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Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Winter Trees

The wet dawn inks are doing their blue dissolve.
On their blotter of fog the trees
Seem a botanical drawing-
Memories growing, ring on ring,
A series of weddings.

Knowing neither abortions nor bitchery,
Truer than women,
They seed so effortlessly!
Tasting the winds, that are footless,
Waist-deep in history-

Full of wings, otherworldliness.
In this, they are Ledas.
O mother of leaves and sweetness
Who are these pietas?
The shadows of ringdoves chanting, but easing nothing.




- Sylvia Plath


Saturday, November 21, 2009

Limit to your Love




Hello, sadly I am in my final month here in London.


I love it so much. Today is a melancholic day, the weather, my mood, this awful cough&&cold I've got.




On the agenda: reading Caryl Churchill plays and books on Feminist Theatre, cuddling up with tea, watching a few films, watercolour painting in my sketchbook, listening to feist and bon iver.




x




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i love cats, theatre, fashion, and sleeping.

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