in love with a view

my penultimate full day in korea. THis has been for me one of the ultimate holidays, in a way: I get to listen to really great lectures for free and commune with feminists and see really great art (more on that later) and then go and have amazing food and shop. i had planned to do a bit more museum going...there is so much to see here...but by today after three days of 8 hours of lecture sessions (more or less) i just felt like wanderng and shopping today, my day off.

Unfortunately i have an outrageous headache right now...probably from being out wandering in the sun.

I had the ultimate korean experience yesterday and today:

Yesterday I went to the conference as usual...there has been a lot of stuff there about the plight of the korean women taken as "comfort women" i.e. sexual slaves/forced prostitution/rape victims by the japanese army durng the second world war. I am sure that some of you are aware of the level of brutality that these women, now mostly in their 70's and 80's were forced to endure. on monday there was a meeting between Koizumi and the Korean leader (whose name escapes me, ugh) here inSeoul (and actally, i think at my hotel, at least in part...there were tonnes of riot police and what not here on monday...it was scary) and Koizumi categorically refused to acknowledge that these atrocities had occured and refused to rectify new textbooks that glossed over this and other war atrocities (the textbook has China's back up too...incidentally). So there ws a protest, actually the 67th (i think) on this matter yesterday, and i and many participants from the conference were pleased to take part and lend our suport to these brave women.

afterwards i went to some more lectures about gender in china and whatnot, and then to a rountable on women's new media art...i am thinking about putting an online exhibition together for Dudley!! I have another plot/plan which i will write about shortly and which i am really excited about...a feminista-journal-scrapbook-translation project (more on that later)

So i met some wonderful curators and artists and went out to dinner on my own, came back an looked at the films that were being shown through their work, and the work of EMAP (Ewha Media Arts Project). glorious evening...been walking aroun Seoul with my massive Bose headphones on listening to Van Morrison and Fairuz(the ones my parents gave me as hand me downs) looking very old skool. Funny thing...huge headphones attached to an iPod!

Today I started my day with a green tea an Sweet potato Latte at O'Shelloc ( swanky japanese influenced green tea boutique cafe) in Myeongdong (nearby fashionista lively shopping area) and walked to namdaemun Market which is HUGE and piled high with dried fish, fruit and veg, and fake gucci...as well as sundry household items, art supplies (?), costume jewellery wholesalers and dry goods as well as clothes in great heaps for no money (but not anything you would want, for the most part). Had lunch at a market stall in the midst of all of this, a quiet corner in the chaos (there was a demonstration going on on one of the streets at the edge of the market as well...no idea what for...signs all in korean) where i saw somebody eating something that looked tasty and i pointed an said "i'll have what he's having". Ended up with a huge bowl of vermicelli type noodles in an iced soup with kimchi in. it was absolutely delicious. I drank a bottle of iced green tea an ate what i could reading "The Opoponax" and the ladies working the stall were somewhat amused.

went on the Dongdaemun, another market in the shadow of one of the former city gates, except this is a whole series of huge fashion malls something like Xidan in Beijing, plus a big clothing warehouse market...more like Wujin Xing with hats and scarves and stuff. I bought some great stuff...and went off to look for some culture. BEcause even though i didn't feel like musuem hopping all day, i couldn't shop all day either.

wandered around the lovely buildings of the "traditional korean village" at Cheongmuro. big groups of chinese an japanese tourists. after getting dusty looking into the comfy looking wooden floored homes stocked with furniture and bolsters, i had a cup of citron tea (AmaZING.. a sweet marmalade like paste you mix with water to make a kind of tea) in the restaurant that is inside one of the traditional style buildings (xirca 19th C), just as the sun was begining to be a little gentler and a breeze was stirring up

Spent a couple of hours wandering aroun the Lotte Dept. store, one of the sawnkiest i have ever been in...really...rivals japan. sampled all different snacks, and bought some...seaweeds and crackers and encrused tea leaves (i think..it's tasty, so whatever) to bring home..and some of that citron tea.

now, probably due to being out in the sun, i have a raging headache...but it was worth it...i have one more day of conference tomorrow,,,an ihave to pack...get ready to go back to singapore...which is how i got the title of this entry. Because as good a time as i have had here, and as much as i like it...i actually miss singapore. I miss my apartment..i miss the sense of space and the cleanliness of the air in my room, the incense burning, the indian markets and the exciting prospects....most of all, i miss my view.

SR65X

the feminist and "the visit"

Ok...so it is in fact 11.30pm here in Seoul, yes..I am in Seoul, Korea for the International Interdisciplinary conference on women. And it figures that having stressed all night and then gone to be very late, getting up late too and scrambling into a cream coloured pants suit so that i can look all professional-like (he) when giving my prsentation i got to the opening ceremony late...not that it mattered. the kicker was that as I was standing out in the scorching sun after having been given a huge quantity of reading material and other ephemera in my very own "Women's Worlds" complimentary conference pack, i felt cramps starting and suddenly realised i was getting my period. Right now. I had anticipated this would happen. I am not one of those women who knows the ins and outs of her cycle intimately, and times her life around it. No. Mine is generally something that happens, i vaguely know when it is going to kick in. I missed last month...go figure, and i thought somewhere in the back of my mind...it is bound to come during the conference, it is bound to come during the conference. Because it shows up at the most innoportune times always. When I am moving. When I have exams. whenever there is a high stress situation it just has to come in and be the icing of annoyance on the proverbial cake o' stress. Anyway, i thought it was a rather interesting excercise to try an explain that i needed a tampon or other sanitary item to a helper at a korean women's university during the first 2 hours of a women's conference. Hilarious actually.

My presentation went ok, incidentally. One of the panelists didn't show up, and everybody was still just getting oriented on campus, so we only ha about 6 people, or 7. my paper was too long, but the Q & A session was great fun.


But what the hell. It's over. I did it. It goes on the CV and i have a week of cool lectures to go to, and i had Donkatsu for dinner (very bad for me, i know) while reading Wittig's "THe Oppoponax". And then a pair of drunken Koran guys eating ice cream asked me for cigarettes on my way home to the hotel and the one who had the less minimal grasp of english vocabulary kept asking for my phone number and putting his arm around me. I couldn't take him seriously enough to be worried, he was so silly, with an ice cream cone and a cheezy drunken grin.

I have spent most of my money and have nothing to show for it really, except for a catalogue of good meals. I am going to do more wandering and stuff starting wednesday. TOmorrow...more conferencing and my mom's friend is meeting me for dinner i think.

One more piece of news though. I signed up to read some poetry at the closing ceremony. what am i getting myself into?? I think i might red my new poem though...it is suitably feminist.

let me know what you all think,

missing everybody!!

love,

SR65X

new poem: my pleasures are not illicit

My pleasures are not illicit.

They run run run fast and happy
ArminArm ArminArm like paper men down the highway
above
Past the clumps of trees that dream themselves to ideal forests
above
And for a path to the sky
The dappled light.

My pleasures shout marco polo

Smoke vines and get off boldly under bridges for shade where…

(A fat man runs with fat children at the yellow feet of the madhouse

That looks like a multi-storey-madman

Walking down the valley v)

…My pleasures do not hide.

Small: they shine and slide underbehindoverthrough doors, keyholes and cracks

Pick locks in broad day light where sun plays search lamp

To find you where you sleep, to hold you and your soul where you dream so deep.

My pleasures are a body whole:

whole in all its carnevale

Whole and hurting, hurtling down roads unknown

That body with silences, openings, moans
orifices, architecture and ordinary elegance, idiocies
(betises)
(betises)
(betises) bis.
bis.
bis.

Body bad that scuffs heel shone, shuns the step a step, shuffles a little, stubs its soft toe.

The hair the sweat the hole boned whole, like a tent made for loving low.
My pleasures are invincible

A superhero stream

Sprinting up your dark mountain screaming all the way
Ambling down your precipice

They may crawl through phone lines and swim the oceans green.

They

Live unseen in every breath (you breathe you) breath (you breathe)

Take keys brass under tongues, cross lovely hearts

And live the little death.

singapore view:1

this is one of the views from my window. Will write more shortly...gearing up for Korea at the moment so rather short on time. Promise to be more prolific!!! Anyway...Enjoy, peeps!! P.s. My lunch was cooked in a banana leaf. Next time will take pictures of that!!

when in singapore

do as the singaporeans do, which it seem is basically: eat. A lot.

actually it's a bit more complicated than that.

And i know i haven't written in ages in here, and i apologise to all my faithful friends, and even to the unfaithful ones.

It's quarter to two in the morning here. Dark outside. a few cars going by on the network of highways visible from my twentieth storey apartment. The air conditioning is on, and Arab Strap is playing. a series of orange lights in rows and knots, skyscrapers, the lush trees invisible in the dark except for the rich darkness they create. I am sitting in the window sill, about a foot wide, right up against the window so that i feel like there is nothing between me and the space, the drop and the cleanness of it. I have a view of the harbour during the day which makes me happy when i sit here and wach the sun come up with a cigarette. I developed the habit of squishing myself right next to the windows of tall buildings when i was in Hong Kong the first time. I think i was 13 or 14. I was sleeping on a fold out bed in the living room section of a suite in the conrad hotel, probably more than 20 floors up. I became fascinated with the way the towers looked like crystals or spikes, needles emerging from the clouds of mist. I liked to look down into the mist and imagine the city afloat. Which is quite funny because it is as the author Xi Xi imagines the city in some ways. Anyway...

enough with the atmosphere

i got here monday morning at 7am and it was already 82 degrees

i am living in a service apartment here, a cross between a hotel room and a flat. the city is strange, a bunch of modern shopping malls that i have to say are exceptionally boring, except for the ubiquitous and bustling food courts, butted up against areas designated by the ethnicity of their inhabitants, Arab St., Little India, Chinatown. these are much more fun. Arab st. yesterday went by "dry markets" in the shadow of the mosque, selling spices and dried fish, shrimp, cuttlefish and etc. every size of dried shrimp you can imagine, and the little baby whitings, dried into little strings. herbs. bitter and salty under sheets of red plastic awning. textile shops, all manner of silks and ribbons, towered up in the windows, and perfumers, gold bottles and prayer beads. Little India was all jewellery, a lot of it gold, handicrafts, florists, sweets everywhere, and pakoras, roti, dosa. but i am going to be in india soon. It seems like incense is being burned everywhere, but each area burns its own incense. Indian masala incense and arabic style a litle heavier and big sticks of sandalwood scent in chinatown. which is where i was today.

i will write more tomorrow, feeling very tired.

take this as a first report from singapore, and excuse my laziness

love SR65

new look: hope you like it!

So, all this fiddling about and tweaking of my

my myspace profile

has taught me the tiniest tiniest bit of html, but you know i am stretching it as much as possible...so decided to give the mirror stage a bit of a face lift...or at least snazz it up somewhat although it is still my classiest internet incarnation. The painting now serving as background to the title is by Anselm Kiefer...my favourite painter. just lots of books. i thought it was rather appropriate. anyway...must get back to the final papers.

SR65

White Light: Complete poem in 3 parts, first draft.

As I said before the graphical play is going to be destroyed on here...but anyway, here it is...tell me what you think, peeps.

SR65x

-----------------

White Light


1. that slick of your back
put comma to curve make
straight the way way way
out there, it became an
exclamation for me
a cry from below

put pen to paper
make a line curve to line
a swift motion that you
can fill with phantoms

that time you gave me your hand
clench firm soft fingers tight
make sparks make light light light the night
and spread apart the sheets
of days where we can hide
like hibernation or honeymoon.

put pen to paper

and paint the inside

out



2. am. You’re winding yourself around me like a soft soft string/our arms/ great sweet knots of heat/ they pack our selves, a gift enclosed/

I think

I’d like to cut you open with passion and a slit, lick that knows only love.
Hold picnics at the binding borders of your skin, make tiny bonfires of regrets
Bring all that sugared sap up of you up to drink like fountains you will flow
Put my hand inside your Glory: O it is B e a u t i f u l, your vicious soul. It will
rain
down
warm
in
All
the

Pink movements of your lips, Great White hard hips you have, and a voice
That speaks fit to burst blue blue upon an endless story, those details
You thought long forgotten. Yes the trees that grow in your heart, the
Grasses and the vines that line the way, the birds and fires and lightning
On that path through you the lemon trees too, and sunny gardens, the Love and tomatoes. All of these I will tiptoe through, covered stealthy in your
Spirit skins leaving kisses, bites for signposts. Because sometimes it is the
Package that undoes the ribbon and
Red Red Ridinghood that wears the wolf.


3.
You like an imperative:
The force of it, as it sprays across my face
Like all that fire hose pornography.
5 alarm at 5 am.

That’s when…

You, like an imperative,
Appear closersmoother, bend me
To an X, with sex to center
Make me on the cross of
St. Andrew.

You hold my body: flaming tinder,
Tell me that’s not all I am
But your eyes were a pilot light
that night,
So it’s a 5 alarm at 5am.

militant orgasm: female cumshot/human cumshot

I am successfully avoiding doing much work...smoking. thinking.looking at the net, reading articles. suchlike.

I have some interesting food for thought too...through the power of modern technology and the dirty mind of my new lover, i have been party to witnessing myself have an orgasm for the first time. Now this is weird...for those of you who have NOT seen yourself have an orgasm...it's a mixed experience. (God...do I really look like that??? UGH) Don't worry peeps, i am not going to go into too many dirty details, although frankly i am sure that some of you wouldn't mind swopping stories...

just this: did anybody else know that people blush behind their ears and then that it spreads and then there's a blush across the belly when you come??? I didn't!!! I mean apart from the penchant for poppers in the 90s where everybody would be walking around red faced, vaguely horny and teenage, i hadn't realised there was an empirical pattern to the whole thing. and apparently this is universal. I think this is WELL beautiful. or indeed....VERY wow.

and it brings to mind...

one of the main points of Catherine Mackinnon's writings (and others) on Pornography concerns the displacement of female pleasure...the ubiquitous cumshot that stands for all sexual enjoyment, where the phallus is inscribed on the bodily penis as the primary symbol, and the primary symbol of pleasure, taking the place of the "invisible" female orgasm (whose existence is STILL apparently up for debate...double ugh). Now, recently in my adventures in sex (yay) I have been party to a lot of very interesting experiences...a lot of times lately where i feel like Fausto Sterling et al must be absolutely right...like Rubin says "men and women might be different to eachother, but they are more like eachother than anything else for example kangaroos and coconut palms" ( this is a sorta quote...i didn't consult, but I always loved that line, and it is very nearly correct if not absolutely). What I mean is that i have been looking at my lover and i have been recognizing the feelings and the expressions more..."male" pleasure always seemed to me to be somewhat delineated in opposition to the popular representations of and expressions of female pleasure (which, naturally we must remember are often bunk), but i think there may be, even within the currently fairly omnipresent binary economy (ugh) some potential to see the human, something utterly simple and simultaneously mainfestly complex. The bottom line is that there is potentially a unisex cumshot, something sexy, i.e. halfway between ugliness and grace, and utterly utterly human. I want to glorify this thing...it seems like a basis to a new visual erotic...an economy based on expression and body that glows.

I guess it's a bit subtle. Not for everybody. But it makes us into neon strips/fireflies!

But in any case, i am excited about it. Also, the whole shabang has given me ideas for art projects...to paint somebody up as if they were going through an orgasm, and take very clean photos of them doing ordinary things...shopping,in the library, housework, etc. (I dunno about the camera question...i suppose i should buy one soon. I miss my SLR. What i really want is the digital SLR out now...yummy) All you'd have to do is part the lips slightly and close the eyes...more like St. Theresa's ecstasy than bimbo with tongue slightly protruding as she rides latest billboard. Any volunteers for the project??? I want lots and lots of different types of people!! Orgasms for everybody!!! I am thinking this could be something for an exhibition with Vox Ominous (?)

anyhoo. just a thought. or two or so. I am going to run along now and do work, awaiting breathy phonecalls and excited emails.

SR65X

Part 2 of New Poem: a.m.

THe graphical stuff won't show up on here, there is supposed to be a tab gap after every seven syllables except the first long line and the "Rain down warm.." bit. It should create a little path through the poem. but anyway, this is the second part of what i started last time...needs more wrk, hmmm...

SR65X
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


a.m. You’re winding yourself around me like a soft soft string/our arms/ great sweet knots of heat/ they pack our selves, a gift enclosed/

I think

I’d like to cut you open with passion and a slit, lick that knows only love.
Hold picnics at the binding borders of your skin, make tiny bonfires of regret
Bring all that sugared sap up of you up to drink like fountains you will flow
Put my hand inside your Glory: O it is B e a u t i f u l, your vicious soul. It will
rain
down
warm
in
All
the

Pink movements of your lips, Great White hard hips you have, and a voice
That speaks fit to burst blue blue upon an endless story, those details
You thought long forgotten. Yes the trees that grow in your heart, the
Grasses and the vines that line the way, the birds and fires and lightning
On that path through you the lemon trees too, and sunny gardens, the Love and tomatoes. All of these I will tiptoe through, covered stealthy in your
Spirit skins leaving kisses, bites for signposts. Because sometimes it is the
Package that undoes the ribbon and it is
Red Red Ridinghood that wears the wolf.

white light white heat

So the romantic sagas continue. Listening to Mojave 3 (remember "Return to Sender" in Beijing in all those little bars and people's houses and stuff...that was so beautiful...I miss you all!!) and thinking that things are on the move move move. Making tough decisions...attempting to be practical despite myself, and yet finding myself in that extraordinary land of the exception. a grand and strange place to be... having been in this weird interstitial space between Will and the rest of humanity i feel like i am beginning to breathe again. beginnings. spring. you get the picture. Yup. I am seeing somebody new (remember the white contacts?) and in a healthy manner to boot although i still have to work out the details...my late night jaunts to the bar of late (tuesdays and fridays...much mayhem, free booze and philosophy) with my crazy crazy bloke-previous are being re considered, if not cancelled.

THings are, hmmm...Bright white and bright orange and full of sexy images...

here's the beginning of a poem...i need feedback please....Ed, if you're listening, throw me a line.

SR65X

-------------------------------------------------------
white light

that slick of your back
put comma to curve make
Straight the way way way
out there, it became an
exclamation for me
a cry from below

put pen to paper
make a line curve to line
a swift motion that you
can fill with spirits

that time you gave me your hand
clench firm soft fingers tight
make light light light the night
and spread apart the sheets
of days where we can hide
like hibernation or honeymoon.

put pen to paper

and paint the inside

out.

An Apple Saved My Life.

An Apple Saved My Life.

These notes are nearing now the
Edge, by crook and minute
By slow percentage. I don’t ask you questions.

At some hour of lone morning when the
World is still dark I wonder where you are.
You are ok, you’ll make it, as a leaf on water

Maybe not happy or sad or lost or found
But floating and wandering round on currents
And sounds that push you. Push you further

Down the street where you will wait for me
Although I don’t know what it is for which you wait.
Because, You thought I was a different girl last night.

So maybe things are not right, and cannot be.
There are walls and castles, moats to your grief
And I have no tools to scale them. Petals

Of the flower you picked are on the table.
They are dried into the lips of love, and I will let
Them rest there, unbothered, as I must let you have

Your pain, that drugs do not dull. In bed
We, as comets arch the sky, with tails of talk
And moaning. Out of it, and in the soup of shifting

Society you frame your phrases bereft of the pillow's
Soft edge. I can only put my forehead to yours and wonder:
Because there is something burning there, but what it is…

Oh Mama, If only.

That apple saved your life, you said. Funny.
These sins of his that man puts on like make up every morning
Save you for the day ahead, a mask perhaps, of sugar.

Ask of me and I shall give you all the breaks that breach
Between my sanity and in, and every apple in the fridge.
But you want not to be the page of some bound book

And I don’t blame you.

HI HO!

Yes, it's off to work I go. No, not my normal pottering about learning about chinese literature and freaking out about papers and going to conferences and all that jazz...I am talking about my internship this summer. The latest buzz is that I am going to be doing a lot of travelling...india, indonesia and malaysia!! So exciting!! I dunno what I am going to do for anybody, but I am going to be trained, programmed and put on that crazy Singaporean assembly line, so...we'll see! But it's pretty cool, no?

anyway, that's my news. I have to get on with the normal day to day stuff now. Ugh.

I have had an odd couple of days filled with random drunken flamboyant romantic gestures, toast at 5am and Japanese puppet theater...Bunraku rocks! Maybe I will see some puppet theatre in Indonesia...who knows?

SR65X

Blues for 2am

New poem...
-----------------------------------------

Blues for 2am

Blinded by the front room rug
Construct cat’s cradles of day to day.
With tea and memory I am PunchDrunk, honey

&

Reeling from a swift kick * lifting * and sick
Over body and soul. My man rocked me with one sturdy roll/
But not now no.
Now floating I wait for the gravity that brings hip to hip & lip/ to /lip.

Swallowing smoke rings, it is 2am.

Swallowing smoke rings

Swallowing smoke

Binding the blind light of hate to
The belly of this. As numb as nowt. As hopeful as knickers before a night out,
The hope that knows better…

But does it anyway

But does it

But does.

So I do it anyway.
In a river the colour of lead he said, Find
Ways to Feed the Dead. Ways to re-animate re-instate
But not Now, no.

For now I am leaving you, that corpse floating, on which I cut my teeth
Cut them to the nerve, and to the quick.
Because you never showed me how to do your trick, you
Kept it secret

Kept it

Kept.

Because it used to be said that I made the best jelly roll in town,
That I made waves like an earthquake in the eiderdown
I am sitting in the cold talking to eyes of downcast blue
Planning an epicenter.
But You, No.

You never saw it

Never saw it

Never

I raze you with silence from the sentence,
will level your temples, make cities new,
Arches in the honor of my reconstruction
Even as the bitterest hollows of my heart still love.

He lies in my bed a piece of white light embroidered
Hard With sleep, stretching his smooth belly along the sexy bed sheets
Like a snake and like you with his eyes just open, always watching.

He made of me a new religion,
Called me a goddess, bitchin’/
I said "Make unto me an idol

Baby,

But not now."

white eyes and food for thought

hey, so before i go to bed like a good girl...if i don't get too into Moby Dick and end up sitting awake reading for hours and hours (god that book is good!!)....i went to the Anarchist Coffehouse at the Zeitgeist tonight and it was interesting. Some really great stuff some really weirdly bad. But the net effect was good and the people who run it are really nice, so i reccomend. Every tuesday at 9pm...(now going to be also a poetry thing between 7 and 9 same day,, but not an open mike, more of a show and a wee bit expensive at 7 bucks, the coffeehouse is a pay if you wanna kind of gig) and there is lots of food provided by Food Not Bombs, for free but you are supposed to make a small contribution, which personally it think is more than fair when they put on a kind of spicy african veggie spread. nice!

there was a cool guy there wearing white contact lenses. nothing more to be said, it's just kind of an interesting image, no?

anyway, trying to get it together here.

lots of love,

SR65X

ugh

Humour me people. I know this is not very good, and at the very least is far too long and in need of loads of work, but i need to express...grr. I have been feeling so horrible lately, hence not posting much, trying to get it together, honestly. So let me spew. And then i will feel a bit better and maybe get back on track somewhat.

love,

SR65X

-----------------------------------------------------------------------


On the gulf between sanity and in.

On the high lands I say: Where was that switch inside you?

I thought I had turned that light ON, but maybe it was just the sun through the window streaming like a torch or some blaze of falling stars. I thought I had it between finger and thumb…something I had found behind your teeth those nights I reached into you: a little square, a bump, not hard or soft, a little point that was the centre of you, your only filling you might say, in those rows of perfect tiger teeth…but she makes fireworks.

But She
Makes Fireworks.

MORE PROPERLY:

Where was that switch inside you?

Now I shouldn’t go on throwing my mind/Straight over my body and laughing the nights out from under my eyes, lying on the couch, yes, contemplating space. I should be kind, waking, and /Focus/ Focus/ Focus/ on all there is:

the he the them the one the many:

Polysemy, poly-semi, polly-semi semi semi

semi die semi be semi you semi me semi land semi see semi hear and semi say

Semi wave the fears away.

These days I think we met somehow. Maybe I saw you eating a sandwich in a station when I was out my head one day, under pale light at King’s Cross that looks like the face of a kid grey with raving all night. That dry feeling from the glass between the iron girders, ribs of some great whale: a corpse in central London. I think maybe on some school trip. Yeah…You were there leaning with your smile and your long hair, you had long hair then, my Samson.

(Remember when we were kids
:Shiny foil
:Cold morning
:Cool for Cats
:Blazer blazer bus is here.

You started up that sexy car and dreamed your dreams of beachy head:
Punk that sea side town make the rock stand on end, YOU straight thru, where the beer and the sea taste like England. In Blue, you made it to school where sweat stank and laughter resides on benches where your feet tucked up to friends. Sneering my man, sneering with your blue eyes. I was thinking different thoughts by bus light, dreams wet with turpentine, a thousand pages of flesh bound in blood I rang the bell, smoked a fag in that white tunnel like a giant cigarette inside out; drank music and was, like you, always late.

But we were right on time.

When we found each other years later your fingers were a melody by themselves! White and moving keys on a vast player piano.
When we found each other the nape of your neck was velvet: Snatch you up by it like a kitten! Swallow your sweat and bite new beauty marks!
Between my teeth you felt no pain. Oh my ideas!
Lay flat and let me fold you fold into origami shapes.
Make me a crane to fly away, a cup to hold your water.
In the light of a candle my thighs could be a fortune-teller. 1-2-3.

We built things, CONSTRUCTION! pieces of a chandelier, and mirror, we were magpies. Things that could shine and cut. I kept dreaming in heat, I dreamt of fights…cut brow at 5,6. Once you woke up screaming. In the dark I remembered where it was in the park that I hid that jewel when I was 7…in that cherry tree we found it waiting. Two somnambulists in Knightsbridge. The police didn’t catch us.

In the ditch by the bed we built and sheltered, built and sheltered,,,told stories…whispered. two children camping. Test the air with a finger, chew plants that could kill and could make the world spin like the wheel of fortune, jackpot on your belly. Musk foxes stalked dust bunnies in that glorious green, and we lay Ink soft, and sweat at night when we couldn’t sleep for the heat between us.

We were a world.

You made me a hemisphere.

But she makes fireworks.

I can’t fuck for fun because of you running
Round my head like the ghost of a kid on fire
Lit up with no pain just setting things off
Let me tell you,
You little arse-onist.
Let Me tell you.
I tried. I cried, It
Finished.

The pain went undiminished and there was always the threat of something worse.

Was it hidden under your hair?

I am trying to think of where I could have looked for it.
I am praying to St. Antony like they told us in school.
Here, under the desk, when I lost my pencil.
When I lost my head.

You on your side and me on mine, our love came crashing down like a comet with such a lovely tail, but its crater is a (s)mile wide.

SUMMERS: CAST YOUR VOTE

Quoting Zoe Trodd, at the GSC. THose of you who are Graduate Students please cast your vote!!
----------------
Last Tuesday the FAS faculty voted "lack of confidence" in President Summers. On Monday and Tuesday GSAS students will have the chance to vote on the same question. Harvard and the world want to know what thousands of graduate students think about their university president.

Log on to the weblink below to cast your anonymous vote. It's a quick and easy process.

http://www.courses.fas.harvard.edu/~gsc/qa/

Polls will be open from 7am Monday (March 21) to 5pm Tuesday (March 22).

The two questions are those offered to faculty at their vote last week.

The results are vital to the ongoing debate, and graduate student opinion is of great interest to faculty and the press.  

yours

The Graduate Student Council
gsc@hcs.harvard.edu

rib

RIB

White
Explosive
Flesh Fresh, delicious
Was your hot
PowderSkin

Powder keg.

Rubbed right thin into air.
Dissolved
in a Flash
of Passion.

Worn clean.
Burned Back to Bone.

To be now quiet.
Blank like snow blankets.
Minute
& shivering
muted inside from where there is no sound.

Nor can be. Where sound runs only to well
deep at the dam of lips
And flows NO FURTHER. You look in the mirror.
The face of the thing,
a supple question

Stares you in

And the answers
Stand in lines beneath eyes,
Those ripples of the
Happened to;



Dropped

Responses
Of the bath where you feel your own form,
Solid, like that stone (plunk) but
Push hips out
Boned Phrases rise
Like steam and fat.

I was on the verge of…
Because I meant to…

Half-desires, apologies so Hollow
Half-hide that ache to know:
You are a body of words/
/Breath across
An empty bottle lip.

Tip Soft, sealed and sterile
Room, room yes
Soft with Simple noises.
Here No Nouns or verbs
That speak without, without
In corridors unspecified.

They run along
Like children… behind you!
Always saying something else.
Always leaving things unsaid.
Did they mangle the phone
Lines in Cat’s Cradle games?

Or were we a Quick toy in the
Palm of God, grotesque and shaking?
Played upon and played out, in lines carved there?
Or did we hide instead, shutting it all out
Like fingers folded over?
Close with night
and secrets: the crease between each finger a
Witness blind greased
And dusty, thick
With blinking light.

It was more than a physical
Conversation
That we had in that place, prison or womb: the
Questions of your
hands on me
seemed to stop up
all fear.

Now white worn away to the rib of Adam.
But a fist is (inside) quiet, warm
And Red.

watch your mouth

watch your mouth,
originally uploaded by SiRen65.

DonQ has been at it again. Cheesy bumpersticker type image with a kicker of a message...all hail the Thin-King!

Come one Come all: OPEN MIC FOR INTERNATIONAL WOMEN'S DAY

Attn: MUSiCIAnS! POETS! WRITERS! ARTISTS!
Refreshments provided!

F***NISM
Is
Not
A Dirty
Word

Join us and share your words or words that inspire you at: “Woman’s Word”: a poetic open mic’ lounge on women, gender & feminism
MARCH 8th, International Women’s Day, @7.30pm, Dudley House, Café Gato rojo. Email: dfeo@fas.harvard.edu for details & early sign up
A project of Dudley Literary and the Harvard Anti-Sexist coalition
Sign the petition at: http://www.petitiononline.com/ashncls/petition.html
Can’t make it so late? Go to the Harvard anti-sexist coalition open mic on inequality & Gender at the Ticknor Lounge, Boyleston Hall, 5-6.30pm for a more political flavor, or just COME TO BOTH!!

"what can I possibly say.

I guess that I miss you..."

I can't begin to put how I am feeling about ending my relationship with Will into words. I don't understand the whole thing. People keep telling me that at least we have a bank of great memories. I want to scream when I hear that. It's partially because we have a bank of great memories that I wanted to keep working on the relationship, and it's because we had (is there a "we" anymore?) such amazing times together that I am going ot find it so hard to find anybody even tolerably close to being as wonderful as he is/was to have a serious relationship with. I realize that what lays before me is a lot of comfortable, ok things, but nothing that just sings the way we used to together. How can he not see that??

ugh.

Now I feel like it was all my fault, and I look back at how I was in the relationship and I just think the whole thing was probably intolerable for him right from the start. I don't know. I made a lot of mistakes, I think I learned a lot. I thought we were headed in the right direction. It took effort but every hurdle we went over brought us closer together. I could have worked harder to keep everything fun, but we were both working so hard when we were together that we often just wanted to be safe. Maybe I should say I did. Maybe that is the whole problem.

he has changed a lot too since he's been in China working. Now I don't know how I feel about going back at all. I feel like my whole life got turned on its end.

I have the flu. It is bginning to go away, but it can't go soon enough as far as I'm concerned.

I have so much going on right now that I don't even have time to be depressed about all this...I am too busy coughing my brains out or doing something for some project or other.

so humor me. Get excited for me about my projects and stuff, because I really can't do anything right now except throw myself into things to take my mind off where I am at.

SR65X