the whackness

things to think on:

1. fantasies of control: check.  because being nuttier than an outhouse rat requires certain parameters, planning, ground rules.

tying into number 1 is 2. i'm not "one of those people who [blank]."  don't fill in that blank.  types are excusable up to a certain point, but after that point, either attempt to get the real story, or get out the kitchen.  it's partially womanly orneriness, i totally admit that, but don't even try to threaten my originality.  i don't always get it right, but nine times out of 10 i have been THROUGH it with myself before it gets presented for public view, and though i may not deserve respect for that in others' eyes, in my own, that attribute is about the only thing in me that does deserve it.  i may not be pretty, polite, considerate, or receptive enough, but i am trying my ass off to be responsible for what's inside me.  call it control freakishness if you will.  i don't think that's an inaccurate diagnosis.  but i am making one hell of an effort to be what i think i ought to be--and what i think i ought to be is what i am, plus what's possible.  so there's a lot to try for.

not sure precisely what prompted this.  something like: it's totally possible that people are an equation, a la tom stoppard's arcadia sort of.  but if so, it's a divine equation.

nothing...nothing...nothing

monody

i turned your name into a bell. it was nothing more than the name of you that i hollowed, that i fashioned, and i knew it as nothing more than your name

which was why it moved with each wind.

oh my love, oh my love,
i turned your name into a bell.


meditations of the beast

once, in those hours in your arms,
once, i unseamed my eyes,
seeing the moon shrouded
in mist, or, if there was no mist,
in what i felt, and i felt,
for once, it bridged,
the gap between truth and lies,

that between what one controls
and what one knows, the moon,
floating, enhazed, is,
lustrous
constant
in the naked sky.