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Poem: Historicity

By sarah 29 Nov 2001

I listen to history

<p>reflected in your smile.</p>

<p>A geek moment.</p>

<p>You state your position;</p>

<p>pomulgate the way-things-are.</p>

<p>But I only see the pulsing </p>

<p>vein at your throat,</p>

<p>and smell your sanguine essence</p>

<p>in a zig-zag structure of life.</p>

<p>Cells floating in an n-dimensional </p>

<p>space of memory and desire.</p>

<p>An intersecting lattice of </p>

<p>broken dreams, piercing</p>

<p>minds and deflating memory.</p> 


By sarah 29 Nov 2001

When Anders plays,

<p>thraxil sings.</p>

<p>And I&#8217;m afraid.</p> 

Poem: Dominant Voice

By sarah 22 Nov 2001

Whose voice is speaking, yours or hers or mine?
Though we spoke as one, in blood, pleasure and pain—
a story to keep us entertained—things changed.

<p>Thinking the voice is yours, you made demands.<br />

Thinking it was hers, she screamed in pleasure&#8217;s bands.<br /> But perhaps it is mine because I walked away.<br />

<p>Struggling to make ourselves seem real,<br />

controlling what we felt and thought,<br /> we cried for meaning in our chains<br />

<p>and pleasure brought us together.<br />

Evil thraxil... baaaad thraxil.

By sarah 17 Nov 2001

A very nice post about a movie I saw last night (Amelie) was eaten by the evil nasty preview only button. Bookmarks don’t have ‘em. Image upload don’t have ‘em. DIARY HAS ‘EM. Weep. Cry. Moan. Wail. Conflate all my life’s minor failures and dissappointments into one single node of regret… and you have ‘preview’.

<p>Shit. This is better than what I was going to say about the movie. Thanks &#8216;preview&#8217; button. You&#8217;re an inspiration.</p> 

What i'm up too...

By sarah 15 Nov 2001

If you don’t know me. I write poetry. Lots of poetry. Lots of bad bad bad poetry. As long as the verse is terse and perverse… This isn’t best, nor even done, but it was from today.

In trouble with Nature

Who will explain to me
my location in time and space?
Is my nature nutured or is it
some miscalculation.

The burden of inquiry
on my shoulders rests alone,
has left me at a profound loss
still looking for a home.

The universe is too stable, nature plain and clear, for strange anomalies.

In our world’s mechanistic
or chaotic points of order
there still is some insistant force
pushing me beyond the border.

Perhaps I have lost my faith
or rather never had it;
just some trick of youthfullness
a useless, wasteful habit.

The world is quite undone as I move through the night searching for you.

Should I assert my right to live-
sorrid, bloodstained wretch I am.
Where will I locate that right?
When will my searching end?

Or just accept my parriah place
far removed from kith and kin.
Accept myself as I am seen
sunk in death and sin.

The sun-warmed stone under my thighs ties me to the world of light- to know this gives me meaning.

Wrong side of the bed...

By sarah 08 Aug 2001

I’m just not in the mood to hear this sort of thing: Cross caste teenage lovers hanged to death in India. Having a bad relationship summer I guess. It is enough trouble to find someone in the first place and get them to stick around, and not run off after some convolutions of their own fear and ego, let alone having the family of the bride come by with a noose. I may have a Harijan soul, but it gets kicked around like a Shudra one (Caste System).


By sarah 11 Jul 2001

I feel textually migrant, lining up at the immigration station to get validated: beautiful promise, fallen on hard times: tempi duri per I vampiri. Thanks anders, for community access. Sasm