Archive for women

Only A God or A Woman…

Posted in Theresa Duncan with tags , , , , , , , , , , on December 5, 2015 by Mj Rains

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“The Koh-i-Noor diamond was mined in India in around 1100 and probably originated from Golconda in the southern region of Andhra Pradesh. The shape and size of a small hen’s egg, the diamond attained a sinister mystique…

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Random post from The Wit of the Staircase by Theresa Duncan

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Chimney Sweeping…

Posted in Theresa Duncan with tags , , , , , , , , , , on November 17, 2015 by Mj Rains

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The symptoms of Bertha Pappenheim and the explication of memories or “the talking cure” in psychology…

via: The Wit of the Staircase

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She was carrying forgotten things…

Posted in Poetry at large with tags , , , , , , , on January 13, 2015 by Mj Rains

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She was traveling.
Where was she going?
Someone has to know…

She was carrying forgotten things…

Immeasurable, long-lasting
Things that could not be broken
even if
one tried.

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Half concealed
Everything danced when she spoke.
And those things
Hidden so far in memory
all at once
jolted free.

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It was a moment.
Nothing more.

-The Wit Continuum

Remembering Theresa…

Posted in Theresa Duncan with tags , , , , , , , , on October 26, 2014 by Mj Rains

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Happy Birthday Tracy… wherever you are…

Theresa Duncan Oct. 26, 1966 ~ July 10, 2007

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She’s the original Wit of the Staircase, the inspiration for my blog way back when, and lover of Halloween, a love we share…

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“Well-behaved women seldom make history.”
~Laurel Thatcher Ulrich

All images from Mary Duncan’s blog Memories of Theresa

A kind of bindweed began to strangle me…

Posted in Writing with tags , , , , , , , , , on October 25, 2014 by Mj Rains

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I was lying in the grass and not moving (at the end of the garden). It was the first day of the war. I lay an hour, two hours, I no longer remember how many hours I lay there. The grass grew through me, got entangled in my veins, the wild flowers blossomed out of my fingers and toes. A kind of bindweed began to strangle me, winding from one ear to the other.

– Nina Berberova, The Italics Are Mine 1939

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