oh lovelies

Wednesday, February 24, 2010


I was trying to find a significance of Redrum in The Shining, the Kubrick version.....I know it's murder backwards. But I found this in the table of the goetia demons.....it sounds like his name backwards.....without the Red. Close. Knifes symbolize air, knowledge, mental clarity (or not).

Here's the description:

Wikipedia: Murmer

(g) Pseudomonarchia daemonum - Johann Wier (1583)

Murmur is a great duke and an earle, appearing in the shape of a souldier, riding on a griphen, with a dukes crowne on his head; there go before him two of his ministers, with great trumpets, he teacheth philosophie absolutelie, he constraineth soules to come before the exorcist, to answer what he shall aske them, he was of the order partlie of thrones, and partlie of angels, and ruleth thirtie legions. (g)

A post I wrote a few years back

I just rediscovered this....it came to mind as I was passing Grace Church. It's really great...this one......so I'm reprinting.

Saturday, November 26, 2005


There were thousands of bands in the world, but only one mattered. They were right about one thing. As soon as I saw him, I knew he was special. I couldn't pin it down, but he was different, apart from these others, all who had this sort of......blurred, almost deadened expression on their faces. He had something else in his face, eyes. And he was the one, the only one.

But that was twenty five years ago, and he's .......dead now. The circumstances are still a mystery.

And, he left, he's gone, on the other side of the Atlantic.....why???????????????

Why did he leave me?

She filled the tub with hot water, and grabbed everything she needed: red wine, cigarettes, a joint (heck it doesn't matter anyway, now), tea, gel, an ashtray, scented candle......and the steak knife. She sat in the tub, drank the wine, lit the joint. Music? Oh well, forgot. A few minutes went by. The wine and mj were making her head spin.......I'll end it now.....but where will I go? What will happen to me after? What will I face? What if I'm sinning? Forgive me, forgive me, whoever's there. Her face screwed up, almost pouting. She started crying again. I can't......how many girls killed themselves over him? She held the knife to her wrists, and for the first time in her life she saw her own mortality and realized she, too, could end her life. But I don't want to become another statistic, another body in the morgue. I can't, not yet, I still have to.......my mission here isn't finished. When will it be? I can't not yet.

I tried to slit my wrists over you, she told him. A gun's easier, he said. If you're going to end it, why not do it quickly? Why give yourself so much pain? Because a gun isn't a ladylike way to do it, she said.

In Gone With the Wind, the catty girls said, men may flirt with girls like that but they don't marry them. Melanie alone defended her, the girl who tried to take her husband. She was the Friday night girl, a "Chia." She was the one hidden from their wives and girlfriends, snuck in during odd hours when they were away or in clandestine meetings in hotel rooms, or at her place when they were on the way home from work, sometimes at their jobs. There wasn't one case of a married man who wasn't having problems with his wife.

Joan of Arc, child of Satan, so dark even Jesus can't save you, born under unlucky, cursed, fixed stars. Joan of Arc shall be France's saint. Child of hell. All these lines are from Lady Snowblood. It's a fascination, a "cursed" child who becomes an instrument of revenge, and a saint.

I feel just like Cindrella! In my beautiful dress on my beautiful wedding day. I go outside for a breath of air, so thankful to be alone even for a minute. I take a breath, just for myself. It's so quiet. If I still smoked I'd be smoking. And then.......there he is. I am not going to faint or have a heart attack. He's not a ghost. My lover, my "dead" lover, the one whose death I avenged on the whole fucking village, is not really dead, but standing right in front of me. You faked your death! I cry. I want you, now, more than ever, he says. You've never looked more beautiful than now, in your wedding dress. I want you, I want you now. It'll have to be fast, I say. So........we sneak into the church basement, into.......a dressing room? A pretty nice one. It happens so fast......marriage must be borne with fortitude, said Ellen O'Hara in Gone with the Wind. He's all over me......then......it's all over me. Meanwhile upstairs is my husband, looking for me, asking, where's my wife? I run upstairs to clean myself off. You can smell it, him, his fluids, on me. My husband will smell it. I find a sink, pour soap on me, am washing myself, and my husband approaches. There you are! he says. Yeah, I say. I just.....spilled something on myself, I'm such a clutz. And off the two of us go, the fairy tale lovers. I later in my designer clothes a hetaira....but married.


I was blessed, the most blessed person because I had them spinning around me and I was so so it was truly black and purple around and around me everywhere and he was there he was there he was there he was there he was there he was there

so blessed. luckiest. child of the universe.

I didn't know it.

But the fact that I didn't know doesn't make it less significant. My head was mercilessly fucked with. Maybe I did that to me, I don't know. I never WANTED that. EVER. Bellevue means Beautiful Vision in French.....hm.......kinda sweet. Should I take LSD again? No I can MAKE these images not wait for them to come to me.

John Digweed put that soundtrack together.....I think? He is God.

And you were there you were there you were there you were there where the fuck is the place? I would ask blessed blessed blessed you were there you everything purple around me ......
Mile End, by Pulp

Ten years ago, gulp, twelve.......yikes. I was in the dorms at Hunter, and listened to this soundtrack from Trainspotting constantly. Just before I left for London and Scotland. Kind of comic.....at the time I was dating a guy who did live in a place like described in this song.....the projects. There was pee in the elevators too. British term "lift."

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Sylvia Plath, Anne Sexton, Henry Miller.....if they'd lived in the age of blogging and email? What would it be like? If they had emailed instead of writing letters? They (the letters) wouldn't have been the same. Typing on a computer is not the same as writing at a desk.

Her diary....so painful to read. So hard to view the pain of others. Oh.....that ..........

listening to the trainspotting soundtrack. Ten years ago before leaving for London I listened to this non stop. It's very haunting.....kind of scratches at you.

My mother still sends and receives letters. Henry Miller was rock and roll before it happened....and punk....sexist and offensive at times but I still relate to much of his work.

I read in the Wall St Journal today about lactose intolerance....how many Asians suffer from it.......
something about evolution of various traits like blue eyes (which are fairly new) and ......smaller jaws, wisdom teeth, metabolism......

then I took some scrap paper and on the back of a page was an article about lactose intolerance. So I learned about that today. What is the significance of this?

Also, on a lighter note, there was an article about Snoop Dogg being banned from the UK for an argument he and his posse had with the authorities at the airport. He was referenced by his real name and the written reason for his detention was the use of "insulting words." Just what were they?

Biggest hope? biggest fear?

Thursday, February 18, 2010

you all know the story

or maybe you don't

the housewife who ran amok and

killed her children

the drug addict homeless woman who flipped out on the train

love, real love, that did this to her

she continued to live

a shipwreck they made of her

in Scandinavia where people have no problems

is the highest suicide rate

maybe you know, maybe you don't

some 200 African slaves were buried here

but hey they won't harm you they're dead now

you can build build build this is Manhattan there isn't enough space

Feb 18 is 2/18

spring the spring the spring the spring

an old bedspread, the hairs of a cat, a roll of tape

that was our love story

I fell I fell I fell I fell

while they rang the bells at

bellevue bellevue

in French that is beautiful vision

Belle Reve Beautiful Dream

Belle Vue Beautiful Vision

Tony is Time Out New York

where you're standing

names, faces unknown

you all know the crazy woman on the train

or in Mc Donalds

they say real love did that to her

build your towers

precious twins precious precious twins

they are dead they are not dead

they love you they hate you

and they love you and they hate you

no it wouldn't wouldn't fall here

no the mask wasn't hers it wasn't hers no it wasn't hers it will never be hers

more cigarettes more cigarettes

no it wasn't her it wasn't me it wasn't her

it wasn't me it wasn't her

waiting in a beautiful vision

a beautiful vision

it wasn't me it wasn't her

they were all watching TV waiting for me

no they won't haunt you the dead

have better things to do

(such as what? )


you all know the story of

that awful face in the window

of the cat hairs on the bedspread

I shouldn't laugh no really

the smell the smell the smell
really I almost died, saving my self. 

I still care. I still care. I have to forgive. somehow. it's hard. I was badly stabbed.....it's those you love who kill you.....who hurt you the most. 


killed me almost killed me almost killed me almost killed me you who are so holy almost killed me you killed me with your love and good intentions 

Wednesday, February 17, 2010


and you you you
I'm telling you
I'm telling you
it's there it's really there
sitting in a jar
a little glass jar
a little star jar

can't go too far can't
if they knew what I knew
if they knew what I knew
if they knew what I knew

I must be saved
I must be saved
I must be saved
from the waves from the waves
before they swallow me
before they swallow me
I must be saved
before I get out
before I get out
before I get out
what is she hiding
what is he hiding you know what I mean you do \

that which feeds me
poisons me
sugar is acid
I have to be saved
I have to be saved
from the waves

they will swallow me

(love is a terrorist)

I have to be saved

you you you you me you
you you you you me you

oh the love how many miles
how many miles
what will save me from the waves
what will save me what will save me

what is fake how many miles how many miles

hell is a mirror
her hallway
and there's no one no one no one no one
all reflect back your fears and hell hell is a mirror a mirror
I must be saved I must be saved
from the waves
the faces faces they can't hurt me
the waves the waves if they swallow me
the faces can they see can they see

ash wed

which I know is a pagan holiday of some kind and I forgot so I'm going to get ashes and then work and then .........I don't know.......really hung over. Listening to this song "Mote" by Sonic Youth which my friend and I used to listen to all the time........really trippy trance song crazy haven't heard it in a million million

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

if I were going to write a novel

I never thought of myself as "that" kind of writer, but ideally, if I did, I'd want to write a modern Victorian one, like in the style of Edith Wharton, as opposed to say Kathy Acker.

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

Anne Sexton


Let's see, what can I say about her? Something I wrote that was pretty macabre, today, set to a pentatonic scale on the piano.

the door opened
sucked me in and I
you look in, look in

where no one else will
the smoke, force of a train
and maudlin, green oils creep through me
the candle light is yours

the hell, beneath the earth

they prick you, they know where

and where, where would it come from?
not a minute, not an hour
I'm on the edge
of something, something sharp

and I am falling over
falling down
in my life, out of my life
the shadow skeleton in
an empty classroom
your spirit in smoke
you light up, you speak
they don't listen
again, they don't listen

such madness, out of my element

they are not
they stare, eyes fixed

they could take you away
is there no end to them?
there's another, and another
they are not good-willed

look back, you're alone again
on the roof, all green below you
everything green, blooming, perfect and boring
only the train in the distance
only his eyes are lighted

insanity is the worst thing
it makes you defenseless
I wanted only to be in a room
it's no joke, it's coming after me

is the blood endless?
she could destroy you in half an hour
only willing

what do you expect, my praise?

Monday, February 08, 2010

Red is Love revised

something in the dark scratches me
streaks, too many of them
stung and stung the mark is red

I'm out of my element
again, on the floor, outside the room, again

I didn't ask you only followed me

they say it's an accident
it couldn't be easier

purple is on my neck
I didn't ask for this, didn't ask
I only found you staring
I only feared, only heard
it's all yours, couldn't be mine

sky is a black board
the stars are white grains of sand
the love, love water pouring
down the street, the empty street

Friday, February 05, 2010


purple, and red lines
my thumb is bloody
my finger is blistered
a mark on my left hand
red, nearly black
I'm up late and up late
in the morning there' s peace,
there's only me
oh what I had
I want it back
I want it back

I'd live with you in a closet
if it could surround us
us who are so lovely
we could be Celts or Welsh
in green fields
but we're living near iron and brick and
there's electicity, dirty water around us
night buries me I don't want to see or be seen
day kills me, hurts my eyes, people are horrifying

last night the rain went on and on
red wine stained white porcelain
I heard your voice, distant and close
I saw faces there, did you?
empty house, empty room, walls are chipped
all night before, in coffee shops where
they're so close and farther and farther away
her voice grates on me I can't bear to listen to it
there's red, cobwebs, candles, mirrors, cinnamon
and there's nothing, nothingness
the space between atoms, particles
nothing, a void, the hell of waiting
you who stole my time, who stole my life, I
want it back, but not without you in it
don't you know I wish I was there
do you think I like living in this frigid mausoleum
you don't think I'd rather be in the sun?
why do I hurt myself this way?
I need to be there, need to be there, need to not think not think

I feel invisible, but I'm not

have to wash
if I could bathe in the and
be purified.....
I touch a mirror
a daily repetition

you're a plastic ball
you're a marrionette

it's love, its nothingness,
the word is yours, sent for you only

the flourescent orange mouth smiles
the fire gets hotter
your red hair a flame
now it eats you alive
all you've forgotten
they won't forget
you're a star, you're a star
all the light extends, extends
your fingers take it in

red is love

something in the dark scratches me
I'm under a rock
you love and hate
the endless, dull manipulation

my skin is red
it scratches, my fingers extend, reaching.....
stung by tiny sparks

there is madness

has to be, a certain time
such madness, I'm out of my element
the pin is hot blood is red

spun away, away I can't fix it

I'm begging, not meant to beg
they stare, fixed

they say it's an accident

oh, how it is!

purple is on my neck
teeth touch my toes
we bonded can't unbond
the sidewalk is empty

they speak, they aren't heard

faces in the window, grotesque

it's all yours, couldn't be mine

Wednesday, February 03, 2010


There have been discussions on it. Some things never leave you. But mine was what I was taught, that's what messed me up. It was.....people who on the surface seemed "above" most human beings, enlightened, unquestionable. Their word was taken or to be taken as truth. It was only years later and after months of research that I discovered information that tells me what they taught was simply outright false. They continue to do this. Some of them, many are well meaning. But their sermons and yes, yoga classes revolve around pasted on, generalized "spiritual" ideas, that in fact have nothing to do with yoga. But I didn't find that out until recently. It was only after my instinct went against what they were saying and led me to the exact opposite. I had to dig and dig but finally found evidence contradicting their .....ideas, those same ones which wrecked me, really. To continue that way was impossible, unbearable for me, because to me it was simply wrong. My own bad experiences come mainly from this kind of confusion.