Jump to content
Kate Bush Forum
Sign in to follow this  
  • entries
    49
  • comments
    103
  • views
    5,541

About this blog

Smile without a cat.

Entries in this blog

 

Jiminey Crickets!!

I wished so hard upon a star for months I wished and wished and wished I lay awake the night's long line for fear that it would come to nicht. my soul strech'd out twixt ev'ry star I saw for nights around around and wished my soul on ev'ry one and cried out loud, but without sound. The stars must hear! the planets, too! align themselves from me for you where is justice, where is right? I cried out into that dark night Came the message with the sun War is over,

Jayne Dullahan

Jayne Dullahan

 

Impatience

Often I have written of moments of blitz, the artistic condition that smites the distant eye and traps the artist between observance and feeling. But blitzfast as these moments are, they perhaps are born of an impatience, a ceaseless wish for something to happen. I sit outside, it is past midnight, the moon waxes over ridges and a river roars close by. When will they come? I can't sit here all night! When does the next thing happen? I could be inside with the others watching a movie, but t

Jayne Dullahan

Jayne Dullahan

 

I had so much fun, I can't find my car.

I spend a lot of time thinking about fascism. I think about its impact as well as its legacy. I think about the line between minor despotism and fascist thinking. I can never decide where it lies but I rail against any attempt to conform for no reason. For example: I was at a party at which there was much food. I picked the items I thought I might enjoy. I sat down to enjoy them. I was suddenly descended upon by incredulous colleagues who had apparently just been upbraided by some authent

Jayne Dullahan

Jayne Dullahan

 

Ha! Got Him With My Subtle Plan!

"this is J. Evans-Pritchard as rewritten by the man who played the sublimely obtuse General Melchett in the “Blackadder” series" (--David Orr) We can have armies of academics marching forth, measuring poetry. Certainly. But whosoever thinks one can measure the greatness of a poem through a ratio of form and meter to the appropriateness of topic is marching forth under a banner that above all seems to dip sideways, like blinders on a horse. I suppose having poetry explained by Lord/Genera

Jayne Dullahan

Jayne Dullahan

 

Grieving The Loss Of My Cat Casha

I know that many of you here have pets that are very important to you, and I know some of you have also lost important pet friends in recent years. I am grieving the loss of my cat Casha, who I had put to sleep two days ago. He was the most important everything in my life for the twelve years we had each other. He chose me at the adoption center when he was 6 weeks old. We have been nearly inseparable ever since. Even now, I think, in some way, we are not entirely apart. Part of me died when he

Jayne Dullahan

Jayne Dullahan

 

gasgrease queer

The food of poetics and the poetics of food, and not particularly in the grotesque sense but I suppose so, excepting I am less interested in expulsion of said elements and much more concentrated on the ingestion, since words can be like food that is digested but not processed or released, it seems to me, and so the grotesque, so much about the 'ex'-factor, seems to me to play less of a role where one is incapable of removing words from the system by force or otherwise--for even when we repeat th

Jayne Dullahan

Jayne Dullahan

 

Falling

Parallel events: a scream rushes from my brain towards my lips, in my dream I plummet toward a ground I can't see. Just as I hit the ground full force, the scream bursts from my mouth, and again I sit bolt upright, breathless. For one moment I am blissfully unaware, and perplexed as to where I am. In hindsight that moment, the whole succession of events moves slower than a snail, though it was certainly no more than two blinks of an eye. The moment ends too quickly and it all floods over the

Jayne Dullahan

Jayne Dullahan

 

Evensong

Fiction, rum, roses. Summer. Why escapism belongs to summer is beyond me. Actually it doesn't, come to think of it. My mind has been known to wander in every season but spring. But it's the places my mind wanders in summer...and the creative collisions that surprised me the other day listening to B-sides. That is summer. Pretty Nell the handsome cabin boy. Yes I've written that as well. But without the childbirth. Obviously I'd come up with the idea before childbirth was interesti

Jayne Dullahan

Jayne Dullahan

 

Childhood

I am wary of nostalgia. I am I am I am. Nonetheless. Sometimes you have these moments, and something from the now sutures itself in a flash to a then. And again like the Werdegang time both stops and stretches out and moves, it seems you are endlessly a child before yourself while the scene that is not you unfolds before you in slow motion and it seems like all nights last forever. The floodlights from the house sent a layer of light out across the back yard. It was like light parti

Jayne Dullahan

Jayne Dullahan

 

Casting About

For a long time now I seem to use this blog as a space to tap around in when I am not sure what I want to do. It's a kind of lost space, a space I'd describe with a word I can't find at the moment...liminal. There, I found it. That's why I come here, I suppose. To find things that aren't really anywhere. It's a Friday night, it's been a tightly-wound week, and I'm not sure what I want to do. So here I am again. I wonder what I'll find. I found liminal, which by nature is a weird thing to fi

Jayne Dullahan

Jayne Dullahan

 

Ask me not what I know.

I would rather suffer quietly and internally than stake my rights on another night of finger-pointing. What happens when one reaches that feeling--or even absence of it--when it doesn't matter anymore who said what and when, when it doesn't matter where anything began, you'll take anything, give anything just to have the tension go away. A part of me ceased to be, a little part that insisted on rights, among them the right to express oneself. It was a strangely compacted paradoxical part of m

Jayne Dullahan

Jayne Dullahan

 

Ashes In History

Another poem I wrote a fews years ago. It was the final poem for a while... I feel like a phoenix risen From the ashes of my solitude Which ignited it self While my self Rubbed Against the emptiness holding It. I burned High into the night Long into the day A pyre i pushed Me around in My eyes it sparked While i broke Into ash The wind of anger Or pity blew some Where else And now New skin wet with tears From the pain, and mourning The remainder

Jayne Dullahan

Jayne Dullahan

 

And the young people dancing

Lost in a room is nothing new and sometimes pleasanter than others and watch the young people dancing watch the young people smiling watch the young people leave the room smiling, dancing, making sense No, not one of them, not me there they go and I am not one of them or two of them I am happy for all the others all the others all the others I wish them everything I can't don't have and sometimes a tear fills my well being but happy they have why a moment of p

Jayne Dullahan

Jayne Dullahan

 

And the Lady is waiting...

I write not of art, not of what I know, and yet in the artistic condition, under the premise that a theraputic attempt to record the artistic condition is all I know to do. I stand at the bottom of an abyss, and feel nothing. If I could only write a song... Midnight in my heart and I wish the sun would go away. The time when I could be really alone and the night would seem bigger than it ever has before. Just the light of the pagescreen here and a star or two in the black black sky;

Jayne Dullahan

Jayne Dullahan

 

All Things in Moderation

The theme-cum-strange phenomenon of the day. And perhaps something worth keeping in mind embarking on a blog. Inspired by so many others, particularly here, to make the blog whatever one wants, encouraged by the common link we share, to be read or not to be read and anyway perceived by a kind, intelligent, international community. A sentence that isn't a sentence; hardly a suitable beginning. I will keep them, as all things should be, in moderation. I miss moderation. I long for a p

Jayne Dullahan

Jayne Dullahan

 

A Poem

I think this is my favorite poem I ever wrote. It would make a nice song, I think. While you paint the fence I see you looking back at me from my mirror In disbelief And while i imagine you seeing me From there I try to guess what I am thinking While you paint the fence When you come to me And say, what is wrong with you Or Who have you become --which you don’t— i think i am in here somewhere and please just be patient while you paint the fence you s

Jayne Dullahan

Jayne Dullahan

 

A Period Of Time

Time is unto itself as grammar to language; I sat in a candlelit cafe reading the woes of war in verse and thinking form, when suddenly a sentence in time, some mantra I've been saying for a cosmically long stretch, came to its end and the mantra collapsed under its emphatic conclusion. I was exposed to all the things that mantra mantle had been meant to hold at bay and a moment of total honesty encircled me in the dark. For a second I cried like I'd forgotten I could and it was aweful. Not

Jayne Dullahan

Jayne Dullahan

 

A Dream About Iron, Opiates, And Hiding

I used to dream a lot about living in a communal house, often it was made of glass or had a lot of windows. I haven't had a dream like that in a number of years. This morning I was deeply asleep, I must have been, not only because the dream was so vivid, but because I woke up flat on my back with my arms weirdly crossed over my chest, on the sofa. I haven't been able to sleep in my bed since Casha died. I was in a giant old house filled with things, knick knacks, miscellany, everything, includ

Jayne Dullahan

Jayne Dullahan

 

A Claw In The Head...

...is worth two in the bush, said Basil Fawlty (or something similar). The point is, his head injury put him in a liminal presence of mind, like those slot machines with the three picture wheels, and you pull the lever and the pictures spin and then may or may not line up--his pictures weren't lined up properly. This provided him the unique opportunity of escaping the logical confines of language...which now I think of it is sort of redundant--logic and logos are after all one and the same...ish

Jayne Dullahan

Jayne Dullahan

 

A Blog Of A Different Colour

All artsy academic bally docks left aside. I just felt like coasting idly through my mind and writing whatever I crash into. I've given my blog 5 stars, so that's good. It's a positive response, so I'm optimistic. For a while I considered having a honest-to-goodness reflective blog with a catchy title, and the subtitle "A Midwestern Girl near La-La Land" and then I jettisoned the idea because I was too busy to notice much about being near LaLaLand apart from the same five or six though

Jayne Dullahan

Jayne Dullahan

 

3 Minutes inspired

by bees and a supermarket Three minutes I can brush my teeth in three minutes alright so go and I'm brushing my teeth 3, 4 I think 1.5 minutes bottom and 1.5 minutes top and that makes three even with my bizarre sense of numbers I'm late I said not by me of course by you who else you silly dunderhead I wasn't hurt I wonder is that always the first reaction not that I want it any more worst timing ever worst timing ever ruin everyone's life no one would want me I'd be all alone really ALL al

Jayne Dullahan

Jayne Dullahan

 

"pop Culture Will Never Be Low Brow"

It began last fall. It's escalated since. Now even my students know I have a seriously academic fascination with not one, but TWO culturally distinct pop phenomena: Kate Bush and Lady Gaga. You may be gasping and sputtering. You may be nodding. Distinctive as they are, Kate and Gaga have aesthetic similarities that appeal very much to the poet voyeur in me, and if Kate Bush ever came to town, you can bet I'd fork over any amount of cash to see it; Gaga IS coming to town and I've forked over a re

Jayne Dullahan

Jayne Dullahan

Sign in to follow this  
×
×
  • Create New...