Diamanda Galas - Gloomy Sunday

An Onion For My Love.

Valentine By Carol Ann Duffy

Not a red rose or a satin heart.

I give you an onion.
It is a moon wrapped in brown paper.
It promises light
like the careful undressing of love.

Here.
It will blind you with tears
like a lover.
It will make your reflection
a wobbling photo of grief.

I am trying to be truthful.

Not a cute card or a kissogram.


I give you an onion.
Its fierce kiss will stay on your lips,
possessive and faithful
as we are,
for as long as we are.

Take it.
Its platinum loops shrink to a wedding-ring,
if you like.

Lethal.
Its scent will cling to your fingers,
cling to your knife.

The Voice by Andree Chedid

The Voice by Andree Chedid

Where is the distant voice
That speaks like my soul?

Buried beneath daylight's clamor
Gold and the seasons

Beneath groaning streets
And the ferment of cities

In my grave of care
And blond laughter

In what bare tomb must I lie
To summon the voice
That speaks like my soul?

Down You Go..

All I need

Great song with well matched video !

A Girl By Ezra Pound

The tree has entered my hands,
The sap has ascended my arms,
The tree has grown in my breast-
Downward,
The branches grow out of me, like arms.

Tree you are,
Moss you are,
You are violets with wind above them.
A child - so high - you are,
And all this is folly to the world.

By-Ezra Pound

If you have the guts.

And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.

- Sylvia Plath

"Motel"

I purchased this film on a whim, and fell in love with the movie.
Definitely worth checking out!

So where does my heart belong..?

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As of Late..

This one was a bit entertaining..

"Fresh from the Paris Haute Couture: designers’ most spectacular flights of fantasy, grounded by a street-smart attitude."

As of late..

A silence

A Silence by Amy Clampitt

past parentage or gender
beyond sung vocables
the slipped-between
the so infinitesimal
fault line
a limitless
interiority

beyond the woven
unicorn the maiden
(man-carved worm-eaten)
God at her hip
incipient
the untransfigured
cottontail
bluebell and primrose
growing wild a strawberry
chagrin night terrors
past the earthlit
unearthly masquerade

(we shall be changed)

a silence opens

*

the larval feeder
naked hairy ravenous
inventing from within
itself its own
raw stuffs'
hooked silk-hung
relinquishment

behind the mask
the milkfat shivering
sinew isinglass
uncrumpling transient
greed to reinvest

*

names have been
given (revelation
kif nirvana
syncope) for
whatever gift
unasked
gives birth to

torrents
fixities
reincarnations of
the angels
Joseph Smith
enduring
martyrdom

a cavernous
compunction driving
founder-charlatans
who saw in it
the infinite
love of God
and had
(George Fox
was one)
great openings

Alive or Dead

I Don't Know If You're Alive Or Dead 

by Anna Akhmatova

I don't know if you're alive or dead.
Can you on earth be sought,
Or only when the sunsets fade
Be mourned serenely in my thought?

All is for you: the daily prayer,
The sleepless heat at night,
And of my verses, the white
Flock, and of my eyes, the blue fire.

No-one was more cherished, no-one tortured
Me more, not
Even the one who betrayed me to torture,
Not even the one who caressed me and forgot.

I don't know.

this is the part of me that needs medication
this is the part of me that believes in heaven
....thinks outer space is all dead
....wishes it was with it
....'s trying to be funny
....loves my parents
...thinks that ants are cavemen
....thinks all humans are ants
....learns from sitcoms
.....means nothing
and I do-o-o-on't know

where I could go away and you could wish that I had stayed or just
stayed gone
and I don't know
and I don't know at all
so, out of the context and into what you meant
and you know your reasons
you don't know who you are but you know who you wanna be
I-I-I doooon't know
so you go to the library to get yourself a book and you look and you look
but you didn't find anything to read
and I do-on't know at all
left all my kinder parts rusting and peeling
that guy was complaining as he looked at the ceiling
my nose isn't that big it looks nothing like me
we're all doctors trading sadness for numbness
grass looks much greener but it's green-painted cement
the mayor's machines are there cleaning the pavement
you can't make dirt clean so we'll just lemon-scent it

-Modest Mouse

"What a magnificent prey I was for Christian legends..."

"Am I, at bottom, that fervent little Spanish Catholic child who chastised herself for loving toys, who forbade herself the enjoyment of sweet foods, who practiced silence, who humiliated her pride, who adored symbols, statues, burning candles, incense, the caress of nuns, organ music, for whom Communion was a great event? I was so exalted by the idea of eating Jesus's flesh and drinking His blood that I couldn't swallow the host well, and I dreaded harming the it. I visualized Christ descending into my heart so realistically (I was a realist then!) that I could see Him walking down the stairs and entering the room of my heart like a sacred Visitor. That state of this room was a subject of great preoccupation for me. . . At the ages of nine, ten, eleven, I believe I approximated sainthood. And then, at sixteen, resentful of controls, disillusioned with a God who had not granted my prayers (the return of my father), who performed no miracles, who left me fatherless in a strange country, I rejected all Catholicism with exaggeration. Goodness, virtue, charity, submission, stifled me. I took up the words of Lawrence: "They stress only pain, sacrifice, suffering and death. They do not dwell enough on the resurrection, on joy and life in the present." Today I feel my past like an unbearable weight, I feel that it interferes with my present life, that it must be the cause for this withdrawal, this closing of doors. . . I am embalmed because a nun leaned over me, enveloped me in her veils, kissed me. The chill curse of Christianity. I do not confess any more, I have no remorse, yet am I doing penance for my enjoyments? Nobody knows what a magnificent prey I was for Christian legends, because of my compassion and my tenderness for human beings. Today it divides me from enjoyment in life." 
p. 70-71 I am very glad I was suggested this poet/writer Anais Nin, this entry from her diary, reflects a lot of recent feelings that have come up for me. Especially with applying for a teaching  aid job at a private catholic school. I have been doing my own self inventory about were I stand on my religious  views & ideals. Bottom line i love the way Anais presents religion in this piece, it is filled with feeling, and visuals I found to be very relatable to my own feelings.

"I am at war with the obvious." William Eggleston

I went on an adventure the other day with my good friend, it was nice to get away for a couple of hours. I took a few fun photos, i have been trying to pull myself out of this funk for the last 2 months, been taking more photos so it must be working. 

The SF MOMA was a huge inspiration. It was overwhelming, being there for a couple hours just taking everything in. So many good artist's at the MOMA right now. Esp. photographers !! It felt like wading through a dream after while.

I am getting  excited for my trip to Boston, going for the first week of September. My little brother will be moving there for college.. its exciting, but at the same time very bitter sweet for me, i'll miss him very much. 

I can't wait for the lobster thou !! :)

Feeling a bit off beat today, but staying positive !  I just hope my sleep pattern gets better, this not sleeping thing isn't working for me...Raaah ! 

Never Saw it Coming. Aug. 09'

Both Legs were totally broken off  and the neck contorted.

 

I came across this lifeless female deer up on highway 9, the glossy look in the doe's eyes prompted me to take a photograph.

7

" I felt like a racehorse in a world without racetracks or a  champion college footballer suddenly confronted by Wall Street and a business suit, his days of glory shrunk to a little gold cup on his mantel with a date engraved on it like the on a tomb stone. 

I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story.

From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig Ee Gee, the amazing editor , and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond  and above these figs  were many more figs that I couldn't quit make out.

I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death just because i couldn't make up my mind which of the figs i would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant loosing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and one by one, the plopped to the ground at my feet.."

The Bell Jar By Sylvia Plath