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"I do it so it feels like hell"
-Plath
He died before I had the time and stayed alive too long
for me to steal what is mine. His eye is the wandering eye,
the sentinel eye, the eye of judgment, an aspect
of Babylon. Even the bones would do were I to cut them
from the meat of his thigh. I think he knows I mean to do him harm
the way he guards his breath, sleeps on a folded towel, drinks
so that no poison could flourish in his poisoned breast. I am poisoned too,
I mean
to do him harm. Even if he were not, which he is, I would do this
again and again - do it so it feels like hell - do it so it feels real, crush
his arms into bitter votive wrapped around me like a father might. That would be enough,
a handful, a token, hell, even the bones would do.
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| ...when it tells you what you already know instinctually. | | |
| - "Gimme Sympathy"are a novelty of the eye
a case study of the nostalgic
ache, the suspension of all good times.
Half white light, half
rainbows strung across wood like a wreath
stained warm pastel.
There is always another string of lights, always another
green on purple on white. | | |
| - "Has it Come to This?"I've been seeing a few of the people I'm friendly with go slowly from xanga. Off to blogspot, off to wordpress. Everywhere and anywhere it seems but here. And I thought, for a moment, that I would be more upset about it than I am. I suppose the closeness of the community that I once felt I could flourish in hasn't been as communal for quite some time anyway.
The errant comment on an errant post is pretty much de rigeur these days. Maybe I haven't been trying as hard as I used to, looking for new compatriots in the tubes. But who has the energy for that anyway?
I say all that to say...I'll be here, I think, for a long time. At 22 I'm feeling crotchety, uncomfortable with the newest and the flashiest. This was always meant to be my online extension anyway, tucked away in a corner but not quite hidden. I suppose it'll be a little quieter these days, but the art won't. It'll be as furious and confused and half-assed and bullshit as it always was for those who stick with this old warship.
As I'm no closer to unraveling the demons of my psyche, you can expect a bit more from me before the curtain falls and the cast gets lost in their cups.
-B. | | |
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