there was a time when me and baby sister could talk about everything, but I was unaware of her anger at what I had said. I thank G d she has a husband, the good old bear. I remember the time when he hit me upside the head with his fist. He did not ring my gong, but it hurt like hell.
Baby sister was about eight months with his baby in her womb and he was protecting
them from my insanity.
amor fati
September 14, 2023
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Catharsis and abreaction
November 22, 1963
when one ex-marine in Dallas with a rifle almost made me commit suicide by matricide
I was listening to my Rose of Agudas Achim death rattle.
"The mother is the first awesome miracle that haunts the child his whole life, whether he lives within her powerful aura or rebels against it."
The Denial of Death. Ernest Becker
November 22, 1963 when one ex-mare
Suicide by Matricide
Never forget the feel of her throat between my hands and the expression on her face
no fear, only sadness
it stopped me
struck me like a 2by4 upside my head
I left her house for nine years I did not see her Until 1973 when we spent all night talking, me tripping on acid and her tripping on the real thing, love of her child.
I have this quirk of falling in love with paper dolls with their hearts on my sleeve
dont mean nothing just a late night jitterbug keyboarding as if I was wireman, or st jack
How many serial murderers start out by killing their mothers, the jack of nightmares wondered?
Son’s get off easy, my sister caught more hell from her than I ever did
My sister my self
My Mother/My Self: The Daughter's Search for Identity
Nancy Friday
Catharsis and abreaction
November 22, 1963
when one ex-marine in Dallas with a rifle almost made me commit suicide by matricide
I was listening to my Rose of Agudas Achim death rattle.
"The mother is the first awesome miracle that haunts the child his whole life, whether he lives within her powerful aura or rebels against it."
The Denial of Death. Ernest Becker
November 22, 1963 when one ex-mare
Suicide by Matricide
Never forget the feel of her throat between my hands and the expression on her face
no fear, only sadness
it stopped me
struck me like 2by4 upside my head
I left her house for nine years I did not see her Until 1973 when we spent all night talking me tripping on acid and her tripping on the real thing, love of her child.
I have this quirk of falling in love with paper dolls with their hearts on my sleeve
dont mean nothing just a late night jitterbug keyboarding as if I was wireman, or st jack
How many serial murderers start out by killing their mothers, the jack of nightmares wondered?
Son’s get off easy, my sister caught more hell from her than I ever did
My sister my self
My Mother/My Self: The Daughter's Search for Identity
Nancy Friday
Medusa
Sylvia Plath
Off that landspit of stony mouth-plugs,
Eyes rolled by white sticks,
Ears cupping the sea's incoherences,
You house your unnerving head—God-ball,
Lens of mercies,
Your stooges
Plying their wild cells in my keel's shadow,
Pushing by like hearts,
Red stigmata at the very center,
Riding the rip tide to the nearest point of
departure,
Dragging their Jesus hair.
Did I escape, I wonder?
My mind winds to you
Old barnacled umbilicus, Atlantic cable,
Keeping itself, it seems, in a state of miraculous
repair.
In any case, you are always there,
Tremulous breath at the end of my line,
Curve of water upleaping
To my water rod, dazzling and grateful,
Touching and sucking.
I didn't call you.
I didn't call you at all.
Nevertheless, nevertheless
You steamed to me over the sea,
Fat and red, a placenta
Paralyzing the kicking lovers.
Cobra light
Squeezing the breath from the blood bells
Of the fuchsia. I could draw no breath,
Dead and moneyless,
Overexposed, like an X-ray.
Who do you think you are?
A Communion wafer? Blubbery Mary?
I shall take no bite of your body,
Bottle in which I live,
Ghastly Vatican.
I am sick to death of hot salt.
Green as eunuchs, your wishes
Hiss at my sins.
Off, off, eely tentacle!
There is nothing between us.
Eely Tenacles
My Mother My Self
I used to go to women's lib meetings so I could pick up chiks.
a rose is a woman is a sister is a mother, grandmother, aunt, niece, or daughter.
I suppose the text drugs sex and rock and roll is my vision of a novel called The Magician of Lublin.
st jack has his vision of redemption that would be mine too
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