More More More

I always feel I should write more and I have spurts of production. And blogging (interesting how that became a word, no?). In the arena of More, however it seems to count more if it’s in the fiction that I produce. Produce is the wrong word here, as production only seems to work with blogs and Tumblr and such. Fiction is just writing. (Not Just as in the diminutive but as in Singular. Perhaps.) And then sometimes as I write I feel like such a phony and counterfeiter. But only as I read back, not as I produce (ha!). And such is this.




Note the use of the singular. Is this then the same woman? All of them? What makes them the same? Different? Is it not in so in writing? Is it not all the same thing presented in different forms and stages of undress? Isn’t the last woman an angel? The wings behind her in white feathers. Or is it just more?


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