From e1d6f282e908a371078baff9eed03b5a434ba9b0 Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001 From: Madison Scott-Clary Date: Sun, 11 Feb 2024 14:10:09 -0800 Subject: [PATCH] update from sparkleup --- writing/post-self/pinocchio/001.html | 5 +++-- 1 file changed, 3 insertions(+), 2 deletions(-) diff --git a/writing/post-self/pinocchio/001.html b/writing/post-self/pinocchio/001.html index 6c6d8b84a..cbc5f0d53 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/pinocchio/001.html +++ b/writing/post-self/pinocchio/001.html @@ -13,7 +13,8 @@

Zk | 001

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Once upon a time there was–

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End Of Endings — 2403

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Once upon a time there was–

“A king?” my little readers will immediately say.

No, children, you are mistaken. Once upon a time, there was a woman. She was not a fine woman, not a prize to adorn your arm or to set beside you at the head of a grand table, but a simple woman — the kind we pass on the street and imagine some plain home life for. She has a house, one might think. There are floors and walls and windows, there are tables and chairs and sofas and beds. There is a shower and a claw-footed bathtub. There is a creaky step — the eighth — that she always swears she will fix.

We must imagine such a woman happy. We must imagine that she has friends and that she goes and drinks okay wine or maybe strange cocktails with them at the most absurd bars. We must imagine that she comes home, wobbling slightly with each step, with some other simple woman on her arm. We must imagine them kissing.

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She was whole because she maintained — even while overflowing, I think! — so many deeply held convictions that those around her need not suffer, even if she herself did. Especially, she would say, because she herself did.