cassandra-said-i-told-you-so

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little decay I

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lead me astray

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one thing that i cannot emphasize enough… the Latin word culter, which i have translated as “blade,” is the word for a utility knife.

it might have looked like this:

Lucretia, according to Livy, killed herself with the Roman equivalent of A BOXCUTTER

Artemisia Gentileschi, Lucretia, 1627

“The blade, which she had kept hidden under her gown, she then plunged into her heart, and she fell, collapsing onto her wound and dying.”

Livy, Ab Urbe Condita 1.58

(original translation)

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and they do not let me stay, and they do not let me leave

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Artemisia Gentileschi, Lucretia, 1627

“The blade, which she had kept hidden under her gown, she then plunged into her heart, and she fell, collapsing onto her wound and dying.”

Livy, Ab Urbe Condita 1.58

(original translation)

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Joseph Mallord William Turner, Vesuvius in Eruption, 1817-20

“The shuddering black cloud, broken up by twisting, trembling dispersions of fiery air, ruptured into long streaks of flame, both similar to and greater than lightning bolts.”

— Pliny the Younger, to Tacitus

(original translation)

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nocte et sole.

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Persephone’s Leftovers, 2021

acrylic on canvas

(original artwork)

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Sappho, excerpt from Fragment 94

(translated by Anne Carson), If Not, Winter

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posting my writing exercise before i chicken out about sharing it…

text in photo:

~

In an Old Barn

(writing exercise, titled in post)

Now, why would you do that?

why would you leave me

for the dirt

and the rot

and the fingers

and the worms?

The beam finally breaks,

scattering dust.

The wood in splintered bits

falls in my mouth wide.

Now, why would you do that?

The birds’ nests in the rafters

are not so safe now.

The nettles and the bees

and the leaves and the trees

all bow to the wasps’ nest

still high in the air.

The rafters, the rafters…

The beam already has broken.

The rest shall go soon.

Birds’ nests in them.

Wasps’ nest

still high in the air.

~

i often practice expression and idea generation by writing brief, stream-of-consciousness pieces. no pausing, no thinking, no restrictions, just writing. i never know exactly what i will write about, but i often abstractly title each piece after i finish and reread.

the appeal of these exercises as works is their rawness.

i don’t usually share them publicly, but this one felt special.

~

i was listening to Famous Last Words (An Ode to Eaters) when i wrote this one, so i believe that stunning song deserves some credit here.

[cassandra-said-i-told-you-so]

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Camilla In a Pause, original work

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wreckage.

Notus.

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Sappho, Fragment 96

(translated by Anne Carson, If Not Winter)

Sylvia Plath, “Elm”

Moonlight, A Study at Millbank by Joseph Mallord William Turner

Mitski, “Happy”

French-English and English-French Vest Pocket Dictionary

Emily Brontë, “Moonlight, Summer Moonlight”

Barmouth Moonlight by Christopher Williams

Billie Marten, “La Lune”

(original)

i’m in love with the moon

[cassandra-said-i-told-you-so]

Sappho, Fragment 34

(translated by Anne Carson), If Not Winter