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azurelunatic: Vivid pink Alaskan wild rose. (Default)
More than one person posted What resembles the grave but isn't, Anne Boyer, and I can be another.

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Things said in the darkness in bed, where you can say things that are true, tonight:

"Remember, Noodle is in the truck."

And, much less seriously: That Guy, flippant )
azurelunatic: Vivid pink Alaskan wild rose. (Default)
https://poets.org/poem/howl-parts-i-ii

If I'm ever in the mood for changing my journal subtitle again sometime soon, I'm contemplating "who in humorless protest overturned only one symbolic pingpong table" -- thanks, Allen.

Against link-rot, I include the poem, which is long and full of all sorts of things.

Howl, Allen Ginsberg )
azurelunatic: Vivid pink Alaskan wild rose. (Default)
https://www.poetrysoup.com/famous/poem/restless_leg_syndrome_13040

After the burial
we returned to our units
and assumed our poses.

Our posture was the new posture
and not the old sick posture.

When we left our stations
it was just to prove we could,
not a serious departure
or a search for yet another beginning.

We were done with all that.

We were settled in, as they say,
though it might have been otherwise.

What a story!
After the burial we returned to our units
and here is where I am experiencing
that lag kicking syndrome thing.

My leg, for no apparent reason,
flies around the room kicking stuff,
well, whatever is in its way,
like a screen or a watering can.

Those are just two examples
and indeed I could give many more.

I could construct a catalogue
of the things it kicks,
perhaps I will do that later.

We'll just have to see if it's really wanted.

Or I could do a little now
and then return to listing later.

It kicked the scrimshaw collection,
yes it did.
It kicked the ocelot,
which was rude and uncalled for,
and yes hurtful.
It kicked
the guacamole right out of its bowl,
which made for a grubby
and potentially dangerous workplace.

I was out testing the new speed bump
when it kicked the Viscountess,
which she probably deserved,
and I was happy, needless to say,
to not be a witness.

The kicking subsided for a while,
nobody was keeping track of time
at that time so it is impossible
to fill out the forms accurately.

Suffice it to say we remained
at our units on constant alert.

And then it kicked over the little cow town
we had set up for punching and that sort of thing,
a covered wagon filled with cover girls.

But now it was kicked over
and we had a moment of silence,
but it was clear to me
that many of our minions
were getting tetchy
and some of them were getting tetchier.

And then it kicked a particularly treasured snuff box
which, legend has it, once belonged to somebody
named Bob Mackey, so we were understandably
saddened and returned to our units rather weary.

No one seemed to think I was in the least bit culpable.

It was my leg, of course, that was doing the actual kicking,
of that I am almost certain.

At any rate, we decided to bury it.

After the burial we returned to our units
and assumed our poses.

A little bit of time passed, not much,
and then John's leg started acting suspicious.

It looked like it wanted to kick the replica
of the White House we keep on hand
just for situations such as this.

And then, sure enough, it did.


(I can never remember the title, but searching for guacamole, ocelot, poem got it to me in the first hit.)
azurelunatic: (Queer as a) $3 bill in pink/purple/blue rainbow.  (queer as a three dollar bill)
Quoted with permission. The writer is non-binary gendered, AFAB, and has recently had top surgery.

One of the best things about [top surgery] is how quickly my dysphoria has eased. One of the things I worried about was whether I actually had dysphoria - after all, I was managing to hold down at least one job, go out, have a relationship and so on. I was pretty functional, right? Now I've actually had surgery, I realise how bad it was: all the things I avoided because it meant putting a binder on, all the ways it impacted my relationship and friendships, the way it affected about how I felt about my body, the constant buzzing low level awareness that couldn't be switched off. And now it's gone, and its absence is so noticeable.
azurelunatic: Axial tilt is the reason for the season. (Festive red & green text; diagram of Earth's axial tilt.) (axial tilt)
[personal profile] kaberett brought to my attention Pablo Neruda's Love Sonnet XVI, and I found this translation.

I love the handful of earth you are.
Because of its meadows, vast as a planet,
I have no other star. You are my replica
of the multiplying universe.

Your wide eyes are the only light I know
from the extinguished constellations;
your skin throbs like a streak
of a meteor through the rain.

your hips were that much of the moon for me;
your deep mouth and its delights, that much sun;
Your heart, fiery with its long red rays,

was that much ardent light, like honey in the shade.
So I pass across your burning form, kissing
you—compact and planetary, my dove, my globe.
azurelunatic: The LJ pencil,  (pencil)
When there is poetry on your friends list, it's only polite to contribute some of your own favorites!

1. O I forbid you, maidens a',
That wear gowd on your hair,
To come or gae by Carterhaugh,
For young Tam Lin is there.

2. There's nane that gaes by Carterhaugh
But they leave him a wad,
Either their rings, or green mantles,
Or else their maidenhead.

Read more... )

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