2014, 20th century, 7*, distance, faces, girls, history, horizon, identity, library, lost, madness, motion, Nightmare, presence, progress, reading, sitting, sun, sunlight, Sylvia Plath, talking to myself, TH Huxley, thought
picked over, cajoled, placed this way and that, gazed at the upper corner of the room, and eventually written from entry 33. of The Journals of Sylvia Plath, 1950-1962; Plath wrote this, I merely … Plath wrote this, but the failure is mine, all mine, I tellsya!
God, who am I?
I sit in the library tonight
the lights whirring
And I sit here without identity
There is history to comprehend
before I sleep
Yet back at the house
there is my room
full of my presence
There is my date this weekend:
believes I am human –
only indication that I am whole
not merely a knot
without identity –
Huxley would have laughed
What a conditioning this is!
Hundreds of faces
beating time along the edge of thought
only continual motion
If I rest inward
I go mad
There is so much
in different directions
against horizons too distant to reach
To stop with the German tribes
and rest awhile: but no!
On, on, on, through ages of empires
Will I never rest in sunlight again?
20th century wormhole: 20th century
faces wormhole: jump start
history wormhole: tragic and archival
horizon wormhole: twilight / and parasols down / within minutes
identity wormhole: between
reading wormhole: reating & wriding
sitting wormhole: all the sandstone / reflections in the / marble-blue troughs
sun & Sylvia Plath wormhole: concordance
talking to myself wormhole: a nice grey woollen picnic blanket
thought wormhole: divergent // direction