Bad Faith
Jump hard into playing that game milady
Night is a samovar & you are sucking
this life out of me. Stars are burnt (diamonds
as a form of coal); the alien life form
tokes up on the gems in your eye sockets
Down at the harbor's last available wharf
the ropes are knotted with pithy remarks
the cold sea water is a metaphor
spawning this big fish; not moby dick
of course. You are still in court,
your briefs filed, your slim tush on its throne.
The vinegar cunt flush mixes with smoke
from your past. Is there an alien taking
my desire? Is there an obvious joke
in the ever present stiffie? Sad fire,
extending through the timezone.
Another bitter round in the Janne story. Written in the last couple of years, noting that she is now a lawyer in Las Vegas. The sea represents time, the fish is me and my death. I suppose I just find it so unreasonable to be betrayed by someone who I know loved me. Not like I ever did it, you know (sarcasm there).
Night is a samovar & you are sucking
this life out of me. Stars are burnt (diamonds
as a form of coal); the alien life form
tokes up on the gems in your eye sockets
Down at the harbor's last available wharf
the ropes are knotted with pithy remarks
the cold sea water is a metaphor
spawning this big fish; not moby dick
of course. You are still in court,
your briefs filed, your slim tush on its throne.
The vinegar cunt flush mixes with smoke
from your past. Is there an alien taking
my desire? Is there an obvious joke
in the ever present stiffie? Sad fire,
extending through the timezone.
Another bitter round in the Janne story. Written in the last couple of years, noting that she is now a lawyer in Las Vegas. The sea represents time, the fish is me and my death. I suppose I just find it so unreasonable to be betrayed by someone who I know loved me. Not like I ever did it, you know (sarcasm there).
Labels: Janne Hanrahan
posted by As Bjorn at 9:24 PM
2 Comments:
Do you mean Bad Faith in the Sartrean sense of the term (mauvaise foi)? When I saw the original location of this post, I was struck by the fact that the previous poem referenced Simone de Beauvoir and The Second Sex. (My thesis concerns--in part--The Second Sex, so Beauvoir is very much on my mind nowadays.) I'm realizing (the hard way) that my knowledge of existentialism is more superficial than I once believed. I now realize that I've lived most--if not all--of my adult life in a state of Bad Faith. I guess this is a sort of breakthrough. Taking responsibility for my life isn't easy, but I'm trying. I wish I could sit down and talk with you, like in the Bryn Mawr days, even though we sometimes did wind up aggravating each other.
Yes, to your question. But accepting that this is so does not, in and of itself, release the actor from his play. Thus, the stiffie.
Well, being aggravated is always going to be part of actually communicating with someone else.
Some part of me sees these poems as an allegory from a much older tale. Older than this specific lifetime. Probably I am allowing the imaginative self to construct any given storyline that the ego requires at any given moment. Or I am just still regretful about the failed love affair.I have several, of course. But this one seems dominant in the literature. I spent too much of my life trying to make Becky into the writer I thought I could not be. There's some serious mauvaise foi.
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