The Arrival Of The Bee Box

A poem by Sylvia Plath

The Arrival of the Bee Box

I ordered this, clean wood box
Square as a chair and almost too heavy to lift.
I would say it was the coffin of a midget
Or a square baby
Were there not such a din in it.

The box is locked, it is dangerous.
I have to live with it overnight
And I can't keep away from it.
There are no windows, so I can't see what is in there.
There is only a little grid, no exit.

I put my eye to the grid.
It is dark, dark,
With the swarmy feeling of African hands
Minute and shrunk for export,
Black on black, angrily clambering.

How can I let them out?
It is the noise that appalls me most of all,
The unintelligible syllables.
It is like a Roman mob,
Small, taken one by one, but my god, together!

I lay my ear to furious Latin.
I am not a Caesar.
I have simply ordered a box of maniacs.
They can be sent back.
They can die, I need feed them nothing, I am the owner.

I wonder how hungry they are.
I wonder if they would forget me
If I just undid the locks and stood back and turned into a tree.
There is the laburnum, its blond colonnades,
And the petticoats of the cherry.

They might ignore me immediately
In my moon suit and funeral veil.
I am no source of honey
So why should they turn on me?
Tomorrow I will be sweet God, I will set them free.

The box is only temporary.

Getting out of the rut and into the groove

I’m in a rut and I can’t seem to find my groove.
It’s annoying and I don’t know why I’m in a rut. Life is good…

I’m looking for something more though… Not in a material sense… just *something* I don’t know what it is though… Maybe passion… I lost my passion somewhere along the way.

Blah
you’re just too used to my honey, now

now and at the hour of our death

Street culture felt different here. I was more aware of the buskers and music… more aware of the crazy evangelist chanting slogans at train station steps… Where as there it felt like it was all about imitation handbags sold by impoverished immigrants… or maybe that is just the major towns.. Anyway, no one was more surprised than I to discover a busker, while strolling through an ancient town square at 11 o’clock at night. She was singing Ave Maria. She was good breathtaking. I remember stopping dead in my tracks and just listening to her… Watching my breath in the frozen Northern Hemisphere air in January. I remember being freaked out because there weren’t really any tourists… or locals  around for that matter and this woman was just standing in the middle of this old square singing her heart out, accompanied by a guy playing piano accordion. I remember it like it was yesterday, even though it was over 4 years ago… I think about it in great detail every once in a while, sometimes I even yearn to be back there, in the middle of freezing winter rain, not yet snow…

I’ve been writing this post for over 6 months and it has sat here in draft, being edited every couple of months, waiting for me to hit the publish button… my status bar tells me that it was last edited by beeetle on February 22, 2009 at 10:56pm.. You’d think it would be more eloquent, longer and have some sort of point… but it doesn’t really, its just something I think about from time to time… She reminds me that sometimes, people can be remarkable… and those remarkable people appear when we least expect it.. and they’re usually doing something that we least expect…

Hardly worth the wait really…

People suck…

This is why

Ha!

I never thought I would be happy to be leaving Melbourne to go to Sydney… however… given this weeks weather forecast, and comparing it to the Sydney weather forecast, I know where I’d prefer to be!

Woo hoo. Now I just have to survive in Sydney for a week on a Melbourne wage…

~Tell ‘im ‘ee’s dreamin’~

The last couple of weeks has been a real opener.. You have no idea the sort of shit that people donate to Op Shops and the likes… I feel sorry for all the poor volunteers who have to waste their time sorting through shit that should be used to dust tacky ornaments. Its not generosity, its pure arrogance! Would you buy something ripped, stained and just in disgusting condition?

On a more positive note… I am partially stealing and partially inventing a new recipe for dinner, which involves as many different mushrooms I could get my hands on at 4pm on Sunday and lots of garlic amoung other things…

Also, went and  saw Tame Impala and Eddy Current Suppression Ring at the Zoo last week. They were insanely good.. but I was disappointed that Tame Impala didn’t play Half Full Glass of Wine… I’ve been looking for their EP for ages.. and then The Lad randomly finds it at his local JB at lunchtime… I count myself quite lucky! Having a Lad that buys me music and gimp books from the internet… and… lots of things \m/

Epic Fail

I’m always amused when Windows breaks… but I am even more amused when it breaks in a very public place.

Today while visiting a shopping centre as a favour for my mother (why the hell would I go to the shopping centre 7 days before Christmas?!) I came across an electronic billboard. This is not an unusual thing, these places are full of them trying to sell all sorts of shit.. but what I liked about this particular billboard is that it had blue screened….

They can’t even project a simple image properly.

Small things for small minds I suppose.

Chilli

So, about 2 1/2 years ago – I discovered I could cook… And not just… cook… but cook really well. I know, it sounds arrogant…

But as my dad had said…. I could have burnt water in the old days.. so it came as a bit of suprise. (It’s amazing what happens when someone encourages you).

I have so many cookbooks.. Which I love reading and just going through, getting inspiration – but I don’t “use” them… and I don’t use them because I struggle to follow recipes, unless I’m baking which seldom happens. I use them as inspiration, ideas of combinations.. but.. I get annoyed with little bits and pieces in recipes.. So they are inspiration for my own creations and inventions. Sometimes I think this must drive the lad nuts.

The other thing about food, and cooking is that – I’m extremely picky. For example, I am totally over your average run of the mill pasta.. I love pasta.. BUT. I don’t like pasta with tomato or cream sauce because its been DONE TO DEATH. SIMPLE IS GOOD. (Gnocchi is very different give me mum’s homemade gnocchi and any sauce and I will be happy)
So most of my pasta has a meat, seafood or vegie base and a bit of olive oil, herbs and spices etc.

This brings me to last nights dinner. The quickest, most delicious pasta involves good olive oil, decent quality pasta, a can of decent quality tuna, some garlic, onions, any herbs lying around the house or any extra nice tasty bits (such as pine nuts *yum*). Last night, while whipping up my usual tuna pasta (tuna in olive oil – not brine) I decided to add some dried chilli flakes.. I know the merits of fresh chilli.. but I had never expermiented with dried chilli flake….

……I’m still in flavour country.

Everybody needs good…? BLOOD DUSTER

So, my neighbours are horrendous. White Trash. Bogan… Hideous to look at. And they yell alot. And they have annoying dog. That does not shut up. It’s also probably mistreated/never played with/walked/paid attention to.

Today they have been particularly annoying. I got home from a fairly intense week at work to hear dumber and dumber and their two sperm mishaps screaming at each other.. So I played Blood Duster at them… Giving Stiff to the Stiff and Metalasfuck seemed to shut them up. Str8outtanorthcote is a great album

13th

this just feels like spinning plates

Machine gun.

So, last few weeks in review. Saw Henry Rollins live, very wicked.
Lovin’ the new Portishead record… has been a long time between drinks.
Had an awesome long romantical weekend with the lad.
Job satisfaction hitting all time low. Can’t wait for course to be over, its beginning to drive me nuts.

Have been watching Skins, very addictive and cool.