wild isthewind

2012-05-06

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XrkThaBWa5c&feature=youtube_gdata_player

“Wasted and wounded , it ain’t what the moon did..”

“She is all there.
She was melted carefully down for you
and cast up from your childhood,
cast up from your one hundred favorite aggies.
She has always been there, my darling.
She is, in fact, exquisite.
Fireworks in the dull middle of February
and as real as a cast-iron pot.
Let’s face it, I have been momentary.
vA luxury. A bright red sloop in the harbor.
My hair rising like smoke from the car window.
Littleneck clams out of season.
She is more than that. She is your have to have,
has grown you your practical your tropical growth.
This is not an experiment. She is all harmony.
She sees to oars and oarlocks for the dinghy,
has placed wild flowers at the window at breakfast,
sat by the potter’s wheel at midday,
set forth three children under the moon,
three cherubs drawn by Michelangelo,
done this with her legs spread out
in the terrible months in the chapel.
If you glance up, the children are there
like delicate balloons resting on the ceiling.
She has also carried each one down the hall
after supper, their heads privately bent,
two legs protesting, person to person,
her face flushed with a song and their little sleep.
I give you back your heart.
I give you permission —
for the fuse inside her, throbbing
angrily in the dirt, for the bitch in her
and the burying of her wound —
for the burying of her small red wound alive —
for the pale flickering flare under her ribs,
for the drunken sailor who waits in her left pulse,
for the mother’s knee, for the stocking,
for the garter belt, for the call —
the curious call
when you will burrow in arms and breasts
and tug at the orange ribbon in her hair
and answer the call, the curious call.
She is so naked and singular
She is the sum of yourself and your dream.
Climb her like a monument, step after step.
She is solid.
As for me, I am a watercolor.
I wash off.”

→

Because,’ she said, ‘when you’re scared but you still do it anyway, that’s brave.

— Neil Gaiman (Coraline)

(via myquotelibrary)

Source: quotelibrary.info

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“but my words became stained with your love. You occupy everything , you occupy everything.”

(Pablo Neruda)

2012-05-05

Between The Bars

“drink up, baby, stay up all night
the things you could do, you won’t but you might
the potential you’ll be, that you’ll never see
the promises you’ll only make

drink up with me now and forget all about the pressure of days
do what I say and I’ll make you okay and drive them away
the images stuck in your head

people you’ve been before that you don’t want around anymore
that push and shove and won’t bend to your will
I’ll keep them still

drink up, baby, look at the stars
I’ll kiss you again between the bars where I’m seeing you
there with your hands in the air, waiting to finally be caught

drink up one more time and I’ll make you mine
keep you apart deep in my heart separate from the rest
where I like you the best and keep the things you forgot

the people you’ve been before that you don’t want around anymore
that push and shove and won’t bend to your will
I’ll keep them still.”

(Elliot smith)

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In power we entrust the love advocated

“Sail on silver wings, through this storm
What fortune love may bring,
Back to my arms again the love of a former golden age.
I am disabled by fears concerning which course to take,

For now that wheels are turning I find my faith deserting me.
This night is filled with the cries of dispossessed children in search of paradise.
A sign of unresolved ambition drives the pin wheel on and on.
I am disabled by fears concerning which course to take,

When memory bears witness to the innocents consumed in dying rage.
The way lies through our love.
There can be no other means to the end,
Or the keys to my heart you will never find.”

(dead can dance)

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“and I wish you everything i ever said .”

(this mortal coil)

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Parable of the Four-Poster

“Because she wants to touch him,
she moves away.
Because she wants to talk to him,
she keeps silent.
Because she wants to kiss him,
she turns away
& kisses a man she does not want to kiss.

He watches
thinking she does not want him.
He listens
hearing her silence.
He turns away
thinking her distant
& kisses a girl he does not want to kiss.

They marry each other—
a four-way mistake.
He goes to bed with his wife
thinking of her.
She goes to bed with her husband
thinking of him.
—& all this in a real old-fashioned four-poster bed.

Do they live unhappily ever after?
Of course.
Do they undo their mistakes ever?
Never.
Who is the victim here?
Love is the victim.
Who is the villain?
Love that never dies.”

(Erica Jong)