Cunt.
It’s slang for vagina.
It begins with a hard-c. It rhymes with punt, stunt and front.
Use it lovingly, “that flower is opening up like a beautiful crimson cunt.”
Use it with edge, “that little fucking cunt just cut me off.”
Use it absurdly, “there’s a certain oaky cuntiness to this Merlot.”
Use it frequently.
And when someone balks or is morally offended, tell them it’s just a fucking word, lifted from a whore street in Old London and first used in print by James Joyce. Then gaze at them with judgmental disdain and tell them perhaps they’re the ones who need a morality check.
Cunts.
Saturday, November 26, 2011
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Letter to Self - 4
A very close friend, a knight I know, has asked me to write letters to myself on a monthly basis. What's more, he's smart enough that he came up with the idea that I should read them aloud when they're done. It's amazing how writing them, I feel very much like the me that is encouraging and supportive. Reading them... hearing them read... I feel very much like the me that is nurtured and cared for by the words. Though it makes me cry, I am beginning to see the good in this sort of practice.
Dear Beloved,
Here we are again at the place where I am supposed to say something to you, and you are supposed to hear and know that you’re doing okay. The advice is supposed to be positive, and good. I suppose, it’s strange to say “you” and “I”, when we are both just “me”... but there it is.
I’m not sure what it is you need to hear, or what it is I need to say, but I do have faith in the ink. I know that if I just let the words flow, they will lead me in the right direction... they always do. You know, of course, that I’ve been lost in the story of Le Cirque des Re’ves, for several days. The magic appeals to me, the potential for the dreamlike, the intricacies and details that add to that dream’s inherent sensuality. I do love that type of story. I think there is a message in that story for you, and for me.
I think the message is two-fold. First, trust the ink. Trust the magic of creating with words. You are, at heart, a poet, a dreamer, a story weaver. Find the magic that moves you and keeps you awake at night, and get it down on paper. Make that dream come alive in the letters and words and phrases that spill from your pen in a continuous thread. This is, more than any other single thing, who you are. You were made to write. This is your magic, as sure as your deep emotion, and your capacity for love are magical, your true gift is words. Embrace that truth, and live it. Please.
The second message is this - there is always something impossible, something unbelievable, something incredible to hope for. There is a reason to keep dreaming. You’ve been hurt again, and you are tired of the hurting and the worry and the grief. You are tired of being cautious with your heart. I know you’re afraid of risking so much again just to be hurt. You say you refuse to hold back. But you are on hold... and maybe that is wise. Maybe you need time to heal, and that is perfectly fine.
But Beloved, don’t give up. Don’t quit. Don’t close your heart to the possibility that somewhere out there in your future, in your life, there is the magic of falling in love again. You make magic still in your relationship with Shepherd. You live magic in your home, with the life you and Husband have built with children and grandchildren, too. You are extremely fortunate to have such wonder in two worlds.
Just don’t close your heart to the possibility that you might find it in three... or more... the truth is, you never know what you might find if you let your heart believe anything is possible -- and that alone is worth the risk.
There is more love. There is more possibility. There is more.
Don’t close the door.
Here we are again at the place where I am supposed to say something to you, and you are supposed to hear and know that you’re doing okay. The advice is supposed to be positive, and good. I suppose, it’s strange to say “you” and “I”, when we are both just “me”... but there it is.
I’m not sure what it is you need to hear, or what it is I need to say, but I do have faith in the ink. I know that if I just let the words flow, they will lead me in the right direction... they always do. You know, of course, that I’ve been lost in the story of Le Cirque des Re’ves, for several days. The magic appeals to me, the potential for the dreamlike, the intricacies and details that add to that dream’s inherent sensuality. I do love that type of story. I think there is a message in that story for you, and for me.
I think the message is two-fold. First, trust the ink. Trust the magic of creating with words. You are, at heart, a poet, a dreamer, a story weaver. Find the magic that moves you and keeps you awake at night, and get it down on paper. Make that dream come alive in the letters and words and phrases that spill from your pen in a continuous thread. This is, more than any other single thing, who you are. You were made to write. This is your magic, as sure as your deep emotion, and your capacity for love are magical, your true gift is words. Embrace that truth, and live it. Please.
The second message is this - there is always something impossible, something unbelievable, something incredible to hope for. There is a reason to keep dreaming. You’ve been hurt again, and you are tired of the hurting and the worry and the grief. You are tired of being cautious with your heart. I know you’re afraid of risking so much again just to be hurt. You say you refuse to hold back. But you are on hold... and maybe that is wise. Maybe you need time to heal, and that is perfectly fine.
But Beloved, don’t give up. Don’t quit. Don’t close your heart to the possibility that somewhere out there in your future, in your life, there is the magic of falling in love again. You make magic still in your relationship with Shepherd. You live magic in your home, with the life you and Husband have built with children and grandchildren, too. You are extremely fortunate to have such wonder in two worlds.
Just don’t close your heart to the possibility that you might find it in three... or more... the truth is, you never know what you might find if you let your heart believe anything is possible -- and that alone is worth the risk.
There is more love. There is more possibility. There is more.
Don’t close the door.
-Me
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Swimming in the Dark Ink
Primordium
"The whole of Le Cirque des Re'ves is formed by series of circles. Perhaps it is a tribute to the origin of the word "circus," deriving from the Greek kirkos meaning circle, or ring. There are many such nods to the phenomenon of the circus in a historical sense, though it is hardly a traditional circus. Rather than a single tent with rings enclosed within, this circus contains clusters of tents like pyramids, some large and others quite small. They are set within circular paths, contained within a circular fence. Looping and continuous.
-Friedrick Thiessen, 1892
A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.
- Oscar Wilde, 1888
(And so, Part I of The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern begins...)
----------
I am captivated by this book already. It contains so many lines, so many singular words so much that strikes chords inside of me... individual chords that barely begin to vibrate, to quiver in anticipation of the inspiring words that will spill from my pen later. Already I've been jotting those words and phrases into my notebook. There is no music yet, but it is coming - these chords will keep trembling and eventually lend their voices to sweet harmonic inspiration -- and I can't wait to set it down in inky black words, lined up properly, one after another.
It may be quite a fantastic tale. It may lend itself to another essay about my own darkness, and how I am chasing it with glee; or perhaps it will weave itself into some dark poem that beats with a life and rhythm all it's own. All I know is that for now, this reading -- this soaking up of the dark rich imagery and language -- is good for me.
So very good for the ink in my veins.
This I need.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
And So It Begins
provenience
a sonnet corona by Ephemera
"All human actions have one or more of these seven causes: chance, nature, compulsion, habit, reason, passion and desire."
-Aristotle
I. Chance
I'll entertain that chance may be the cause
for this encounter, with two eyes so blue.
Against such happenstance there are no laws;
though I might wish the opposite were true.
I find I'm staring, wondering at this hue.
It mirrors both the night sky and the sea.
It leaves me drunken, like a heady brew
and dulls my sense for witty repartee.
A moment's circumspection may be key
to aid a maiden choosing her next move.
If only in your gaze she could foresee
the way to her advantage quickly prove.
The longer here I gaze, I must surmise,
perhaps your nature lies behind disguise.
II. Nature
Perhaps your nature lies behind disguise.
The thought alone should beg a moment's pause.
I note at once, your chest it does not rise,
the way mine does with every breath it draws!
Here now, the doubt takes form. With teeth it gnaws.
Yet surely you must breathe as creatures do?
The hand of dread taps, taunts me with its claws --
until you speak, sweet words as if to woo...
"Oh lovely one, I beg you don't adieu!
Propriety would this dark one behoove
to honor beauty such as yours is due,
with entertainment! Please, say you approve?"
Your two pale lips seduce me with their plea.
An old compulsion tempts me -- wait and see.
III. Compulsion
An old compulsion tempts me wait and see.
"Might I," you ask, "your patient smile renew?"
"Perhaps a bass-line might, to some degree
allay timorous thoughts and comfort you."
At your proposal, as if by your cue,
the pulses of blue melody surprise.
Both pleasure and diversion soon ensue.
I smile and tap my toes in compromise.
My doubts remain, continue to chastise,
admonish me, beware sly danger's jaws!
I placate fears, asserting I am wise,
though over-prudence is among my flaws.
An urgency now beats within this groove.
Should habit hint at danger, I'll remove.
IV. Habit
Should habit hint at danger, I'll remove.
In meantime, let me strategy devise.
A gambit wrapped in words should well improve
resistance to those looks that hypnotize.
I'll flirt and tempt with verse; I'll improvise.
will rhyme in stanzas two and maybe three.
Ah, there he smiles as pleasure fills his eyes!
I can't be blamed for marking victory.
My pulse sings high, my mouth tastes of chablis.
My fingers itch to offer quick applause.
I smile sweetly though; to boast would be
a damper on the atmosphere that was.
I'll counter with a smile, while blushing too.
Of course, clear reason should be kept in view.
V. Reason
Of course, clear reason should be kept in view.
You speak of chances fleeting, perhaps we
the opportunity should not eschew,
to dance a while as music flows so free.
You take my hand and lead me 'neath a tree.
A gallant bow you swiftly improvise.
I blush and curtsy cannot disagree,
when tongue and gaze of yours both hypnotize.
Your arm goes round my waist, my heart it flies.
I take your hand, my feet begin to move.
The moon spills out her light from shadowed skies.
Familiar steps may well my dread disprove.
The music's soothing cloud settles like gauze.
In mutual passion, soon all doubt withdraws.
VI. Passion
In mutual passion, soon all doubt withdraws.
In nearness of your form my protest dies.
I cannot think to question now because
the sense of you surrounds me to baptize.
I drop my guard and gaze into your eyes,
where blue on blueness begins to imbue
my senses with peculiar, breathless highs
and hope -- which reason later may still rue.
My heart it syncopates and echoes through
my breathless body, begging to break free.
I rest my head against your chest and sue
my pulse for its reckless absurdity.
I care not now for those who disapprove.
Desire may at long last my shy soul move.
VII. Desire
Desire may at long last my shy soul move.
I lean to catch your scent and close my eyes.
Descending guard does your advance improve.
You counter with embraces and deep sighs.
No matter how my weakened reason tries,
with every touch my flesh longs to agree
that we should lengthen this embrace that ties
me into such strong curiosity.
My vision blurred with lust, I cannot see.
You feint and kiss before you bite into
The vein that pulses in my throat, with glee.
And I can only yield to this milieu.
How did I find myself within your jaws?
I'll entertain that chance may be the cause.
-----
A crown of sonnets or sonnet corona is a sequence of sonnets, usually addressed to some one person, and/or concerned with a single theme. Each of the sonnets explores one aspect of the theme, and is linked to the preceding and succeeding sonnets by repeating the final line of the preceding sonnet as its first line, and by having its final line be the first line of the succeeding sonnet. With seven sonnets, the first line of the first sonnet is repeated as the final line of the final sonnet, thereby bringing the sequence to a close.
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a sonnet corona by Ephemera
"All human actions have one or more of these seven causes: chance, nature, compulsion, habit, reason, passion and desire."
-Aristotle
I. Chance
I'll entertain that chance may be the cause
for this encounter, with two eyes so blue.
Against such happenstance there are no laws;
though I might wish the opposite were true.
I find I'm staring, wondering at this hue.
It mirrors both the night sky and the sea.
It leaves me drunken, like a heady brew
and dulls my sense for witty repartee.
A moment's circumspection may be key
to aid a maiden choosing her next move.
If only in your gaze she could foresee
the way to her advantage quickly prove.
The longer here I gaze, I must surmise,
perhaps your nature lies behind disguise.
II. Nature
Perhaps your nature lies behind disguise.
The thought alone should beg a moment's pause.
I note at once, your chest it does not rise,
the way mine does with every breath it draws!
Here now, the doubt takes form. With teeth it gnaws.
Yet surely you must breathe as creatures do?
The hand of dread taps, taunts me with its claws --
until you speak, sweet words as if to woo...
"Oh lovely one, I beg you don't adieu!
Propriety would this dark one behoove
to honor beauty such as yours is due,
with entertainment! Please, say you approve?"
Your two pale lips seduce me with their plea.
An old compulsion tempts me -- wait and see.
III. Compulsion
An old compulsion tempts me wait and see.
"Might I," you ask, "your patient smile renew?"
"Perhaps a bass-line might, to some degree
allay timorous thoughts and comfort you."
At your proposal, as if by your cue,
the pulses of blue melody surprise.
Both pleasure and diversion soon ensue.
I smile and tap my toes in compromise.
My doubts remain, continue to chastise,
admonish me, beware sly danger's jaws!
I placate fears, asserting I am wise,
though over-prudence is among my flaws.
An urgency now beats within this groove.
Should habit hint at danger, I'll remove.
IV. Habit
Should habit hint at danger, I'll remove.
In meantime, let me strategy devise.
A gambit wrapped in words should well improve
resistance to those looks that hypnotize.
I'll flirt and tempt with verse; I'll improvise.
will rhyme in stanzas two and maybe three.
Ah, there he smiles as pleasure fills his eyes!
I can't be blamed for marking victory.
My pulse sings high, my mouth tastes of chablis.
My fingers itch to offer quick applause.
I smile sweetly though; to boast would be
a damper on the atmosphere that was.
I'll counter with a smile, while blushing too.
Of course, clear reason should be kept in view.
V. Reason
Of course, clear reason should be kept in view.
You speak of chances fleeting, perhaps we
the opportunity should not eschew,
to dance a while as music flows so free.
You take my hand and lead me 'neath a tree.
A gallant bow you swiftly improvise.
I blush and curtsy cannot disagree,
when tongue and gaze of yours both hypnotize.
Your arm goes round my waist, my heart it flies.
I take your hand, my feet begin to move.
The moon spills out her light from shadowed skies.
Familiar steps may well my dread disprove.
The music's soothing cloud settles like gauze.
In mutual passion, soon all doubt withdraws.
VI. Passion
In mutual passion, soon all doubt withdraws.
In nearness of your form my protest dies.
I cannot think to question now because
the sense of you surrounds me to baptize.
I drop my guard and gaze into your eyes,
where blue on blueness begins to imbue
my senses with peculiar, breathless highs
and hope -- which reason later may still rue.
My heart it syncopates and echoes through
my breathless body, begging to break free.
I rest my head against your chest and sue
my pulse for its reckless absurdity.
I care not now for those who disapprove.
Desire may at long last my shy soul move.
VII. Desire
Desire may at long last my shy soul move.
I lean to catch your scent and close my eyes.
Descending guard does your advance improve.
You counter with embraces and deep sighs.
No matter how my weakened reason tries,
with every touch my flesh longs to agree
that we should lengthen this embrace that ties
me into such strong curiosity.
My vision blurred with lust, I cannot see.
You feint and kiss before you bite into
The vein that pulses in my throat, with glee.
And I can only yield to this milieu.
How did I find myself within your jaws?
I'll entertain that chance may be the cause.
-----
A crown of sonnets or sonnet corona is a sequence of sonnets, usually addressed to some one person, and/or concerned with a single theme. Each of the sonnets explores one aspect of the theme, and is linked to the preceding and succeeding sonnets by repeating the final line of the preceding sonnet as its first line, and by having its final line be the first line of the succeeding sonnet. With seven sonnets, the first line of the first sonnet is repeated as the final line of the final sonnet, thereby bringing the sequence to a close.
Sent via BlackBerry by AT&T
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