Black Doggerel

There was a poem I was going to stick in the last entry that I forgot to put in! Here it is:

( cut for poetry )

The bad recurring dreams. These are the two that make me wake up sweating, cold and weeping.

The first is fairly common to people with animals, I've discovered. In the dream, I am going about my life when I suddenly recall another seven hawks or ten or eleven ferrets that I'm keeping in a garage or an aviary somewhere out of the way, and I recall that I haven't fed them or checked on them for weeks. The dreams are always generous with gruesome imagery of creatures starved, filthy and occasionally eating each other because of my negligence.

The other involves my husband. Not everyone on my friends list knows that he died in 1999. Now, I know he's dead. I held him on my lap as the warmth receded from his flesh. I know exactly what death looks and feels like.

In the dream, I learn that he faked his death, that he's been alive all this time. But he hasn't contacted me, and he's left no channel open by which I can tell him I know he's alive. I try and call his family, and they deny all knowledge and hang up on me. His friends have disappeared. Every avenue of communication ends in a blank brick wall. The only one who can communicate is John, but he doesn't want to. I have no idea why.

The Ballad Of Eskimo Nell

( Cut for length, poetry and multitudinous Rude Words )

This is for periphery_dance, further to this conversation.

Or, in other words, I'm in love again.

Ultraviolet. Not the movie, the series.

Trying very very very hard not to watch it all in one go; there's so little of it - but what there is is packed dense with things that hook and draw you in.

In other news - Still tired, still restless, still discontented and fed up. Kittens are fine, I took pics, will get round to posting them sometime.

Spike's fine but it worries and upsets me still.

I was about to say that I can't explain how seeing him limping, the visible reminder that he's only mortal flesh and I will likely see him die, makes me feel; but I think Robinson Jeffers can:

( It's not entirely unlike this. Poem under the cut. )

ramona, you'll need a tissue before clicking the cut. I did.

Meme nicked from altariel1: When you see this on your friendslist, quote Oscar Wilde.

( Cut for being absurdly long - my personal favourite Wilde poem. )

I love that. It's like getting drunk on words - so gloriously, perfectly over-the-top.

In other news - I'm happy. Not a lot is going on but I'm enjoying life.

There is something on my mind, a possible life-change that gives rise to some very mixed feelings, but it's in the early stages of discussion and may never happen; though I may write an entry about it later. entorien knows what I mean.

If I die, survive me with such sheer force
that you waken the furies of the pallid and the cold,
from south to south lift your indelible eyes,
from sun to sun dream through your singing mouth.
I don't want your laughter or your steps to waver,
I don't want my heritage of joy to die.
Don't call up my person. I am absent.
Live in my absence as if in a house.
Absence is a house so vast
that inside you will pass through its walls
and hang pictures on the air
Absence is a house so transparent
that I, lifeless, will see you, living,
and if you suffer, my love, I will die again.

- Pablo Neruda

Posted in greatpoets today.

I've never had words hit me so hard in my life. I had to copy it here.