist's couch. I stopped today at the end of chapter 1.(p.22)
 


1.  Sampling FruitID #590982 
Posted: 6-14-2008 @ 8:25 pm EDT 

I purchased a novel yesterday,
scavenging through the discount racks at Hastings,
some books jumping out at me. First, whip by maggie mayhew
catching my eye, an eye focusing
on a beater loaded with butter cream,
hurling me back
to a day I sat in a corner
jamming my finger
into a Betty Crocker container,
scooping heaping mouthfuls
of off-white pillows of icing,
curing my rejection
by a man that I deemed full of promise.

Infatuation slaps me again,
embedding in my mind at The Spanish Village,
some passions springing into me. Next, the novel purchased
clicking a tumbler, a tumbler fingering
on a woman filled with wet dreams,
heaving me back
to a night I lay in my lover's bed
squeezing my legs
around fanny pillows,
cooing massing moans
of unfulfilled lust of whipping,
healing my infatuation
of a man that I deem full of promise.


 



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