but up drift the foolish, brightly-coloured bubbles like a snark

April 22, 2012

I am telling everyone within readingspace, earsworth, locationdistancebodycorporealswimshiporbitradius how full I am. I am stuffed. If I had gills I would be stuffed to them but I am so much more stuffed than that. I feel as bloated as- as- the most bloated thing you can think of, plus extra, except only in the region of my belly. I am regretting it already. Noodles are evil.

Apparently this also extends to blogging about it. I’m serious, though; I am to the extent of full where all my concentration has devolved to digesting or thinking about digesting or thinking about the solemnity of the weight of my rotund (quick check: yes, I’ve rotunded, it’s definitely comparable to rotundas and rutabagas- what on earth is a rutabaga?-) belly and the heaviness of the feeling of it and waugh there are moments, definitely moments, when I remember my friend who has an on-again-off-again relationship with bulimia and think rather wistfully of sticking two fingers down my throat and bringing it all up again.

I don’t do it because that would be a waste of good bacon. Also because it would hurt. But let this be a lesson to me to not eat things that expand in your stomach.

 

I have decided I like trivialities. I like waffling, sometimes. oh god don’t mention waffles. today is a day of very bad choices in the eating department. I don’t know what those sales-clerks are doing in there; their fiscal totals are plummeting! They’re padding out their mannequins with silk ties and blowsy scarves and winter parkas! Oh my belly. Embrace me, belly, like a bride. Stefano. A moment in today, I had another section of that in my head, one that sticks, always, like a finger jammed in the door:

inform my hot heart straightaway
its treasure loves another
but turn to neutral topics, then
religion or the Weather 

and I need to find my Auden to see how much of that I’ve gotten right. I’m missing a line between the third and the fourth and probably some of the phrasing is wrong and certainly the enjambement; that is the problem with memorising poems. Sometimes you don’t memorise line breaks correctly. Or punctuation.

 

I’m

in a fey mood today. No, not fey. Full. Fattened. Calflike, moonbeams, billows, what was that story again with the- the Moon-Calf and his mother the moon? It makes me think of Chesterton, or MacDonald, only MacDonald wouldn’t have- it’s more twisted than- it makes me think a little of El-ahrairah in Watership Down- was that i-t-?

 

WHERE HAS MY AUDEN GONE

 

a significant amount of today has been spent in overweening capitals. I think also my belly has drawn most of my thinking processes down into it, like some kind of hibernation cave, a skin igloo, warm and round for tucked-in winter, and all that’s left is the frivolous bit, making merry in the top of my head…

I like ellipses. they have a good feeling at the end of sentences, sometimes, when used properly. they remind me of quotes, a leftover trailing feeling, an into-the-aether waving of vague hands or no, not that at all…

 

I CAN’T FIND MY AUDEN. well. doesn’t part of being Honest With Everyone also include Honest With How Much Poetry I Actually Remember? Take that, studio audience; take that, friends and strangers and the relative merits of progenity. Alright, I’m actually babbling now it’s the best way to write that is all I remember of poor Prospero’s speech and I’m not going to edit it.

 

I’ll probably read back when I’m less full and slap palm to forehead in a mimicry of everything the internet has ever offered to humble man, ever.

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