everyone should read sylvia plath's poems.
considering she committed suicide by sticking her head into the gas oven cos she had a screwed marriage. she's gothic, or at least her poems are.
and i got drained (imagine a drained aircon) while reading a scholarly article on one of her poems.
ALit definitely drives non living things like me mad.
Aftermath
Compelled by calamity's magnet
They loiter and stare as if the house
Burnt-out were theirs, or as if they thought
Some scandal might any minute ooze
From a smoke-choked closet into light;
No deaths, no prodigious injuries
Glut these hunters after an old meat,
Blood-spoor of the austere tragedies.
Mother Medea in a green smock
Moves humbly as any housewife through
Her ruined apartments, taking stock
Of charred shoes, the sodden upholstery:
Cheated of the pyre and the rack,
The crowd sucks her last tear and turns away.
Aha okay I am random.
tmr morning is a meeting packed day -.-
run, om, hist, quiz.
heh o.o
and it's not one person's fault kay cos there are roots and stems and everything. so even if you are the root it's not entirely your fault unless we are a sweet potato.
con.
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