HOHOHO.

guess what i found! off from robin’s archives! 😀

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I’ve been doing the narcissictic thing by looking through my
own blog archives, and I all I see were 1) virulent rants about things
not many people care about 2) Whining 3) attacks on people 4) personal
stuff. Intelligence, however, is conspicuously missing. There doesn’t
appear to be one iota of grey matter on this blog, and that is an
appaling thing. I mean I know I’m dumb but I at least want to
keep up a veneer of semi-intelligence. As if to bring the point closer
home, I just read one of those blogs that seems to be put on this earth
to make people like me feel inferior. You know, one of those totally
cheem blogs replete with complex stuff about the social construct and
the basis of existence that confounds laymen like me but is in all
probability totally comprehensible to the blogger? Ya that type.

So I decided to up the cheemness quotient on this blog. Lets
start by placing an incomprehensible pretentious Sylvia Plath poem and
then going all orgasmically rapturous about it!

The Munich Mannequins

Perfection is terrible, it cannot have children.
Cold as snow breath, it tamps the womb

Where the yew trees blow like hydras,
The tree of life and the tree of life

Unloosing their moons, month after month, to no purpose.
The blood flood is the flood of love,

The absolute sacrifice.
It means: no more idols but me,

Me and you.
So, in their sulfur loveliness, in their smiles

These mannequins lean tonight
In Munich, morgue between Paris and Rome,

Naked and bald in their furs,
Orange lollies on silver sticks,

Intolerable, without minds.
The snow drops its pieces of darkness,

Nobody’s about. In the hotels
Hands will be opening doors and setting

Down shoes for a polish of carbon
Into which broad toes will go tomorrow.

O the domesticity of these windows,
The baby lace, the green-leaved confectionery,

The thick Germans slumbering in their bottomless Stolz.
And the black phones on hooks

Glittering
Glittering and digesting

Voicelessness. The snow has no voice

Oh everytime I read that poem I feel like an icecube! All
cloistered in my coldness and yet just WAITING to be burnt to a more
miscible, swimming form that is in utter consonance with the ebb and
flow of humanity’s inexorably spiralling path towards a tommorow with
rainbows and jellyfishes and car-crashes! Oh the beauty! The wretched,
soul-destroying, enervating, all-consuming beauty! I wanna bone Plath!

Ok I shall go on to write about the MEANING OF LIFE ITSELF
AND HUMANITY’S PLACE IN AN EVER-CHANGING SOCIETY later. Oh and just for
kicks, I shall use metaphors that get so consumed in its own designs
that nobody actually has a f***ing clue what I’m saying! THEN I can be
totally cheem and get all the chicks!

And ya, I was bored and I hate studying Plath.

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i just thought it was apt to put robin’s current blog in the context of this post. OH SABO.

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~ by moz on October 20, 2008.