Saturday, October 27, 2012
The Lingerie Book at the Shabbos Table
It goes with me wherever I go. It sits on my bookshelf, patiently, waiting to be opened, trying not to grow jealous of the siddur, whose pages smile up at me on a daily basis. What is it? A history of lingerie, by Giles Neret. The title is "100 Desous", because everyone knows French is sexy. So there I am, barefoot, balancing wine and eggplant in the Jerusalem wind that floats through the open window, as we finger the book gently, passing it from palm to palm like a ritual object - this history of the rituals of dressing and undressing. "I don't think men care about underwear, they care about getting it off." "You have to know how to make a woman feel special - it's the key to her heart - and her pants." "When I was shomeret...."
The advice and confessions seep out of us, like wine spilling from a glass, and I wonder if it is the book or the inebriation. Some would say I have defaned the Sabbath, to have chanted the prayers contained in the lace panties that line these pages. But I would argue I have sanctified the day, to make it holy: This pleasure, the twining and untwining of our bodies, your palms on my thighs. "A pleasure He called the shabbat." Let me fill your glass; let us kiss slowly. When I taste the wine on your tongue, I will think of winds blowing on tree-trunks, and call you to the pleasure of my body.
Amen.
Thursday, October 25, 2012
Have you forgotten how to cry?
Today I saw pomegranates lying on asphalt, their red seed-flesh spilling out of skins that remind me of crowns, or palms perhaps, cupping - what - gently? Gold, pearls, water, thighs. Lists of words and images ransack my brain, leaving only the debris - memories of nights when I felt you between my thighs, and other such trash, really much better to throw it out and leave it for the cats to mangle when they look for their supper. But the word mangle makes me tremble, and do I really want their claws on our moldy nights, rotten and crunchy like stale bread? (A redundancy, you would tell me.) No, much better to leave those crumbs inside, trying not to taste their - what? It's not bitterness exactly - a certain saltiness, perhaps, mixed with the wistfulness and sadness of the sea, who cries at night. Does she cry for me, the way they say God cries for his people? Does she imagine putting her salty waves on my palms, caressing my - (you always told me I overused the word "thighs") shoulderblades? Does she? Do you?
Thursday, October 4, 2012
This is what happens when I have too much coffee and don't feel like finishing my novel.
Anger courses through my veins like a cordial.
I would rather get drunk on love or sex,
though anger is a component of those -
at least, the Marquis de Sade tells me so.
I read the Marquis de Sade, drunkenly, on the floor:
Your lips were crawling into my earbuds like lizards,
and your hand was picking my vines.
I was a stalk, falling off of a stone castle,
like in those Disney cartoons,
where the princesses braid their hair
and forget to be afraid.
But I have not forgotten:
I weave you through my tresses,
feel your lips in my fingers,
knees on a bed of down,
curled over poetry books like rotten petals.
You used to love flowers - I could count our nights
in the wilted lillies on my pillow,
a lace of purple petals -
Will you use purple, when you paint my tears?
Actually, I was thinking of cream, or maybe a nice shade of eggplant. It can't be yellow, since I already used that to paint your fears. Maybe strawberry? Is that even a color - strawberry? Or is it just a fruit? I suppose I'll paint your hair first, a nice shade of chesnut, and see what goes with that. If chestnut is a color, strawberry should be a color, don't you think? Anyhow, I think cream will go well with the yellow of your fears.
I would rather get drunk on love or sex,
though anger is a component of those -
at least, the Marquis de Sade tells me so.
I read the Marquis de Sade, drunkenly, on the floor:
Your lips were crawling into my earbuds like lizards,
and your hand was picking my vines.
I was a stalk, falling off of a stone castle,
like in those Disney cartoons,
where the princesses braid their hair
and forget to be afraid.
But I have not forgotten:
I weave you through my tresses,
feel your lips in my fingers,
knees on a bed of down,
curled over poetry books like rotten petals.
You used to love flowers - I could count our nights
in the wilted lillies on my pillow,
a lace of purple petals -
Will you use purple, when you paint my tears?
Actually, I was thinking of cream, or maybe a nice shade of eggplant. It can't be yellow, since I already used that to paint your fears. Maybe strawberry? Is that even a color - strawberry? Or is it just a fruit? I suppose I'll paint your hair first, a nice shade of chesnut, and see what goes with that. If chestnut is a color, strawberry should be a color, don't you think? Anyhow, I think cream will go well with the yellow of your fears.
Lust. Anger - playing around with the ending
Anger courses through my veins like a cordial.
I would rather get drunk on love or sex,
though anger is a component of those -
at least, the Marquis de Sade tells me so.
I read the Marquis de Sade, drunkenly, on the floor:
Your lips were crawling into my earbuds like lizards,
and your hand was picking my vines.
I was a stalk, falling off of a stone castle,
like in those Disney cartoons,
where the princesses braid their hair
and forget to be afraid.
But I have not forgotten:
I weave you through my tresses,
feel your lips in my fingers,
knees on a bed of down,
curled over poetry books like rotten petals.
You used to love flowers - I could count our nights
in the wilted lillies on my pillow,
a lace of purple petals - is it purple, the color of my tears,
or will you use a shade of cream, or maybe yellow?
I will use the same color in which I paint your fears.
I would rather get drunk on love or sex,
though anger is a component of those -
at least, the Marquis de Sade tells me so.
I read the Marquis de Sade, drunkenly, on the floor:
Your lips were crawling into my earbuds like lizards,
and your hand was picking my vines.
I was a stalk, falling off of a stone castle,
like in those Disney cartoons,
where the princesses braid their hair
and forget to be afraid.
But I have not forgotten:
I weave you through my tresses,
feel your lips in my fingers,
knees on a bed of down,
curled over poetry books like rotten petals.
You used to love flowers - I could count our nights
in the wilted lillies on my pillow,
a lace of purple petals - is it purple, the color of my tears,
or will you use a shade of cream, or maybe yellow?
I will use the same color in which I paint your fears.
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
Jeremiah 20 (Fairy Tale)
"So Pashhur bound God's messenger in chains, and kept him in a dungeon overnight. When they brought Jeremiah out in the morning, mice had gnawed through his rags. His hair hung down in clumps over his tired eyelids.
"How have you faired, o lowly one?"
"Lowly one, you call me? God has told me that lowered shall be your name, when the dogs lick your remains in dust-filled streets."
"Do you duel with me now? Have you forgotten you have no sword?"
"Letters are sharper than steel's blade."
Pashhur laughed. "Let this man go.", he said. So Jeremiah stumbled away, yet he knew that he would continue to proclaim God's word, for his soul was bound to God's soul, as lovers were bound together by a kiss."
"You skipped something Mommy! Did you skip something?"
"We'll continue the story tomorrow", she says, bending down to give her daughter a kiss. She turns out the lights on her way out, leaving the seashell-shaped nightlamp to illuminate her daughter's dreaming.
When her work is done and the laptop has been put to sleep, she pours herself a cup of coffee and reads over the skipped paragraph.
"But later that night, Jeremiah cried. "Cursed is the day I was born, that I am born for such a task. Why must my heart burn with His fire? I tell myself I will speak no more of His words, but even as I mouth the letters, I feel the flames rekindling, the prophecy filling the spaces between my teeth. Sing to the Lord, who is with me as a mighty warrior, to shield me from the enemies who would raid my hearth."
Then he made himself a cup of coffee."
As she took a sip of coffee, she reassued herself that she had made the right decision: Why should she force her daughter to face the moment of disillusionment, when the hero turns out to be human?
"How have you faired, o lowly one?"
"Lowly one, you call me? God has told me that lowered shall be your name, when the dogs lick your remains in dust-filled streets."
"Do you duel with me now? Have you forgotten you have no sword?"
"Letters are sharper than steel's blade."
Pashhur laughed. "Let this man go.", he said. So Jeremiah stumbled away, yet he knew that he would continue to proclaim God's word, for his soul was bound to God's soul, as lovers were bound together by a kiss."
"You skipped something Mommy! Did you skip something?"
"We'll continue the story tomorrow", she says, bending down to give her daughter a kiss. She turns out the lights on her way out, leaving the seashell-shaped nightlamp to illuminate her daughter's dreaming.
When her work is done and the laptop has been put to sleep, she pours herself a cup of coffee and reads over the skipped paragraph.
"But later that night, Jeremiah cried. "Cursed is the day I was born, that I am born for such a task. Why must my heart burn with His fire? I tell myself I will speak no more of His words, but even as I mouth the letters, I feel the flames rekindling, the prophecy filling the spaces between my teeth. Sing to the Lord, who is with me as a mighty warrior, to shield me from the enemies who would raid my hearth."
Then he made himself a cup of coffee."
As she took a sip of coffee, she reassued herself that she had made the right decision: Why should she force her daughter to face the moment of disillusionment, when the hero turns out to be human?
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
On quotes and editing
Much of the italics in "Corruption" drafts are paraphrases from Genesis, chapter 3.
Here are some quotes I paraphrase:
3:1 "1 Now the serpent was more subtle than any beast of the field which the LORD God had made. And he said unto the woman: 'Yea, hath God said: Ye shall not eat of any tree of the garden?""
3:6 "And when the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was a delight to the eyes, and that the tree was to be desired to make one wise, she took of the fruit thereof, and did eat; and she gave also unto her husband with her, and he did eat."
3:11 " And He said: 'Who told thee that thou wast naked? Hast thou eaten of the tree, whereof I commanded thee that thou shouldest not eat".
A note on grapes: There are exegetes who say the forbidden fruit Eve ate from was a grape. Some say it was a fig. The rabbinic claim is that God did not say which fruit it was, because He did not want to embarrass the fruit, that people would despise it and say, "through you we were exiled from the garden". God's sensitivity towards inanimate objects that cause strife, shows a lot both about how the rabbis perceived God, and about the values that they thought were worthy for people to emulate. (Of course, God has no gender, but English has no gender-neutral pronoun!).
A lot of my take on Genesis is influenced by Rashi. Although my piece is called "Corruption" the concept of Eve as corrupter of mankind, as portrayed in current Western culture, has much more to do with medieval Christian theology than with Judaism, but that's a discussion for a different time.
I wish I had an editor, both because, while obviously, a large part of me really wants cheerleaders for my work, another part of me recognizes that constructive criticism is probably a good thing, and because there are "minor" things, like whether to use "clings" or "clinging" in "Corruption" or "how" or "that" in my Jeremiah 19 piece, that I think it would be good to get some input about from a reader. Instead, I wind up agonizing and usually do nothing. I think the same way we must overcome intertia in our physical lives, there is perhaps a little bit of that creatively: there has to be enough of a motivation for you to change the word, for it to be worth it. You have a block of stone, and you don't want to wreck it by being too heavy with the chisel.
Here are some quotes I paraphrase:
3:1 "1 Now the serpent was more subtle than any beast of the field which the LORD God had made. And he said unto the woman: 'Yea, hath God said: Ye shall not eat of any tree of the garden?""
3:6 "And when the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was a delight to the eyes, and that the tree was to be desired to make one wise, she took of the fruit thereof, and did eat; and she gave also unto her husband with her, and he did eat."
3:11 " And He said: 'Who told thee that thou wast naked? Hast thou eaten of the tree, whereof I commanded thee that thou shouldest not eat".
A note on grapes: There are exegetes who say the forbidden fruit Eve ate from was a grape. Some say it was a fig. The rabbinic claim is that God did not say which fruit it was, because He did not want to embarrass the fruit, that people would despise it and say, "through you we were exiled from the garden". God's sensitivity towards inanimate objects that cause strife, shows a lot both about how the rabbis perceived God, and about the values that they thought were worthy for people to emulate. (Of course, God has no gender, but English has no gender-neutral pronoun!).
A lot of my take on Genesis is influenced by Rashi. Although my piece is called "Corruption" the concept of Eve as corrupter of mankind, as portrayed in current Western culture, has much more to do with medieval Christian theology than with Judaism, but that's a discussion for a different time.
I wish I had an editor, both because, while obviously, a large part of me really wants cheerleaders for my work, another part of me recognizes that constructive criticism is probably a good thing, and because there are "minor" things, like whether to use "clings" or "clinging" in "Corruption" or "how" or "that" in my Jeremiah 19 piece, that I think it would be good to get some input about from a reader. Instead, I wind up agonizing and usually do nothing. I think the same way we must overcome intertia in our physical lives, there is perhaps a little bit of that creatively: there has to be enough of a motivation for you to change the word, for it to be worth it. You have a block of stone, and you don't want to wreck it by being too heavy with the chisel.
Corruption 3?
How
do we know it wasn't Eve who tempted the serpent? She was asking for
it, standing there with her nakedness, her breasts like ripe plums, and
when she climbed the apple-tree, he could see between her legs, her
cunt-hairs growing like a godammed forest.
Her hands slither down his thighs.
What choice did he have, with her skin glowing in front of him like that? Does a petal shy away from the moonlight?
"Oh God oh!"
"Don't -"
Breaths interlace with silence.
Besides, plums were his favorite fruit, so who could blame him for eating the ones between her branches? (The feel of their purple against his tongue mixed with the scent of apples as he slithered his way through the thicket that grew between her thighs.)
Has God told you not to eat from any fruits of the garden? Has he forbidden the nibble of this ear, the kiss on this thigh?
They could feel the grapes beneath their feet, then on their fingers.
She saw that the tree was good to eat, a desire to the eyes, and pleasant to give wisdom, so amid wordless voices, she bound her body to his, like a fruit clinging to a vine.
He kissed her with a grape between his lips. When she pulled apart, he could hear the crunching of her teeth, the soft sound her throat made when she swallowed.
Have you eaten from the tree, when I commanded you not to?
It was only when they heard the voice of God, that they knew they were naked; because they had climbed higher than angels, God exiled them from the garden.
In a flash of saphire, they are borne by the wings of their thighs.
Or is she just drunk from his wine?
Her hands slither down his thighs.
What choice did he have, with her skin glowing in front of him like that? Does a petal shy away from the moonlight?
"Oh God oh!"
"Don't -"
Breaths interlace with silence.
Besides, plums were his favorite fruit, so who could blame him for eating the ones between her branches? (The feel of their purple against his tongue mixed with the scent of apples as he slithered his way through the thicket that grew between her thighs.)
Has God told you not to eat from any fruits of the garden? Has he forbidden the nibble of this ear, the kiss on this thigh?
They could feel the grapes beneath their feet, then on their fingers.
She saw that the tree was good to eat, a desire to the eyes, and pleasant to give wisdom, so amid wordless voices, she bound her body to his, like a fruit clinging to a vine.
He kissed her with a grape between his lips. When she pulled apart, he could hear the crunching of her teeth, the soft sound her throat made when she swallowed.
Have you eaten from the tree, when I commanded you not to?
It was only when they heard the voice of God, that they knew they were naked; because they had climbed higher than angels, God exiled them from the garden.
In a flash of saphire, they are borne by the wings of their thighs.
Or is she just drunk from his wine?
Corruption 2
"It's too sexy".
"I'm nineteen!"
She can hear the pout in his voice.
How do we know it wasn't Eve who tempted the serpent? She was asking for it, standing there with her nakedness, her breasts like ripe plums, and when she climbed the apple-tree, he could see between her legs, her cunt-hairs growing like a godammed forest.
Her hands slither down his thighs.
What choice did he have, with her skin glowing in front of him like that? Does a petal shy away from the moonlight?
"Oh God oh God"
"Don't -"
Breaths interlace with silence.
Besides, plums were his favorite fruit, so who could blame him for eating the ones between her branches? (The feel of their purple against his tongue mixed with the scent of apples as he slithered his way through the thicket that grew between her thighs.)
Has God told you not to eat from any fruits of the garden? Has he forbidden the nibble of this ear, the kiss on this thigh?
They could feel the grapes beneath their feet, then on their fingers.
She saw that the tree was good to eat, a desire to the eyes, and pleasant to give wisdom, so amid wordless voices, she bound her body to his, like a fruit clinging to a vine.
He kissed her with a grape between his lips. When she pulled apart, he could hear the crunching of her teeth, the soft sound her throat made when she swallowed.
Have you eaten from the tree, when I commanded you not to?
It was only when they heard the voice of God, that they knew they were naked; because they had climbed higher than the angels, God exiled them from the garden.
In a flash of saphire, they are borne by the wings of their thighs.
Or is she just drunk from his wine?
"I'm nineteen!"
She can hear the pout in his voice.
How do we know it wasn't Eve who tempted the serpent? She was asking for it, standing there with her nakedness, her breasts like ripe plums, and when she climbed the apple-tree, he could see between her legs, her cunt-hairs growing like a godammed forest.
Her hands slither down his thighs.
What choice did he have, with her skin glowing in front of him like that? Does a petal shy away from the moonlight?
"Oh God oh God"
"Don't -"
Breaths interlace with silence.
Besides, plums were his favorite fruit, so who could blame him for eating the ones between her branches? (The feel of their purple against his tongue mixed with the scent of apples as he slithered his way through the thicket that grew between her thighs.)
Has God told you not to eat from any fruits of the garden? Has he forbidden the nibble of this ear, the kiss on this thigh?
They could feel the grapes beneath their feet, then on their fingers.
She saw that the tree was good to eat, a desire to the eyes, and pleasant to give wisdom, so amid wordless voices, she bound her body to his, like a fruit clinging to a vine.
He kissed her with a grape between his lips. When she pulled apart, he could hear the crunching of her teeth, the soft sound her throat made when she swallowed.
Have you eaten from the tree, when I commanded you not to?
It was only when they heard the voice of God, that they knew they were naked; because they had climbed higher than the angels, God exiled them from the garden.
In a flash of saphire, they are borne by the wings of their thighs.
Or is she just drunk from his wine?
Corruption
"It's too sexy".
"I'm nineteen!"
She can hear the pout in his voice.
How do we know it wasn't Eve who tempted the serpent? She was asking for it, standing there with her nakedness, her breasts like ripe plums, and when she climbed the apple-tree, he could see between her legs, her cunt-hairs growing like a godammed forest.
Her hands slither down his thighs.
What choice did he have, with her skin glowing in front of him like that? Does the petal shy away from the light of the moon?
"Oh God oh God"
"Don't - Oh -"
Breaths interlace with silence.
Besides, plums were his favorite fruit, so who could blame him for eating the ones between her branches? (The feel of their purple against his tongue mixed with the scent of apples as he slithered his way through the thicket that grew between her thighs.)
Has God told you not to eat from any fruits of the garden? Has he forbidden the nibble of this ear, the kiss on this thigh?
They could feel the grapes beneath their feet, then on their fingers. He placed one between his lips, and kissed her. When she pulled apart; he could hear the crunching of her teeth, the soft sound her throat made when she swallowed.
Have you eaten from the tree, when I commanded you not to? But she saw the that the tree was good to eat, a desire to the eyes, and pleasant to grow wise from, so amid wordless voices, she bound her body to his, like a fruit clinging to a vine.
It was only when they heard the voice of God, that they knew they were naked; because they had climbed higher than the angels, God exiled them from the garden.
They are borne by the wings of their thighs, in a flash of saphire. Or is she just drunk from his wine?
"I'm nineteen!"
She can hear the pout in his voice.
How do we know it wasn't Eve who tempted the serpent? She was asking for it, standing there with her nakedness, her breasts like ripe plums, and when she climbed the apple-tree, he could see between her legs, her cunt-hairs growing like a godammed forest.
Her hands slither down his thighs.
What choice did he have, with her skin glowing in front of him like that? Does the petal shy away from the light of the moon?
"Oh God oh God"
"Don't - Oh -"
Breaths interlace with silence.
Besides, plums were his favorite fruit, so who could blame him for eating the ones between her branches? (The feel of their purple against his tongue mixed with the scent of apples as he slithered his way through the thicket that grew between her thighs.)
Has God told you not to eat from any fruits of the garden? Has he forbidden the nibble of this ear, the kiss on this thigh?
They could feel the grapes beneath their feet, then on their fingers. He placed one between his lips, and kissed her. When she pulled apart; he could hear the crunching of her teeth, the soft sound her throat made when she swallowed.
Have you eaten from the tree, when I commanded you not to? But she saw the that the tree was good to eat, a desire to the eyes, and pleasant to grow wise from, so amid wordless voices, she bound her body to his, like a fruit clinging to a vine.
It was only when they heard the voice of God, that they knew they were naked; because they had climbed higher than the angels, God exiled them from the garden.
They are borne by the wings of their thighs, in a flash of saphire. Or is she just drunk from his wine?
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