i've been so terribly busy. life is
complicated, y'all. some complications are good, some are not so good,
while the rest are probably neutral. anyways.........
i had one of those gawd-awful Adrienne Rich Love Poem moments yesterday while reading excerpts from Lyn Hejinian's "The Fatalist" and coming upon the line: "Apples fall heavily to the ground and lie in the sun, their scentof course, i read this nonsense and am delighted; immediately i turn to share this find with someone (someHIM) and share it to an emptiness. these stupid moments are the primary downside to my current "la vie sans amour". never terrified of being alone but hating and dreading those moments where i do feel lonely. *sigh* ![]() of course, i recover myself after my moment with the lines of the above-mentioned poem and forge ahead then i come across a line in Tony Hoagland's "In a Quiet Town:" "...skin was the holiest testament of alland i turn my head , again, to say "hey, read this...." and i'll just claim that it was to the cat i spoke and not admit that i'm perhaps just a bit daft. i think i should meter my exposure to poetry (did i just make a pun?) very carefully.....and poets like Rilke and Monette are to be handled like dangerously volatile chemicals. i think it is sometimes for the best that i am not partnered to someone.....the invitation to become intimate with the strangeness of my interiority (my idiosyncracies, not my butt!!) is surely the infliction of a cruelty and probably a sin. honestly, i think i'm as weird as bat-shit! |
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
batshit weird
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