I am flesh again...
I am primped and preened and turning blue.
Unfinished symphonies and mulled wine.
Sipping leisure with slipping time.
I cover my eyes with lace and silk.
My body quivers against the purest milk.
Unread love letters lay in the bottom
of her drawer.
A lifetime spent wondering what words could do.
A lock of hair, a tender sigh for the ages.
Shaking hands to see shaking heads.
You shall be saved.
I shall never return.
The declining years are in for the long haul.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Saturday, January 29, 2011
An interview with Orwell's character Julia from 1984
This is an idea I had recently. It's by no means finished but I want to share it, it needs to breathe a bit. For those who don't understand this Julia is the second major character in George Orwell's epic novel 1984. I have constructed an interview with her, years after Winston [the main character] has been purged. Any thoughts or utterances would be greatly appreciated. For fans of the book, who do you think Julia is? What does she represent to you?
Many years ago Julia was held captive by hostile government that mocked her repugnant need for freedom. She was abused. She was beaten and she confronted the fears that shocked her to the core. The government intervention cured her of her disobedience and left her almost sppechless for a decades. Now after decades of silence about her forbidden love affair with fellow rebel Winston Smith, and terrifying interrogation by a man who she believed was a fellow rebel Julia tells us what really happened.
Do you know what happened to Winston?
The last time I saw Winston was at the Chestnut cafe sipping clove spirits. I was numb and shocked. Sort of what is left after a wittler has done his handy work. I told him I had betrayed him. He told me he had betrayed me. It was a simple way to stop the torment. It was the only way we could. But we were put the test and we failed. Our convictions were useless in the face of such brutal, mechanical control. I haven't seen him since that day. I haven't even been to his grave, not even sure if he has one. I can't say anything to him. Even his name is enough to undermine how much I've accomplished in the last few years. I miss him. We were perfect in a way. It was absurd but we both wanted to the same thing.
What was it that you wanted?
I think we wanted freedom but in different ways. Everybody goes on about political freedom and the right to vote. Those things are really important but the fundamentals have to be in place. You have to have decent, nourshing food. You have to be able to sing whatever song you want to sing and dance if you feel like dancing. On Airstrip One you couldn't do any of those things. Dancing, love, lusciousness in life were never extended to us. I wanted the freedom to wear make up. To write a journal. To be able to access the information so that I could make up my own mind. I was sick of someone else deciding what I believed.
When did this rebellion first start?
It started before I met Winston. I was always very aware I was different from the other party members so I tried to be like them but in overdrive. I joined the Chastity league and draped virginity sashes across my already pleasured body. I was a hypocrite but I did it to survive. Before I met Winston I was involved with a beautiful street vendor who sold all of the Victory products. I used to buy gin from him. The party hated us fraternizing with the proles so I had to be very careful. But we had sex whenever we could. The party hated sex. Sex was the ultimate escape and they didn't want anyone escaping. It also makes you intimate with someone, you care about them and sometimes love them. In Airstrip One you can't love anyone but Big Brother. Ecstasy doesn't exist.
Is that about control?
Absolutely. Sex is always about control even before the state gets involved. It's funny because sex never accepted in it's original state. In London it was controlled and used only for procreating. I know that in Eurasia it was encouraged to keep the people... distracted. Both are so extreme.
Did you agree with the book Oligarchical collectivism?
Winston use to talk about that but I never was really interested. I thought the idea about perpetual war for perpetual peace was quite important to the regime. We were always at war, there were always the outsiders, the foreigners. You could get the entire country to despise one group of people and not concentrate on what our government, our people were doing. As soon as you have war you have blinded patriotism. It becomes taboo to utter a single qualm. You can't say anything or your a traitor. And to be a traitor was the ultimate insult and in Airstrip One you would end up dead for it.
What are you doing now?
...........
Many years ago Julia was held captive by hostile government that mocked her repugnant need for freedom. She was abused. She was beaten and she confronted the fears that shocked her to the core. The government intervention cured her of her disobedience and left her almost sppechless for a decades. Now after decades of silence about her forbidden love affair with fellow rebel Winston Smith, and terrifying interrogation by a man who she believed was a fellow rebel Julia tells us what really happened.
Do you know what happened to Winston?
The last time I saw Winston was at the Chestnut cafe sipping clove spirits. I was numb and shocked. Sort of what is left after a wittler has done his handy work. I told him I had betrayed him. He told me he had betrayed me. It was a simple way to stop the torment. It was the only way we could. But we were put the test and we failed. Our convictions were useless in the face of such brutal, mechanical control. I haven't seen him since that day. I haven't even been to his grave, not even sure if he has one. I can't say anything to him. Even his name is enough to undermine how much I've accomplished in the last few years. I miss him. We were perfect in a way. It was absurd but we both wanted to the same thing.
What was it that you wanted?
I think we wanted freedom but in different ways. Everybody goes on about political freedom and the right to vote. Those things are really important but the fundamentals have to be in place. You have to have decent, nourshing food. You have to be able to sing whatever song you want to sing and dance if you feel like dancing. On Airstrip One you couldn't do any of those things. Dancing, love, lusciousness in life were never extended to us. I wanted the freedom to wear make up. To write a journal. To be able to access the information so that I could make up my own mind. I was sick of someone else deciding what I believed.
When did this rebellion first start?
It started before I met Winston. I was always very aware I was different from the other party members so I tried to be like them but in overdrive. I joined the Chastity league and draped virginity sashes across my already pleasured body. I was a hypocrite but I did it to survive. Before I met Winston I was involved with a beautiful street vendor who sold all of the Victory products. I used to buy gin from him. The party hated us fraternizing with the proles so I had to be very careful. But we had sex whenever we could. The party hated sex. Sex was the ultimate escape and they didn't want anyone escaping. It also makes you intimate with someone, you care about them and sometimes love them. In Airstrip One you can't love anyone but Big Brother. Ecstasy doesn't exist.
Is that about control?
Absolutely. Sex is always about control even before the state gets involved. It's funny because sex never accepted in it's original state. In London it was controlled and used only for procreating. I know that in Eurasia it was encouraged to keep the people... distracted. Both are so extreme.
Did you agree with the book Oligarchical collectivism?
Winston use to talk about that but I never was really interested. I thought the idea about perpetual war for perpetual peace was quite important to the regime. We were always at war, there were always the outsiders, the foreigners. You could get the entire country to despise one group of people and not concentrate on what our government, our people were doing. As soon as you have war you have blinded patriotism. It becomes taboo to utter a single qualm. You can't say anything or your a traitor. And to be a traitor was the ultimate insult and in Airstrip One you would end up dead for it.
What are you doing now?
...........
Saturday, January 15, 2011
The Sea Below Her- a short and deadly fiction
It tears the earth and sun apart
But that's the way that I can win
A victim of your evil sin
New Order-Shellshock.
She was a madwoman. She cackled like a witch on acid. Her eyes looked cat like, yellow and narrow. Her body swayed to an undisclosed rhythm that only she could hear. It looked like a witching dance, one that only ever accompanied midnight. Heather's eyes widened as the sky above the Medusa thundered with yellow and black, clouds scattered and reconvened, circling around the witch that glared down at her. That witch was hideous but Heather had never known. She had trusted her too much. Medusa's feet clattered on the rocks beneath them, scattering tiny pebbles down the cliff face. They were prophetic pebbles foretelling the exact fate for Heather as she clung helplessly to the rocks at the witch's feet. Her hands were growing bloody and tired. With every passing second Heather slipped closer to the shattered rocks below and the ocean that crashed against them. Every time she tried to pull herself up she would slip further into the abyss. The yellow sky of dusk gave way to the black clouds of the storm until finally Heather could no longer see the heathen towering above her.
The clifftop had been the scene of deciphering whose strength would prevail. Before Heather had been taken there by the witch she had actually known her as Judith. Judith had been her Achilles heel, her competitor for Sam. They ducked and weaved and called down storms against one another while he played them off for his own immature amusement. He scoffed at their ability to back away from him. His conspiratorial grin as one left his apartment only just in time to not front the other weaved a web of intricacies and sexual betrayal. He had been the initial wizard that had spellbound them. He had been the wind that swept both of them to the cliff. The jagged rocks of California were no match for anybody of flesh and bone.
Judith stood gazing down at the jagged rocks for a long while. Filling herself with a sense of triumph. She knew that the difference between her and Heather had been so small. A waspish laugh escaped her lips. She emerged from the yellow sunset and walked into the black storm with its white lightening highlights not knowing the violent monster that had possessed her. Maybe she had deceived Heather, she was sure she had. She pitied the girl really. She should have known better but considering her finely honed interest in Sam she clearly never knew better anyway. Judith had taken her as a friend. The coffee breaks and girlish giggles were an attempt to assure her that the competition was over. Both women still stared conspiratorially at one another, occasionally catching one another off guard with a hardened look but they had buried the hatchet. It was unknown to Heather however that Judith had sharpened her knives.
Judith had organised to have coffee with Heather. The innocent girlish dribble of gossip and leg waxing anecdotes had filled Judith's car. Heather felt safe and allowed Judith to drive down the coast road. You never expect an attacker to be a woman. You always see the face of someone malignant as male, it was part of the sanctity of sisterhood. Any woman would help a woman in distress. But Judith was not a woman, she was a witch. Her hair was full of snakes, her eyes full of fire, her heart full of coal and the vengeance of a witch is a storm.
The storm rose up behind the car. The smell of the leather interior started to protrude into Heather's nose. The scent seemed sweet but moldy. The yellow sun set behind them as Judith drove further and further away from any sight of humanity. Her witching tongue slid against her lips as she concentrated on the road. Heather looked around her. She seemed to not be bothered by the remoteness of their surroundings. Judith wondered if she had been taken to a cliff before. She wondered if Heather could overpower her. She wondered if Sam was worth the hellish afterlife that was destined to follow. She wondered if the sunset would rob her of balance and send her plummeting her to her death as well. The plan was in concrete. It had taken months to execute. It was going to go ahead even with the doubts multiplying in Judith's mind. Those awful little doubts would not disperse until she heard fear in Heather raspy, pathetic gasps.
'You're mad Judith!' Heather exclaimed.
This took Judith slightly off guard and she looked at her sternly, quizzically for a long time before she reigned herself in and muttered
'I'm not what you think I am' before exclaiming a cloud of blue cigarette smoke into the small car.
'Then you're even madder than I thought'.
Judith's devilish grinned only made Heather erupt into laughter.
'Does Sam know you are mad?'
'Sam knows nothing. He doesn't even know me. That man would eat a beating heart if his quest for fresh blood was denied.'
'He has a new beating heart you know' responded Heather scowling.
'I know. I have no plans for her but I have a beautiful plan for the three of us',
'What's that?'
'You'll see' sneered Judith. Her teeth gleaming in the shine of the setting sun.
The shiny black Cadillac began to spurted like a chain smoker in a coughing fit. It mounted the hill perfectly driving closer to the edge. The gages on the dashboard lit up like a carnival and cascaded back down again when they reached the summit. A small car park lay spread out on the peak, offering itself to any car that passed by. Judith pulled into the car park with a grunt and a flood of petrol. She turned the key, pulling it out of the engine slowly and staring at it's metallic face reflecting her own. It seemed like forever before she turned to Heather, her eyes only just masking their contempt.
'I'm not what you think I am. I'm not really here. Come to the edge with me. I have something I want to show you' she said to her hoarsely.
Heather was wide eyed. Judith seemed wild, her eyes reflecting unattainable messages for the first time since their departure from the coffee lounge. She tentatively reached for the door handled and pulled it slowly. She had always feared Judith just a little. Not just because she had power over a man that she was in love with but because there always seemed to have been something darker in her, something that was untapped but ready to burst out with the tiniest stimulus. The door opened and Heather planted two feet flat on the gravel of the car park. She had no real reason to fear Judith. Her main fear was that she would steal her lover from her but those fears were no longer an issue. She had told Judith she had moved on regardless of who had him first and she truly meant it.
'Come on, I want to show you something' said Judith as the wind picked up and obscured their vision with fluttering manes of hair.
'Let's go walk along the edge'.
Heather followed behind her. Slowly they came closer and closer to the edge. The spray of salt and water filled the air and clashed with their faces. Heather looked down at the sand laying at her feet. The foot print that lay their seemed almost double the size of her own. It seemed like an animal print. It reminded her of the footprints that she would hunt for when she was a child outside the forest to prove that werewolves existed. The salt and water collided with her face once again, her hair whipped into her face. Her delicate hands went to grasped her mane to pull it back from her eyes and she looked at Judith. Her eyes were wide. Her eyes were narrow. Heather swallowed hard but before she finally pass the lump in her throat a swift thrust by the beast's hands sent her hurdling over the edge.
The witch cackled and snorted like she had found something particularly helpless crawling in her cauldron. The bubbling liquid below still heaving up salt and water onto them. Heather hung with desperate hands. There was little she could do, she had no way to pull herself up and the witch would merely push her back down again. The witch watched her, she grinned a grin that sent shivers down Heather's spine. The witch knelt down as snakes began to ravages throughout her hair and spiders began to emerge from the cuts that trailed across her arms. That witch turned her head to the side and stared at the pitiful creature clambering on the cliff face in front of her. This creature was so helpless. The witch had her vengeance, revenge was the easiest sin. The snakes encircled her throat as she turned her back on her pathetic prey. She was a huntress. She was a lion taking down a beautiful deer. But she knew she was no longer an animal of any description. She had become a beast.
But that's the way that I can win
A victim of your evil sin
New Order-Shellshock.
She was a madwoman. She cackled like a witch on acid. Her eyes looked cat like, yellow and narrow. Her body swayed to an undisclosed rhythm that only she could hear. It looked like a witching dance, one that only ever accompanied midnight. Heather's eyes widened as the sky above the Medusa thundered with yellow and black, clouds scattered and reconvened, circling around the witch that glared down at her. That witch was hideous but Heather had never known. She had trusted her too much. Medusa's feet clattered on the rocks beneath them, scattering tiny pebbles down the cliff face. They were prophetic pebbles foretelling the exact fate for Heather as she clung helplessly to the rocks at the witch's feet. Her hands were growing bloody and tired. With every passing second Heather slipped closer to the shattered rocks below and the ocean that crashed against them. Every time she tried to pull herself up she would slip further into the abyss. The yellow sky of dusk gave way to the black clouds of the storm until finally Heather could no longer see the heathen towering above her.
The clifftop had been the scene of deciphering whose strength would prevail. Before Heather had been taken there by the witch she had actually known her as Judith. Judith had been her Achilles heel, her competitor for Sam. They ducked and weaved and called down storms against one another while he played them off for his own immature amusement. He scoffed at their ability to back away from him. His conspiratorial grin as one left his apartment only just in time to not front the other weaved a web of intricacies and sexual betrayal. He had been the initial wizard that had spellbound them. He had been the wind that swept both of them to the cliff. The jagged rocks of California were no match for anybody of flesh and bone.
Judith stood gazing down at the jagged rocks for a long while. Filling herself with a sense of triumph. She knew that the difference between her and Heather had been so small. A waspish laugh escaped her lips. She emerged from the yellow sunset and walked into the black storm with its white lightening highlights not knowing the violent monster that had possessed her. Maybe she had deceived Heather, she was sure she had. She pitied the girl really. She should have known better but considering her finely honed interest in Sam she clearly never knew better anyway. Judith had taken her as a friend. The coffee breaks and girlish giggles were an attempt to assure her that the competition was over. Both women still stared conspiratorially at one another, occasionally catching one another off guard with a hardened look but they had buried the hatchet. It was unknown to Heather however that Judith had sharpened her knives.
Judith had organised to have coffee with Heather. The innocent girlish dribble of gossip and leg waxing anecdotes had filled Judith's car. Heather felt safe and allowed Judith to drive down the coast road. You never expect an attacker to be a woman. You always see the face of someone malignant as male, it was part of the sanctity of sisterhood. Any woman would help a woman in distress. But Judith was not a woman, she was a witch. Her hair was full of snakes, her eyes full of fire, her heart full of coal and the vengeance of a witch is a storm.
The storm rose up behind the car. The smell of the leather interior started to protrude into Heather's nose. The scent seemed sweet but moldy. The yellow sun set behind them as Judith drove further and further away from any sight of humanity. Her witching tongue slid against her lips as she concentrated on the road. Heather looked around her. She seemed to not be bothered by the remoteness of their surroundings. Judith wondered if she had been taken to a cliff before. She wondered if Heather could overpower her. She wondered if Sam was worth the hellish afterlife that was destined to follow. She wondered if the sunset would rob her of balance and send her plummeting her to her death as well. The plan was in concrete. It had taken months to execute. It was going to go ahead even with the doubts multiplying in Judith's mind. Those awful little doubts would not disperse until she heard fear in Heather raspy, pathetic gasps.
'You're mad Judith!' Heather exclaimed.
This took Judith slightly off guard and she looked at her sternly, quizzically for a long time before she reigned herself in and muttered
'I'm not what you think I am' before exclaiming a cloud of blue cigarette smoke into the small car.
'Then you're even madder than I thought'.
Judith's devilish grinned only made Heather erupt into laughter.
'Does Sam know you are mad?'
'Sam knows nothing. He doesn't even know me. That man would eat a beating heart if his quest for fresh blood was denied.'
'He has a new beating heart you know' responded Heather scowling.
'I know. I have no plans for her but I have a beautiful plan for the three of us',
'What's that?'
'You'll see' sneered Judith. Her teeth gleaming in the shine of the setting sun.
The shiny black Cadillac began to spurted like a chain smoker in a coughing fit. It mounted the hill perfectly driving closer to the edge. The gages on the dashboard lit up like a carnival and cascaded back down again when they reached the summit. A small car park lay spread out on the peak, offering itself to any car that passed by. Judith pulled into the car park with a grunt and a flood of petrol. She turned the key, pulling it out of the engine slowly and staring at it's metallic face reflecting her own. It seemed like forever before she turned to Heather, her eyes only just masking their contempt.
'I'm not what you think I am. I'm not really here. Come to the edge with me. I have something I want to show you' she said to her hoarsely.
Heather was wide eyed. Judith seemed wild, her eyes reflecting unattainable messages for the first time since their departure from the coffee lounge. She tentatively reached for the door handled and pulled it slowly. She had always feared Judith just a little. Not just because she had power over a man that she was in love with but because there always seemed to have been something darker in her, something that was untapped but ready to burst out with the tiniest stimulus. The door opened and Heather planted two feet flat on the gravel of the car park. She had no real reason to fear Judith. Her main fear was that she would steal her lover from her but those fears were no longer an issue. She had told Judith she had moved on regardless of who had him first and she truly meant it.
'Come on, I want to show you something' said Judith as the wind picked up and obscured their vision with fluttering manes of hair.
'Let's go walk along the edge'.
Heather followed behind her. Slowly they came closer and closer to the edge. The spray of salt and water filled the air and clashed with their faces. Heather looked down at the sand laying at her feet. The foot print that lay their seemed almost double the size of her own. It seemed like an animal print. It reminded her of the footprints that she would hunt for when she was a child outside the forest to prove that werewolves existed. The salt and water collided with her face once again, her hair whipped into her face. Her delicate hands went to grasped her mane to pull it back from her eyes and she looked at Judith. Her eyes were wide. Her eyes were narrow. Heather swallowed hard but before she finally pass the lump in her throat a swift thrust by the beast's hands sent her hurdling over the edge.
The witch cackled and snorted like she had found something particularly helpless crawling in her cauldron. The bubbling liquid below still heaving up salt and water onto them. Heather hung with desperate hands. There was little she could do, she had no way to pull herself up and the witch would merely push her back down again. The witch watched her, she grinned a grin that sent shivers down Heather's spine. The witch knelt down as snakes began to ravages throughout her hair and spiders began to emerge from the cuts that trailed across her arms. That witch turned her head to the side and stared at the pitiful creature clambering on the cliff face in front of her. This creature was so helpless. The witch had her vengeance, revenge was the easiest sin. The snakes encircled her throat as she turned her back on her pathetic prey. She was a huntress. She was a lion taking down a beautiful deer. But she knew she was no longer an animal of any description. She had become a beast.
A Book Survey
1.Which book has been on your shelves the longest?
I have no idea! I have so many books that i don't know which one arrived first.
2. What is your current read, your last read and the book you’ll read next?
The last book I read was F.Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby and currently reading The journals of Sylvia Plath.
3. What book did everyone like and you hated?
I don't stick with books I hate but I felt that I needed to finish Ayn rand even though I despised her and her stupid, squalid little stories.
4. Which book do you keep telling yourself you’ll read, but you probably won’t?
5. Which book are you saving for “retirement?”
None.
6. Last page: read it first or wait till the end?
Wait to the end!
7. Acknowledgements: waste of ink and paper or interesting aside?
I read the acknowledgements. The author has written them for a reason and the people listed aided the story.
8. Which book character would you switch places with?
Alice in Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland, Lestat in Anne Rice's Vampire Lestat. It had for me to determine though because I mainly read dystopia novels like Brave new world and Animal farm. These novels do not have characters you would want to be, they are worlds we must avoid.
9. Do you have a book that reminds you of something specific in your life (a person, a place, a time)?
Too many people. Too many stories.
10. Name a book you acquired in some interesting way.
Most of my books are bought second hand which I think is interesting in itself. I love finding the notes people have written and left in their books long after the paper has turned brown and frayed at the edges. I find bus tickets, bookmarks and once even a condom wrapper.
11. Have you ever given away a book for a special reason to a special person?
I'm always buying books for a certain someone but I'm yet to see him read them. The first edition 1960 print of that epic Huey Pierce Long book is still sitting there.
1.
12. Which book has been with you to the most places?
I have had my childhood books the longest like Cinderella, Whose behind the door?, Grug and Beatrix Potter. I have now given them to my son. It s amazing to sit down with him on my knee and read the exact same stories that I read as a child. He absolutely loves books too.
13. Any “required reading” you hated in high school that wasn’t so bad ten years later?
No! Navigating is still tedious and predictable.
14. What is the strangest item you’ve ever found in a book?
I stated above, a condom wrapper made better by the fact that the book was called 'Lucky'.
15. Used or brand new?
Used.
16. Stephen King: Literary genius or opiate of the masses?
Opiate of the masses unless it's under his pseudonym Bachman. Green mile was also potent.
17. Have you ever seen a movie you liked better than the book?
This never happens.
18. Conversely, which book should NEVER have been introduced to celluloid?
I don't know but I'm terrified of watching he film adaption of 1984.
19. Have you ever read a book that’s made you hungry, cookbooks being excluded from this question?
20. Who is the person whose book advice you’ll always take?
My fiancé Mark's.
I have no idea! I have so many books that i don't know which one arrived first.
2. What is your current read, your last read and the book you’ll read next?
The last book I read was F.Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby and currently reading The journals of Sylvia Plath.
3. What book did everyone like and you hated?
I don't stick with books I hate but I felt that I needed to finish Ayn rand even though I despised her and her stupid, squalid little stories.
4. Which book do you keep telling yourself you’ll read, but you probably won’t?
5. Which book are you saving for “retirement?”
None.
6. Last page: read it first or wait till the end?
Wait to the end!
7. Acknowledgements: waste of ink and paper or interesting aside?
I read the acknowledgements. The author has written them for a reason and the people listed aided the story.
8. Which book character would you switch places with?
Alice in Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland, Lestat in Anne Rice's Vampire Lestat. It had for me to determine though because I mainly read dystopia novels like Brave new world and Animal farm. These novels do not have characters you would want to be, they are worlds we must avoid.
9. Do you have a book that reminds you of something specific in your life (a person, a place, a time)?
Too many people. Too many stories.
10. Name a book you acquired in some interesting way.
Most of my books are bought second hand which I think is interesting in itself. I love finding the notes people have written and left in their books long after the paper has turned brown and frayed at the edges. I find bus tickets, bookmarks and once even a condom wrapper.
11. Have you ever given away a book for a special reason to a special person?
I'm always buying books for a certain someone but I'm yet to see him read them. The first edition 1960 print of that epic Huey Pierce Long book is still sitting there.
1.
12. Which book has been with you to the most places?
I have had my childhood books the longest like Cinderella, Whose behind the door?, Grug and Beatrix Potter. I have now given them to my son. It s amazing to sit down with him on my knee and read the exact same stories that I read as a child. He absolutely loves books too.
13. Any “required reading” you hated in high school that wasn’t so bad ten years later?
No! Navigating is still tedious and predictable.
14. What is the strangest item you’ve ever found in a book?
I stated above, a condom wrapper made better by the fact that the book was called 'Lucky'.
15. Used or brand new?
Used.
16. Stephen King: Literary genius or opiate of the masses?
Opiate of the masses unless it's under his pseudonym Bachman. Green mile was also potent.
17. Have you ever seen a movie you liked better than the book?
This never happens.
18. Conversely, which book should NEVER have been introduced to celluloid?
I don't know but I'm terrified of watching he film adaption of 1984.
19. Have you ever read a book that’s made you hungry, cookbooks being excluded from this question?
20. Who is the person whose book advice you’ll always take?
My fiancé Mark's.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Good Day- A Murder Ballad
It's a good day
for the pretty ones.
A good day
for the spiders.
As he laid to rest the beauty death
and everything he derided.
He held her to her word and
silenced her pretty mouth.
A good day
for the sultry woman haunting the South.
A rusty belt, a simple kiss, a river bed
and silence for the ages.
Her mouth can never speak after he has
soothed his rages.
A pretty girl.
A pretty heart.
A lock of hair.
A good day to depart.
for the pretty ones.
A good day
for the spiders.
As he laid to rest the beauty death
and everything he derided.
He held her to her word and
silenced her pretty mouth.
A good day
for the sultry woman haunting the South.
A rusty belt, a simple kiss, a river bed
and silence for the ages.
Her mouth can never speak after he has
soothed his rages.
A pretty girl.
A pretty heart.
A lock of hair.
A good day to depart.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Unsent Letters
My dearest darling,
I hope this letter finds you well and that you receive my blossoming flowers. They seem such a small piece of my appreciation but I hope, I pray, maybe hold my breath a little that you understand how much I need you. Last night I met a call girl that had no teeth, no waist and no eye shadow but she spoke about Baudelaire through red wine teeth so I had no way of ever turning my back on her. Letters are so impersonal even when they are addressed. They are more streams of consciousness than any communication. Nevertheless, I think of you constantly and soon I will hand my crucifix on your door.
Edward.
I hope this letter finds you well and that you receive my blossoming flowers. They seem such a small piece of my appreciation but I hope, I pray, maybe hold my breath a little that you understand how much I need you. Last night I met a call girl that had no teeth, no waist and no eye shadow but she spoke about Baudelaire through red wine teeth so I had no way of ever turning my back on her. Letters are so impersonal even when they are addressed. They are more streams of consciousness than any communication. Nevertheless, I think of you constantly and soon I will hand my crucifix on your door.
Edward.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Perfect Wife.
By Danielle Searby.
Blood looks like motor oil,
engines choke and fall apart.
I cough on your fumes.
Servitude looms.
I've wrapped my legs around you
and cleaned your bones of all your marrow.
The engine comes to a grinding halt.
Standing tall becomes my fault.
Years ago I must have asked for all
the clean dishes I have passed.
The gears never change,
the growling engine threatens to derange.
All you touch becomes mine.
I've cleaned your body, your house and your mind.
For some reason I look under my skirt
and fine engine oil and all your dirt.
Blood looks like motor oil,
engines choke and fall apart.
I cough on your fumes.
Servitude looms.
I've wrapped my legs around you
and cleaned your bones of all your marrow.
The engine comes to a grinding halt.
Standing tall becomes my fault.
Years ago I must have asked for all
the clean dishes I have passed.
The gears never change,
the growling engine threatens to derange.
All you touch becomes mine.
I've cleaned your body, your house and your mind.
For some reason I look under my skirt
and fine engine oil and all your dirt.
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