Eternalwinter's Wiki Page

"The hottest, most amazing woman on earth" - her husband



Collected Spiders
Gila Monsters,
Trips to the moon without gossamer wings,
Iguanas,
Toads out of bad sisters mouths,
Diamonds out of good fairies ears,
Cripples shadow dancers from Bali,
Cut-string puppets from Geppettos attic,
Little boy statues that pee white whine,
Sexual trapezee performers' allez-oop,
Obscene finger-pantomimes,
Evil clownfaces,
Gargoyles that talk when it rains and whisper when the wind rises,
Basement bins full of poisened honey,
Dragon flies that sew up every 14 year olds orpheuses to keep them neat until they rip the sutures,
Aged 18 towers with mad witches,
Garrets with mummies for lumber...


(Words from: Ray Bradbury's "Unterderseaboat Doktor")


g i r l

A woman who writes feels too much.
A writer is essentially a spy. Dear love, I am that girl.
My mouth blooms like a cut.

Give me your skin
as sheer as a cobweb,
let me open it up
and listen in and scoop out the dark.

I am unbalanced - but I am not mad with snow. I am mad the way young girls are mad, with an offering, an offering....

The womb is not a clock nor a bell tolling, but in the eleventh month of it's life
I feel the November of the body as well as the calendar.
Well then - speak of it!
It was in the womb all along.

The woods are underwater, their weeds are shaking in the tide.
Anne Sexton

Behold! I found upon her something neither of woman nor of man: in eachof her eyes sat a devil. These evil forces bore her through tragedy[...] They wrote HELL on her straight, haughty brow. They turned hervoice to the note of torment. They writhed her regal face to a demonicmask. Hate and Murder and Madness incarnate, she stood. [---]Wicked,perhaps, she is but also she is strong; and her strength has conqueredBeauty, has overcome Grace, and bound both at her side [...] Her hair,flying loose in revel or in war, is still an angel's hair, and gloriousunder a halo. Fallen, insurgent, banished, she remembers the heavenwhere she rebelled.
Charlotte Brontë's Villette, 240-241.

So,now I shall talk every night. To myself. To the moon. I shall walk, asI did tonight, jealous of my loneliness, in the blue-silver of the coldmoon, shining brilliantly on the drifts of fresh-fallen snow, with themyraid sparkles. I talk to myself and look at the dark tress, blessedlyneutral. So much easier than facing people, than having to look happy,invulnerable, clever. With masks down, I walk, talking to the moon, tothe neutral impersonal force that does not hear, but merely accepts mybeing. And does not smite me.
Sylvia Plath

They sicken of the calm, who knew the storm.
Dorothy Parker

...


p h o t o g r a p h e r

Alight has dawned upon me: I need companions -- living ones; not deadcompanions and corpses, which I carry with me whereever I go.
But Ineed living companions, who will follow me because they want to followthemselves -- and to the place where I will. A light has dawned uponme. Zarathustra is not to speak to the people, but to companions!Zarathustra will not be shepherd and hound of the herd!
To stealmany from the herd -- for that purpose I have come. The people and theherd will be angry with me: the shepherds shall call Zarathustra arobber.
Shepherds, I say, but they call themselves the good andjust. Shepherds, I say, but they call themselves the believers in theorthodox faith.
Behold the good and just! Whom do they hate most?The man who breaks their tablets of values, the breaker, thelawbreaker: -- yet he is the creator.
Behold the believers of allfaiths! Whom do they hate most? The man who breaks up their tablets ofvalues, the breaker, the law-breaker -- yet he is the creator.
Thecreator seeks companions, not corpses -- and not herds or believerseither. The creator seeks fellow-creators -- those who grave new valueson new law-tablets.
The creator seeks companions and fellow-reapers:for everything is ripe for the harvest with him. But he lacks thehundred sickles: so he plucks the ears of corn and is vexed.
Thecreator seeks companions, and such as know how to whet their sickles.They will be called destroyers, and despisers of good and evil. Butthey are the reapers and rejoicers.
Zarathustra seeks fellow-creators, fellow-reapers and fellow-rejoicers: what are herds and shepherds and corpses to him!
And you, my first companion, rest in peace! I have buried you well in your hollow tree; I have hidden you well from the wolves.
But I leave you; the time has arrived. Between rosy dawn and rosy dawn there came to me a new truth.
Iam not to be a shepherd, I am not to be a grave-digger. No longer willI speak to the people; for the last time I have spoken to the dead.
I will join the creators, the reapers, and the rejoicers: I will show them the rainbow, and all the steps to the Overman.
Iwill sing my song to the lonesome and to the twosome; and to whoeverwho still has ears for the unheard, I will make his heart heavy with myhappiness.
I make for my goal, I follow my course; over the loitering and tardy I will leap. Thus let my on-going be their down-going!
Friedrich Nietzsche

...

2 4

Awind has blown the rain away and blown the sky away and all the leavesaway, and the trees stand. I think, I too, have known autumn too long.
ee cummings

To love and be loved is to feel the sun from both sides.
David Viscott

Memory was given to mortals so that they might
have roses in December.
unknown

No snowflake in an avalanche ever feels responsible.
Voltaire

Butwhen the self speaks to the self, who is speaking? - the entombed soul,the spirit driven in, in, in to the central catacomb; the self thattook the veil and left the world - a coward perhaps, yet somehowbeautiful, as it flits with its lantern restlessly up and down the darkcorridors.
Virgina Woolf

"Hope is like a bird that senses dawn and carefully starts to sing while it is still dark."
unknown


...

...

m a r r i e d . t o . stye

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
ee cummings

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
Pablo Neruda

Greg and Angel's 2 Year Anniversary!!!



...



Youhave to live the life you're given and never close your eyes. You holdon and stare into the sky and burn against the cold. For any moment,you might find the gold.
Camille Claudel

c o m p l e t e l y . h a p p y :)




Mine and My Husband's Shared-Public Journal: engelundgreg

 

 

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