vanitashaze: Girl on a dark beach. (girl if you're a seascape i'll be a boat)
This isgetting freaky, my friends.

In other news, Yusef Komunkayaa - HAHA YES I SPELLED HIS NAME RIGHT FOR THE FIRST TIME IN WEEKS - rules my soul, especially with the advent of his most recent volume, Warhorses. Like his earlier Talking Dirty to the Gods - which dealt with divinity and spirituality - this themed collection deals with war, both Komunkayaa's own experiences in Vietnam and the more eternal archetypes, the outer war and the inner. I do not often say this about war poetry, but here is a collection that is utterly gorgeous, and it is raw, and primal. So many interesting thoughts here about violence, struggle, love, passion, fury, intensity, conflict - the list goes on and on. It's magnificent; I can't recommend it highly enough. It's got guts, ya'll. All of Warhorses is hot with blood.

'One worked his fingers into the black soil / & could feel a wing easing out of his scapula.' One of my favorites. Jacob and the angel. )

'Sweetheart, was I talking war in my sleep again?' The language of conflict. )

'Like a captivity story / that circles back, corralled / inside the brain - Indian braves / riding ponies into the sunset / with a white woman.' Race, war, Iraq, and why you need to think about these things. )
vanitashaze: Girl on a dark beach. (Default)
I don't often talk about the weather, simply because - even in Northern Virginia - it's about as inane as talking about sports statistics or varieties of domestic begonia, but on occasion nature throws an interesting curveball. For instance, psychic rain! Guaranteed to start the minute [ profile] vanitashaze steps off the bus. For four days running. It's not raining constantly, oh no! It's attuned, and it appears to be attuned to me.

It is pretty, though, in a sort of black widow way. Rain overflowing the gutters; I know it's going to flood the basement, but right now it feels like I'm on the inside of a waterfall, a secret place, in Atlantis beneath the sea, invisible in some way, or maybe just not existing in the first place - being outside the continuum, in nonspace, nontime. Thunder, even though it terrifies the dog. Strange how it makes me feel safer, smaller. That smell that rises up right before it starts, earth and wetness and roots - a very spring smell, and it's only there for a minute or so, but it's one of the things that never fails to make me content. One of the smells that I immediately associate, like musty towels with camp and coconut lotion with watching pirated Teen Titans episodes at three in the morning after cheering a basketball game: running on the euphoria of sleeplessness; restlessness; hopeless, desperate, unreturned teenaged love; not sure how things would someday be better, exactly, but knowing they would. That same feeling of being out of time. Of winning, in some way, a place for myself where there was none. Of cheating fate.
vanitashaze: Girl on a dark beach. (Default)
Dear Yahweh, or Weather Gods, or Al Gore or whomever it may concern: no.

Not another thunderstorm, please, not when we just got our power back on yesterday! Honestly, I think we've all had enough of the leaking and trees falling on things and the runs on bottled water and m'dog making for the highest ground and deciding that it lies on top of my head.

We get it - global warming is bad! Now kindly stop with the booming and flashing and...

Oh, bugger.


vanitashaze: Girl on a dark beach. (Default)

April 2012

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