So,
we are raised to believe in nothing but love and other such rare-niceties.
But we are never shown or taught the pure abuse of power. the only thing you really need to get anywhere, you have to be able to abuse the power around you.
That is where guilt comes in, if you can make someone feel guilty, you basically own them. They shall give you any and everything they can to get rid of their guilt.
Guilt is a super currency. its trumps any other.
But dont abuse it, unless its an emergency.
Something to consider, why the fuck does blackberry's battery life suck so royally?
Its always in the red, always!
moving on,
i have not blogged in a while, not since ive been back from the village, but here i am now, blogging away while i should be cleaning my rat cage,
i shall do that soon.
promise.
ive not been able to write recently, which kinda upsets me, and in a sick twisted way amuses me. makes me feel vulnerable and useless. but thrillingly so.
My friends, are now friends, and thus i am happy in life.
Some family members are fucking with me in the wrong way, and should rather shut the fuck up before they embarrass themselves anymore.
DONT YOU FUCKING DARE PRAY FOR ME.
especially not because of my sexuality.
Fuck you.
Now, getting older is something we all do, well you all do.
ive been stuck in this little midget leprechaun shaped body for 504 years.
so you age, i dont.
as i was saying, age is something that happens.
embrace it, up to a point and then start lying about it.
remain 32 for as long as your neck and hand shall allow, it then age gracefully to 45. Remain there until it becomes obvious and then jump immediately to 60 and freeze there. simple as that.
Oh and, also, have some fun.
live it up.
and if push comes to shove, you are covered in those scars and blotches cause you were a missionary worker for the UN in africa and you had no sun-lotion.
works like a charm, you get to be 32 for longer and you also get some sympathy.
I have no poem for you this time,
as i have no written poetry in a while. But how about a plath?
Good? yes?
Oh, before that.
You are allowed only so much naivety and stupidity around me, last night you practically overflowed all over me and the people around you, unfortunate for them, i hope you get a little cold and some alone time to contemplate the idiocy which is you.
Lesbos :
Viciousness in the kitchen!
The potatoes hiss.
It is all Hollywood, windowless,
The fluorescent light wincing on and off like a terrible migraine,
Coy paper strips for doors --
Stage curtains, a widow's frizz.
And I, love, am a pathological liar,
And my child -- look at her, face down on the floor,
Little unstrung puppet, kicking to disappear --
Why she is schizophrenic,
Her face is red and white, a panic,
You have stuck her kittens outside your window
In a sort of cement well
Where they crap and puke and cry and she can't hear.
You say you can't stand her,
The bastard's a girl.
You who have blown your tubes like a bad radio
Clear of voices and history, the staticky
Noise of the new.
You say I should drown the kittens. Their smell!
You say I should drown my girl.
She'll cut her throat at ten if she's mad at two.
The baby smiles, fat snail,
From the polished lozenges of orange linoleum.
You could eat him. He's a boy.
You say your husband is just no good to you.
His Jew-Mama guards his sweet sex like a pearl.
You have one baby, I have two.
I should sit on a rock off Cornwall and comb my hair.
I should wear tiger pants, I should have an affair.
We should meet in another life, we should meet in air,
Me and you.
Meanwhile there's a stink of fat and baby crap.
I'm doped and thick from my last sleeping pill.
The smog of cooking, the smog of hell
Floats our heads, two venemous opposites,
Our bones, our hair.
I call you Orphan, orphan. You are ill.
The sun gives you ulcers, the wind gives you T.B.
Once you were beautiful.
In New York, in Hollywood, the men said: 'Through?
Gee baby, you are rare.'
You acted, acted for the thrill.
The impotent husband slumps out for a coffee.
I try to keep him in,
An old pole for the lightning,
The acid baths, the skyfuls off of you.
He lumps it down the plastic cobbled hill,
Flogged trolley. The sparks are blue.
The blue sparks spill,
Splitting like quartz into a million bits.
O jewel! O valuable!
That night the moon
Dragged its blood bag, sick
Animal
Up over the harbor lights.
And then grew normal,
Hard and apart and white.
The scale-sheen on the sand scared me to death.
We kept picking up handfuls, loving it,
Working it like dough, a mulatto body,
The silk grits.
A dog picked up your doggy husband. He went on.
Now I am silent, hate
Up to my neck,
Thick, thick.
I do not speak.
I am packing the hard potatoes like good clothes,
I am packing the babies,
I am packing the sick cats.
O vase of acid,
It is love you are full of. You know who you hate.
He is hugging his ball and chain down by the gate
That opens to the sea
Where it drives in, white and black,
Then spews it back.
Every day you fill him with soul-stuff, like a pitcher.
You are so exhausted.
Your voice my ear-ring,
Flapping and sucking, blood-loving bat.
That is that. That is that.
You peer from the door,
Sad hag. 'Every woman's a whore.
I can't communicate.'
I see your cute décor
Close on you like the fist of a baby
Or an anemone, that sea
Sweetheart, that kleptomaniac.
I am still raw.
I say I may be back.
You know what lies are for.
Even in your Zen heaven we shan't meet.
- Sylvia Plath.
Keep well.
love fookers
No comments:
Post a Comment