10 October 2013

Two, of a kind, a kind of two

a new kind of rhythm, a new, kinder rhythm, a kinder new rhythm, kind of a new rhythm, a rhythm new of kind, rhythm of a new kind, of rhythm -  a new kind, of rhythm a kind, new! kind, new, rhythm of a, of kindness a new rhythm, a kind - new of rhythm, of a kind new rhythm

her kind torches houses, her kind houses torches, torches her kind houses, houses her kind torches, her torches, kind houses, her houses, kind torches, houses torch her kind, torches house her kind, her house torched kindly, kindly torch her house! her kind houses torched... torch her kind houses, house her kind torches

an apostrophe indicates a kind of loss, a kind of loss an apostrophe indicates, loss of a kind an apostrophe indicates, indicates a kind of loss an apostrophe, loss of a kind indicates an apostrophe, loss of an apostrophe indicates a kind, a kind indication, an apostrophe of loss, a kind apostrophe, an indication of loss

and Anne Sexton, 'Her Kind'


I have gone out, a possessed witch,
haunting the black air, braver at night;
dreaming evil, I have done my hitch
over the plain houses, light by light:
lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.
A woman like that is not a woman, quite.
I have been her kind.

I have found the warm caves in the woods,
filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves,
closets, silks, innumerable goods;
fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves:
whining, rearranging the disaligned.
A woman like that is misunderstood.
I have been her kind.

I have ridden in your cart, driver,
waved my nude arms at villages going by,
learning the last bright routes, survivor
where your flames still bite my thigh
and my ribs crack where your wheels wind.
A woman like that is not ashamed to die.
I have been her kind.

(listen)
I have gone out, a possessed witch, haunting the black air, braver at night; dreaming evil, I have done my hitch over the plain houses, light by light: lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind. A woman like that is not a woman, quite. I have been her kind. I have found the warm caves in the woods, filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves, closets, silks, innumerable goods; fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves: whining, rearranging the disaligned. A woman like that is misunderstood. I have been her kind. I have ridden in your cart, driver, waved my nude arms at villages going by, learning the last bright routes, survivor where your flames still bite my thigh and my ribs crack where your wheels wind. A woman like that is not ashamed to die. I have been her kind. - See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15297#sthash.1hPB2xm9.dpuf
I have gone out, a possessed witch, haunting the black air, braver at night; dreaming evil, I have done my hitch over the plain houses, light by light: lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind. A woman like that is not a woman, quite. I have been her kind. I have found the warm caves in the woods, filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves, closets, silks, innumerable goods; fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves: whining, rearranging the disaligned. A woman like that is misunderstood. I have been her kind. I have ridden in your cart, driver, waved my nude arms at villages going by, learning the last bright routes, survivor where your flames still bite my thigh and my ribs crack where your wheels wind. A woman like that is not ashamed to die. I have been her kind. - See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15297#sthash.1hPB2xm9.dpuf
I have gone out, a possessed witch, haunting the black air, braver at night; dreaming evil, I have done my hitch over the plain houses, light by light: lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind. A woman like that is not a woman, quite. I have been her kind. I have found the warm caves in the woods, filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves, closets, silks, innumerable goods; fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves: whining, rearranging the disaligned. A woman like that is misunderstood. I have been her kind. I have ridden in your cart, driver, waved my nude arms at villages going by, learning the last bright routes, survivor where your flames still bite my thigh and my ribs crack where your wheels wind. A woman like that is not ashamed to die. I have been her kind. - See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15297#sthash.1hPB2xm9.dpuf
I have gone out, a possessed witch, haunting the black air, braver at night; dreaming evil, I have done my hitch over the plain houses, light by light: lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind. A woman like that is not a woman, quite. I have been her kind. I have found the warm caves in the woods, filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves, closets, silks, innumerable goods; fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves: whining, rearranging the disaligned. A woman like that is misunderstood. I have been her kind. I have ridden in your cart, driver, waved my nude arms at villages going by, learning the last bright routes, survivor where your flames still bite my thigh and my ribs crack where your wheels wind. A woman like that is not ashamed to die. I have been her kind. - See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15297#sthash.1hPB2xm9.dpuf

9 October 2013

from Cocteau's Le Livre Blanc

Nothing embarrasses me when talking about sexual relationships, but modesty holds me back when I come to describing the tortures which I am capable of suffering. So I will describe them in a few lines and not mention them again. Love breaks me in two. Even when I am calm I live in constant fear that this calm might cease and this anxiety prevents me from enjoying its pleasures. The slightest setback ruins everything. I find it impossible not to see the worst side of things. Nothing prevents me from losing my foothold, even if I have only slipped. Waiting is one form of torture; possession is another, through fear of losing what I possess.

Doubt caused me to pass wakeful nights walking up and down, lying on the floor, hoping the floor would sink down, eternally down. I promised myself that I would not say a word about my fears. As soon as I was in H's presence I plied him with complaints and questions. He said nothing. This silence either drove me into a frenzy or else made me weep. I accused him of hating me, of wanting to kill me. He knew very well that replies were useless and that I would start again the next day.