Blog #1 (03/04/25)

Christina Rossetti poems are lingering. 

The last line of the last stanza of "A Better Resurrection" says: 

"O Jesus, drink of me."

and something about being a broken bowl in Jesus's hands and being put to his lips healed and entering him, inevitably to come out of him again, sounds like another cycle I would let myself go in. 

I showed my professor my pocket saint after discovering Rossetti had a fascination with saints during her life. She thought it was cool. 

I had to tell her I did not believe in God. 

I do not know why. 

I worry that I talk too much about religion and that someone might think I am grossly religious. 

I just like God metaphorically. 

I like the appeal of being so open that anything could enter me and have it all fall back on utter devotion to one being. 

God to me is sensual, elusive and erotic. 

Religion is blood, gore and celestial light. 

I told my professor I should have stole the pocket saint because it was $8. 

My classmates laughed. 

My professor made a point about getting arrested for the crime, I thought that seemed sacrilegious. 

I did not steal it, I bought it like a good girl would. 

After class, I thought a lot about how I wish bodies did not exist and only a thin line of my soul walked about the Earth and that is all people ever saw of me. 

I talked to my friend about a taxidermic deer head she had in her basement and she said she wants to get rid of it because she does not agree with the practice of hunting. 

I told her I would take it and use it as a decoration for lingerie too small for me. 

Then we were on Pinterest looking at house decorations. 

I found a picture of a deer head with rosemaries dangling off the antlers surrounded by crosses and Mother Mary pictures and said see! 

Underneath the deer head is a sickle. 

The last line of the first stanza of "A Better Resurrection" says: 

"O Jesus, quicken me." 

I hoped I would not seem as freakish as I felt. 

I am a broken bowl (aka girl) that cannot hold and I pray for tighter skin, sharper features and to feel my ribs when I lay on my back. 

Would God, could God, mould me into a thinner girlish thing? 

So thin, I would become ethereal? 

My only wish in life is to die beautiful, made beautiful like a taxidermic deer head used for lingerie and rosemaries.