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Sticky Day
Feb. 5th, 2009 02:18 pmI'm currently noodling along on various different projects, trying my best to keep hammering, but not really catching fire with any of them; am almost finished my latest FearZone column, I believe, which has turned out to be on something utterly different than I originally intended it to be...not that I'm giving up on the mis-en-scene idea entirely--it's far too fun for that--but just that I've had a lot of trouble marshalling my thoughts into something concrete, let alone 500 words-plus long. Also, I'd sort of like to rack up a bunch of these, file them and then leave it for a while, so I can concentrate on A Book of Tongues without feeling guilty. It should be possible, especially on a day like today.;)
Anyhow: The double class wasn't really all that hard, so I'll probably do it again next week, especially since I feel like it may have actually helped me with this week's BodyCombat. Yesterday was another "lost" day in terms of wordage; Mom finally badgered me into going to get my neck x-rayed, after which we walked up to Sick Kids' and stocked up on gluten-free food for Cal. Then I came home and fell asleep, worked out, watched American Idol, etc. It's the glamorous life, for sure.
In lieu of actual content, therefore, have one of my favorite poems, instead:
WHEN HE DECIDED HE WAS FINISHED
to prove his love
he sent a severed hand.
She imprisoned it
in a bottle.
To prove his concern
he tied himself up in a sack
and threw his body
into the ocean.
She made a changeling out of wax.
She tucked it under her skirts.
To prove that he
understood freedom
he killed his pet bird.
She made a nest for it
amongst thistles.
He began to have feelings
of confusion.
To prove his need
he cut himself into small pieces
with a dull knife.
She was already a ghost;
he grew less assured.
The moon like a prickly burr
brushed against his heart.
She crucified a cat
and left it to bleed on his pillow.
He dressed himself in his
darkest clothes.
He called her, very gently.
He felt a pain
more permanent than defeat.
She was only beginning.
--Susan Musgrave, from A Man to Marry, A Man to Bury.
Anyhow: The double class wasn't really all that hard, so I'll probably do it again next week, especially since I feel like it may have actually helped me with this week's BodyCombat. Yesterday was another "lost" day in terms of wordage; Mom finally badgered me into going to get my neck x-rayed, after which we walked up to Sick Kids' and stocked up on gluten-free food for Cal. Then I came home and fell asleep, worked out, watched American Idol, etc. It's the glamorous life, for sure.
In lieu of actual content, therefore, have one of my favorite poems, instead:
WHEN HE DECIDED HE WAS FINISHED
to prove his love
he sent a severed hand.
She imprisoned it
in a bottle.
To prove his concern
he tied himself up in a sack
and threw his body
into the ocean.
She made a changeling out of wax.
She tucked it under her skirts.
To prove that he
understood freedom
he killed his pet bird.
She made a nest for it
amongst thistles.
He began to have feelings
of confusion.
To prove his need
he cut himself into small pieces
with a dull knife.
She was already a ghost;
he grew less assured.
The moon like a prickly burr
brushed against his heart.
She crucified a cat
and left it to bleed on his pillow.
He dressed himself in his
darkest clothes.
He called her, very gently.
He felt a pain
more permanent than defeat.
She was only beginning.
--Susan Musgrave, from A Man to Marry, A Man to Bury.
