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i am terrified
of the eternal silence of these infinite spaces
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14th-Nov-2009 11:34 am - Cascando -- Samuel Beckett

why not merely the despaired of
occasion of

is it not better abort than be barren

the hours after you are gone are so leaden
they will always start dragging too soon
the grapples clawing blindly the bed of want
bringing up the bones the old loves
sockets filled once with eyes like yours
all always is it better too soon than never
the black want splashing their faces
saying again nine days never floated the loved
nor nine months
nor nine lives


saying again
if you do not teach me I shall not learn
saying again there is a last
even of last times
last times of begging
last times of loving
of knowing not knowing pretending
a last even of last times of saying
if you do not love me I shall not be loved
if I do not love you I shall not love

the churn of stale words in the heart again
love love love thud of the old plunger
pestling the unalterable
whey of words

terrified again
of not loving
of loving and not you
of being loved and not by you
of knowing not knowing pretending

I and all the others that will love you
if they love you


unless they love you
14th-Oct-2009 03:15 am - i google you
I Google you
late at night when I don't know what to do
I find photos
you've forgotten
you were in
put up by your friends

I Google you
when the day is done and everything is through
I read your journal
that you kept
that month in France
I've watched you dance

And I'm pleased your name is practically unique
it's only you and
a would-be PhD in Chesapeake
who writes papers on
the structure of the sun
I've read each one

I know that I
should let you fade
but there's that box
and there's your name
somehow it never makes the pain
grow less or fade or disappear
I think that I should save my soul and
I should crawl back in my hole
But it's too easy just to fold
and type your name again
I fear
I google you
Whenever I'm alone and feeling blue
And each scrap of information
That I gather
says you've found somebody new
And it really shouldn't matter
ought to blow up my computer
but instead….
I Google you

Neil Gaiman, written for Amanda Palmer
A Rose For Emily, William Faulkner

I first read this short story in Eugenides' anthology of love stories -- My Mistress's Sparrow is Dead -- and it's been one of the most amazing pieces of writing I've had the fortune to chance upon. I just went 'wow' after I read this. I love the writing. I love the wistful melancholic language that lingers in your head, and the amazing ending. Oh yes I do. I really need to go out and buy some Faulkner. Meanwhile -- enjoy.

When Miss Emily Grierson died, our whole town went to her funeral: the men through a sort of respectful affection for a fallen monument, the women mostly out of curiosity to see the inside of her house, which no one save an old man-servant—a combined gardener and cook—had seen in at least ten years.

It was a big, squarish frame house that had once been whiteCollapse )
9th-May-2009 12:04 pm - the hazards of love
Dennis Scott (1939 – 1991)

He never learned her, quite. Year after year
That territory, without seasons, shifted
under his eye. An hour he could be lost
in the walled anger of her quarried hurt
on turning, see cool water laughing where
the day before there were stones in her voice.
He charted. She made wilderness again.
Roads disappeared. The map was never true.
Wind brough him rain sometimes, tasting of sea -
and suddenly she would change the shape of shores
faultlessly calm. All, all was each day new:
the shadows of her love shortened or grew
like trees seen from an unexpected hill,
new country at each jaunty helpless journey.
So he accepted that geography, constantly strange.
Wondered. Stayed home increasingly to find
his way among the landscapes of her mind.

We did this poem for Lit. How cool is that? I love it.
9th-Apr-2009 01:47 pm - how my heart behaves
I'm a stem now
Pushing the drought aside
Opening up
Fanning my yellow eye
On the ferry
That's making the waves wave
This is how my heart behaves

The cold heart will burst
If mistrusted first
And a calm heart will break when given a shake

Can't get this song out of my head
I have here pieces of paper, letters from politicians and generals, but no indication of when, or if help will arrive. Letters not worth the ink committed to them. I fear that no one is coming. Texas has been a second chance for me. I expect that might be true for many of you as well. It has been a chance not only for land and riches, but also to be a different man. I hope a better one. There have been many ideas brought for in the past few months of what Texas is, and what it should become. We are not all in agreement. But I'd like to ask each of you what it is you value so highly that you are willing to fight and possibly die for. We will call that Texas. The Mexican army hopes to lure us into attempting escape. Almost anything seems better than remaining in this place, penned up. If, however, we force the enemy to attack, I believe every one of you will prove himself worth ten in return. We will not only show the world what patriots are made of, but we will also deal a crippling blow to the army of Santa Anna. If anyone wishes to depart under the white flag of surrender, you may do so now. You have that right. But if you wish to stay here with me in the Alamo, we will sell our lives dearly.

- William Travis, The Alamo

HEY WHASSUP this is Avril in the house! I know the password of Van-o's LJ! It's her birthday!!!
2nd-Feb-2009 12:07 am - hold my hand (harder)
You know I just wouldn't be human if I didn't try and hold your hand as it disintegrated from the light of a thousand suns somewhere above Hiroshima. Or kiss the tears from your cheeks in Iraq, like the sweat from your brow in Zimbabwe. It isn't in me not to try and lift the rubble crushing you in Gaza or hide you in Rwanda. Like a last hug in a building in New York or the water we shared in Afghanistan. More than the blood we mixed in Flanders or the sandy beach we trod in Normandy. Longer than the fires burned in Dresden or Soweto. I won't let go of your hand.

Isn't that beautiful? I sighed when I read it. I want to write like that.
4th-Jan-2009 02:16 am - the woman i loved is dead
There was a boy
A very strange enchanted boy
They say he wandered very far, very far
Over land and sea
A little shy
And sad of eye
But very wise
Was he

And then one day
A magic day he passed my way
And while we spoke of many things, fools and kings
This he said to me
"The greatest thing
You'll ever learn
Is just to love
And be loved
In return"

So, my journal is friends-locked now. Comment to be added!
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