I need another story / Something to get off my chest / My life gets kinda boring / Need something that I can confess

Power
Adrienne Rich

Living in the earth-deposits of our history

Today a backhoe divulged out of a crumbling flank of earth
one bottle amber perfect a hundred-year-old
cure for fever or melancholy a tonic
for living on this earth in the winters of this climate.

Today I was reading about Marie Curie:
she must have known she suffered from radiation sickness
her body bombarded for years by the element
she had purified
It seems she denied to the end
the source of the cataracts on her eyes
the cracked and suppurating skin of her finger-ends
till she could no longer hold a test-tube or a pencil

She died a famous woman denying
her wounds
denying
her wounds came from the same source as her power.

hold on one more time with feeling

e.e. cummings

i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite a new thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh . . . . And eyes big love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you quite so new

blame aphrodite

Blame Aphrodite
Sappho

It's no use
Mother dear, I
can't finish my
weaving
            You may
blame Aphrodite

soft as she is

she has almost
killed me with
love for that boy

i like to feel the spine of your body and its bones

i like my body when it is with your
e. e. cummings

i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite a new thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh . . . . And eyes big love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you quite so new

collecting my thoughts

How astonishing it is that language can almost mean,
and frightening that it does not quite. Love, we say,
God, we say, Rome and Michiko, we write, and the words
get it all wrong.

-- Jack Gilbert, from "The Forgotten Dialect Of The Heart"

---

"Have you chosen a college yet?"

No. The answer is no.

"Narrowed it down?"

To two. They're both in Boston.

"Well of course _________, right?"

Well if it were that easy, I wouldn't still be waffling.

---

What is more interesting is the _________. Some people have very strong feelings for or against either of the two contending schools, is all. I'm tired. I want to keep my grades, and I don't want to keep my grades. I want graduation to be over with, but I still need to fulfill some requirements. I just want to sleep in, work part time, watch movies, be lazy. Read some books here and there.

I leave Thursday morning at 5 AM.

I heard there was a secret chord

And you as well must die, belovèd dust,
And all your beauty stand you in no stead,
This flawless, vital hand, this perfect head,
This body of flame and steel, before the gust
Of Death, or under his autumnal frost,
Shall be as any leaf, be no less dead
Than the first leaf that fall,---this wonder fled.
Altered, estranged, disintegrated, lost.
Nor shall my love avail you in your hour.
In spite of all my love, you will arise
Upon that day and wander down the air
Obscurely as the unattended flower,
It mattering not how beautiful you were,
Or how beloved above all else that dies.

-Edna St. Vincent Millay

We are the hollow men we are the stuffed men

want to see this.

---

This is the way the world ends

home stretch

He went up under the gray leaves
All gray and lost in the olive lands
And laid his forehead, gray with dust,
Deep in the dustiness of his hot hands.
After everything this. And this was the end.

---

Today a woman stopped me on the street: "Niiiice feathers."