Death

Can death be sleep, when life is but a dream,
And scenes of bliss pass as a phantom by?
The transient pleasures as a vision seem,
And yet we think the greatest pain's to die.

How strange it is that man on earth should roam,
And lead a life of woe, but not forsake
His rugged path; nor dare he view alone
His future doom which is but to awake.

John Keats (1795-1821)

...in alphabetical order

1. Blackcap
2. Cuckoo
3. Flycatcher
4. Night Jar
5. Razorbill
6. Redstart
7. Stormcock
8. Swift
9. Treecreeper
10. Wren

I’ve got that Friday feeling; you know the one-the soul destroying mind-fuckery that precedes the weekend. To go out or not to go out?

Venturing beyond the realms of W11 is out of the question. This leaves me with a handful of my old hang-outs, which inspires little if any enthusiasm. The very idea of seeing old associates in a form of corpulent bints with noses that could plough icebergs and suitors with one dimensional depth and mouthfuls of mind-numbing claptrap, instills nothing but dread. I can, already, foresee the entire shambles plummeting into solid ground of disrepair.

With this in mind;Friday night can take a running jump over an Underground ticket barrier, be brought down by the cops and have its face repeatedly pounded by eight point-blank rounds. I’m not going out; I’m far too old for bar hopping with vacuous, phony people confused to the point of dementia. In fact, I’d rather put pencils up my nostrils and bang my head against a brick wall.

Lady Lazarus

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 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 in 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 it 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 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 my 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 the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.

Sylvia Plath (1932 – 1963)

I don't mind if you don't like my manners, I don't like them myself; they're pretty bad, I grieve over them long winter evenings.
Humphrey Bogart – The Big Sleep

I always get the fuzzy end of the lollipop.
Marilyn Monroe – Some Like It Hot

I ate good and I grew as big as you did and if there's something you don't like you can say so.
Robert Mitchum – Out of the Past

If you are mean enough to steal from the blind, help yourself.
Charlton Heston – Touch of Evil

A woman's charm is fifty percent illusion.
Marlon Brando – A Streetcar Named Desire

Tell him I'm a married woman, and that my husband is a great big official in the government, ready and willing to knock out all those pretty front teeth of his.
Janet Leigh – Touch of Evil

What are you afraid of? Nobody's asking you to have a baby.
Toni Curtis – Some Like It Hot

No I don't like to cook, but I have a chicken in the icebox and you're eating it.
Ingrid Bergman – Notorious

I'd invite you to my bedroom if I had a bedroom.
Cary Grant – North by Northwest

I'm pretending I'm a nice, unspoiled child whose heart is full of daisies and buttercups.
Ingrid Bergman – Notorious