Cancer lady, firstly

[SadLuckDame]

Nature the best kind of church, and solitary too.
If we were to pine away the hours, where would we be
and I can think of no other place better.

I did see that movie, seems so long ago. I do love chocolate, too. but, not chocolate pudding, or ice-cream, or cake. Otherwise, I love it.

[SadLuckDame]

Reading up on her and got side-tracked.


The spooky and dead side of the house. Filled with old war love letters, hollow eyed children with blank stares and scarred knees-- grown beyond their years in black and white photos. Or ones of the women dolled up as never before and photoed only to send it on in a letter to their guy fighting the war.

All beautiful to me, has some charm that is some how missing today. The house caught on fire a few years ago, my Grandparents made it out alive, but most of the photos and such burnt away.

[SadLuckDame]

Reading this article on Plath.
Wondering what I thought my life would be; it would have mirrored my Grandmothers. In fact, I'd entertained how entwined we were. With her now gone, and the x whom substituted how I could have and had mirrored her own idea of marriage...I don't know how I fit in the world any longer. Trying to start a new story, and it's an odd predicament, an unexpected one.
I don't 'know' these people I come in contact with. No resonatation, nor familiarity, no likeness to what I can reach back and pull from. The x, too, he was a complete stranger I could never figure because again I couldn't place him. I grasp at very little for very little makes much sense to my inner-being.

Strange trying to find out who I am, when I'm not who I'd been influenced on.

Bah! What a time to unwrap me. a.m

[stilltrucking]

I lived with the dread of being Crazy Mike's son for years.

I used to think I could learn something from Plath's death. Now I realize it was her life's work that learned me not her death.

I read an article about Plath's fatal biology.

The real Sylvia Plath
Her newly published, unexpurgated journals support a little-known theory that PMS drove her to suicide. Second of two parts.

In addition to cycles of death and rebirth and the motif of true and false selves, the major recurring themes to be found in Plath's self-reflective and ritualized poetic mythology are those of female fertility and power, and the controlling force of a feminine moon goddess. Thompson cited extensive medical research, including that of pioneering PMS researcher Katharina Dalton, to corroborate the results of her examination of Plath's symptoms in relationship to cyclic hormonal changes in PMS sufferers. She argued that some of Plath's poems, in particular those of the "Ariel" period, were not just figurative, abstract expressions of Plath's preoccupation with female fertility, but were directly correlated with Plath's biology. "Metaphors for ovulation and menstrual blood are prevalent in her late work," noted Thompson, "and the thematic oscillation from suffering to rebirth in these poems appears to follow the phases of Plath's own menstrual cycle."


Part 2

[stilltrucking]

As a teenager, Sylvia Plath vividly understood the extent to which her body steered her. "If I didn't have sex organs, I wouldn't waver on the brink of nervous emotion and tears all the time," she wrote in her journal in 1950. Ten days before her death, she had come to believe that "fixed stars/Govern a life." It turns out that Plath was probably right -- more right than she could have possibly known -- about her biology and her fate. But when Plath's journals were first published in 1982, what was most obvious about her was the supercharged nature of her emotions. Whatever causal agents may have been governing Plath's life, they were blown back by the force of her personality.

Part 1

[stilltrucking]

From the For what it is worth department...


Kate Moses who wrote that article also wrote a novel called 'Wintering' it was about the marriage of Syslvia Plath and Ted Hughes. Plath's daughter, Frieda Hughes who is a poet, did not like the movie that was made from the novel. She called it part of the "Sylvia Plath Suicide Doll Industry"

"Now they want to make a film
For anyone lacking the ability
To imagine the body, head in oven
Orphaning children."

It continues in similar vein:

"The peanut eaters, entertained
At my mother's death, will go home,
Each carrying their memory of her,
Lifeless - a souvenir.
Maybe they'll buy the video."

As literary executor of her mother's estate, Ms Hughes, 42, has banned the BBC from using any of Plath's poetry in the film, something she makes reference to in the poem:

"They think I should give them my mother's words
To fill the mouth of their monster
Their Sylvia Suicide Doll."

http://www.guardian.co.uk/media/2003/feb/03/bbc.film

[SadLuckDame]

When I've spent the day with your thoughts going straight to my head. A swell and after walking it shows up like this...

First thoughts~
I spent ten years with a stranger in my bed.
Intimacy was to help me become closer, but I've stayed fairly far away only to give him my dressing, but you know this already.

I know nothing on nature, and when I write of it I'm writing of something else entirely, though I pretend it nature so you'll see it too.

Had dreams last night of children.
We were all at a coffee shop, and the comics being the most entertainment were on each customer's request.
To hum the dull, to hum.

The children the quickest and would gather the comics up firstly. Them with their presented crayons wanted to add their idea of color to the black and white. But the patrons were not amused, each becoming heated and angry and told the children to not abuse the 'literature' and that first it should be seen by the adults.
The children didn't agree, and their excitement growing more.

I jumped in and reassured the children that yes, it was how it was done and not to be rude. Cooing to them stories of how children have more patience and endurance, especially equipped. But inside I thought why shouldn't they have it first, if they were the quickest to nab it. Which led me to dreaming of the rules, they are there, and enforced by popular demand. I had to respect that which made no sense. My children know them upon walking out the door.
Woke up with the black and white comics colored in rainbows of colors, scribbled even. It was beautiful.

[SadLuckDame]

I did stay up to read that article Jack. Found it fascinating.
Though, I still don't really grasp her, she was darker than I'm able to relate with yet. But, as a character or influential person, I can see that. I'm understanding of the lonely feeling and the 'I' part. I think it's her mothering I don't get. Mothering is a chance, a good feeling to me. I don't know. And, I'm happy.

[SadLuckDame]

For you~ just a quickie


Here's the original before I photo-changed it.

[SadLuckDame]

I couldn't remember where I'd posted it Jack, so thought I should pop it here.
...the banner makes me happy.

[stilltrucking]

Are your ears burning?
I been talking about you behind your back with mingo on his artblog.

Thank you for the art
reminds me of the sea
within us.

[SadLuckDame]

lol, yesterday the x dropped by; the divorce finally final and I get my previous name back. Best news he's delivered when saying, "Can we talk for a minute." So he sees the painting and says, "Is that star fish?" and I said, "Well, no, not really, but I was trying to capture the aura of the stars' colors or sumpin', except I'm not much a painter. And he says, "You do know so and so (an artist girl we know) spends years on one painting, not just a few hours.

Circle of friends are all musicians and or painters, song writers.
But, now I avoid all of them. Let him keep them instead.

My favorite painting is finger paints, I think I'm very monasori. After painting that one, which I was wearing a bikini top, I had this over-whelming feeling of instead just painting myself; stars across my bared skin or who knows.
I'm nuts, not really a painter.


Thinking about mingo's picture all night. Thinking about the title Blue Bottle installation. Thought about Hester's bottles of moon water, then about the 'a sad luck dame and a bottle of rain...'
thought about my gypsy girl friend who puts colored water in bottles in the window sill (she fashions me little wine glasses out of silver gum wrappers).

[SadLuckDame]

My sister comes by today.
She always rescues me with perfect timing.

[SadLuckDame]

I was the girl picked by friends who were team captains in a H.S. gym class, but picked last if I didn't have my best buds up there doing the picking. Cause I wasn't much of a team mate, I s'pose. Anyway, so it feels good.

I need to get a pen-name. I keep saying that, but then I'm still saying it and still haven't decided on a name. The name I'd want of course would be sadluckdame, but doubt I'd be allowed it cause it's Tom Wait's dame. And after that one I'd go with Alice Temper, but again she'd Lewis Carroll's darling in Wonderland.

The used man always was good at name calling, but he never calls.

I gotta go to sleep, back to work in the A.M.

[stilltrucking]

just got off work, smoked the roaches, wired on coffee

I am floating, hovering two feet above this keyboard looking down at my typing fingers.

I have read that marriage is all about power and the power flows between husband and wife like pouring water from one vessel to another. Seems like your ex got too thirsty. But all I am hearing is your side.

"Any smart woman knows that the world is designed for the benefit of men, no matter how men whine about it. The trouble with The Women's Revolution is that we have not gone far enough because we indulge our fathers, husbands brothers, sons. Also we feel sorry for them because they are led around by their dicks and their brains go soft. We accept the burden of being rational cause we know they're testosterone-driven" —A. Jong

In the Mean time it is a joyous time.
Oh yes joyous time a baby is coming.

In one of Kerouac's novels I think On The Road he writes about some poor guy being chained to a woman supporting her "out poppings." Out poppings, I think that was his term for having babies. There is my problem relating to his "voice". He sounds so double minded about women.



all turtles from here on down>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Heart breaking scene between Kerouac and his daughter described in Kerouac a Biography by Anne Charters.
God I love that book, silent woman bought it for me for my birthday in 1974. I carried it around for thirty years reading and rereading it. Till finally the binding came apart and the pages became leaves in the wind. I keep meaning to buy another copy. If you love Jack I can't recommend that book too highly. Charters writes his life like it was a Kerouac novel. Check it out. I would love to read Charter's book again. I almost ordered it on Amazon a couple of times

Speaking of buying books I just bought Rev.Rabbits book. It was either that or spend the money on dues for the AARP. I figured the book was a better buy.