Plathological

see duck sun (itself)

Here are my results to a quiz Julia posted on her blog:

I like it, fun quiz, well designed. I also like to quote random passages from obscure texts - a lot - but thanks for the tip (Graeme is in for some recitation tonight!). Also (also) just had the last poetry workshop I will ever take at this lovely university. Very bittersweet. It was hands down The Best workshop I've ever taken, and I've taken too many for my tired brain to count at this point. I am off to have a bath. Snow. finally this city seems normal. I'm not using that term loosely. More so frigidly.

<3

What would happen if the heart could only be held in its place if the body was in one position – turning on your side in bed, the heart would slide up to your shoulder, the way your voice slips up an octave when you recognize that it’s me saying hello to you on the phone. Slipping past the shoulder’s blade, it would create a beating pad upon which to hold and neutralize the overflow and burden of the world contained just above. Flattening from the soft cells of the exposed, uncaged skin above it, flattening more with each beat, the heart would turn into a mined plateau of overburden, all the while your pillow a region blackened with the heat of your body trying to keep still, the effort of not letting those involuntary valves pump their way to yet another place inside you.

end of term. termination.

Something in that Morse code tap: you look as if asleep, but the code is a system of short, broken sounds with hushed corners at smooth intervals, a dashed pillow for the head, with tight, punctuated stitches; your face stretched back as if propelled downhill by a bike with ready breaks: that's how you look when you sleep, someone moving in. Your face pulling into it: .. .- -- ... --- - .. .-. . -.. .-.-.-

.-.-.-
--..--
..--..
..--..
..--..
..--..
..--..
..--..

big red whipped horse

Hello. It’s taken me awhile. But: HELLO SONG OF MY DREAMS.

The file speaks for itself. I am off to do hours and hours of German Studies homework, because I owe the world something for helping me find this dream song.

. . .

No. Yeah, yeah. I "owe myself" something.
"Something," all right.

speaking of Pulp/Jarvis (see, martin + recent ljing): THIS IS THE CUTEST THING I'VE EVER SEEN. no really.

"help the motherfucking aged."

!!!