Wednesday, January 25, 2012

Sylvia strikes again

I know the bottom, she says. I know it with my great tap root:
It is what you fear.
I do not fear it: I have been there.

Is it the sea you hear in me,
Its dissatisfactions?
Or the voice of nothing, that was your madness?

Love is a shadow.
How you lie and cry after it
Listen: these are its hooves: it has gone off, like a horse.

All night I shall gallop thus, impetuously,
Till your head is a stone, your pillow a little turf,
Echoing, echoing.

Or shall I bring you the sound of poisons?
This is rain now, this big hush.
And this is the fruit of it: tin-white, like arsenic.

I have suffered the atrocity of sunsets.
Scorched to the root
My red filaments burn and stand, a hand of wires.

Now I break up in pieces that fly about like clubs.
A wind of such violence
Will tolerate no bystanding: I must shriek.

The moon, also, is merciless: she would drag me
Cruelly, being barren.
Her radiance scathes me. Or perhaps I have caught her.

I let her go. I let her go
Diminished and flat, as after radical surgery.
How your bad dreams possess and endow me.

I am inhabited by a cry.
Nightly it flaps out
Looking, with its hooks, for something to love.

I am terrified by this dark thing
That sleeps in me;
All day I feel its soft, feathery turnings, its malignity.

Clouds pass and disperse.
Are those the faces of love, those pale irretrievables?
Is it for such I agitate my heart?

I am incapable of more knowledge.
What is this, this face
So murderous in its strangle of branches? -

Its snaky acids hiss.
It petrifies the will. These are the isolate, slow faults
That kill, that kill, that kill.

~Sylvia Plath

Sunday, January 15, 2012


Muscular Dystrophy is a bitch.  It's a real bitch.  If you haven't donated to this cause, you should.  Here, let me make it easy for you:

This year I've watched two very special ladies die long and painful deaths due to this heart-breaking, lung-stopping disease.  Unable to use any of their limbs, these twins shared a smile and spread a light so thick it could stop strangers in their tracks.

Neither of them would want me to sit around and mope about their passing.  They would be angry if they knew just how deeply affected I have been by this loss.  Especially the one who's hand I held for the past few days. 

She couldn't change her circumstances but she always kept a watchful eye on her attitude.  I have envied her that small token of happiness, even knowing the depths of despair she had to cross to get there.  It wavered as much as anyone's, don't get me wrong, but her circumstances were by far much more tragic than mine.

I have been so prone to bitterness and hostility lately.  I can't fathom a way away from this rage.  I've considered a multitude of options ranging from suicide to giving my children up for adoption.  Horrible, I know, but I'm not here to convince you of my awesomeness, my wellness, or to sell you a bunch of crap.  If you want inorganic bullshit I recommend Deepak or some other light propagating, profit manifesting tool. 

What I'm driving at here is that my friends death has impacted me in some unexpected ways.  If she could overcome the horrors of her circumstance then surely I can overcome mine, and you yours.  Why it took losing her to figure it out is beyond me. 

If I had to form an excuse it would be that raising three kids on top of a full time work and school schedule keeps me too damn busy to pay attention to the obvious.  I'm always looking for the less obvious.  Clearly, this obliviousness to the obvious is something I should work on.  I guess I'll throw that shit on the list with overcoming my fear of success and getting my paper written... perhaps I'll find time between work and my biopsy tomorrow.  Or maybe I'll go tanning instead.  I'm suffering from some serious UV deficiency.

Tasty morsels in tiny bites.  Circumstances are unavoidable and totally recoverable. *deep breath in*  Let's try this again.   

Friday, January 6, 2012


Friday.  Five a.m.  The radio sings me awake, calling me to coffee.  Roused I head for the shower, turn around and sit back, head resting, shoulder bound, eyes stuck, gazing toward a spot in the floor where the stain of words remains around the faint chalk outline of love.

Anything but dull, yet nothing dramatic.

Steamy liquid splashes across it's cozy borders through crackling lips slightly parted and aromatically fills a body with life as the sun toys with the horizon, finally considering setting the night on fire.  Sulfur fills the air and smoke permeates already lifeless lungs.

The sweetness of a lasting touch slips through an open door, leaving loving lingering on my face.  The orbital axis shifts once more.  Drawn.  Like a horse.  Like a bath.  Like a sketch. Like a moth.

Sputtering, stuttering, stammering they almost fell from a tongue to land at my feet. Another broken - almost existence.  I can imagine nothing so perfect as exactly that.  Except the sugar water in his skin and the silent sadness in his eyes.  Once they live, they will remain.  Those words, like mothballs, to my heart.   

Sunday, January 1, 2012

Intuition and Romance

I'm much too much distraught today to talk it any other way but the way that it is, and that's straight. 

One line.  Two points. Boom.

There's a voice, some of us seldom listen to, that comes from some deep, wise, and unknown corner of our being.  Some call it intuition.  Some call it god.  Some call it psychosis.  Some mistake it sometimes for one or the other or something else entirely.  I do.  All the time.  I've found my most commonly used mantra this year is "Intuition is not psychosis."   I've had this on repeat, and I think it's finally working.

Upon realizing from that deep, wise, unknown corner of my gut that the fellow I've been seeing for the last couple of months really isn't the right fellow for me I attempted to break it off at which point he grew pushy, impatient, and mean.  Then he began to harass me for the remainder of the day until I decided I couldn't allow it to continue and if he wasn't going to respond appropriately to kindness that I would have to play dirty to get him to leave me alone.

I hate hurting people.  I really do.  But if I didn't get nasty with him he wasn't ever going to go away and I was starting to fear that he was going to show up here all irate and whatnot, so I did what I needed to do to ensure the safety and well being of myself, my children, and my property.  So right now out there in the world there is someone seething with hatred for me.  Someone who is angry, and hurt, and heartbroken... and I did that, and I don't feel good about it. Mostly because the things he said in anger rang with truth, even though they were based on the lies I told to get him to stop calling. There's really no way around it, I feel like shit today.  I feel like certifiable shit and I'm not sure anything but time can make me feel better about what I've done.

I need to figure out why I seem to attract this sort of thing into my life so I can figure out how to stop.  It's a shame my intuition won't give me a place to start, or that I can't see it, either way.... Here's to a new year, and not starting it off with the wrong people in your life.  So with a sideways smile and an uncertain hope - Happy New Year, folks!