Influential heights

[stilltrucking]

After I posted it I was sorry
I could smell the corn dogs
I thought it was lame corny
Reminded me of a couple of old tin pan alley songs.

I was thinking about spider love again.

Thinking about a line from one of the beat "Beat Matriarchs,"

"You can weave such an exciting ambience around a man he'll hardly know he is being held by it" joyce johnson

[SadLuckDame]

I don't know about it,
I thought you were just alluding to characters such as him, and how unimportant a woman can be in the whole picture.

[stilltrucking]

yes Roger I see a lot of him in plath's poem
Tinker Jack and The Tidy Wives.

And it seemed a fouler offence committed by Roger Chillingworth, than any which had since been done him, that, in the time when her heart knew no better, he had persuaded her to fancy herself happy by his side.

Scarlet Letter page 129


"I want you to wear my high school sweater
the one with the scarlet letter"

There was an Eddie Fisher song back in the fifties (when he and Debbie Reynolds were still America's sweethearts) I was Googling for it when I found this video in stead

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here is the Eddie fisher Version
Song called Dungaree Doll

I want you to wear my orange sweater
The beat up sweater with the high school letter

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zBwnYPg_Hu0

[SadLuckDame]

LOL, you crack me up, thanks for sharing the infamous sweater
and funny how she caught on to the other girl passing on the info of how he wanted that sweater back to wear on Monday. Yes, the cruelty of boys makes the cruelty of us women.

I remember my first serious boyfriend.
He kept me under his thumb, and I thought we were to marry, had the ring and all by sweet sixteen, had the bruised wrists, and his leather jacket, had the nasty break-up poetry, the broken wittle heart, and certainly I tore up all the artwork my best girl painted me, after I found out she was screwing him all along.

Never was a boy to lend me his jacket, without my handing it back to him on the very first day, saying it didn't work with my sort of dressing and my unskirted ass streaking through the daffodils.

[SadLuckDame]

I remember her so well, I'd had so much adoration for her, and we were extremely close together. I know the scent of her, and how translucent white her skin was, with the blue lying beneath, like an opal or mother of pearl. We'd draw all over each other's bodies in ink, and the way the ink showed up on that skin of hers' used to fascinate me. We'd write to each other, while sitting side by side, and she'd paint pictures of me.

An intimacy, and I'd loved her. She was skinny and tall, reddish dark hair, blue eyes and a thin nose, all bony with no curves at all, not anywhere. More my opposite, cause I seemed rather pinker skin, and even skinny, I still had a curvature, not like her skeletal shape, so she fascinated me.

I knew her history, knew she'd been sleeping around, but her family was cocaine and jacking off, it's all she knew of and I found it interesting, because I'd been in such a bubble.

One day she asked me to look at her ass, to see if she'd caught herpes, and I did, I wanted always to look after her after what wreckage there could have been.

Her father only bought beer and bread and cheese. Her and I would go make toasted bread with a slice of cheese on top, every day. I had plenty of food at home, but it just wasn't as beautiful as being there with her.

Some sort of depth in our interaction.

We'd been as sisters, shared practically everything.
I still see her before me, blowing in the wind, my heart ached and there ya go.

[Artguy]

Oh you sad luck dame walk and walk on gams and heels of wanderin...

[SadLuckDame]

Sorry, artguy, was editing it when you replied, just wanted to add a little more, didn't take away.

[stilltrucking]

Another time
before PG-13
When the world was more innocent
at least for me
I remember the girl in home room class in junior high the one I ached for the one I was always glancing at and who had me walking around all day with tented pants. And this is the truth dame, I was clueless, I never connected the girl as having anything to do with what was happening to me. I suppose I must have had some vague idea one was because of the other but I guess I repressed it.

No serious girl friends tell I met my true love at her sweet sixteen birthday party. It was thunder clap love at first sight. We went steady five years, right into college. We even got engaged to be married. Till I broke it off.
Did I tell you I was crazy, that I found true love and ran from it?



Roger Chillingworth is lurking today

<center>
XV
Hester and Pearl</center>

SO Roger Chillingworth—a deformed old figure, with a face that haunted men’s memories longer than they liked—took leave of Hester Prynne, and went stooping away along the earth. He gathered here and there an herb, or grubbed up a root, and put it into the basket on his arm. His gray beard almost touched the ground, as he crept onward. Hester gazed after him a little while, looking with a half-fantastic curiosity to see whether the tender grass of early spring would not be blighted beneath him, and show the wavering track of his footsteps, sere and brown, across its cheerful verdure. She wondered what sort of herbs they were, which the old man was so sedulous to gather. Would not the earth, quickened to an evil purpose by the sympathy of his eye, greet him with poisonous shrubs, of species hitherto unknown, that would start up under his fingers? Or might it suffice him, that every wholesome growth should be converted into something deleterious and malignant at his touch? Did the sun, which shone so brightly everywhere else, really fall upon him? Or was there, as it rather seemed, a circle of ominous shadow moving along with his deformity, whichever way he turned himself? And whither was he now going? Would he not suddenly sink into the earth, leaving a barren and blasted spot, where, in due course of time, would be seen deadly nightshade, dogwood, henbane, and whatever else of vegetable wickedness the climate could produce, all flourishing with hideous luxuriance? Or would he spread bat’s wings and flee away, looking so much the uglier, the higher he rose towards heaven?


http://www.bartleby.com/83/15.html

[SadLuckDame]

She's just memory to me now.
One of our last letters to each other was about if we did lose one another, that on a certain date, and in a certain specified newspaper, we'd put a lost ad~
Lost, one so and so kitten on the blank street area, please contact so and so, with a brief description for a reunite. Looking for portraits. Looking for tattered material. Looking for pen marks.

But, I'd not bought the specific paper, at the specific time.

Also, she'd said we could unite on Sally with the red glasses, for she was popular in the day.

I'm better for just knowing her then, a beautiful girl to me, a tragic ending, and a piece towards boy friends who might have a pretty little wife to iron his shirts. I mean, it's first lessons. It's A to B, and I'm always transforming if I can.

[Artguy]

Hey sld...always feel like jumpin in the middle of these jams with my fave trucker but not sure where or how as I'm not sure what it's all about....things are a little fuzzy today... pecocet and morphine...and a kidney stone...

[SadLuckDame]

I guess it's about beautiful people, about sweaters, puppy love and flirting is an art form, about writing letters and do we gain, honestly it's just us all talking and your kidney stone sounds painful, but the drugs work with this sort of conversation, best.

Hey, Jack, tented pants are not that noticeable to women, I don't think. We just catch the side-ways glances and brush-ups.

[stilltrucking]

I did not notice that Artguy had posted
I just could not get my mind off of Roger


Morphine
Angel In Green
Sister morphine
Might as well enjoy the side effects I say


Freud went through 27? operations on his jaw for cancer refused the morphine cause he wanted to keep his mind focused on his work
last book Moses and Monotheism
everybody makes him the butt of jokes
that he was a drug crazed old man
obsessed with sex
and death
maybe that is why I relate


he was an influential height for me
as I strugled to pass over my father's hell
and have compassion for him

I don't what it is about art guy
She is a poet
and I am peanut butter
for me this the end of thirty years of solitude
found a bird of a feather
who I can flock together
in the sweet anonymity of the internet

[SadLuckDame]

Let men tremble to win the hand of woman, unless they win along with it the utmost passion of her heart! Else it may be their miserable fortune, as it was Roger Chillingworth’s, when some mightier touch than their own may have awakened all her sensibilities, to be reproached even for the calm content, the marble image of happiness, which they will have imposed upon her as the warm reality.
http://www.bartleby.com/83/15.html

After reading the Scarlet Letter, I remember liking this bit.

What we didn't see or touch, but what another does, or something like it.

I plan to read the book again, and then again, prolly. One of the best I've ever read.

Back to J.K., found these to look at.
First one's cecil's poetry and oo la la piece...

http://www.studioeight.tv/phpbb/viewtop ... e6a99e7a27

and then the book by Joyce Johnson, which I'm checking out just now.

About Jack K.

As to him, well he already knows what has happened,
and he is quite amused with his charm, still intact after so much time, and especially when dealing with such a smart woman, that makes it even more an interest to him, cause she knows better, but allows his wicked game.
All she can say in her defense, is how she'd not planned to be smitten, nor to swoon, or all the lovely things smart women never do.

Oh, to meet a poet man could be an interesting party.
hmm, when I think of you,
I still think of a Henry Miller...
he is thick skinned, but has some inner vulnerability, that says to her that he may actually like women, very much, he's just not gonna be the type to admit it to anybody.

But, after reading Ovid's art of love, wicked man, the art of seduction and a word to women on how to powder the nose, how to laugh and toss their head side-long, so as not to see straight up their nose.

[SadLuckDame]

She said to me,
"What do you think of me...
I was made out of monsters."

And I told her I thought she was beautiful.

[stilltrucking]

Thinking about those baths I got as a little jackster, the ones where she played this little piggy went to market with my toes, and how I thought my putz was my eleventh toe for such a long time. She meant me no harm and the baths did not go on for very long, but I wonder if they had anything to do with me winding up a bitter old man alone without a woman. Yeah I been saving every dollar I can, you know those mail order brides are expensive.

Speaking of heights and the most high
I know I am sarcastic but I would hate to be sarcastic on the poetry board. People sharing their poetry, don't need obsidian words.

Found this one today, I would not want to be a thorn in the side of the most high

for Nietzsche we will wait
for time itself to crumble
pay for its drone
over and again
nappy headed songs
of missing the larger point
and making a god of being
a thorn in the side of the highest high

e-piph[lol] on The I Can't Wait Word Jam! September 2005
http://www.studioeight.tv/phpbb/viewtop ... ake#p30055

this my favorite thread of yours I think