'Cause you can look right through me, walk right by me

[sovay]

Right. I'm not dead. I've been immersed in preparation for my PhD exams, now scheduled for the first week in November; and I've been teaching, which has eaten up a far greater percentage of my life than I expected. The good news? I really like teaching. (There is further good news, but it has an immutable time-delay; in about a week, I can cut the cryptic and explain.) Also, it hasn't been a bad month. On October 6th, I saw the Decemberists at Toad's Place with kraada: that was deeply awesome and the most collegiate day I'd had in years. On October 7th, I saw A Midsummer Night's Dream at Long Wharf Theater in company of spectre_general, hans_the_bold, and the ever-lovely and livejournal-shy Ainsley: that was worth the price of admission for Pyramus' death scene alone. On October 9th, I turned twenty-four. I survived the torrential rainstorm of the last week and a half. Some municipal moron has pruned down most of the trees on my street. I have new musical crack—Orgy and the Dead Kennedys—and Caitlín R. Kiernan's To Charles Fort, With Love is a marvelous collection. The heat came on in my building yesterday and all of a sudden my apartment is in Tuscon.

. . . in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.

And by way of introducing my return to the world of the living, I offer a song about the exact opposite. Hope you like. It seems to be turning into a musical sort of year.

Void Where Prohibited

In a reflection of glass long turned to the wall
You can find me
Or in the shadow uncast down the long darkened hall
Don't mind me

I'm the space between atoms
I'm the creak on the stair
Drowned more than five fathoms
I'm never there

I'm a paper-doll cut-out and a cat's-cradle clue
I frame negation
An illogical flaw in an obsolete feud
My occupation

Sweep the dust from your eyelids
Brush your beaten heart bare
See us all: we are islands
You wouldn't care

And so carefully I closed the door on my shadow
And so quietly unpicked my fingerprints
Shaping letters in the clay
Counting heartbeats by the day
Even memory wears truth and death away

I'm tattooed with your tears and engraved with your tongue
I'm indelible
A scrap-paper palimpsest since we were young
I'm illegible

There's no need to apologize
Who said you were unfair?
Don't bother to turn on the lights
Don't wait up sleepless nights
The evidence should suffice
I'm never there

Comments

[clarionj.livejournal.com]

I could live an entire day in one of your images--a cat's cradle clue, illogical flaw in an obsolete feud, unpicked my fingerprints; and what does the rhythm here remind me of? I have to think.

And when you called it a song, I thought song as in poem, but then you do sing, don't you? God, I'd love to hear this even spoken. I am having loads of fun now reading "Singing Innocence and Experience" and have a lot to say to you on my restart, from the beginning, and all the things you do in "Shade and Shadow," how much you convey in the sky and ocean images, how out of reach everything feels at the start with the empty air and the seagull spriring high and then later she looks at the sky and her eyes dazzle, and it's not so distant, and then her smile breaks in her bones like the sun," but that's just a small bit of everything I'd want to say. (Do I need to fall in love with Orpheus again?) Maybe I'll jot things down in my journal so I'm not bombarding you. (And thanks for "Matlachiuatl's Gift," the reversal had me grinning with vicarious vengeance.)

I just went through Exams (as in friendly support) with a friend of mine getting her PhD in English. I'm not sure what yours is in--Mythology? Latin? Literature? I don't envy you, but you needn't have any worries. It's clear from your writing that you're a master, and more than that, you seem to live all this.

But I went on too long and had better get my daughter to her bus. Happy belated birthday; you're the same day as one of my sisters--she'll be pleased to hear that.

[sovay]

And when you called it a song, I thought song as in poem, but then you do sing, don't you?

I do sing, and all of the songs have melodies (and the luckier ones even have chord progressions), but I cannot literally write music, so it's all in my head at the moment. One of these days I should record them. I'm not brilliant with music, but I would at least like to know, in ten years, what I thought my songs sounded like. The rest are here, friendlocked: "Effigy," "Alchemy (Pretty)," "Fallout," and "Iconoclast." There are two others—see above comment to greythistle—but I've been ambivalent enough about them not to post.

I am so glad you are still enjoying Singing Innocence and Experience! I'd love to hear what you have to say about the stories and poems, because I'm always curious for reactions: but you must promise to send me some of your stories in return. I have read far too little of your work.

I'm going for a PhD in Classical Philology: language and literature, Latin and Greek. It makes me happy.

Since I didn't warn anyone about my birthday in advance, I am counting all belated birthday wishes as timely. Thank you!