Suzy Cave’s The Vampire’s Wife. Am indebted to her approach to beauty that plumbs artistic and dramatic strains across the universe, however curious, transgressive, or both.
Virginia has been much on my mind lately. Experimental way approaches her paragraphs — My LuLu du Lac loves how she starts to slip into passages with fingers running freely either side like its an open maze, where language funnels off and tunnels back in.
Sun through leaves breakaway breakaway open handed chasing seedpuffs that dehiscse on a hot day in Britian, Gorse bushes exploding pods sound almost like gunshots.
Unavoidable with participation, earnest interest, eagerness, shock, tenderness, injury, inquiry. Etc.
She is an Angel for me. Influence very real even needy — but not nearly as traumatic. Startles yet brightens, exhilarates yet fights for it, reaches — as I reach, back for Clarice again and again —
“They would understand,” my LuLu equates out loud to herself. How must be able to work at peak intervals, engage with beauty — who as part of creation often dances with darker forces, battles “for real.” What leads body of hate back to surface of love. Sleeps tender with the undead. Tender yet monstrous, when love explodes with horror and light —
La Folie Charles Baudelaire
Vampire Poem, by Charles Baudelaire.
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