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triggerfling
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Name: Victoria
Country: Singapore
Gender: Female
Interests: french tips, Luella bartley, How to save a life, Gg, m.a.c. lustreglass, Orson scott card, Nylon, Salman rushdie, Dead poets society, tragedy, literature, anything bigger than me.
Message: message me
Member Since:
4/12/2006
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| My castles stand on pillars of salt and pillars of sand
Okay I suppose that since I've absolutely nothing on my hands, which doesn't happen as often as I hope for, I shall commemorate the occasion with a post. And anyway I guess I did promise an update as soon as I cut my fringe, which was like, what, 3 weeks back? Oops. I'd like to flatter myself that blogging less = living more... but yeah.
A lot's happened since the time I last posted properly I guess... so many days of sunshine that, while absolutely lovely, belong more on Twitter. A 140-character limit makes for much humbler, less detestable LML<3 blogs. Sporadic rainfall I guess ("moving in from under my left boob" - HEHE anyone here watch The Ugly Truth??), but nothing worth complaining about.
So what've I got to post about besides over-stretched weather analogies? Hmm. I think at this point I will borrow again from Twitter: "Things we forget - Vanity: (1) amour propre, feelings of excessive pride... Vanity: (2) the quality of being valueless or futile". Idk if that makes any sense to you? But it's funny right, the evolution of language and all. I mean I was researching the origins of the language (okay to be honest I just Wiki-ed it... r u rly surprised) and the term "vanity" in the contemporary sense didn't even have its narcissistic connotations till well into the 14th century. Back then it was known as vainglory (if nothing else, I love all these Biblical compound words), i.e. boasting in vain. And if you think about it it actually makes so much sense - to do something in vain is to do something fruitless, or hopeless... and what could be more so than to be vain?
... Yeah. Just a little contemplation to round off your week.
(Is it embarrassingly hypocritical of me to proceed from here with the obligatory photospam? I suspect so.)
Vanity of vanities, all is vanity. | | |
| "Quarantine"
Eavan Boland
In the worst hour of the worst season
of the worst year of a whole people
a man set out from the workhouse with his wife.
He was walking – they were both walking – north.
She was sick with famine fever and could not keep up.
He lifted her and put her on his back.
He walked like that west and west and north.
Until at nightfall under freezing stars they arrived.
In the morning they were both found dead.
Of cold. Of hunger. Of the toxins of a whole history.
But her feet were held against his breastbone.
The last heat of his flesh was his last gift to her.
Let no love poem ever come to this threshold.
There is no place here for the inexact
praise of the easy graces and sensuality of the body.
There is only time for this merciless inventory:
Their death together in the winter of 1847.
Also what they suffered. How they lived.
And what there is between a man and woman.
And in which darkness it can best be proved. | | |
| I can still feel your heart beat fast as you dance with me
"The Coming of Light"
Mark Strand
Even this late it happens:
the coming of love, the coming of light.
You wake and the candles are lit as if by themselves,
stars gather, dreams pour into your pillows,
sending up warm bouquets of air.
Even this late the bones of the body shine
and tomorrow's dust flares into breath.
Evidently, I need to update as much as I need a fringe trim... i.e. a lot.
Post-promotion commotion~~ will get both done soon!  | | |
| Anthropology: Beauty
Victor SolomonMy girlfriend is so beautiful that she never has had the cause to develop any kind of personality. People are always wildly glad to see her, even though she does little more than sit around and smoke. She's getting prettier, too. Last time she left the house she caused six car crashes, two coronaries, about thirty domestic disputes and an estimated six hundred unwanted and embarrassing erections. She seems to be quite indifferent to the havoc she causes. "I'm going to the shop for cigarettes," she'll say, yawning with that succulent, glossy mouth. "I suppose you'd better call some ambulances or something." | | |
| "Embrace"
Billy Collins
You know the parlor trick.
Wrap your arms around your own body
and from the back it looks like
someone is embracing you,
her hands grasping your shirt,
her fingernails teasing your neck.
From the front it is another story,
You never looked so alone,
your crossed elbows and screwy grin.
You could be waiting for a tailor
to fit you for a straightjacket,
one that would hold you really tight.
--
I suppose I should stop posting poems and actually blog.
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