and little man, little Lola....wants y o u

THE EUROPE OF THE WOMAN
Enormous room. Ophelia. Her heart is a clock.
OPHELIA [CHORUS/HAMLET]
I am Ophelia. She who the river could not hold. The woman on the gallows The woman
with the slashed arteries The woman with the overdose ON THE LIPS SNOW The
woman with the head in the gas-oven. Yesterday I stopped killing myself. I am alone
with my breasts my thighs my lap. I rip apart the instruments of my imprisonment the
Stool the Table the Bed. I destroy the battlefield that was my Home. I tear the doors off their hinges to let the wind and the cry of the World inside. I smash the Window. With my bleeding hands I tear the photographs of the men who I loved and who used me on the Bed on the Table on the Chair on the Floor. I set fire to my prison. I throw my clothes into the fire. I dig the clock which was my heart out of my breast. I go onto the street, clothed in my blood.
Heiner Mueller



Weird Beast (mad mad mad, you silly little girl)<<
Could I own a piece of you?
Just one to deny madness, delusion, hallucination—
So that some part can be mine
And I can still be haunted by you
(more strongly, maybe):
I want to linger on you
—what if you forget me?—
I would press my fragrance on your jutting collarbone
(for smoldering purposes)
So I could waft through your thought-dials
Could I stain your mind?
With something particularly winning
Cutting, so it scintillates
I might blur
To reflect what you’d need to see in me that’d make you like me
Best
It’s just a tired trance. A version.
And you don’t like her, anyway,
So what’s it gonna take? (“when will you finally understand?”)
Confused as to the reason for all the enthusiasm?
I’ve negotiated your frayed fringes, broken hinges
Before there could be Hesitation
Besides: I Love your Dark. I Love
your fear, your Weird, your limitation.
And I think I could make you safe to come alive.

Does it make you sad that I have written words for you that
You will never see?
I pity that there are pieces that you
miss, Every Time,
until it occurs to me: maybe the more simple answer is you’re just Unimpressed
In which case.
I think I’ll lie down for awhile to stop sleeping.
I fall and I fall and I fall and I don’t know where it leads
I wake up and don’t even know where to begin
They all look blank next to the one I clutch to for comparison
I could touch them and leave them with absolutely no reason, with perfect reasoning:
You bring me down.
But I wait for you
to hold my hand,
take a fucking stand,
graze my cheek again.
I will wear my heart on my sleeve, because I don’t know How Else.
And. (as if I needed further confirmation)
I must be crazy to be in love with you.
you, Oh. You.
it doesn’t change the truth at hand
Theansweris yesTheanswer is yesTheanswerhasalwaysbeen yes.



Oh dear. There she goes again!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CTKII4n3mX0
"Get a grip."


Did you know that Sartre, that great thinker, once referred to the "obscenity" of the "female sex is that of everything which ‘gapes open.’It is an appeal to being as all holes are.” Wow. The tight confines of enlightenment.


The Rabbit Catcher
It was a place of force—
The wind gagging my mouth with my own blown hair,
Tearing off my voice, and the sea
Blinding me with its lights, the lives of the dead
Unreeling in it, spreading like oil.

I tasted the malignity of the gorse,
Its black spikes,
The extreme unction of its yellow candle-flowers.
They had an efficiency, a great beauty,
And were extravagant, like torture.

There was only one place to get to.
Simmering, perfumed,
The paths narrowed into the hollow.
And the snares almost effaced themselves—
Zeros, shutting on nothing,

Set close, like birth pangs.
The absence of shrieks
Made a hole in the hot day, a vacancy.
The glassy light was a clear wall,
The thickets quiet.

I felt a still busyness, an intent.
I felt hands round a tea mug, dull, blunt,
Ringing the white china.
How they awaited him, those little deaths!
They waited like sweethearts. They excited him.

And we, too, had a relationship—
Tight wires between us,
Pegs too deep to uproot, and a mind like a ring
Sliding shut on some quick thing,
The constriction killing me also.
Sylvia