Breaking the Silence

Zelda was fully prepared to post this entry last night, Dearest Reader, but, instead, she has been looping the video of Tori Amos performing “Professional Widow” that Our Most Fashionable Vivienne of Fashion posted in her most recent entry for seven hours straight. And, in honor of our Dearest Most Fashionable Vivienne, Zelda shall quote from Tori Amos regarding aforementioned song. Zelda shall show you these quotes, Reader, because they make sense. And, as Tori Amos fans know but do not like to admit, most of what comes out of Tori Amos’s mouth does not make much sense, so these quotes are truly a rarity, because they make perfect freaking sense. And, in actuality, they make the most sense of anything that Zelda has read this entire year, and they have caused Zelda to become obsessed with Tori Amos again, just like she was when she was an undergraduate. So these are some of the Fashionable Things Tori Amos has to say about “Professional Widow”:

“I am very interested in what is strong and what is weak in a person. Interested in my vision of self — how people see me instead of how I see myself. I’ll pull out each part of this being that is judged harshly, and some of these parts are extreme. For instance, ‘Professional Widow’ is an extreme part. It can get hard because I want to be king. All of us women want to be king but we have to be queens. You know, it’s like Lady Macbeth or something.” (from The Dent)

“That’s my Lady Macbeth, the side of me that wanted power. But power in a man’s world. I wanted to be Indiana Jones, not the girlfriend. But as I began to do that I started to alienate many men. ‘Widow’ is my hunger for the energy I felt some of the men in my life possessed: the ability to be king. I wasn’t content just being a muse. I was the creative force. I was in relationships with different men where if they could honour that, they couldn’t honour the woman, and if they could honour the woman, they couldn’t honour the creative force.” (from Pop Idol)

And, my personal favorite:

“Professional Widow is the Lady Macbeth archetype. There are many ways to play Lady Macbeth. It can be done in a Jackie O suit.” (from YesSaid)

Yes! Yes! Yes! A thousand resounding shouts for playing Lady Freaking Macbeth in a Jackie Freaking O suit! Yes! Yes! Yes!

PROPORTION, BOY! IT’S GOTTA BE BIG, I SAID. YOU BETTER BE BIG, BOY!

James Joyce is making Zelda write these things, Dear Reader. It’s all his fault. And with that statement, Zelda moves a smidgen closer to The Ulysses Experiment. . .

But first! Zelda must make a public declaration! To make this public declaration publicly, however, Zelda must first make a rather embarrassing and shameful admission. Zelda must say publicly that she was laid off in August. Zelda must say publicly that she is now unemployed. Zelda must say publicly that she has had no luck in finding employment since being laid off in August. Zelda must say publicly that she has absolutely no money. Zelda must say publicly that cheese has now become an unaffordable luxury in her sad little Household of One.

Now, Zelda can make her public declaration. So here it is:

IF YOU HAVE A JOB, ZELDA DOESN’T WANT TO HEAR YOU TALKING ABOUT FREAKING OUT ABOUT THE FREAKING ECONOMY. Zelda has her Own Personal Economy to worry about. Zelda is no longer going to reach her Fashionable Hand of Fashion to you in an attempt to pull you out of your despair over the present economy-in-general. That means you Andy Secher at Hit Parader, Circus Magazine, Mick Wall at Kerrang, Bob Guccione Jr. at Spin. . .

But seriously, Reader. Zelda doesn’t want to hear it. This is rather difficult for Zelda, for even Zelda’s mother admits that Zelda is a nurturer (among many other things). Stop laughing, Reader — it’s true, Zelda swears.

No transition.

Zelda is mentioning a funeral, methods of death, a raincoat, and a hat in exercise below. And also: for those of you who feel the need to call Zelda and freak out about the freaking economy (Zelda is mostly — but not completely — referring to a non-parental member of her immediate family here, one who will never read her HyacinthGirls.com musings), Zelda has provided an educational Electric Company clip for you below.

Everybody’s in a little pain every once and a while. You’re not the only one. So what do you really gain? It makes no sense to complain!

Ballistics Studies Reveal Forgiven Debt, Uxoricide, Filicide, Attempted Suicide, Suicide

Cadavers suspended from cloud formations. Notyetwinter means unlined raincoats. The rain like sleet on the unemployment line stretching past the parking lot that cigarettesmoking procession playing a scratched record three tombstones down from your loved one. A man on his cellphone touching his tophat. I am forgetting your tears. To feel comfortable about the dead, break them into pieces. Send my cinders home to Mother.

If there ain’t enough of me to go around, I’d rather be left alone.

The Careful and Quite Fashionable Reader may have noticed from Zelda’s previous posts that she is quite fond of the ocean. One might go so far as to say that Zelda is obsessed with it, since Zelda spends most of her free time on the shore and includes the ocean, sand, and/or pelicans in nearly every poem she writes. Now, Most Fashionable Reader, Zelda could lie to you. Zelda could lie and say that she is quite stunning on the shore with her plethora of Swimsuits of Fashion and her sunkissed brown hair blowing ever-so-seductively in the breeze. Zelda could lie to you, but she won’t.

Instead, Zelda will say that instead of being the Seductress of the Atlantic, Zelda is the Cutie Pie of the Atlantic, a sort of nouveau Gidget, with her pigtails and her thick bangs and her Stylishly Retro Swimsuits of Fashion. Zelda will say this, Fashionable Reader — but this, too, is a lie. Here is the Unfashionable Truth, Dear Reader: Zelda is an Utter Beach Disaster. Zelda can be seen from miles away as she approaches the shore, wobbling from the weight of her Beach Chair, her Beach Cooler, and her Beach Bag. Zelda always trips while she searches for the Perfect Spot on the sand, and sometimes Zelda falls. Zelda has great difficulties unfolding her Beach Chair. When Zelda finally settles down on the sand in her Beach Chair, nine times out of ten, she discovers that she has forgotten to shave a leg. When Zelda is not paying attention, dogs come up to her and pee on one of her legs — usually the shaved one. And, immediately after exiting the ocean after an ocean frolic, Zelda’s hair turns into this:

So you, Most Fashionable Reader, can imagine Zelda’s glee when she was delivered this Most Fabulous Piece of News from a Most Fashionable Friend of Fashion: a surfer finds Zelda sexy. (Clearly he has never seen Zelda, Utter Beach Disaster by Day, Wednesday Addams by Night, on the beach itself, but that’s beside the point.) O the joy! O the wonder! O the happy, happy day! Please try and understand, Reader of Fashion. This has been one of Zelda’s Secret Wishes for over two decades. And now, with just that tiny bit of information, Zelda feels that her life is quite close to complete. O happy day, Dear Reader! O happy day!

And here is a song to match Zelda’s mood! A song for all of us! Let’s all see that new horizon underneath that blazing sky! Can you hear the music playing? Can you see the banners flying?

Yes! The poem! Tonight, Zelda has taken Vivienne’s lead and performed line stretching on one of her favorite Guns ‘N Roses songs EVER: “Breakdown.”

Breakdown

I’ve come to know the cold. The beer
cans stack up against me like dominoes.

I am empty, an unmade bed, a form
without substance. A pelican nods itself

to sleep on a distant sandbar. An ice pick
being pulled from a freezer as the lone

taxi makes its way west. The night being
stuck to my back like a dying man’s fingers,

like a pair of hands struggling to regain sense.
The shape of you breaking me. The driftwood

bulkheads remain. I think of the crushed
ice in the corner of the cooler

as a hiding place, a place to rest
my heart on days like this when even the ocean

perspires. The cold shape of nothing
sifting through a swimsuit. There is beer,

there is nonalcoholic beer, and there is tequila.
The organ donors smirking their way

to the front of the line at the pier.
There is salt, and there is a wound. There are

cigarettes snuffed out by the tide. In time,
everything is pulled from the shore to the sea.

There is the scabbing over.
I think of it as home.

So to my bed. So to my grave.

Zelda is going to make quite a few associative leaps in the poemlogue that follows, Most Fashionable Reader, so please bear with her.

So.

Let’s say Zelda likens herself to Alice, the Most Fashionable Heroine of the Most Fashionable Resident Evil Trilogy. Zelda enjoys likening herself to Alice (played by the Most Fashionable of All Fashionable B-Movie Queens, Milla Jovovich), for, in Resident Evil: Apocalypse, Alice must fight the Wretched and Vile Nemesis, whose face is too vile and too hideous to be posted on such a fashionable blog, and this Wretched and Vile Nemesis reminds Zelda of her own wretched and vile nemesis, who would tell Zelda that the subjects of her poems were not interesting enough to be written about, who would reply to Zelda’s fashionable and insightful comments with nothing but A BLACK HOLE OF SILENCE, who would, after Zelda’s fashionable and insightful comments and the unfashionable silences that would follow them, abruptly turn to another student and say, “Well, what did YOU think?”

Ahem. Onward!

So if Zelda likens herself to Alice, played by the Fashionable Milla Jovovich, Zelda must absolutely liken the Most Fashionable Vivienne to Diva Plavalaguna from The Fifth Element (which also stars the Most Fashionable Milla Jovovich). Why? Because Diva Plavalaguna KICKS ASS almost as much as Our Most Fashionable Vivienne of Fashion does. In addition to kicking ass, the Most Fashionable Diva holds within herself the Four Stones of Fashion, the very keys to humanity’s existence. Vivienne proved her Most Fashionable Diva-ness for the BILLIONTH time earlier this week when she correctly interpreted an event Zelda witnessed not as a mere event, but as a SIGN and a VISION from the Benevolent and Graceful and Forever Fashionable Anne Carson. Below, Zelda shall condense this vision as much as she can, because she does not want it to seem like an essay one would read in a creative nonfiction workshop, or a daily devotion one would read in The Upper Room, or Daily Guideposts. Here goes:

After work one day this week, Zelda joined a Friend of Most Fashionable Fashion (FoMFF) at the beach because, at this point, Zelda would rather be called Leatherface than Wednesday Fucking Addams, so she is working on her tan as much as she possibly can. “Look at that sailboat in the water,” FoMFF said as she pointed to a small sailboat-sized speck on the horizon. “I see it,” Zelda said. “They’re tourists,” FoMFF said. “They have no idea what they’re doing. They tried to go out earlier, and they flipped the boat before they got out very far.” It turns out, Most Fashionable Reader, that Water Rescue had to be called to bring the sailors back to the shore. “So why are they out there now?” Zelda said. “I have no idea,” FoMFF said. “As soon as Water Rescue left, they put the boat back in the water.” So Zelda and her FoMFF watched the small sailboat-sized speck on the horizon move back and forth for a while. Then Zelda and her FoMFF watched the small sailboat-sized speck on the horizon attempt to turn and come back to shore. Then Zelda and her Friend of Most Fashionable Fashion watched the sailboat flip. Again. Zelda and her FoMFF watched as the sailors tried in vain to right the sailboat. Then Zelda and her FoMFF watched as the sailboat completely sank. Then Zelda and her FoMFF watched as the Water Rescue Dinghy AND the Big Coast Guard Boat rescued aforementioned sailors.

After hearing this, Vivienne of Most Fashionable Fashion cries out, “This is a Vision, Zelda! A Vision of Benevolence and Grace sent to you by the Benevolent and Wise Anne Carson!” “What does it mean, Vivienne,” Zelda said. “What does it mean?” “It means, Most Fashionable Zelda, that the Wise and Benevolent Anne Carson is SENDING YOU A MESSAGE. And the message is to NOT MAKE THE SAME MISTAKE TWICE. DO NOT MAKE THE SAME MISTAKE TWICE, ZELDA. YOU MUSTN’T MAKE THE SAME MISTAKE TWICE.” “Vivienne!” Zelda said. “You are so wise! You are so benevolent! You are a vessel of wisdom and benevolence for the wise and benevolent Anne Carson! THANK YOU! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR CHANGING MY LIFE!!!”

Thank you, Most Fashionable Vivienne of the Utmost Fashion. Thank you.

Oh yeah! The poem!

For this poem, I have used a constraint that Vivienne and I recently devised. It is called Altered Punctuosity. When one applies Altered Punctuosity to an existing poem, one does not change any of the poem’s words. Instead, one changes the punctuation. I attempted to apply Altered Punctuousity to the entirety of Randall Jarrell’s “The Woman at the Washington Zoo,” but it didn’t work too well for the poem as a whole. I keep telling myself that it’s Jarrell’s fault, not mine. Ha! So I leave you, Most Fashionable Reader of Fashion, with a poem I created by applying Altered Punctuosity to the beginning of Randall Jarrell’s “The Woman at the Washington Zoo.”

The Woman

At the Washington Zoo, the saris go by me.
From the embassies: cloth from the moon,
cloth from another planet they look back at.

The leopard like the leopard.
And I, this print of mine that has kept its color
alive through so many cleanings.

This dull null.

Navy I wear to work, and wear.
From work and so to my bed.
So to my grave.

Fashionable Poetry Alert! Alert of Fashionable Poetry!

The Most Fabulous and Always Fashionable Vivienne and I interrupt the Fashionable Oulipo Writings because we have news, Readers of Fashion!

News of Fashion!
Vivienne and I, the Most Fashionable Hyacinth Girls, now have our Very Own Most Fashionable URL, TheHyacinthGirls.com. Our WordPress URL will still work, of course, but now Vivienne and I are the Utmost of Fashion, the Fashionable Utmost.

Fashionable News!
The Most Fashionable Vivienne and I have created a 9 Fashionable Must-Haves page for you, Most Fashionable Reader. It will eventually include 10 Fashionable Must-Haves, or perhaps 10 Thousand. One cannot place numerical limits on fashion! As an added Bonus of Fashion, each Fashionable Must-Have includes a Fashionable Poem Tip of Fashion.

Zelda Breaks a Covenant of Fashion

Zelda realized yesterday that since she loves the ocean so, since she loves to be in the ocean and play games such as U.S.S. Indianapolis (in which the players may tread water, doggy paddle, or float on their backs — anything to keep from touching the bottom, for the first player to touch the bottom loses) and Look, Ma, I Am a Pirate (in which the players must hold one leg behind their bodies and balance on the ocean floor on just one leg, and the first player to touch the ocean floor with both feet loses), it would behoove her to purchase a one-piece bathing suit in which should could play aforementioned games, body surf, and frolic in the ocean without worrying that she is unknowingly flashing the group of teenagers dunking each other and smacking each other with rented surfboards twenty yards away. So, on Saturday, after an afternoon on the shore, Zelda enlisted a Trusted and Fashionable Friend to go one-piece swimsuit shopping with her.

This, Most Fashionable Reader, was not an easy task, as one-piece swimsuits tend to either a) look like a floral couch regurgitated on them, or b) look like a swimsuit from Sex and the City. Neither of which is suitable for the Ocean Frolic of Fashion. But Zelda and her Trusted and Fashionable Friend did not give up easily, and they managed to find a fashionable one-piece swimsuit for Zelda (as well as a fashionable two-piece, but it does not belong in this poemlogue).

Zelda and her Trusted and Fashionable Friend went out to eat after shopping for aforementioned swimsuit, and they did not return until after twelve. Which leads me to Covenant Breaking: the horrendous fact that I did not post yesterday. The horror! The horror!

Below, you will find the poem for yesterday. As Vivienne so fashionably revealed to you, Dear Reader, the FaOuLiPoWriMoFa (Fashionable OuLiPo Writing Month of Fashion) assignment / OuLiPoAss (OuLiPo Assignment) for yesterday evening was to find potential for literature in the worst poem we wrote in graduate school through the Most Fashionable Restriction of Fashion, Haikuization. As penance for the unfashionable tardiness of this poem, Most Fashionable Reader, I will — and I cannot believe I am doing this — post the original poem. You may find this horrendously unfashionable poem by clicking here. I am going to remove the horrendously unfashionable poem as soon as I wake up Monday morning.

Room

[goodbye, godawful haikuization of godawful graduate school poem!]

I say it in a whisper, I say it as a prayer. LOWENSTEIN! LOWENSTEIN!

The composing of Zelda’s poemlogue was interrupted this evening by a most fashionable phone call. This phone call of fashion, however, did not begin as such. In fact, it began as a phone call of despair. My most fashionable friend D, on location for a Most Fashionable Wedding, called me late this evening to say that he was lost, that he was near a bridge, that he had no idea how to get to the airport to pick up his friend who had just flown in from Japan, that he had no idea how to get from the airport back to his hotel. Being as I was sitting in front of my computer with Walt Whitman in one hand and a ginger ale in the other (as I am most Friday nights, but this does not cause me sorrow, does not cause me sorrow at all), I was able to help D find his way. Hooray for D! Hooray! Hooray!

But! Dearest Reader. The story does not end there. If you remember, D was near a bridge when he first called. Yes, yes. And, Dearest, Most Fashionable Reader, this was not any bridge. No, no, no. It was the bridge. It was the Cooper River Bridge, the bridge Tom Wingo drives across at the end of The Prince of Tides, the bridge on which he says two words in a whisper, as a prayer, as regret, as praise, the bridge on which Tom Wingo says these two words: Lowenstein. Lowenstein.

[Let us pause for a moment while Zelda wipes a tear from her eye.]

Lowenstein, of course, being Barbara Streisand’s most fashionable character in the movie adaptation of The Prince of Tides.

Now, careful followers of bridge demolitions around the United States will know that the bridge D was near when he called me (and the bridge he and his friend from the airport crossed later, the bridge from which D and his friend cried out two special words in whispers and prayers while still on the phone with me as per my request) is not the actual bridge Tom Wingo crossed, being as Tom Wingo’s bridge was demolished a few years ago. The bridge pictured above is the present-day Cooper River Bridge.

I have posted a video below of the demolition of Tom Wingo’s bridge. This has a Very Special Meaning to me. For the bridge in the video below is not only Tom Wingo’s bridge — it is also the bridge which instilled in me a Great Fear of Bridges. The bridge below is the reason I still, to this day, roll down all my windows when crossing any bridge. The bridge below is the reason I keep a Very Special Tool within arm’s length in my car at all times, a Very Special tool that will shatter a car window quite easily if aforementioned car happens to become completely submerged in water. Not only is Tom Wingo’s bridge Tom Wingo’s bridge, but it is also the Bridge of Great Fear.

Oh yeah! The poem! For tonight’s OuLiPo Poem of Fashion, I have created a Chimera. My primary text was an exerpt from The Badass Girl’s Guide to Poker by Toby Leah Bochan. I removed its nouns, verbs, adjectives, and proper names. I replaced the nouns with nouns from Chapter Eight of the 1997 edition of Contemporary Business by Louis E. Boone and David L. Kurtz. I replaced the primary text’s verbs with verbs from Recipe for Murder: The Nancy Drew Files Case 21 by Carolyn Keene. I inserted adjectives from Whitman’s “Song of Myself” into the primary text, and I used biblical proper names.

Irretrievable

[yeah, the pome is irretrievable, betches!]

Zelda’s Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Evening

This evening has been a Very Bad Evening for Zelda. It started out most fabulously with a fabulously fashionable convee with the Most Fashionable Vivienne. Then it continued with a wonderful convee with D. D happens to be going to his best friend’s wedding this weekend. And D happens to be preparing a toast for said wedding’s rehearsal dinner. And D was kind enough to share said toast with Zelda. And Zelda will reveal that it was a Most Wonderful Toast, full of wit, charm, and — best of all — sincerity. Zelda will reveal that D read aforementioned toast perfectly. And, as her head hangs low and her cheeks burn with shame, Zelda will also reveal that she teared up whilst listening to D read aforementioned toast. And, as her head hangs so low that it hits the floor and her cheeks burn deep scarlet, Zelda will whisper to you, Dear Reader, her most Shameful Secret of the Evening: Zelda had a breakdown after she finished her conversation with D.

Zelda can think of no logical reason for this breakdown. Zelda is not bitter. Zelda does not feel sorry for herself. Zelda is not exceedingly depressed. Since she has broken up with her husband, Zelda has had many conversations with many people about many, many weddings, and Zelda has had no breakdowns as a result of said conversations. Zelda, in fact, wishes all of these new and soon-to-be husbands and wives great happiness for the duration of their lives, and Zelda is being completely sincere when she says this.

Zelda is quite perplexed. Zelda does not understand these things called feelings. Zelda wishes they would go away, for she cannot identify them.

Onward!

For this FaOulipoWriMoFa entry, Zelda has created her own exercise and used the first nine lines of Adelaide Anne Proctor’s “A Legend of Provence” as her core text (Zelda had grand visions of using the 336-line poem in its entirety as her core text, but even if she hadn’t had her Exceedingly Unfashionable Breakdown, she doubts she could have done this, but she shall use her Exceedingly Unfashionable Breakdown as an excuse nonetheless). She has blended random lines from Charles Bukowski’s “lack of almost everything” and “no. 6” with the first nine lines of Procter’s poem. She has changed verb tenses when necessary.

Lack of a Legend

[is gone to the races, betches!]

Fashionable Poem Prompt / Poem Prompt of Fashion — Prompt Seven

Ah, high school! That bitter pill! That handful of dust!

Since Episode 407 of Project Runway dealt with high school students, the following Fashionable Poem Prompt / Poem Prompt of Fashion was inspired by the emotions one experienced while in high school. For this poet, there were two: one being love, and the other being hate. And since love, that day-glo cotton candy field in which unicorns and kittens pranced and frolicked, so often devolved into the nuclear winter landscape smeared with ash and char that is better known as hate, “love” and “hate” play a very important role in the following Fashionable Poem Prompt / Poem Prompt of Fashion. We decided to appropriate the angsty emo-girl that Vivienne used in an earlier Fashionable Post / Post of Fashion into this prompt’s Graphic of Fashion because, really: doesn’t she say it all?

Prompt Seven — “Love + Hate = Angst of the Poet,” inspired by Episode 407 of Project Runway, in which the designers were teamed up with high school girls and their mothers and told to design the teenagers’ prom dresses while following instructions from the teenagers and warnings from their mothers.

The poet will construct a poem the length of her choosing. Each poem, however, must begin with a noun, verb, or phrase of love and end with a noun, verb, or phrase of hate. Enjambment is encouraged. The Hyacinth Girls have fashionably provided for you, Dear Reader, a PDF file containing seventy-five (75) nouns, verbs, and phrases of love and seventy-five (75) nouns, verbs, and phrases of hate. To view this PDF file, click here, or click on the image to the left.

Just you try to hold me down. Come on, try to shut me up.

My dearest, most fashionable reader: the intensity of NaPoWriMoFa (National Poetry Writing Month of Fashion) has caught me deep within its clutches. I have been sweating profusely at night for over a week — embarrassingly profusely, humiliatingly profusely. I can no longer trust myself or my emotions. I feel as if I am lost within the caverns of my own brain with gaping abysses on either side. Yes, dearest reader, being immersed in the process of poetry twenty-four hours a day for almost a month has taken its toll.

Take any of the women’s faces pictured here, dear reader (from The Blair Witch Project, The Ring, The Descent, and Event Horizon, respectively), and superimpose her emotion onto my face, and you will have a good idea of what my face has looked like during wakefulness as well as slumber this Terrifyingly Beautiful Month of April.

But please! Do not worry about my state of being, for those of you who know me also know that I tend to lean toward the fashionably (melo)dramatic whenever possible. It’s for the sake of the story, dear readers. It’s all for the sake of the story. And what a most fabulous story it is, dear readers! What a most fabulous story it is! Once again, I thank Most Fashionable Vivienne for inviting me to take part in this endeavor with her, and I also thank her for believing in my sanity. Thank you, Most Fashionable Vivienne. Thank you.

Though this month has been terrifyingly exhausting at times (and also, at times, just terrifying), it has also been incredibly, incredibly beautiful. There has been no pushing poetry aside for, say, Intervention marathons, America’s Next Top Model marathons, Law and Order: CI marathons, etc., etc. There has been the writing of the poems AND Intervention marathons, America’s Next Top Model marathons, Law and Order: CI marathons, etc., etc. I have found that poetry and television can coexist! O happy day! O happy, happy, fabulously fashionable day!

Serenata

You can’t [read the rest of this poem, betches! it’s gone!]

Come on be a liar. My dress is the prettiest!

Most Fashionable Reader: perhaps you noticed that I did not post a poem yesterday. The horror! The horror! I used my Free Day Pass — though one can get into a lot of trouble with a free day pass. I recently heard a story of a woman who received a day pass from an institution, and during her free day, she a) rented a car; b) bought a wedding dress; c) drove over 300 miles to a ferry landing; d) took the ferry to an island, and while on the ferry, got other passengers to help her into her wedding gown; and e) went to the chapel on the island where she was purportedly going to meet her groom, a man she hadn’t seen in over fifteen years. I won’t bore you with the rest of the story, but I will say that no one ever saw hide or hair of this groom, and I will say that the police were involved at some point.

Speaking of madness, I happened upon this video today. The name of the song is “Lenore’s Song,” and it’s a response to, well, Poe’s Lenore, and the video is frightfully delicious. Think The Ring, The Shining, Friday the 13th Part I, Donnie Darko, Heathers, Carrie, and The Sixth Sense all smashed together.

Paradise

[is a place where this poem will never appear again!]