June 2013
13 posts
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Lena Dunham analyzes three episodes of 'Girls' →
latimes.com
— Lena Dunham finally moved out of her parents’ house last year, buying a modest, one-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn Heights . It’s her first place all her own, full of pillows and trophies, located on the top floor of an old building where Dunham is surrounded by elderly neighbors, people the 27-year-old creator and star of the HBO comedy “Girls” calls her “emotional demographic.”
“EVERY T H I N G I S G O I N G T O B E A M A Z I N G
Put on your knickers, g i r l . We gonna eat these
heavy decisions for breakfast. S m o t h e r t h e m i n g r a v y,
wash ‘em down with Grown Ass Woman Soda.
We g o t t h i s . This is the Big Girl Processing Plant.
Don’t nobody work through their issues like we do. We swallow
abandonment, cough up independence. Yo u w a n n a
s c r e a m ? You see that freight train coming at you?
Yo u h a v i n ’ t h a t l e a d - i n - y o - l e g s d r e am a g a i n ?
Kick that muthatruckin train in its teeth and do a jig.
That’s what you need. Some Mongolian Throat singing action
and a can o’ Riverdance. Unwad your drawers, Little Mama.
Let’s go to the drag show! Bust out yo corset,
Sweet Ginger and show ‘em all that bouillon! We were made
for the stomp. We were made out of spoon whittlin’ voodoo
stew. Play those spoons, girl. Don’t let ‘em take your
dysfunction and turn it into a brothel. That’s YOUR dysfunction.
You chop that shit up and make it into a masterpiece. This is
the year of Quit the Dumb Shit. You know what that means?
Q u i t t h e d u m b s h i t .
Stop washing your pearls down with swine. Get up off your
Cadillac britches and show them motor mouth badgers how it’s
done. E v e r y t h i n g a i n ’ t g o n n a b e a l r i g h t .
Everything is going to be amazing.” —
Put on your knickers, g i r l . We gonna eat these
heavy decisions for breakfast. S m o t h e r t h e m i n g r a v y,
wash ‘em down with Grown Ass Woman Soda.
We g o t t h i s . This is the Big Girl Processing Plant.
Don’t nobody work through their issues like we do. We swallow
abandonment, cough up independence. Yo u w a n n a
s c r e a m ? You see that freight train coming at you?
Yo u h a v i n ’ t h a t l e a d - i n - y o - l e g s d r e am a g a i n ?
Kick that muthatruckin train in its teeth and do a jig.
That’s what you need. Some Mongolian Throat singing action
and a can o’ Riverdance. Unwad your drawers, Little Mama.
Let’s go to the drag show! Bust out yo corset,
Sweet Ginger and show ‘em all that bouillon! We were made
for the stomp. We were made out of spoon whittlin’ voodoo
stew. Play those spoons, girl. Don’t let ‘em take your
dysfunction and turn it into a brothel. That’s YOUR dysfunction.
You chop that shit up and make it into a masterpiece. This is
the year of Quit the Dumb Shit. You know what that means?
Q u i t t h e d u m b s h i t .
Stop washing your pearls down with swine. Get up off your
Cadillac britches and show them motor mouth badgers how it’s
done. E v e r y t h i n g a i n ’ t g o n n a b e a l r i g h t .
Everything is going to be amazing.” —
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May 2013
53 posts
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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 bred 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.
