Spidery Wench

            I’d forgotten to change my alarm clock so it would crow and 5:00 instead of 6:00 on Sunday morning. I woke up just after 5:00 anyway and so I only lost three minutes off my regular routine.

            It rained all morning, hammering the snow banks flat and turning what remained the colour of stone.

            I finished memorizing the poem “Juste, le temps de vivre” by Boris Vian. It’s not a song and so I won’t have to work out the chords. I’ve already translated it but now that I’ve got a better sense of the rhythm there will probably be changes.

            I revised the last stanza of my poem “Sugar”:

I myself came and sat down at this bench

but found out a little too late

it was woven by some spidery wench

for whose bite I am destined to wait.

            Albert didn’t think the phrase “spidery wench” worked and so I changed it to:

I myself came and sat down at this bench

but found out a little too late

it was woven by some sweet arachnid

for whose bite I am destined to wait

            I revised a line from my poem “Memo to the Heart of Insecurity”:

You’re both holding your ground

and retreating in a tail chasing turn around

            I changed it to:

You’re both holding your ground

and retreating to a place your mind can’t be found

      I revised a poem from my “Paranoiac Utopia” book to make it ready to submit it for next week:

Unloved by Cannibals

The Alien

staggers out of his stay in limbo

and tells himself he was only gone for a day, or two or three

But another self

says “Any time that’s done in limbo

is always the same measurement of one turn of eternity”

He’s ravenous

as the world considers eating him

as he looks like he is such a sweet free-range boy from the country

But he’s mystified

as he serves them with a dirty plate

that not a soul there for this buffet seems to be one bit hungry

He is a ball

of mercury in a game of tennis

played between the cross polarities of his extreme desires

He is splashing

his face into the trough of midnight

and then swallows all of the faces as they look out from their cars

He’s soul debris

that’s spinning round a lifeless planet

and crashes down every now and then for some unplanned vacations

His camera

is gone so he’s become the cyclops

and sends his exposed photo film to developing nations

            I revised a poem called “Beneath the Rubble of Us”:

My efforts to understand her helped me gain

confidence as a lover, which is a strength

that comes from knowledge of another person’s need

to live a different pace, but maybe it’s fear

of rejection and of growing too forceful at being

tactful at the expense of staying true

to my own vision, which had to be altered

in order to see her point of view and to find courage

to add my voice to her perception

but it often took the form of an apology

for trying to defeat her, which was her victory

over her attraction to me because she could

not be interested in men that she could push

away without them standing up to her test and fighting

to keep the lines of communication alive

by listening better since she had a hard time

embracing any other viewpoint

than her own. So I grew

abler at tuning in and struggling

against the urge to blindly argue

but that only seemed to make her fight me

more and to hurl anger and disappointment

over all the ways that I was falling

short in terms of application

which she told me was pushing her

away from our collaboration

in romance because she didn’t think

it was possible for us to be

partners, which broke my assurance a bit

more, so I don’t know if I gained

strength that’s hidden beneath the rubble

of us or not

I did learn a lot about touching

her body and how to be creative

in response to inhibitions than with any

woman, which frequently required a stretch

of courage, perception and becoming

stronger at giving in to her weakness

            I finally returned to researching my essay and re-read more of Frankenstein.

            I weighed myself for the first time in a couple of weeks and found I was 90.8 kilos, which is just a hair’s breadth overweight for my height, but lighter than I was two weeks ago.

            I read a bit more of “Ugliness: a Cultural History” and found some interesting comments that tie in with my own theories about ugliness and art.

            I had cheese on toast for both lunch and dinner. I finished off the rest of my cheese and the rest of my pie and so no more till Easter. I also had my last beer until a week before Easter and watched the latest episode of The Big Bang Theory.

Spoiler alert!

In this story Amy tricks Sheldon into playing with Howard’s kids by making him think of the games as experiments.

Meanwhile Penny and Bernadette go to a pharmaceutical convention and another company tries to steal Penny away from Bernadette. Her reaction is so much like a mother bear that Penny rejects the offer without even knowing how much they planned to pay her.

I watched about half of an episode of Saturday Night Live with guest host Jim Parsons and musical guest Beck. There were no outstandingly funny skits.