More, Margaret!

Helen of Troy Does Countertop Dancing

The world is full of women who'd tell me I should be ashamed of myself if they had the chance. Quit dancing. Get some self-respect and a day job. Right. And minimum wage, and varicose veins, just standing in one place for eight hours behind a glass counter bundled up to the neck, instead of  naked as a meat sandwich. Selling gloves, or something. Instead of what I do sell. You have to have talent  to peddle a thing so nebulous and without material form. Exploited, they'd say. Yes, any way you cut it, but I've a choice of how, and I'll take the money. I do give value. Like preachers, I sell vision, like perfume ads, desire or its facsimile. Like jokes or war, it's all in the timing. I sell men back their worse suspicions: that everything's for sale, and piecemeal. They gaze at me and see a chain-saw murder just before it happens, when thigh, ass, inkblot, crevice, tit, and nipple are still connected. Such hatred leaps in them, my beery worshippers! That, or a bleary hopeless love. Seeing the rows of heads  and upturned eyes, imploring but ready to snap at my ankles, I understand floods and earthquakes, and the urge  to step on ants. I keep the beat, and dance for them because they can't. The music smells like foxes, crisp as heated metal searing the nostrils or humid as August, hazy and languorous as a looted city the day after, when all the rape's been done already, and the killing, and the survivors wander around looking for garbage to eat, and there's only a bleak exhaustion. Speaking of which, it's the smiling tires me out the most.  This, and the pretence that I can't hear them. And I can't, because I'm after all a foreigner to them. The speech here is all warty gutturals, obvious as a slab of ham, but I come from the province of the gods where meanings are lilting and oblique. I don't let on to everyone, but lean close, and I'll whisper: My mother was raped by a holy swan. You believe that? You can take me out to dinner.  That's what we tell all the husbands. There sure are a lot of dangerous birds around. Not that anyone here but you would understand. The rest of them would like to watch me and feel nothing. Reduce me to components as in a clock factory or abattoir. Crush out the mystery. Wall me up alive in my own body.  They'd like to see through me,  but nothing is more opaque than absolute transparency. Look--my feet don't hit the marble! Like breath or a balloon, I'm rising, I hover six inches in the air in my blazing swan-egg of light. You think I'm not a goddess? Try me. This is a torch song. Touch me and you'll burn.  Margaret Atwood  Come back, Margaret, he wants to adore you/ Come back, Margaret, I'd like to explore you

Should I choose a noble occupation?

Well. Exams are over. 

lol its so hard to believe

The Shadow Voice

My shadow said to me:  what is the matter Isn't the moon warm enough for you why do you need the blanket of another body

- Margaret Atwood

I 've always admired her. She has this depressing thing about her going on though, which I can only handle in small doses. 

 Paul says I've been feeling depressed because I walloped 'The Painted Veil' in one night. But it was a good book. The difference between the book and movie is that while the movie's focus was about the couples relationship, the book was about the heroine, Kitty. Like in the movie, when walter died, the story ended. But in the book Walter dying was just an event which contributed to Kitty' growth as a human being, and even towards the end when she goes to the bahamas with her father, it almost seems like its just the start of a new life for her... *sighs with admiration!* I told this to myself once she told CharlesT, 'You Fool.', "Bravo, Kitty", and I found myself saying that at the end of the story too.  

LOL look at me, I've babbled on and on. oKAY Im just reading through my archives and *surprise surprise* look what I found!! Im dedicating this to Sonya cause she was the one who intro-ed me to this poet. And I'm going to type the poem out myself Just cause its so satisfying to do so! Okie here goes

Remember

Remember me when I am gone away

Gone far away into the silent land

When you can no more hold me by the hand

Nor I, half turn to go, yet turning, stay

Remember me when no more day by day

You tell of our future that you planned

Only remember me: You understand

It will be late to counsel then, or pray

Yet if you should go, forget me for awhile

And afterwards remember, do not grieve

For if the darkness and corruption leave

A vestige of the thoughts I once had

Better by far you should forget and smile

Than that you should remember, and be sad. 

-Christina Rosetti

Darling, you will always be around/ Whenever it's up or if its down/ In dreams I've tried to take you far away, but you never stay-Tracyanne Campbell

Opus 40

... It is quite satisfying to finish two Jane Austen novels within a month; a pity she only wrote six, however. 

Sali and I have been reading Hidhir's blog and I have since given up hopes of ever becoming a witty writer. I shall entrust that aspect of writing to you, Hidhir, so do not fail me. LOL. 

I have just finished reading 'Emma' after 4 years, including 2 failed attempts to carry on.( Which is strange because I read P&P 8 times and I only wish the details of it from having read it so many times could be somehow lent to sali for her As. We are not like computers in this aspect) I liked it.  I 'd give it 4 stars. half a star deducted because of it being chick-lit of the regency period and another half deducted  for it having such a happy, but-of-course ending. I liked Austen's portrayal of Mr. Woodhouse! Like Sultan from Aladdin. so lovable! 

Right now I am being distracted by 'The Painted Veil" By William S. Maugham which is very bad. The fact that I've wanted to read for 2 years only makes the situation worse. And sharon thinks she's a bookslut. 

"In spite of all her faults, she knew she was dear to him; and might she not say- very dear?"

We Danced Together

May I flatter myself as to think this looks quite professional? LOL

Your smile was a drug, your style was money

Not exactly the way I hoped it'd turn out to be... but you get the idea.