Take-two Tuesday — William Blake Month: the torments of Love and Jealousy

This entry originally appeared on June 12, 2010 at 11:14 a.m.

Why wilt thou Examine every little fibre of my soul
Spreading them out before the Sun like Stalks of flax to dry
The infant joy is beautiful but its anatomy
Horrible Ghast & Deadly. Nought shalt thou find in it
But Death Despair & Everlasting brooding Melancholy

Thou wilt go mad with horror if thou dost Examine thus
Every moment of my secret hours. Yea I know
That I have sinned & that my Emanations are become harlots
I am already distracted at their deeds & if I look
Upon them more Despair will bring self murder on my soul

O Enion thou art thyself a root growing in hell
Tho thus heavenly beautiful
to draw me to destruction

(William Blake, excerpt from “Part I: Enmion and Tharmas,” in Vala, or, The Four Zoas: the torments of Love and Jealousy in the death and judgment of Albion the Ancient Man.)

All photos are screencaps from a collaborative short film put out by Lula magazine and the ubiquitous UK-and-now-THE-WORLD clothing store Topshop. Here is a linky to the video, which is unusual and beautiful and freaky, but as you are watching this artistic short film remember it is designed to sell faux-Bohemian low-quality overpriced clothes that will be out of style in six months to impressionable and likely self-loathing young women with eating disorders and disposable income. The fashion industry is so cruel with its kindness that I go back and forth on appreciation and hate.

I’m sorry, I went to the mall earlier to pick up some comfortable summer shoes with my grandmother and now I’m in a low mood. Nothing puts me out of sorts like that snake nest. Like, everyone is slithering over the top of each other and accidentally biting their own tails and dropping money on shit they don’t need, finances they have gained from the jobs they keep specifically to make a weekend trip to a goddamned mall and drape shiny fabrics over the viper shitpit of the system so it looks all pretty and coordinated while they sip complacently from some kind of frapped coffee bullshit drink packed with sugar and empty calories that they store in the cupholder of their child’s stroller. Their kids are with them, of course, because children must be taught to want made-up food like chicken nuggets and aspire to own over three pair of shoes. Seriously, I want to watch it burn, burn, burn.

I know that my Emanations are become harlots.

I think I’m going to go take ten and paint with the kidlet or something.

Mean Girls Monday: You could try Sears

The sick thing is there was a store like that in my mall when I was a teenager but it was called “5,7,9.” Though I can attest it carried sizes lower than 5, as to the other end of the scale, if it carried over size 9, I was unaware of it. That’s bad enough but here’s the thing: I was lucky enough to be in kind of a Cindy Crawford, not Kate Moss, era.

I’m sure that if such a store still existed, changing ideal body types would dictate that it be called something like “1,3,5.” Well, what am I talking about; such things do exist of course: Forever 21 and the Bebe, yes? Blarg.

PSA: Collarbones are beautiful, but boobs are even better. Take it to the bank. SeaQuest out!

William Blake Month: the torments of Love and Jealousy

Why wilt thou Examine every little fibre of my soul
Spreading them out before the Sun like Stalks of flax to dry
The infant joy is beautiful but its anatomy
Horrible Ghast & Deadly. Nought shalt thou find in it
But Death Despair & Everlasting brooding Melancholy

Thou wilt go mad with horror if thou dost Examine thus
Every moment of my secret hours. Yea I know
That I have sinned & that my Emanations are become harlots
I am already distracted at their deeds & if I look
Upon them more Despair will bring self murder on my soul

O Enion thou art thyself a root growing in hell
Tho thus heavenly beautiful
to draw me to destruction

(William Blake, excerpt from “Part I: Enmion and Tharmas,” in Vala, or, The Four Zoas: the torments of Love and Jealousy in the death and judgment of Albion the Ancient Man.)

All photos are screencaps from a collaborative short film put out by Lula magazine and the ubiquitous UK-and-now-THE-WORLD clothing store Topshop. Here is a linky to the video, which is unusual and beautiful and freaky, but as you are watching this artistic short film remember it is designed to sell faux-Bohemian low-quality overpriced clothes that will be out of style in six months to impressionable and likely self-loathing young women with eating disorders and disposable income. The fashion industry is so cruel with its kindness that I go back and forth on appreciation and hate.

I’m sorry, I went to the mall earlier to pick up some comfortable summer shoes with my grandmother and now I’m in a low mood. Nothing puts me out of sorts like that snake nest. Like, everyone is slithering over the top of each other and accidentally biting their own tails and dropping money on shit they don’t need, finances they have gained from the jobs they keep specifically to make a weekend trip to a goddamned mall and drape shiny fabrics over the viper shitpit of the system so it looks all pretty and coordinated while they sip complacently from some kind of frapped coffee bullshit drink packed with sugar and empty calories that they store in the cupholder of their child’s stroller. Their kids are with them, of course, because children must be taught to want made-up food like chicken nuggets and aspire to own over three pair of shoes. Seriously, I want to watch it burn, burn, burn.

I know that my Emanations are become harlots.

I think I’m going to go take ten and paint with the kidlet or something.

Mall Madness

Got my harr did, but beforehand I had some fun at that there ol’ mall. I bought a wedding shower present for my friend who is planning my party today; it felt really good to turn my attention to her, she has been doing a ton for me and it improved my mood to return the love.

I also popped in and paid a little liberating visiting to the door of a stall in the Macy’s bathroom:


Yes, do it. With “fancy catsup.” EAT THEM. They have it coming.


Then in the women’s lingerie department at Macy’s there was this:



Why don’t you go tattoo that on yourself, hipster? Looking at that ironic perfection, it was like all my thoughts were magically coalesced into an unintentional concrete example of my every rant! That is just exactly what. That is just exactly what. You are plastic poseurs, hipsters, and you number in the thousands and are cast from a totally un-unique mold. Love it. I don’t have to feel bad and awkward and like I am the uncool big sister at the family gathering as I walk the mall, because I can remember I am just looking at narrow-eyed unhappy mannequins and hope for their sakes that sooner or later they wake up and break out of their plaster shells. Then we can all be happy together.

And finally, the Mouse Who Sold The World.

Again: that is just exactly what. Dreams for sale! I believe we should tell children the real fairy tales and not this watered-down materialistic nonsense, because children are incredible and they can stomach them much better than you suspect.

I am feeling better. I am ready to have a great time with people who love me. I am thankful again for my sheltered little nook of the world where people suffer my folklore and give me the space an E kitty needs to keep from going mad and clawing out her own throat.