Home > Author > Theresa Griffin Kennedy
1 " Her golden throated scent like pastry soaked in milk hovered, her wet reptile mouth gave kisses seen only in the mind, raised and heightened to altars of breezy hate. With a glowing white back-light, pastel images in soft focus moved, danced, in a contorted frenzy, part of a bitter hued blue smoking reverie. "
― Theresa Griffin Kennedy , Blue Reverie in Smoke: Collected Poems 2001-2016
2 " Always support younger writers, and do all you can to nourish that spirit of creativity, and original risk. The unique manner of literary innovation that younger writers may engage in, ultimately is priceless. Writers, poets and authors are the spokespersons for ours and the next generations. Support them, mentor them, protect them from the viciousness of popular opinion, which is generally nothing more than censorship wearing the cloak of righteous indignation. "
― Theresa Griffin Kennedy
3 " Your knuckles hurt from knocking, so now you're slamming the side of your balled up fist on the wood door which rattles dangerously in its frame. You hope the neighbors can't hear as you beat on the door. It’s late, after midnight again, and recently, (you can't recall when) one of the neighbors complained about the noise. She stood outside the door as you lay on the living room floor and joined at the hip. She began yelling profanities through the thin wood. She was sick of listening to you two going at it all the time. You were a couple of “disgusting animals” in her estimation and she was going to call the police if you didn't keep it down from now on. You smile vaguely at the memory while your fist continues to pound the door. You recall how you both started coming simultaneously within only seconds of her banging on the door, how the startling intrusion made the pleasure even more thrilling, forbidden and intense. "
― Theresa Griffin Kennedy , Talionic Night in Portland: A Love Story
4 " Don't be like the herd. Think for yourself. When you see yourself falling into the idiocy of Group Think, do the smart thing and remove yourself. You'll be glad you did. "
5 " Like stagnant water trapped in a fetid container that decays with the passage of time, fermenting only to nourish the parasites that live within it, Leatrice was still decaying from the inside out. The decay was upon her mouth, curled in contempt, containing the rage that had never left her. "
― Theresa Griffin Kennedy , Burnside Field Lizard and Selected Stories
6 " Compassion, generosity, caring; these things are more important than you realize, particularly as we age and get older. And remember, what you give out, you get back three fold. Yes, you can speak out against injustice, you can speak out against inequity, but make sure what you're speaking out against actually warrants your attention. Don't jump on the bandwagon of personal rancor and attack. We are all imperfect human beings. We all deserve second changes and the ability to change, grow, and evolve. This is the nature of nature, and always will be. "
7 " I was bent over, my dress hiked up, my pale bottom sticking out, bluish in the dim light and Bryon behind me, lost in another world. His face was pressed into my shoulder and his profile visible. As his features were screwed up in the release of pleasure, his eyes shut tight and his mouth hanging open, I once again struggled not to laugh. There was something so comical and pathetic about his unabashed sincerity and tedious adoration. I hated to admit it, but it made me want to slap him and watch him weep with a smile on my face as I told him it was all over and he would never see me again. "
8 " I looked out the hall window across from me as I stood leaning against the wall, and saw the bars on the outside of the windows. The rain trickled down the reinforced misted milk-glass in a constant deluge of melancholy rivulets. It was getting cold - the shadows, the rising turbulent winds, the drifting red and orange leaves were returning once more. I tuned out the sounds of the doctors voices. Soon, I couldn't make out the words they were saying as definite signals meant to convey something. Their words became a dim humming, a song drifting along the periphery of my awareness. And it was then, I knew I would be able to leave. I would go back to my room and take out the violet silk dress, the monstrous talisman I had created, and I would look at it. I might give it away after all. I need to let her go for all the ghosts she carried within her every measured stitch. "
9 " While you sleep, you are oppressed by dark meandering dreams. They’re characterized by an oppressive feeling of endless overcast shadow. The world is encased in dim blue darkness, and white ash is drifting everywhere. You find yourself in an abandoned tennis court that has gone to seed. The birds have stopped singing, the robins have disappeared and you become one of only thousands of people left. More than half of humanity has died of disease, pestilence, and military genocide. Fat golden rats scurry here and there among severed heads lying all around the tennis court in varying stages of putrid decay. As you walk out of the exit, you see piles of dead soldiers in rotting heaps, victims of mass poisoning by rebel civilians smart enough to fool them with Kool Aid on a hot day. Men, women and children lie everywhere, their empty bodies’ ravaged, their desiccated purple tongues, stick limbs and empty eye sockets all that’s left of them. They were the fortunate ones, shot through the head, the illiterate civilians whose organs were harvested for the criminal elite. The elite live high up in the hills with their armed guards inside abandoned mansions with no electricity or running water. Harvested as replacement organs for the sick or as dinner for those who used to enjoy beef liver, the elite are the only ones with handguns and rifles and everyone else is at their mercy hiding in the abandoned buildings all through downtown and the industrial area of NW Portland. "
10 " Never EVER attack another person for what they write. Particularly if they are a younger writer. You may not understand what they are trying to say, and perhaps they don't either, but to interfere in the creative process of a young person is absolutely one of the most horrible things another writer can do. The karma of that manner of attack will come back to find you. "
