cleopatramantis

The Past Only Appears to Catch Up With You Because it Never Went Anywhere

Sat, 21 Jan 2006 06:56:02 GMT

I saw A History of Violence, the new film tonight. It rocks, best Mafia movie I've ever seen.

You see, it understands that mobsters are not murderers, they are just killers. They don't give a rat's ass if you're alive or dead because they don't know the difference.

So, no one looks twice on Tom Stall for killing a couple of robbers and rapists who try it in his diner, until members of the Philedelphia mob start harrassing him.

It's never clear if he was in a witness protection program or just ran away, but after killing four mobsters in about 30 seconds, his family knows he is indeed Joey Cusack, crazy Joey, suspected of all sorts of violence in the Philly area.

But, as impressive as the gore and the fight scenes are, it's more a movie about what to do when you have violence in your past you can't appear to get away from, even after twenty years of quiet life. I seriously thought he might kill himself at the end.

The end is ambiguous, we don't know if his last string of killings is the last cruisade, or if former allie after former allie will return, get too close to his family and cause him to have to kill again.

But the sense is, he kills when he must, not because it's either his job or what he enjoys.

When you do what you must, you can't help but win your life back, no matter what shit it may comprise.

Alexandra

This Poem Kills Though it can Heal

Sun, 04 Dec 2005 08:22:10 GMT

She is the first poem I have written these last six years or so. The only thing for which I have been asked by you. Wise though you are, even in my strength, perhaps it is all I have ever owned to give you. You SAW that! My only human, girlish blush.

Dork. Pervert. Never again tell me I do not know you.

It is what it is, what it may be, only what you say, you are the only audience, though others may think they can read it. Believe me.

Go see it in her, my journal. She carries it so much better than I may ever hope to do.

Her friends are also fond of you, more than she, for she is more me than I wish to be.

http://www.livejournal.com/users/psychoticfallen/
http://www.livejournal.com/users/violetshotsilk/
http://www.livejournal.com/blackwillowswan/

Alexandra

If we could swim

I asked you that day you bemoaned your height and its disgrace in basketball to teach me how to swim.
You did not know how and I was not surprised, the East what it is.
And yet what I have not found in myself but that has been in you?

You know how to Swim, Matthew. It's Martial Arts,
Fighting for your life in the water.
I suppose I do as well.

This is what I have tried to tell you,
What you refuse to hear.

I have only been seen to swim when I thought I was, or knew I could be drowning.
Mama so proud, not knowing I couldn't breathe but for her, cheering me on
Little dolphin bluish-black on her back
Appearing to swim away.

For true. Swimming to the air of her arms, her kisses, her clownish smile.

Her high voice, more sorry, buring, kisses as she lifted me gasping from the water.

There I released the chlorine in my stomach, my throat, and she knew but what had happened.

"Oh, Darling, I didn't know, you looked the beauty, so sweet
Swimming away on your back.
I didn't see your pain for being unable to breathe in again."

And so, I'll try to tell it again, as it is and not like:
Matthew Mahoney, it's as morphine is, and a bit like swimming.

I have the movement and breathe in the mirror before me, with you
But I fear the water is mine and not yours, god of the black moon
Of the sun, of the red bandages and the blue heavy bag, my lower abdomen.

Even that is mine, you see. Never will it end. Though I bear not your children
So am I ever and always pregnant with what you have given us.
Understand. This is not fate, not shrewish destiny, blushing in her bloody violet anger.

This is how we were meant to fit. Together and apart as lost puzzle pieces.
Or marbles, they say, you the giant pearl aggie, me the alexandrite, cheap amethyst sub.
Round in the anger of her knowledge, knowing she alone may be your fate, and yet cannot be for her will to live
Without you.

Let me never say it again, and if I regret nothing else, that I have ever said it to begin.
But I had to, Maddie, My only Oberon or Albert, or John,
Not knowing, either of us what it means to hold anything, too light in our paths

I am let go, though I feel you all around me and swim,
Black swan to the air, where I may not find you, yet I know just now
Just right, where you may have been.

Alexandra

Do You not Know That you are Each an Eve?

Sun, 27 Nov 2005 08:13:01 GMT

If god has anything to do with anything, I'm sure he has to do with apples.

Was there mention of what else they had to eat, and how it was grown? They were bored. Perhaps there was no other fruit. No swollen ovaries but within Eve's young and baren womb. There was no hair on her and the sex hurt back then.

What else would she do to cure such a thing?

This may be a metaphor, powerful enough to be taken literally.

It isn't my fault, but it is my responsibility.

*cries*

There is no Tree to be Found but in the Fruit

Sun, 27 Nov 2005 08:06:54 GMT

I am saying that if you perceive that good came of your experience it is good to you. Someone else may consider it a bad experience, but as far as you are concerned, they are wrong.

If they had the same experience, it would be bad for them, and they could then call it bad, and be legitimate. But if they learned to stay away from what they could not handle, it would still be good in the end.

And so, as far as the trees go, which, being rooted in the earth is not far, There are only trees to see. No good or bad can come from a tree, it can juust be in an inappropriate place or have fruit we can only admoire or bake into pies, not eat directly.

What isn't Abuse, or Orthodoxy?

Sun, 27 Nov 2005 08:03:28 GMT

Abuse exists in Orthodoxy, abuse, and the desire to be free of it, founded the true Church.

Abuse exists in Orthodoxy, and wherever you may find it. No matter where you hide it, no matter if it is seen or not.

As a god, abuse is something you experience and perceive, when you cannot see it, but with time, all can see your scars, your cuts, your bruises, the weapons you carry to fend off attacks, even if they are hidden.

The truth comes to light, even, and especially when we cannot bear its ugliness, for it shows us just what we can and cannpt endure.

So, I seek out pain, conquor it, and it does not exist but as a memory and the birth of all my joy.

Abuse exists in orthodoxy, only if we, the Body, allow it to exit.

Abuse will die as violent and miserable as it has lived.

It's Not for me to say

Thu, 17 Nov 2005 04:46:19 GMT

Kill a cat or a fish and leave it on your doorstep, a horse's head, something that once said it was alive as I have not. I will always return to you, always wrapped, in silk, hemp, or your blood.

I love you.