Surge Forth

My latest bout of activism has been triggered by another viewing of V for Vendetta and many conversations, with many people.

Tonight, on the first day of the Copenhagen Global Climate Forum, I find myself quite annoyed with the state of global climate change policy and the refusal of the leading powers (US, EU, China) to make any sort of real effort. I start thinking about the possibility of suing countries at large for the mass destruction of the human race at a steady pace (in a related note, I also feel a burning desire to slap smokers when I am forced to inhale clouds of their cancer smoke when walking down the street behind them).

By the time we figure it all out, it will be much too late.

In Plaster

aperri (2009) statue at Kos Museum, Kos, Greece

In bed last night, reading a book of Sylvia Plath's early poems (Crossing the Water), before the fame of Ariel and her death. One particularly stuck with me, an excerpt below

I shall never get over this! There are two of me now:
This new absolutely white person and the old yellow one,
And the white person is certainly the superior one.
She doesnt need food, she is one of the real saints.
At the beginning I hated her, she had no personality-
She lay in bed with me like a dead body
And I was scared, because she was shaped just the way I was

Only much whiter and unbreakable and with no complaints.
I couldnt sleep for a week, she was so cold.
I blamed her for everything, but she didnt answer.
I couldnt understand her stupid behavior!
When I hit her she held still, like a true pacifist.
Then I realized what she wanted was for me to love her:
She began to warm up and I saw her advantages.

Griselda by Maxfield Parrish (1910)

World AIDS Day

Today is World AIDS Day which, oddly, isnt something I think about very often. My volunteer work at the AIDS clinic has become sort of routine (if that can be seen in a good way). I stopped seeing the people there as 'AIDS cases' long ago and have come to know them all as individuals. The fact that they are all dealing with the same disease rarely crosses my mind and Im glad for it as they seem tired of the constant reminders.

But in a bigger way, AIDS has really changed my life. My aunt Rafaella (Rae-Rae to me) died of AIDS when I was 13. Apparently she had been sick with it for quite some time, but I remember being told all sorts of excuses - that she had the flu, that she had to cut her hair short because it was fashionable, that she was weak all the time because she was just too busy. At 13 I was just on the edge of really understanding what was going on. My aunt was rowdy, loud, vivacious, independent and completely lovable. I wanted to be her when I grew up. She lived in NYC and was always sending me the most trendy new things. I still have my bottle of strawberry Hello Kitty perfume. When her disease advanced I watched her turn into a weakened, thin frame. A still vivacious, witty spirit trapped in a dying shell.

The last thing she said to me was that she couldnt believe I bought her the new pull-and-peel licorice over the classic Twizzlers. Then she laughed, gave me a wink, and feigned interest in eating the candy for my sake. She died the next day.

Sometimes...

Sometimes 'doing nothing' is the answer.

'Frigga Spinning the Clouds' J.C. Dollman

“‘What flies up there, so quickly driving past?’

Her answer from the clouds, as rushing by:

‘I fly not, nor do drive, but hurry fast,

Hoof-flinger swift through cloud and mist and sky.’”

Asgard and the Gods (Wagner-Macdowall)

Final Countdown

My days in Portland are limited now.

When an imminent departure is less than a month away it becomes palpable. Reality has started to become part of the equation now. This always happens when I am about to travel, but it is different this time. Do I need to pack multiple tubes of toothpaste? How long will it take me to set up a bank account? How many fuses will my electrical converter blow?

What will my life be like there?

I dont know and I suppose Ive always thrived on a changing life with no predictable future.

So, here I go.

Lady Lazarus

picture: valie export


Never not a day for Sylvia Plath.

Out of the ash, I rise.

I have done it again.

One year in every ten

I manage it----

A sort of walking miracle, my skin

Bright as a Nazi lampshade,

My right foot

A paperweight,

My face a featureless, fine

Jew linen.

Peel off the napkin

O my enemy.

Do I terrify?----

The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?

The sour breath

Will vanish in a day.

Soon, soon the flesh

The grave cave ate will be

At home on me

And I a smiling woman.

I am only thirty.

And like the cat I have nine times to die.

This is Number Three.

What a trash

To annihilate each decade.

What a million filaments.

The peanut-crunching crowd

Shoves in to see

Them unwrap me hand and foot----

The big strip tease.

Gentleman, ladies,

These are my hands,

My knees.

I may be skin and bone,

Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.

The first time it happened I was ten.

It was an accident.

The second time I meant

To last it out and not come back at all.

I rocked shut

As a seashell.

They had to call and call

And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.

Dying

Is an art, like everything else.

I do it exceptionally well.

I do it so it feels like hell.

I do it so it feels real.

I guess you could say I've a call.

It's easy enough to do so in a cell.

It's easy enough to do it and stay put.

It's the theatrical

Comeback in broad day

To the same place, the same face, the same brute

Amused shout:

"A miracle!"

That knocks me out.

There is a charge

For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge

For the hearing of my heart----

It really goes.

And there is a charge, a very large charge,

For a word or a touch

Or a bit of blood

Or a piece of hair on my clothes.

So, so, Herr Doktor.

So, Herr Enemy.

I am your opus,

I am your valuable,

The pure gold baby

That melts to a shriek.

I turn and burn.

Do not think I underestimate your great concern.

Ash, ash--

You poke and stir.

Flesh, bone, there is nothing there----

A cake of soap,

A wedding ring,

A gold filling.

Herr God, Herr Lucifer,

Beware

Beware.

Out of ash

I rise with my red hair

And I eat men like air.

Lead (II) Acetate: white, crystalline substance. Sweet taste, highly toxic.

time was spent in silence
when i pushed myself out
without a hint of a tether
without a hint of apprehension
open, floating, free in this vastness

Conversation Among the Ruins

Through portico of my elegant house you stalk
With your wild furies, disturbing garlands of fruit
And the fabulous lutes and peacocks, rending the net
Of all decorum which holds the whirlwind back.
Now, rich order of walls is fallen; rooks croak
Above the appalling ruin; in bleak light
Of your stormy eye, magic takes flight
Like a daunted witch, quitting castle when real days break.

Fractured pillars frame prospects of rock;
While you stand heroic in coat and tie, I sit
Composed in Grecian tunic and psyche-knot,
Rooted to your black look, the play turned tragic:
Which such blight wrought on our bankrupt estate,
What ceremony of words can patch the havoc?

-Sylvia Plath