“”The army of flowers answers the call of its queen” so that floral life may triumph over accursed life.” (Bachelard, Poetic Reverie; 40)
Why must I be the river twisting around your banks
The flow above and below your pebbles
The petals circling your seed fiilled center
The vines crawling up your wall
The waves crashing against your
endlessly
stubborn
shore
I must adapt around your curves
and bumps
and dark crevices
and inconsistencies
and terrible words
You demand liquid form to be with you
Give up my solid form for streams
wind swept petals
crashing waterfalls
silently churning rivers
Why wont you move for me?
Category Archives: bachelard
Y – Bachelard Reverie #1
Here is what is evoked when I play with opposing, what I believe to be, masculine vs feminine words. Leading myself into “the labyrinth of the intimate Nature of things.” (32)
The lips of my memories kiss the very essence of my dripping voice;
the tenderness of my speech has dripped among the burning field in which I’ve roamed,
when I have burntly spoken these words, am I lost, or awakening?
Awoken by my bliss of contact with the penetrated body, silently wondering, what will you stoke within me?
The tuning bridge of the wondered has twisted my pantomime in two a lulling amorous feistiness, asking for an inner possessing, a release
of inconsistent forethought.
Possessed by my own content I ask, witch way do you hold your eyes when you fully arise to the reveries of wholesome bodily exposure?
Enlighten your willing and I shall hand you my willed.
E – Bachelard Reverie Week 5
Opposites
Aren’t really opposite.
We oppose ourselves but are
Ourselves, opposite selves
All at once. Reverie is in
This opposition, this contrast.
Accepting two opposite ideas
And letting them be, letting them
Exist
Side by side, overlapping, tumbling over.
You can be an opposite, can embody opposites
And that is the magic of humanity.
You can hate your past and love who you are
Right now
Even if who you are
Right now
Is because of a past that you hate.
This is reverie, this contrast.
Reverie is not in absolutes,
But in opposites.
H-Hawk
Spend the day at Cafe Love. Rose is prepping Vennesa for her Chemistry Exam. H2O That’s chemistry, Water-tears. Brooks crying spells when we were first living together. So strange because we were so happy then. “I don’t know why I’m Crying” Rose and I spend the rest of the day writing “Tears”
B – Reverie #1 Week 5
Reverie Prompt:
In your experience does a romance language such as French do a “great service” by being a “passionate language” that has not wanted to preserve a neuter gender, but rather multiplies occasions for choosing/coupling?
What is a great service of language?
Words ornamented to hang on the body
as they spill from a tongue?
There is no language to describe a body
in now now now.
We speak only the echos of words
lost in translation from the intake
of breath, construction of thought,
then exhale.
What is language without the body?
Where do the words fall if not on the flesh?
The sensation of the senses
come alive from what surrounds us.
I feel the language as it penetrates
even if I don’t understand.
A body understands the vibrations of earth
more than that of machines
though I once mistook the crash of construction
for an earthquake.
P(r) – Bachelardian Reverie 1
“…when will-o’-the-wisps–beings of very indeterminate sex–are to seduce men or women, they become precisely, according to the person to be led astray, flambettes (f.) or flamboires (m.).” (Bachelard, 38)
Everything is changeable. Nothing is black or white or either or. Everything is everything. There are no absolutes. That a creature of folklore would need to be of a certain (opposite) sex to lure an unwary child away seems Freudian. A human construct placed on an inhuman thing. But is it a human construct? An animal construct. We do seem to work in pairs, for the most part. (Un)matched pairs. His and hers. Yours and mine. Little statues on top of the cake in black and white. Harlequin. Hen and rooster shaped salt and pepper shakers. Black and white. Masculine and feminine. Little Red and the Wolf. Dark fur and tender white flesh. Always fairy tales.
Co Bachelard Reverie #1
“a word can be a dawn and a sure shelter.” (47)
Je Suis La Lune
Je suis la lune et j’taime.
throughout the night, the night i first caught the light in your eyes
across the opposite hemisphere of the earth
you rose and your rays splashed upon my rocky face
making it shine a silver shimmering surface,
gleaming to your touch.
but the more you rose and made the sky blue
the more i realized the surprise that came with everything that is you.
but not the good kind of surprise, like solstice, starting anew
a surprise like a meteor flung out of orbit into the side of your face
like the destruction of the whole human race.
i like the sombre
you like the lumière
when you’ve risen and are in full sight
you encompass everything in front of you,
beating your rays down upon all, looming above
craving, demanding
they feel your heat.
you bleed jealousy of anything in the shadows
i don’t understand, and i probably never will.
all i know is i loved you once, but the once thriving life that was our love
is now overwhelmingly ill. i can’t stand it and won’t take it any longer,
dear soliel, je suis la lune et je t’aime plus
Pil – Week 5 Bachelard
“Sometimes the words are unfaithful to the things. They try to establish oneiric synonymies between things. The phantomalization of objects is always expressed in the language of visual hallucinations.” (Bachelard 49)
Chaos (f) How can this be defined now that it is changed into something different? Would we say that chaos is now something not to fear or at least shun?
Love (m) How can we say that this form of love is not the same. Can we?
I say these are but one in the same. The (f) Chaos is quite the same as (m) Love. The idea that you could be thinking the same as I is unheard of, however, the meaning still lies just beneath the surface of the words and their designations. Do you think I am talking about masculine and feminine?