og jeg må kle deg av meg for å sove videre men som oftest blir jeg bare liggende tenker at denne knuten skal jeg ikke løsne på denne knuten skal jeg knyte dobbelt

før, da jeg var yngre og klokere kjøpte jeg alt jeg kom over av klassikere jeg leste på lesesalen, på kafeer på rommet i kollektivet, på bussen på trikken og båten og en gang klatra jeg opp i et tre på Bygdøy og leste ei bok om mayaindianere

jeg fylte hyllene mine med Shakespeare og Wilde Swinburne, Pater, Corneille, Racine, Flaubert, Joyce med Dante og Dotojevskij, og jeg kan med hånda på hjertet si at jeg mente å lese dem

men det jeg likte best var å stable dem opp ved siden av hverandre i hylla se på permene fra der jeg lå på madrassen min lage nye overraskende sammenhenger mellom dem som var såpass intrikate at ingen noen gang spurte

en gang jeg var heldig og fikk med meg ei jente hjem på hybelen skjedde det noe underlig, hun gikk rett bort til bokhylla tok ut noen av bøkene og bendte dem bakover så det knaste i permene ikke gjør det, sa jeg, vær forsiktig!

de er ikke dine før du har lest dem, svarte hun ingenting er mer patetisk enn bøker til pynt jeg gjør deg en tjeneste, sånn ar neste jente du tar med deg hjem kanskje velger å bli

hun gikk gjennom hele hylla, bladde, bøyde og bretta hva jeg gjorde husker jeg ikke tror jeg bare stod der, så på henne da hun var ferdig, tok hun jakka under armen og sa: nå har du lest Bauer, Solstad og Michelet du burde sjekke ut Petterson og Askildsen her er nummeret mitt ring meg i morgen så stikker vi og bader og du, pynt med noen friske blomster hvis du er hypp på at jeg skal bli over

den natta gjorde jeg noe jeg ikke hadde gjort før jeg skrev et dikt det bare kom og la seg over meg som en annenstemme

neste morgen skifta jeg laken på senga strøk begge skjortene og hang dem i skapet jeg vaska, støvsugde og satte en vase med tulipaner på hver av høytalerne jeg har fortsatt telefonnummeret hennes i lommeboka

[...]Nei, du vet, jeg har aldri kommet til å interessere meg for litteratur, og i dette lå det en beklagelse, og den var ikke deres egen, for de var jo så lite interessert i litteratur og Ibsens dramaer at de ikke så noen grunn til å beklage det, hva i himmelens navn var det de skulle baklage, for sin egen del?

Jeg skal slutte å reise hvis veien er målet skal jeg sitte her og være på vei

Snakker om barnet vi ikke skal ha og kysser du er der inne, vi kan sette deg sammen

"I'll always remember that hotel in Paris. we were all there. kaja, Nal Horse, Burroughs... the greatest literary minds of our generation." "do you think it helped your writing, Mr. L?" I asked. it was a stupid question. he looked at me sternly, then allowed me to watch him smile, "everything helps my writing."

[...] I realize I switch from present to past tense, and if you don't like it... ram a nipple up your scrotum. - printer: leave this in.)

she used to wear vintage dresses over her bikini

and flip-flops

ride to venich beach to read virginia on the sand

she used to make collages with images of the virgin

mary and roses she used to write poetry

she went to a ballet high

school and could have died

for beauty

not only from the eating disorder

but from the words of the mean mistress

she found her mother on the floor of the bathroom

with a bottle of pills

but still alive

her roommate in college was raped

and brutally murdered

another friend died the same way at a different place

and time

her terror turned into worry

about small things

like the overgrown cuticle on her little toenail

she married an artist and went to clubs

with scrawls on the walls called art

kept her collages private

intricate and glistening as hidden body parts

her husband stopped having sex with her

she doubted her poetry

because a mean bulimic woman

told her she couldn't write

she took up african dance and then brazilian

because they honored rather than denied her ass

helped her heal her marriage

and the scars of ballett and anorexia

she danced into the arms of the drummer

they coul have been brother and sister

he read her a poem on their first date

she was still married when she made love to him

left her husband almost right away

married again on the hills above malibu

dancing on the crest above the sea

with white flowers in her hair

she gave birth to two children

decorated her house in pink and green velvet

teaches thirteen year olds literature every day

comes home and cooks dinner every night

writes her books in the weekends

the war maked her so sad she needs meds

she's okay though

her husband still wants her whenever possible

still reads her poetry aloud

she has finally discovered

the brutality is not inside of her

however there are many roses, there are altars,

there are stories

running from the green-eyed lady

i got lost on the freeway in l.a.

i saw the mexican markets

i saw the train tracks

i saw the old bridge and the cement river

i saw the vast expanse of grayness

leading nowhere

i saw a dog zigzag thirsty

i thought of the woman with her eyes

like cold green glass

and her smirking smile

how she tried to eat my boyfriend and my mentor

and my house

i thought, what has happened to my city

with its roses and angels?

i thought, what has happened to my boyfriend

who was bowling with miss green eyes

just the day before?

after she ate his heart

he handed mine to her on a china plate

just like the one she used to serve him meat

in my vegetarian kitchen

and then left

so i dug in my purse for my cell phone

and i called my friends

sara and sera and maria

and they looked at maps and told me

which way to turn

and they helped guide me home

it is good to see the sadness of my city

without roses without angels except the ones

disguised as your girlfriends

it is good to get lost in her

it is even good to let envy hold her heart

in her mouth

but if you don't give in to her my darlings

she will release you

she will spit you out

i always believed if i had blond hair, pixie face,

big breasts

everything would be all right

not realizing that culturally idolized beauty

is not only foolproof

but potentially dangerous

if you believe un your own unconventional beauty

when you are young

you will accomplish twice as much and suffer half so

turn of the lightbulbs and light a candle

walk don't drive

plant a tree

wear sunscreen

dancing is an antidepressant

kindness is the new status symbol

every day please try to eat something green

and something orange

that grow on the ground

tell me how mad you are

that your father and i parted

i will always listen

though i can't ever take away the pain

expectations are for what you yourself create

they rarely work when applied to others

turn of the television

tv is a depressant

yoga is an antidepressant

don't feel guilty about wanting pretty things

they would not be so alluring

if you weren't supposed to want them

just don't value them over compassion

use your words even when you are a grown-up

and people no longer think it is entirely acceptable

when you say, that hurt my feelings

if you can digest chocolate eat it sometimes

same goes for ice cream

(i don't really need to tell you those things do i?)

do your homework because it is part of the game but

don't spend too much time worrying about grades

fall in love with someone kind who loves your body

and your mind

if you have a dream that won't let you go, that

tickles your solar plexus, heed it

turn dark feelings into paintings or poetry

or dancing

music is a kind of food

if you are sad talk to a happy woman who loves you

it will always help

move your body when you are sad or angry

avoid the following:

genetically modified ingredients

parabens

sodium lauryl sulfate

mercury in certain fish

neurotic thoughts about food

(is that a contradiction?)

love your curls though they tangle

your pale skin though it can burn in the sun

your nose though it is broader than some

your sturdy legs and feet

forget barbie she does not possess imagination

remember you are a botticelli angel

the planet we live on is perfection

love her like a goddess

love yourself as her daughter

there is a planet full of different kinds of beauty

the idea that only one type of woman is beautiful

is blashpemy

of everything i brought to the world in these

forty-five years

you and your brother are by far the most astounding

because of that i will always love your father

matter never vanishes, only changes

remember that when someone you love dies

your round head on my breast when you were born

is the memory

i will keep with me when i leave this body

when i am gone i will still be near you

this is how i know: when you were born

it was not a meeting

but reunion

she was a princess of the holy wood her parents brought her to a jungle when she was little to sit at the fett of a prophetic madman when she was older she performed on the stage the crowd put her in the stocks and threw vegetables at her da vinci face her brother the prince drowned in the sea she married a man everyone called genius it seemed like paradise she wept

alone in her villa while she flirted with actresses

she made

art won acclaim and her husband's jealousy he left

she wore

only short black or white dresses

some full some slim and elegant black flats

was named best dressed on every list smiled quietly

and like a cat

told a story about marie crowned queen at nineteen

dressed in magical shoes

showered with jewels

and cake not loved properly lost in a castle og gilt dreaming

of the natural world making babies finally beheaded

but this princess keeps dreaming her next dream

she has a lot of stories to tell

she knows that in times of danger it up to the girls

to overcome himiliation and grief even decapitation

and save us

I think I might only be happy when I'm productive.

Krystle prøver på nytt. Denne gangen plukker Bell gulrota fra håndflata og gomler den stoisk i seg. Knask, knask, knask, knask. For en fin lyd. Krystle forestiller seg at hun kan spise sånn, med tenner sterke nok til å knuse hva som helst, en gulrot i en jafs, knask, knask, en gulrot på tvers og gjerne en til.

[...] you say you feel this madness. what do you do when it comes upon you?

I write poetry.

is poetry madness?

non-poetry is ugliness.

what is ugly?

to each man, someting different.

does ugliness belong?

it's there.

does it belong?

I don't know, sir.

you pretend knowledge. what is knowledge?

knowing as little as possible.

how can that be?

I don't know, sir.

can you build a bridge?

no, sir.

can you make a gun?

no, sir.

these things are the products of knowledge.

these things are bridges and guns.

Da den første unge mannen skulle ta sin første legeeksamen inviterte han henne rett til sengs. Han leste til eksamen ved å telle hvert ben i kroppen hennes, pekte seg inn, talte og fant nye tallkombinasjoner sang alle navn på latin som en vokalkomposisjon over antikke tekster. Det var moro å bli tellet til 436 og likevel bare én hele tiden. Han ringte til en venn og la frem ideen til en musikal. Og dermed ble han ikke lege.

Hvis ikke det hadde vært for

global oppvarming

ville jeg fått barn utelukkende

for å bli den moren

som henter barnet

på en Harley-Dvidson.

Det er underlig at man tror at man kan spise og forsvinne samtidig, sa fotografen.

Der inne i kjellertunnellen lå et menneske hun åpenbart kjente godt, så godt at hun slo opp paraplyen, forsvant opp i luften, vi kunne bare ikke følge med, det nærmeste jeg kom Mary Poppins i mitt liv, den kjente barnepiken, litteraturvitenskapelig tolket som dyrenes dronning alias gudinnen Ishtar, og det har ennå ikke kommet noen Higgins inn i mitt liv.

Dørene gled til side. Vi stod der overrasket. Jeg klamret meg til en vilt fremmed. Det var det ene, det andre var at jeg sluttet ikke å klamre, aldri aldri aldri ville jeg miste ham, da ville jeg heller falle.

Nå lurer jeg på om han alltid kommer til å sitte i setet ved siden av meg, på vei opp i mørket.

Jeg har en skyld som jeg hver dag prøver å takle. Ikke en skam. Skam er for de feige. Skyld er for oss som virkelig vil overleve, som virkelig vil gjøre det godt igjen.