wicked witch

November 3, 2018

Once upon a time there was a wicked witch and her name was
Lilith
Eve
Hagar
Jezebel
Delilah
Pandora
Jahi
Tamar
and there was a wicked witch and she was also called goddess and her name was
Kali
Fatima
Artemis
Hera
Isis
Mary
Ishtar
and there was a wicked witch and she was also called queen and her name was
Bathsheba
Vashti
Cleopatra
Helen
Salome
Elizabeth
Clytemnestra
Medea
and there was a wicked witch and she was also called witch and her name was
Joan
Circe
Morgan le Fay
Tiamat
Maria Leonza
Medusa
and they had this in common: that they were feared, hated, desired, and worshiped.

Andrea Dworkin
Woman Hating

a mass of odds and ends

November 3, 2018

burning book

What sort of diary should I like mine to be? Something loose knit and yet not slovenly, so elastic that it will embrace any thing, solemn, slight or beautiful that comes into my mind. I should like it to resemble some deep old desk, or capacious hold-all, in which one flings a mass of odds and ends without looking them through. I should like to come back, after a year or two, and find that the collection had sorted itself and refined itself and coalesced, as such deposits so mysteriously do, into a mould, transparent enough to reflect the light of our life, and yet steady, tranquil compounds with the aloofness of a work of art.

Virginia Woolf
A Writer’s Diary

the beauty of our longing

November 3, 2018

Into the trees

You cannot write alone, no more than you can be alone inside your own poems. The muse is not only, in contemporary vernacular, an inspirit but a facilitator…the acknowledged or unacknowledged antagonist… the opposition that creates the energy and story of the poem…the need and the means. It provides the imagination with context, and when all is said and done, the text itself. The freeness of our trees, the birdies of our birds, the pity of our forgiveness, the beauty of our longing, our paralysis, our prevarications, our palaver, all may saturate the colours and textures of our poems, but they are masks over the singular face of the archetype.

Stanley Plumly
Autobiography and Archetrype

Music in Hell

November 3, 2018

All the music in hell is played on the violin.

Be careful what you ask for

November 3, 2018

Pain marks you

November 3, 2018

Who can remember pain once it’s over? All that remains of it is a shadow, not in the mind even, in the flesh. Pain marks you, but too deep to see.

Margaret Atwood
The Handmaid’s Tale

to enter an unknown world

November 3, 2018

abyss 2

Dreams and nightmares are my life. Always, for me, going to bed has been the commencement of a journey. Preparations must be made: my book, glass of water, watch, my notebook and pencil. Climbing into bed and flicking off the bedside light is to enter an unknown world – one full of promise, that both attracts and frightens. Dreams and nightmares are the one constant in my life