Tuesday, August 17, 2010

You've Sat Yourself Upon My Shelf

I miss you. I really miss you. Why do I still fucking miss you?

Ashes to ashes to
dust
makes me sneeze
makes me feel...things

like the memories
in your memory
cells
on the cells in my
nose

sniffing your finger
nails
snorting your eye
lashes

sprinkle your ashes to ashes
on top of my
cereal.
mix up the oats
and the strawberries;
bananas and
lips;
yes, your lips.

you may be gone,
but this way
you are inside of me

...for the first
time

Friday, August 13, 2010

It was like a bizarre dream; you wish you could tell it to someone, but no words or descriptions could ever coherently translate what you saw. Your mind cannot grasp in your waking moments that which it can see when you're asleep.

Thursday, August 12, 2010

Why?

Wisdom is a woman, to the classics. Personified in Athena, wisdom is the disheveled war-goddess. She is the Proverbial virgin bride, more precious than jewels. I don't feel the same about wisdom as Solomon or Homer seem to. I don't envision wisdom a gentle, earthy goddess. I don't see a quiet, nurturing woman. I see the old, wrinkled man with long, frizzy white hair and a lengthy beard. His forehead is furrowed; he wobbles on a wooden stick. He is Gandalf the Gray; he is Dumbledore. He is Merlin in his forest cabin, with thousands of books lining his shelves, readily available to be pulled out when an eager pupil seeks the knowledge he possesses. He is The Giver, who holds every truth, every memory, and with the pressing of his fingertips to my temples he can share it all with me. It's a whimsical view of wisdom, a sort of magical, maybe childish view. but while the idea of this wise man evokes warm, hearty feelings, the idea of a wise woman makes me cringe.