“-I have alot to give someone, someday. But I must not be too Christian. I can only end up with one, and I must leave many lonely by the wayside. So that is all for now. Perhaps someday someone will leave me by the wayside. And that will be poetic justice…”
they understand not what Plath says when she recites Lady Lazarus by the heater, after slowly showing Rilke’s The Panther. the eye doctor, who’d rather read dancing in the rain, knows not our suffering. of course, it is always good to put out a front, to spew sarcasm from noon till midnight (for i am awake earlier and thus retire earlier), as if to entertain ourselves, filling in the fringes of life with the negation of others, but to what end, my loves? shall you trade your ability to see about one’s eyes for mine to see into one’s eyes?
of course, i am very much in love with you, i who need another soul to cling to, one whom can i move towards to, but because i want to pour myself, and cease to be myself. oh, if only, if only. but she was here, and i think she grieves still. twenty five, twenty three, does it matter when, we shall marry?
of course, i must not delude myself. this distance kept is precisely what keeps me confined. i am a nun, with no one else to confide into but You.
it is sickening, this, i want to be severed from my head, and replace it with someone’s else, one who isn’t spoiled with notions of the individual or stout philosophies or that dark deeply embedded blackness within me, really. but that is the heart.
i am no prophet,
angels do not,
cut me open,
bleach me into
perfection.
perkaraperkara 