For the HoodedBuddha....

I, have nothing right now. I will...but until I do, I turn to Eliot...The Wasteland:

April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee
With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,
And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,
And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.
Bin gar keine Russin, stamm' aus Litauen, echt deutsch.
And when we were children, staying at the archduke's,
My cousin's, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
...

Who is the third who walks always beside you?
When I count, there are only you and I together
But when I look ahead up the white road
There is always another one walking beside you
Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded
I do not know whether a man or a woman
- But who is that on the other side of you?
...

My friend, blood shaking my heart
The awful daring of a moment's surrender
Which an age of prudence can never retract
By this, and this only, we have existed
Which is not to be found in our obituaries
Or in memories draped by the beneficent spider
Or under seals broken by the lean solicitor
In our empty rooms.


Chin up little bear...I am so very sorry and saddened, and will be here when you're ready for me.

My life, is drastically and tragically beginning to resemble, reflect, spam messages. It's a bit freaky actually, but then I think, it's like when you've never heard a word before, then you learn it, and then you hear it all the time...like quixotic, hummmm that's a strange word, and then slowly everyone everywhere is placing words into sentences that begin and end and contain quixotic. Soooooo maybe because I just now understand things, and have familiarized myself with it...it is just that the spam is starting and ending and containing parts of my life I've only now started to understand. Anyway...as follows...

When we find our money, we'll spend it more sensibly, won't we.
Tiny images move and change there, in liquid crystal.
Strings of beads hung in her hair, and she had kicked off her shoes.
It was hanging in her closet, under a piece of drycleaner's plastic.
A dragon, a living dragon, as her companion for two whole years.
I cannot allow him to pass.
With your tooraloom tooraloom.
Then she realized that the piles were of one continuous cloth, flowing off the top of one stack into the bottom of the next.
Am I not going there. From his left hand dangled Piggy's broken glasses.

Perhaps, the sole highlight so far...from the tate...gilbert & george.

i want this

all of this

at once

so bad....

badly.

the colourful dust
of butterfly wings
in the flutter of eyelashes
on fingertips

there’s nothing to say
never anything to say

we let our skin
talk pore to pore

long thin pins
hold our breaths
on pyrite limbs
and pretzeling needs
paradise


there's nothing to say
never anything
to say

what does it mean to wake out of a dream and be wearing someone elses clothes?

he won't talk to me.

utterly discouraging when all all all i want to do is talk and talk and talk and talk. his sister in law rearranges plants while i write this. puttering and trying to talk without talking about "it," she envelopes me with british politeness and a muttering of dancing around the truth and real reason for the smug concentrated look on my face she wanders and dance beautiful in the discourse, her semantic steps with that cute little accent intriguing and almost almost disarms and disengages me...

with paul simon in the background talking of emily or the boxer, or what he'd rather be.

i struggle.

this is our thing. this has been our thing talked about and talked about into pillows and sweat sweet sex we've talked about it and now are doing it together we're doing it around and wandering and counting the pubs on the edge of the river in london counting the cars on the motorway we are here and moving onto there drinking and smoking and screwing and being together we are together away and to have that taken away from us...the most together i've ever been with anyone in my life, the biggest step the biggest chance the biggest merging of ourselves into a self and having that self that merging ripped and torn and taken disasterously away...will never ever be forgiven.

i can't do this. i can't love who i want to love who i feel i love because of the SHIT the fuckin SHIT that piles up that isn't my fault and may be partly his fault...or completely faultless but just fuckin THERE.

i've wandered into England where a part of my heart i didn't know i had lies, my mind is distracted and confused, my mind many miles away, they lie with him

in his sleep

i want

to kiss him in his sleep as we begin the day

to finish all the poems and words and writing i've started

though i don't know why i bother

spending the time to write these things i can't believe, they tear and strain between us...i've come to doubt all i've held as true, standing alone without him, without the only love and truth i know in you...watching the drops of rain onto english grass, you sleep next to me tonight, and i know we are like the rain, going before the grace of us was ever known.

i give up.

we came over in the NEW 777 oh my goodness. VERY cool, the seats go right down, tons of room, but really very strange as you are pivoted in such a manner that you're not really sitting next to anyone. It's a weird thing to get used to...but an exciting experience. Totally.

Now, this is what I know...

Fries are chips
Chips are Crisps

Panties are knickers
Pants are trousers

Buggery is sodomy
Sneakers are trainers

Pudding is desert
Bloke a guy
A Bird a girl

I still don't quite know what a geezer is but COI was a little put off being called it.

Ummmmmm....

A nip in the air
A Posh Sandwich is a good sandwich
Mushy peas are just that
To wank of is to jerk off but a wanker is just a jerk
And strangely

Half way around the world...

Ex's are still fuckin cunts with massive abilities to infilterate and destroy COI and the trip as a whole.

Fancy that huh?

The trip...

as follows...

London - Prague - Dubai - Bali - Thailand - Hong Kong.

How cool is that?

I'm exciiiiiiitttteeeeedddddd....although I will miss "Canada" and be happy to come back, I am terribly totally fuckin excited. In the words of Wyclef....

Every time I make a run, girl, you turn around and cry
I ask myself why, oh why
See, you must understand, I cant work a 9 to 5
So Ill be gone til november
Said Ill be gone til november, Ill be gone til november
Yo, tell my girl, yo, Ill be gone til november
Ill be gone til november, Ill be gone til november
Yo, tell my girl, yo, Ill be gone til november
January, february, march, april, may
I see you cryin, but girl, I cant stay
Ill be gone til november, Ill be gone til november
And give a kiss to my mother

Not quite Novemeber....June...but you know....

A TEAMSTERS FAREWELL
Carl Sandburg

GOOD-BY now to the streets and the clash of wheels and
locking hubs,
The sun coming on the brass buckles and harness knobs.
The muscles of the horses sliding under their heavy
haunches,
Good-by now to the traffic policeman and his whistle,
The smash of the iron hoof on the stones,
All the crazy wonderful slamming roar of the street--
O God, there's noises I'm going to be hungry for.

pour toi...

et vous savez qui vous êtes (although i don't know if you're able to read this...

et quand vous venez
la lumière dans vos yeux
chute sur moi
vous me voyez
m'observer
dans moi
le frisson
de I l'oculaire
embrassez-moi
avec vos yeux
les baisers du soleil
me fondent encore

it started like this...

i slid in my sarah sliding way up to him standing in his buddha way against too nice of a hotel for my young ass to be in, he looks down in his buddha way, eyebrow glancing at me, wondering wondering wondering what my young ass WAS doing there and moreover with whom i was with...flittering through nashville utterly pimped out, smoking marlboros, hotboxing up and around the bosom hills of tennessee drinking cans of beer and talking and talking and talking...head drunk on life we drove through the conversations....and

shuffled through the distillery i not know my place, he making me one...in between two worlds i was fluctuating through and around and back...

to the hot and cold nights of warm water billowing over and around the clouds of our verbality and discourse,and smoking and smoking and drinking and dunking we swam through out words back and around again...

the most memorable is coming now the most memorable of all...

to sarasota i freaked the fuck out of my mind and out of my heart, mrs. p smoke-less and we so very smoke-full. and drinking and drinking and talking and talking a night spent in a mexican bar, and while strolling drunkenly around, COI driving and we as drunk as fuck in the back, i intent on swimming the entire trip, the buddha and i jumping out before the car stopped the obligatory cigarette dang dang dangling from his mouth and run run running together to the shore we swam full of tequila and words and words and words while COI sat and stared and laughed, we ran drunkenly back to the car, i woke up sand and salt itching at my legs i woke up...

to me struggling through the one way streets in hamilton....to us struggling through the one way streets of us...

to the absence.

to the back-ness.

he came,

we came back.

and now i sit with the buddha watching emily work drinking and thinking and talking more rich than anyone before we move together through the words we make together through the worlds we've made together.

i've never been good with friends. i've never been good having or keeping friends, working at it.

there is a richness about the buddha, and there is a richness about the buddha and i and the worlds and the words and the time we've created.

he has taught me so much about myself, COI, relationships, god, thinking, education, about drinking and smoking, and yes about love.

i am forever in debt. i can recognize my life in both ways, and i know my life is rich with him in it, shallow and empty without.

happy birthday buddha babe.

And in other news...

Rant comes out May 1st by Chuck Palahniuk....

AND he's in Toronto on May 22nd.

So if anyone wants to come with me...you are all more than welcome!

Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.
1922 — 2007


The first.

The first book that really really did that "thing" to me. Those of you who read (GOB) can relate.

There's a thing when you read if you're a 'reader' and the thing is nose stuck too close to the page as breath holding you move through the book. It's like you meet the book in the store, you turn to your random page (mine is 78 but everyone has something different), you read the page, a line jumps out, you say fuuuuuucccck you buy the book, you can't wait to get home, you get home, you take off your clothes, slowly methodically you open the book, and you begin inside the book, hips trembling with each turning page, hours and hours and hours go by until...as you move through...you finish the book with a sigh, with a reflective look towards and away from that last page and then once in a while and only once in a while, you turn on the bath you slide in and you re-open the book and read it all again. With new eyes, it becomes better. BUT only sometimes. As I Lay Dying...yes multiple readings...Auster, multiple readings, Palahniuk, Winterson, Ehrich, ALL MULTIPLE READINGS and of course....Joyce. Multiple multiple readings...

I don't remember how I read before. I do remember the Count of Monte Cristo as being the first book I devoured. About 7 years old, my grandfather would let me read all his withered and old first editions of the 'classics for kids' or whatever the hell. I like them...but soon my little eyes started to go to the shelf above. He told me I wouldn't understand it. That I wouldn't be able to get it.

I sat in my grandmothers chair in the middle of July and devoured it. Afterwards I moved on to Moby Dick.

But after these and the entire Dickens collection I moved into the book that began to do that thing to me. That could place me in the middle of train tracks with the whistle coming closer and closer and I would struggle to finish the last page before the train hit me.

ANYWAY

The book, the book, the first book was...Slaughterhouse Five. So it goes, so it goes...To this day, the book I pick up and re read and re love and become re enchanted with. I read everything else, he wrote...essays, short stories, EVERYTHING and loved him for it. It's like your first kiss, you never forget as teeth bashing and sloppy as it is,that first book. A nostalgic obsession.

I fell in love with Billy Pilgrim, I started complaining about my eyes so I could see an optometrist maybe maybe like Billy, and be abducted with him to Tralfamadorian zoo, I now fall in love with Montana Wildhack, I didn't get porn-star-ness when I was 10. And Barbara..."bitchy flibbertigibbet" with "legs like an Edwardian grand piano". The language and language and irony and humour...I think this may have been what grabbed me, what did it for me.."mustard gas and roses" the odour of decaying corpses on a drunks breath...the idea of mortality, dying bubbles in a glass of champagne...so it goes so it goes...

My blackberry buzzed at 4am this morning. Groggy eyed I fumbled in the dark to read my CNN breaking news story. Kurt Vonnegut Jr. died Wednesday, at the age of 84, his last words I'm sure marvelling in his ability to live so long smoking so much!

I have to thank Mr. Vonnegut for teaching me at that early early age about language, the imagination and everything good in reading.

And so it goes I guess...

Rest In Peace big guy. Thank-you.

Clearly,

There are some problems here logically, with th apparent adaptation OF women TO rape. I would like to say...there are days...there are days...there are days...

When I would use this, not as protection of rape, but as an ability to get the last word of an argument in during the obligatory intimate moments of the night to come...

Is that wrong to say? I don't know that I give a fuck. That is how I feel. OHHHHHH to have the ability to "do" someone. As a woman, as a vessel, I find most of sex a constant rape, a constant putting in of something I don't necessary want or feel like having in...

AND ANOTHER THING...IF my vagina COULD talk (and I think it should)...the pecker would need ears, because GOD knows headears are too far away most days to decipher "snorcher language" IF IF IF

If God was a women, I think, she would have built the female vessel with these little hooks that you could flip out or flip up at your will...OR at the very least, give the snorcher language and a voice, and a pecker very very sensitive ears able to decipher snorcher language...

regardless...i do have problems with this, but part of me, a very very small part of me, inside of me, very close to the tender inners of me, is jumping up and down inside of me, screaming screaming YAH YAH YAHHHHHHHH....


The words of a rape victim - "If only I had teeth down there" - have inspired the design of a new anti-rape device.

Rapex - dubbed the 'rape trap' - is a product worn internally by women. The hollow inside is lined with rows of razor-sharp hooks, which are designed to latch on to a rapist's penis during penetration. They can only be removed by a doctor.

The product will be on the shelves of South African chemists and supermarkets later this month. South African mother-of-two Sonette Ehlers developed the original prototype in 2005 but has struggled to get it patented and approved for sale, not least because of staunch opposition from feminist groups.

"Vengeful, horrible, and disgusting," was the response from Charlene Smith, one of South Africa's leading anti-rape campaigners. Lisa Vetten, of the Centre of Violence and

A device that barbs onto rapists’ penises is causing outcry. Ehlers
says: "This is like going back to the days when women were forced to wear chastity belts. It is a terrifying thought that women are being made to adapt to rape."

Some also fear that the sudden infliction of pain on the rapist could incite him to even greater violence.

Ehlers, however, is adamant that desperate times call for desperate measures. South Africa has the world's highest rate of sexual assault: a staggering 1.7m women are raped each year. She believes the product, priced at one Rand, will be particularly useful for poorer black women who walk long distances to and from work.

With state intervention frustratingly slow, Ehlers argues this ugly version of empowerment is justified. "I don't hate men," she says. "I have not got revenge in mind. All I am doing is giving women their power back."

http://www.thefirstpost.co.uk/index.php?menuID=2&subID=1611