Tag Archive | teapot

odalisque in a teapot (happy new year 2!)

Happy New Year!  Here on the seashore, we operate on obelisk time, and two years ago today I moved into my towering home.  Happy New Year!

Last year we celebrated with fire.  This year I’m just chilling in my teapot.  It is very cold in the obelisk.

teapot odalisque

teapot odalisque

This year Henriette escaped from her prison (where is she where is she?), I watched the same movie over and over again, Crow became Parrot and started asking existential questions, I dreamed in sound, the phoenix sent me several flaming notes, and I redid my home page.

These are my favorite scrapbook pages from the past year:

Thank you everyone who shared my scrapbook pages with their friends…more people saw me because of you!

handwriting_thankyouforlooking

–The Odalisque

phoenix_conversation_fearfire_bottomborder

teapot postcard 2

my teapot delivers postcards directly to my desk.

my teapot delivers postcards directly to my desk.

 

Postcard back--Phoenix

Where is my coat?

I wish I would get a real postcard from Henriette.

 

et tu, teapot?

I came to my desk to write you about my teapot.   I set my teapot on the desk and sat myself at the desk and lifted my pen from the desk to place it upon my scrapbook which sits upon the desk.

Then my teapot spit-up a postcard.

At first I thought it was steam, which was a little odd, even for my teapot, as I had almost finished its now-tepid tea.  But the steam unfolded like a leaf, and drifted down upon my scrapbook.  It was not a leaf.  It was a postcard:

Postcard back--Black Swan

I don’t want to write an ode to my teapot anymore.  Summer is almost over and I haven’t gone to the shore…soon it will be too cold, which will be a great burden off my shoulders.  The burden of “maybe now?” is unendurable.  I’m tired of being asked where I’m going.  When the grasses change and the ocean foams upon the shore like the maw of Kerberus dragged up from hell, maybe crow will stop being a parrot and the birds, wistful for longer days and safer climes, will be happy to fluff up their feathers and stay inside.

Flipping through my scrapbook, it’s evident that last summer was much nicer than this summer; last summer we had fashion shows, I sported my swim-suit and drank fizzy beverages and learned how to watch movies.   This summer has been one long avoidance of crow-who-is-parrot’s persistent questioning: WHERE ARE YOU GOING?

Now my teapot, my abiding paraclete, is spewing forth postcards.  SPEWING FORTH.  Like the ocean spews forth the drowned and the dead.

Why, why would I want to go back there?

I want a real postcard from Henriette, soon.

–The Odalisque

 

figures (o’er the hills), soliloquy, stage directions

[click to enlarge]

figure [unenumerated]: boreal

ODALISQUE

Midway on life’s journey, the right road lost, I find myself in dark woods

pursued by armed men crying: Nymph!  Goddess!  Celestial Queen!

They say they are artists.

Their eyes are on me.

They do not presume that my solitary repose is neither for being seen nor to better see them.

(I include the confounding nor:  boys, you forget how

pretty you are.)

I will not play hunter, bewitcher, or conquered prey in this interminable masquerade.

Is there love otherwise made?

Leave me alone.  Go away.

(foot fiercely stomped.)

(bows lustily drawn. )

(swift incurable flight.  hooves.)


figure 7: boreal (otherwise)

otherwise

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