Tag Archives: week 8

Nosferatu

Nosferatu

The most iconic shadow of all time, the first vampire ever put on motion picture, Count Orlok, the Nosferatu

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by | February 26, 2013 · 3:40 pm

shadow puppets

you may control me from somewhere so deep i’m afraid to go

                                                      and you  may appear where light projects

                                                      like someone, hands to window, peering in

to this lit world

but i control how you slide on the light and that is a relief

 

we used to be best-friends you know

                                                  before you got to be so needy

and seriously,

do you have to copy everything i do?  what would people think?

i can’t have you spilling all my secrets, so i’ve erased your face

                                                              all tell-tale signs are gone

                                                              thank god

don’t worry

                i can speak for you, i know pretty much everything you want to say

and i don’t care what anyone says, censorship isn’t all bad

one day you’ll understand, it’s for your own good you see

oh why do i argue? you just give me that blank look

                                                                                 well i see right through it missy

 

but i am sorry

really i am

it’s just i had no choice but to banish you to the wall

to ground you (pun not intended)

                                                    (okay, okay, you know me too well, it was intended…)

 

if you promise to be good i’ll let you out sometime

in the dark maybe, where you can’t get into (cause) too much trouble

besides it gets lonely there

in the dark

 

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Animus II

“Men can be dangerous, like in the song ’Datura’ about how sometimes they can bring you gold and sometimes they can be the bearer of poison. The plant Datura is a hallucinogen and it’s like men. If you get the right amount you’ll walk into the garden and become a woman, but if too much seeps in in the wrong way and at the wrong time – it’ll kill you.” – Tori Amos (Attitude Magazine, November 1999)

he knew what he liked
and what he liked was me

he was lightning, sardine lip at my neck
and bursting cherry at the knees
all of him locked tight, teeth clenched

he was hot bread, boy sank so smooth
in my throat, he took me hard
beneath the willow tree and never spoke

he was earth, traced whatever was
left of my body in mud, in patterns
that recalled hieroglyphs and runes

his fingers were cold and his belly was hard
his lips were blue and his name was sour
his hunger was old and his breath was bruised

oh, he was a seedy prince, a carnivorous
ghost, and i’d wrench my way past his tongue

to get some of that magic
to be his, his all over again.

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[My Shadow]

He [my shadow] told me once
that I’d never get rid of him

and I jumped.

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Self Portrait

Self Portrait

This is my shadow. He watches my back when I follow the light, and preceeds me as we head into the darkness.

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by | February 25, 2013 · 2:10 am

Creature of the Night

Creature of the Night

I have been racking my brain pretty hard on this theme…which is weird, because usually my work tends to be darker, borderline macabre even. anyways, I decided to focus on my own shadow….my mental illness. When it hits me, I feel like a dark creature has wrapped it’s long clawed fingers around my entire being and plunged me into a state of insanity fueled completely by despair. This is her, crawling up the back of my neck, reaching in my mind to take away all sense of joy, and leave me in complete madness.

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by | February 24, 2013 · 11:33 pm

Genevieve’s Week 8: Animus

Wesley

 

She dreams of men.
They are not beautiful men;
chipped teeth and chewed lips,
greased hair and rumpled clothes.
They sit by her side and talk
and she traces the outline of their face
and she says, I have loved you,
over and over again until they smile.
They whisper in her ear: Curandera,
you wear berry juice for lipstick 
and you wash naked in the river.
Open your mouth and sing joy from
the center of your omphalos, for
you need no mirrors. Look. 
You are whole. The men crawl
inside her  belly and when she wakes
they are there, singing a melody
in harmony with hers. She is whole.

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