Hey,
I'm going to be off SG for a little bit, my father died Saturday night. Before I go though, a few of you have asked about what my tattoos say. My back is an excerpt from the poem "somewhere i have never travelled" by e.e.cummings:
somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near
your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose
or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands
I have always loved this poem as an expression of the complete power you must surrender to another person when you fall in love.
The poem around my thigh is "Mon Semblable" by Stephen Dunn
I like things my way
every chance I get.
A limit doesn't exist
when it comes to that.
But please, don't confuse
what I say with honesty.
Isn't honesty the open yawn
the unimaginative love
more than truth?
Anonymous among strangers
I look for those
with hidden wings,
and for scars
that those who once had wings
can't hide.
Though I know it's unfair,
I reveal myself
one mask at a time.
Does this appeal to you,
such slow disclosures,
a lifetime perhaps
of almost knowing one another?
I would hope you, too,
would hold something back,
and that you'd always want
whatever unequal share
you had style enough to get.
Altruism is for those
who can't endure their desires.
There's a world
as ambiguous as a moan,
a pleasure moan
our earnest neighbors
might think a crime.
It's where we could live.
I'll say I love you,
which will lead, of course,
to disappointment,
but those words unsaid
poison every next moment.
I will try to disappoint you
better than anyone ever has.
Some people think these poems are cynical, but to me they both symbolize lessons I have learned the hard way, and choose to never forget.
Back soon.
xoxo
Ps. Just for the record: the sex drought is STILL not over! Rats!
I'm going to be off SG for a little bit, my father died Saturday night. Before I go though, a few of you have asked about what my tattoos say. My back is an excerpt from the poem "somewhere i have never travelled" by e.e.cummings:
somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near
your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose
or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands
I have always loved this poem as an expression of the complete power you must surrender to another person when you fall in love.
The poem around my thigh is "Mon Semblable" by Stephen Dunn
I like things my way
every chance I get.
A limit doesn't exist
when it comes to that.
But please, don't confuse
what I say with honesty.
Isn't honesty the open yawn
the unimaginative love
more than truth?
Anonymous among strangers
I look for those
with hidden wings,
and for scars
that those who once had wings
can't hide.
Though I know it's unfair,
I reveal myself
one mask at a time.
Does this appeal to you,
such slow disclosures,
a lifetime perhaps
of almost knowing one another?
I would hope you, too,
would hold something back,
and that you'd always want
whatever unequal share
you had style enough to get.
Altruism is for those
who can't endure their desires.
There's a world
as ambiguous as a moan,
a pleasure moan
our earnest neighbors
might think a crime.
It's where we could live.
I'll say I love you,
which will lead, of course,
to disappointment,
but those words unsaid
poison every next moment.
I will try to disappoint you
better than anyone ever has.
Some people think these poems are cynical, but to me they both symbolize lessons I have learned the hard way, and choose to never forget.
Back soon.
xoxo
Ps. Just for the record: the sex drought is STILL not over! Rats!
Okay...somehow I'm on the couch in my underwear consuming ice cream with terrifying speed and determination. Oh well. This is better than sex, right?
Right.
Right.
So...my first set is up...
http://suicidegirls.com/members/MadameX/albums/site/14704/
And I'll be the first to admit, I'm not a huge fan of it. BUT there are two sets coming up, September 18th, and 24th that I love.
Roamed aimlessly around London today. About to get dressed and head out for some beers. Tonight my seven months of sexlessness ends!
Wish me luck, lol.
xoxo
Ps. The the people who just sent me friend requests, hi! Please message me...I am so fucking bored sitting here in the rain
http://suicidegirls.com/members/MadameX/albums/site/14704/
And I'll be the first to admit, I'm not a huge fan of it. BUT there are two sets coming up, September 18th, and 24th that I love.
Roamed aimlessly around London today. About to get dressed and head out for some beers. Tonight my seven months of sexlessness ends!
Wish me luck, lol.
xoxo
Ps. The the people who just sent me friend requests, hi! Please message me...I am so fucking bored sitting here in the rain
Holy FUCK I am so bored over here. I can feel myself becoming less intelligent by the minute. Laying on the floor listening to the rain outside pondering the great questions of life such as:
Who would win in a fight, a weasel, or my toaster (were it a transformer toaster)? And what if the weasel was REALLY angry? I mean, really furious? But even more importantly what sort of political event could have sparked aforementioned weasel-transforming toaster animosity? Weasels don't even eat toast! ...or do they?
Aaaah, the big questions of life.
Someone rescue me. I'm going mental.
Read Martin Amis' London Fields, fantastic. Highly recommended.
Who would win in a fight, a weasel, or my toaster (were it a transformer toaster)? And what if the weasel was REALLY angry? I mean, really furious? But even more importantly what sort of political event could have sparked aforementioned weasel-transforming toaster animosity? Weasels don't even eat toast! ...or do they?
Aaaah, the big questions of life.
Someone rescue me. I'm going mental.
Read Martin Amis' London Fields, fantastic. Highly recommended.
