Paul Verlaine’s mother kept her miscarried fetuses in jars. Three of them. While this seems disturbing (with just a dash of Little Shop of Horrors kitschy charm) but not as much as his smashing them all when he attacked her in 1869.
Was it good for her to finally have those reminders of death and biological failure gone? Did it free her at all from that pain? Was that freedom marred by newfound hatred of her surviving son for killing his preserved brothers?
And, in other news, I had my second shift at the Cafe Bella today, the best Mediterranean food I've found outside of the Mediterranean with a curiously Iranian owner named Ali (pronounced like Jasmine's nickname for Aladdin in Disney's Aladdin). It's pleasant enough, but has no real challenge. Luckily I just landed an interview at a law office for, yes, their secretary.
7 comments:
Is this news about Paul Verlaine at all related to your haiku? So far your blog has a theme of propagation. You should see how long you can keep it up!
haha, I didn't even notice that.
Your mom has a theme of propagation.
That's an interesting factoid about Verlaine. Here I thought he just drank absinthe and seduced teenage boys. Little did I know his mom was a bit, you know.
kids are yuck.
you wanted to know email addresses and things:
steph.rinehart@gmail.com
and i'm blogging here too! coz i miss you dudes.
applewagoneer.blogspot.com
Aladdin is the shit. Write that down.
Oh yeah, how did your interview go??
Post a Comment