Fever 103°

By Sylvia Plath

Pure? What does it mean?
The tongues of hell
Are dull, dull as the triple

Tongues of dull, fat Cerberus
Who wheezes at the gate. Incapable
Of licking clean

The aguey tendon, the sin, the sin.
The tinder cries.
The indelible smell

Of a snuffed candle!
Love, love, the low smokes roll
From me like Isadora’s scarves, I’m in a fright

One scarf will catch and anchor in the wheel,
Such yellow sullen smokes
Make their own element. They will not rise,

But trundle round the globe
Choking the aged and the meek,
The weak

Hothouse baby in its crib,
The ghastly orchid
Hanging its hanging garden in the air,

Devilish leopard!
Radiation turned it white
And killed it in an hour.

Greasing the bodies of adulterers
Like Hiroshima ash and eating in.
The sin. The sin.

Darling, all night
I have been flickering, off, on, off, on.
The sheets grow heavy as a lecher’s kiss.

Three days. Three nights.
Lemon water, chicken
Water, water make me retch.

I am too pure for you or anyone.
Your body
Hurts me as the world hurts God. I am a lantern——

My head a moon
Of Japanese paper, my gold beaten skin
Infinitely delicate and infinitely expensive.

Does not my heat astound you! And my light!
All by myself I am a huge camellia
Glowing and coming and going, flush on flush.

I think I am going up,
I think I may rise——
The beads of hot metal fly, and I love, I

Am a pure acetylene
Virgin
Attended by roses,

By kisses, by cherubim,
By whatever these pink things mean!
Not you, nor him

Nor him, nor him
(My selves dissolving, old whore petticoats)——
To Paradise.

love me a good fever…

life is too short to be boring

I find Chuck Palahniuk’s books to be hysterical, morbid, gross and lovely all at the same time. His humor can be adolescent, but it is my contention that most men never mentally get beyond adolescence, in a certain sense. It’s what allows us to be silly, to not be too serious.

Anyway, I ran up to Atomic Pop/Atomic Books thursday afternoon to get some oxygen and picked up Survivor on a compulsive whim. This one isn’t as ridiculously funny as Choke (which some folks found too gross, but nonetheless is going to be released as a movie soon), but it has all the good Chuck P. antics.

fuck you, mister norovirus!

Having no way to pinpoint the cause, I’m going to take aim at Chipotle (the one in Charles Village).

Thank you, Chipotle, for a night of burning up, chills, aches (even in my fekking finger joints) and cramping.

To my regular readers, I apologize if this is too much sharing.

you read all that? sicko.

earlier, Mom felt my forehead and said, “you feel clammy.”

“that would explain why I’ve felt achy all day too…”

achey, a little sinus pressure, and a little feverish feeling, but no major obvious symptoms.

keep your fingers crossed.

August 9th, 8:42 am, the beard doth grow.

Today, I will hit 1500 miles since January. I still haven’t lost any weight.

Nothing much to say otherwise…