Buried Alive

If you haven’t already, vast and wide readership (there were 19 hits yesterday), do take a look at the marvelous new header atop my blog.  It’s marvelous.  Thank you Mary Tracy (hey everyone~show some love!) for the smashing artistry.   (We will get that sizing right, yet.)

In other bloggular news, things are still slow here you see.  Way slower than I had intended them to be.  I am not a lazy butt–I have been busy!!  For the curious, some news:

I am currently engrossed in 5-count 5!-musical projects.  Three out of the 5 are technically favors (to be returned? we shall see..), another is a band that is almost ready to gig but the problem is, like any band, it is made of musicians. And the last is my personal recording project which I am pouring myself into.  It is an emotional project, to say the least (p-blaming lyrics, alterna bluesy angry stuff), and very time-and-money-consuming.  So when I’m not busy filling the vocal and writing interests of 4 other music situations, I am working to afford my own thing.  Don’t ask me how I got pulled into all this because I’ll tell you: too many “yeah, sure, why nots,” semi-honest people relaying only *so much* the true extent for which they need me, and the crappy Life Luck that is everythinghappenallatonceokaygorightnow!

Still reading around of course.  Commenting tres lightly.  I don’t like commenting and then not having the time or energy to follow up–which would explain the lack of posts.   Don’t know when we’ll be seeing a pick up in posting either — I’m in the the thick of the messes right now.

All that said, I am planning to host a little *private* listening party here for my songs once they are finished.  Seeing as how so much of what I have to say, creatively, has been affected by feminism and the internets (of all things) I would like the internets to hear me holla back.  So you have it in writing: I owe you songs.

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I was grabbing at inspiration today and picked up Atwoods “The Tent.”  The first poem I turned to was called “Bring Back Mom: An Invocation.”  The contents, of which I cannot grant you full access because it is so looooonng ( & in case you haven’t been reading, I haven’t the *time*) are too perfect for a radfem blog not to share.  I have copied down the end below.

Read it.  Then tell me something in comments I don’t know about you.

Bring Back Mom: An Invocation

…

If only we could call you-

Here Mom, Here Mom

and you would come clip-clopping

on your daytime Cuban heels,

smelling of sink and lilac,

(your bum encased in in the foundation garment

you’d peel off at night

with a sigh like a marsh exhaling),

saying, What is it now

and we could catch you

in a net, and cage you

in your bungalow, where you belong,

and make you stay-

Then everything would be all right

the way it was when we could play

till after dark on spring evenings,

then sleep without fear

because you threw yourself in front of the fear

and stopped it with your body-

And there you’ll be, in your cotton housecoat,

holding a wooden peg

between your teeth, as the washing flaps

on the clothesline you once briefly considered

hanging yourself with-

but forget that! There you’ll be,

singing a song of your own youth,

as though no time has passed,

and we can be careless again.

and embarrassed by you,

and ignore you as we used to,

and the holes in the world will be mended.