glory! : on ephemeral-ity and collecting, draft

washer

Goodnight my love Remember me as you fall to sleep Fill your pockets with the dust and the memories That rises from the shoes on my feet I won't be back here Though we may meet again I know it's dark outside Don't be afraid Everytime I ever cried from fear Was just a mistake that I made Wash yourself in your tears And build your church On the strength of your faith Please Listen to me Don't let go Don't let this desperate moonlight leave me With your empty pillow Promise me the sun will rise again I too am tired now Embracing thoughts of tonight's dreamless sleep My head is empty My toes are warm I am safe from harm...

Wednesday, November 15, 2023

on ephemeral-ity and collecting, draft

i feel like i like to collect people like one would collect concert or plane tickets, or pictures. im so sentimental. i hate getting rid of things. seeing the the acrylic nails i had on during a happy moment of my life be filed off, losing a little note my mom or my boyfriend left for me, even a little convenience store note if i was buying something i thought was important. even buying something with cash my dad gave me. these material things are such little gifts! theyre patrimonies of generosity! of love! theyre gems and i hate losing them.

i hate saying goodbye. i hate it when a friend moves away, even if theyre more like an acquaintance. i feel weird about it. i wish i was close friends with everyone. i hate growing apart from people i really know and love. its unfair. i wish i could keep everything in butterfly cages so that they could never age or die, so we could all be together forever and be friends and love each other. i wish i could freeze the world.

it makes me so sad and helpless. i truly hate how time passes. ive come to understand the passage of time as my greatest enemy. i like to keep physical testimonies and witnesses of important moments of my life. i wish i kept my hair every time i cut it. i wish i kept my milk teeth. im sure my mom got rid of them.

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sylvia plath, the bell jar

I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.

Psalm 18: 6-11

In my distress I called upon the Lord, And cried out to my God; He heard my voice from His temple, And my cry came before Him, even to His ears. Then the earth shook and trembled; The foundations of the hills also quaked and were shaken, Because He was angry. Smoke went up from His nostrils, And devouring fire from His mouth; Coals were kindled by it. He bowed the heavens also, and came down With darkness under His feet. And He rode upon a cherub, and flew; He flew upon the wings of the wind. He made darkness His secret place; His canopy around Him was dark waters And thick clouds of the skies.