From: owner-eda-thoughts-digest@smoe.org (eda-thoughts-digest) To: eda-thoughts-digest@smoe.org Subject: eda-thoughts-digest V3 #89 Reply-To: eda-thoughts@smoe.org Sender: owner-eda-thoughts-digest@smoe.org Errors-To: owner-eda-thoughts-digest@smoe.org Precedence: bulk eda-thoughts-digest Monday, March 13 2000 Volume 03 : Number 089 * If you ever wish to unsubscribe, send an email to * eda-thoughts-digest-request@smoe.org with ONLY * the word unsubscribe in the body of the email * . * PLEASE :) when you reply to this digest to send a post TO the list, * change the subject to reflect what your post is about. A subject * of Re: eda-thoughts-digest V3 #xxx or the like gives readers no clue * as to what your message is about. Today's Subjects: ----------------- ET: ~solitary faerie~ [shivergirl ] ET: ~almost left behind, still a ways off~ [shivergirl Subject: ET: ~solitary faerie~ + we're the type of regressive retrogrades who still make tapes while our enlightened lovers wave from the future and circle cds around our neurosis and we're their love-disease (we never ease) because we exist to be comforted you know relationship-babies full-grown ids with no secure identity i see the most stark, raw hurt parts of me in the collision of our atoms + the skin of your secrets weeping and flaking into the written word a recorded song makes it hard to dub something new overtop over 90 minutes of you it's almost impossible to do even though the executive gaps and grey matter lapses between verses just scream rehearsed it's still sonically amazing what i can hear while taping over the holes you ripped (just to be even more narcissistic) + the dark foreboding, foreshadowing of your selections hint at a future unraveling, before the last knot got to be tied; a baby blanket for a child who would never exist or even cry, except for a miniature version of a coat inside a store window we just happened to pass by, one day when everything was before august + i never played your tapes enough to justify the perfectionist detailed work that went into their creation. and now, as i prepare to cover up the voids, i am finally forced to listen, letting the orchestra seep into my ears; and it's almost like i can hear a more clear version of what you really meant, without the psychosis and hurtful love affair with yourself hogging the air-time, muddying up your meaning of sent + so this is the last chance, the last grasp, i have left, of your tangible heart, in the alternative rendering of bjork's hyperballad, and picking tori amos apart the unholy trilogy, continuing saga of her and you and me; i see you knew the outcome before i did yes, you knew it would overtake the overlap that defined us into a we, and that classical was just an ironical, non-sensical, quiet crescendo of the last show the singer would do perform for us, that we could only press pause for so long, then stop and finally, let go + do you remember how you smiled with such surprised glee how much you loved me after i impressed the hell out of you, with my belated knowledge of chopin and his lovely night-time poetry, or when we were lying in bed and i recognized the original pie jesu, how you looked amazed and jumped up to check sarah slean's cd case to make sure i knew? i do. or when i received my very own copy of tori, the night i got to experience my first taste of musical therapy validation, like no other psychic, soul-pumping elation before or since-- how excited and honoured and thrilled my heart was, to be a part of such resourceful, thoughtful consideration on your end? i suppose you could never really guess how much i miss those little moments of closeness with you, seeing how i raged and cursed and cried just a relationship-second ago but i just wish, you could know-- that i don't consciously withhold the blessings, anymore even if i never condone what you did and never told i won't erase all your music- selves coldly, without a sense of remorse or regret and how i cannot forget our song's resonance, just because they're no longer-- ours + ------------------------------ Date: Sun, 12 Mar 2000 14:27:58 -0500 From: shivergirl Subject: ET: ~almost left behind, still a ways off~ + in between jupiter and mars, unknown cluster of endorphins, mystery of the stages wages war, and i can't see, cept for a forest-filled plateau, and us probing at telescopes, so long ago becoming skywatchers, in between jupiter and mars + remember the steamy, sensual-dripping scene in that epic, the english patient, where ralph fiennes worships the upper captivating crevices between the female throat and breast? well, all i know is that i wish you to know nothing except this, not that in the past, pleasure was a blink and a tantrum on the brink of true love, that a totalitarian tyrant disguised as you beguiled my brain for a time (they say that grey is the preferred destination, that it's the mecca of perception, the stem of of emotion, but i still believe in red) + love-poison number nine, bubbling and brewing and boiling in my mind why did you simmer all summer, silent why did you not spill over, into a condom before her hands were forever seared blotchy burgundy from holding her fingers overtop the ring? + twisted devil-number adorns the door nebula clouds (or the ones that mean rain) decide the sun's become a bit of a bore and it's just me and me, balled-up and on the floor, after i huffed and puffed and blew scattered bits of pride outside my core stomping into the air graced by shady trees only to be seized and sprayed in the face by a sprinkler, and it makes me think maybe i should stop taking so much for once maybe i should stop inhaling zoloft, to feel happy-- cuz if this is not-depressed it's just not cuttin it today + to not kill you like you killed my trust with your careless capricious list of cons and excuse of lust, that is what i was still working on when you wrote yes, this personalized form of rogerian humanistic psychotherapy i love + the issue is that you furthered my understudy complex to such a food-poisoning, lady macbeth fucked-up degree, that i just want to dance on her grave, while you urinate underneath + it wouldn't surprise me in the slightest if you fucked with the door open, too but what really gets me is that you weren't offended when the saleslady thought we were married, that you were dumb enough to be my husband, that you would actually have turned to such a selfish childish stand-in, and through your yellow-teeth, pledged and lied 'i do' + a stuffed seal and a bouquet of daisies made me momentarily forget about all the crazies, shadow-lurking and intelligence- loving, i adored your manning capabilities at the time, maybe only because i liked manifesting and living that twisted part of myself so much, into existence bordered by pathetic pleas for help and unsophisticated rhyme, i tried desperately to justify the conjugal, visits with a pretty pack of lies + you felt threatened and i can understand how upsetting life can get when someone tries on your socks and doesn't ask if it's OK with you, first + you had this odd habit of loving dead women; you were like a less-brilliant version of poe in that way, and i was certainly no helen, just an annoyingly alive annabel-lee you had to contend with + thank fate i haven't fallen in love with you after the fact (now that woulda been sad) it's lucky i turned the colour back on when i did, that you couldn't escape to elegance once again, even though bias is still an excuse for blindness, i am past seeking special treatment from you, when i kindasorta already ran into it, when i started looking where i was going for once + i had to stop because summer was still hanging on, and off of the tips of the barren trees, and i couldn't start my collection of autumn leaves, until we welcomed the winter of all communication, spring would never make it's heart-altering debut, nor me my prolonged adieu + my devil's welcome in a chinese cauldron stirring leftover facial hair and missing-in-action underwear, you can never be too aware of long-haired boys with brain armchairs, so beware + ------------------------------ Date: Sun, 12 Mar 2000 14:26:03 EST From: JewelAng@aol.com Subject: ET: Majestic Rambling (my website) Yesterday I added two new sections to my website. One is magnetic poetry. You can make your own poetry or phrases. If you come up with anything good, post it on the guestbook! I also added a section called "Blurb Writting." What is really is, is a bunch of non-sense writing. Like yesterday I wrote about rain. It's almost like a journal, but not really. Just random thoughts. Also I'm taking offeres for a new feature poet, feature artist, and feature website, since it is well into March now. http://nettrash.com/users/majesticramblings Rebecca "I dream I am speaking before a room of burning people, my assignment: to teach them to put out fires. But when I open my mouth, I have someone else's tounge. It is too small and too rough, and all it will do is call me a fool for believing that flames can be extinguished with words." *~Sheri Reynolds~* ------------------------------ End of eda-thoughts-digest V3 #89 *********************************