I made this, I have forgotten And remember.The rigging weak and the canvas rottenBetween one June and another September.Made this unknowing, half conscious, unknown, my own. The garboard strake leaks, the seams need caulking. This form, this face, this life Living to live in a world of time beyond me; let me Resign my life … Continue reading Between one June and another September.
ts eliot
Dispossession.
Well, hello again. It's been awhile. I've been stuck in a state of indecision and lethargy and not entirely certain which path to take. I've decided to take all of them. Simultaneously, or as close to that as the linear process of writing will allow. I'd tell you to buckle up, but you're already buckled, … Continue reading Dispossession.
So. Here we are.
So.We’re here, using whatever we can to justify the killing of the unborn — unwanted, special needs, birth defects — that’s quite a loaded one, the last one. Let’s talk about it. I’ve got some things to say. I was adopted at 3hrs old. My parents waited 7yrs for me. My sister is their biological … Continue reading So. Here we are.
Let go.
“Let not future things disturb you, for you will come to them, if it shall be necessary, having with you the same reason which you now use for present things.”Marcus Aurelius I am tired of reaction. I grow weary of anticipating disaster. I do not want to cease thinking rationally, but would like to avoid … Continue reading Let go.
Catalysts are made to be burned.
I do not want this. With every fiber of my being, I do not want to be here. The heat. The ants. The fucking gravestone that I refuse to maintain. I never bring flowers. I shouldn’t have to. I should not have to come here. For fuck’s sake. It’s hot and humid today; the marble … Continue reading Catalysts are made to be burned.
Levity.
I have no idea where I got this picture but I love it. But is heaviness truly deplorable and lightness splendid?The heaviest of burdens crushes us, we sink beneath it, it pins us to the ground. But in the love poetry of every age, the woman longs to be weighed down by the man’s body. … Continue reading Levity.
This is the way the world ends.
Datta: what have we given?My friend, blood shaking my heartThe awful daring of a moment’s surrenderWhich an age of prudence can never retractBy this, and this only, we have existedWhich is not to be found in our obituariesThe Wasteland, TS Eliot. I have a hard time writing about faith. I grew up Baptist, a pastor’s … Continue reading This is the way the world ends.
This wave.
The Tempest. J.W. Waterhouse / 1916 How do we learn to be still? To allow people the grace to ebb and flow around us without reacting to their emotional whirlpools, their tempests, or their doldrums? Don’t look at me — I have no idea. I am a reactor. I become a tempest in response to … Continue reading This wave.
Nymph, in thy orisons be all my sins remembered.
Come, take my hand. What’s done cannot be undone.Lady Macbeth. Ophelia, Waterhouse. “What do you want to be when you grow up?” In grade school I wanted to be an actress, until my mom spent several panicked hours lecturing me on the odds against me ever becoming famous, the inability to support oneself on the … Continue reading Nymph, in thy orisons be all my sins remembered.
There is yet faith.
She would be 20.
end of line. 