HOLD ON TIGHT

HE SAID, MARIE, MARIE, HOLD ON TIGHT And when we were children, staying at the archduke's, My cousin's, he took me out on a sled, And I was frightened. He said, Marie, Marie, hold on tight. And down we went. In the mountains, there you feel free. I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter. ~ The Waste Land, "The Burial of The Dead", Eliot Saturday, April 05, 2008 horses today i took up jm's car, and we went up to the plantations. we stopped at the stables, and i met this donkey called black jack. donkeys have this way of looking very intellectual. they stood stock still when we climbed over the gates. it's too strange, they're a little too still, almost hostile, he said. but black jack melted to us when we held out our hands to him, and stared up at us with the most philosophical eyes ever. there was a horse called sparky that i thought was playing with me when it tried to nuzzle the sleeves of my sweatshirt. i laughed a little, nervously, because i wasn't sure if it was playing with me, or being violent. and then, it sank it teeth into my left wrist and wouldn't let go. i decided not to freeze, but acted casual. its teeth eventually slid from my wrist to my sleeve. there was no blood, but red teeth marks, and the skin turned purplish and bruised. i was very shaken, because suddenly the horse seemed like a familiar, deranged man that i couldn't read, someone who wouldn't let go even when i said, stop that's enough. and when i looked into its face, it was like looking into the face of hysteria. we left, climbed back over the gates, he offered to drive, but i decided to drive. i'm home now, icing the bruise. maybe it's all the derrida and his cat literature that i've been reading, and how for a long time, how memories of being afraid were cast out of my mind--i have been very happy and preoccupied with books and things for some--it shook me a little, not the horse, but the sense of utter helplessness, incomprehensibility, when i laughed and said, ok, that's enough, as though it would understand. and i know that even if i write this, i am utterly alone. not jm, who was there, nor anyone would understand, the absolute alienation of asking a horse to let go of your skin. posted by dawn # 7:31 AM Comments: next time bring a lighter. threaten to set fire to it. miss you. -nj # posted by Anonymous : 12:41 PM Post a Comment << Home		[publishing] Publishers Weekly . Dystel & Goderich . New York Center for Independent Publishing . Association of American University Presses . Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators [people] clarisse . nurul . aunty zarina (ummi's bakery) . jeremy . pak . cyril . softblow . karen & kenny (booksactually) . eric . joel . [other loves] digitaljournalist . ballet dictionary . poetshouse . urbanwordnyc [me] dawn, singapore, new york city, ithaca. [yesterday] very interesting pneumonia summer ambitions this is messed up - happy april's fools:) gold how to sleep missing me geryon responsibility cockroaches [archives] January 2007 February 2007 March 2007 April 2007 May 2007 July 2007 August 2007 September 2007 October 2007 November 2007 December 2007 January 2008 February 2008 March 2008 April 2008 May 2008 June 2008 July 2008 August 2008 September 2008 October 2008 November 2008 December 2008 January 2009 February 2009

HE SAID, MARIE, MARIE, HOLD ON TIGHT

And when we were children, staying at the archduke's,
My cousin's, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.

~ The Waste Land, "The Burial of The Dead", Eliot

Saturday, April 05, 2008

horses

today i took up jm's car, and we went up to the plantations. we stopped at the stables, and i met this donkey called black jack. donkeys have this way of looking very intellectual. they stood stock still when we climbed over the gates. it's too strange, they're a little too still, almost hostile, he said. but black jack melted to us when we held out our hands to him, and stared up at us with the most philosophical eyes ever.

there was a horse called sparky that i thought was playing with me when it tried to nuzzle the sleeves of my sweatshirt. i laughed a little, nervously, because i wasn't sure if it was playing with me, or being violent. and then, it sank it teeth into my left wrist and wouldn't let go. i decided not to freeze, but acted casual. its teeth eventually slid from my wrist to my sleeve. there was no blood, but red teeth marks, and the skin turned purplish and bruised. i was very shaken, because suddenly the horse seemed like a familiar, deranged man that i couldn't read, someone who wouldn't let go even when i said, stop that's enough. and when i looked into its face, it was like looking into the face of hysteria.

we left, climbed back over the gates, he offered to drive, but i decided to drive. i'm home now, icing the bruise. maybe it's all the derrida and his cat literature that i've been reading, and how for a long time, how memories of being afraid were cast out of my mind--i have been very happy and preoccupied with books and things for some--it shook me a little, not the horse, but the sense of utter helplessness, incomprehensibility, when i laughed and said, ok, that's enough, as though it would understand. and i know that even if i write this, i am utterly alone. not jm, who was there, nor anyone would understand, the absolute alienation of asking a horse to let go of your skin.

posted by dawn # 7:31 AM

Comments:

next time bring a lighter. threaten to set fire to it. miss you.

-nj

# posted by

Anonymous : 12:41 PM