She tied the knot, +'Roid Week Day 2

Arsenicum album, snap, purr, repeat.

Echoes laced by “mama”-she tied the knot.

Opalesce droplets reflect their armor;

rivulets abandon their halite trace in angel hairs.

The dull throb of inertia, violet-red, orange-yellow, languid into blue.

Cloudless, still, grey-green, wading in the shallow.

Polaroid SX-70, PX70 Colorshade Push! Impossible film

Polaroid SX-70, PX680FF Impossible film

Let the games begin, +Roid Week day 1

I can take everything apart with just one word, one look, one lift of my finger.
My skin cools quickly, my physiology keeps me here.
The carousel goes up, down, pumping the joy of life into my blood.
The hinges are kept.
Amphitrite and her needles, her strings, her sticky hooks.
Fusible golden webs, intricate, soft, tiny cloaks across my eyelids, eyelashes, through my cheek.
It's a game she plays in Hypnagogia.
It's a game I've known since '77.

Polaroid SX-70, PX680FF Impossible film.

Polaroid SX-70, PX680FF Impossible film.

Recently, I saw The Hours (2002).  I was captivated.  I’m not going to bore you with a review here, though.  I have faith that at least a handful of capable critics out there have given the film the credit it deserves.  As I watched the special features included on the DVD, I was reminded of my intention to someday seriously research the psychology behind the creative female mind.  I'm sure you have taken similar note of the fascinating work of artists and writers who have experienced mental illness.  I am particularly interested in the effects of society pertaining to gender in the arts. 

The five women who I intend to research include Virginia Woolf, Diane Arbus, Anne Sexton, Sylvia Plath, and Francesca Woodman.  I realize that there has already been quite an extensive amount of research and writing that has been made available to us in numerous books.  Although these five gifts to contemporary art and literature committed suicide in morbidly poetic ways, I do not wish to further romanticize the tragedies.

I am most interested in finding the links between these women, and the similarities of their collective circumstance.  I have also asked myself if perhaps it could be possible that one influenced another.  For instance, I believe that it is entirely possible and quite likely that Woolf influenced Plath, to some extent.  I can’t say that I know anything for certain at this point, and my feelings are entirely hypothetical.  Formal research begins with intention, and will be carried out by desire and dedication.

I am at a point in my life where I feel the need to actually do the things I have always wanted to do.  I wonder if I am at my mid-life point, and if I am in crisis.  I feel time is moving faster with each passing day, and I don’t want to have any regrets when I make my own exit from this world.  I am interested in this project for both professional and personal reasons. 

Virginia Woolf (1882-1941)
-Walked into a river. 

Diane Arbus (1923-1971) 

-Slit her wrists in the bath.

Anne Sexton (1928-1974)

 -Enclosed herself in her car in the garage with the engine running.     

Sylvia Plath (1932-1963)
-Stuck her head into her oven.

Francesca Woodman (1958-1981)
-Jumped out of her apartment window.   

15

Last night I found myself looking through some old photos and came across some of me and my friends back in high school.  I had a pretty good time, from what I can remember.  I threw a few major tantrums, fought passionately with my mother, and shunned my father, but isn't that what most 15-year-olds do?  I may be wrong.  I have always been the type of person that pushes things to the extreme.  

Although I was full of teenage angst and gothic despair, I was able to graduate from high school with halfway decent grades right on time (1995).  My parents were proud of me for that, as they had their doubts.  I wouldn't say I was a bad kid, but I guess I wasn't particularly good, either.  I have many stories to share from this era of my life.  My memory is not spot-on, though, so recollections can only be described as based on a true story.  Due to the nature of my experience, some things have blurred together.  In other words, sh*t may be a little mixed-up.  The details are real.  They are how I know my truth is in fact truth.  I wonder how my old friends remember the same moments and happenings.  I no longer have contact with any of them, but I'd bet at least 90% of our memories match.  Seconds & Eons describes an experience I had back in 1991.  

I wish I could remember who took this photo of me (age 15) in my room.

Me, age 14 or 15.  Catwoman's head disguised a hole I made in the wall when I was in the midst of a serious episode.  Only my close friends and family knew I had emotional inconsistencies.  I was trying to get off antidepressants at the time.

She's So Unusual

I have finally decided to start posting to my Tumblr.  Up to this point I was not quite sure how I wanted to use it, but I believe I have it all figured out now.  I will be telling stories over there, so if you have a few minutes, feel free to stop by.  I know, I am being too ambitious, two new blogs?!?!?  I am going to try.  It's worth the effort.    

Cyndi Lauper
(Image found via Google image search.)