h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

at the moment, this is vhat i vant to read (note: vant. not should. ):
wicked by gregory maguire
terry pratchett stuff
douglas adams stuff
not about nightingales by tennessee williams
battle of angels by tennessee williams
cat on a hot tin roof by tennessee williams (yes i currently like his stuff a lot)
lemony ricketts stuff
george macdonald stuff
plath poetry
emily dickinson poetry
possibly ann sexton poetry. if i come across something of hers that appeals to me.

these are probably just temporary preferences.
they are vhat i vant to read, not vhat i think i should read.
vhat i think i should read is a whole different and longer list.
(yes i compiled a list of very good books to read last year. and i add to it vhen i come across other good books too. )

anyvay. i have tried to vrite poetry again. my poor lousy attempts. (as compared to my clever mentored friends' poetry. )
and i actually did a 'you/she' poem. (usually they're all 'you/i' poems. )
anyvay. here it is. (for your cruel amusement, as someone i know might say. )



she came to you in the thick folds of the night
steadily, purposefully,
knowing-innocence in her face
(did you think she was a celestial child descended from the heavens?)

only to ask you, only to ask you
to make a miracle of her
to sculpture her to perfection
(to mould her to be your golden reflection whenever you gazed at her shimmering eyes?)

she knelt before you bearing humility in her body
presented her soul to you
tenderly laid on tearfully-softened tinsel
(did you wonder whether she was sweetly playing with your mind then?)

wistfully whispered what she wanted, breath brushing against your ears
touched you once, twice
fingertips tracing the outline of your shamed secrets
(were you too lost in her smile to heal her soul?)

both of you, cradled in each other's thoughts
where you met and dreamed, perceived and bled
from invisible wounds inflicted by the single madness that
both she and you crafted and created

consumed by a terrible, sinful desire
driven by the hopelessness of the reality you saw in
merged, multicoloured visions
that you later broke, shattered and threw
onto the ground so that they lay strewn
like forgotten glass rainbows, melting
in the night's rain that pelted down
in bitter streams, almost like tears of a saddened god.

you crushed her butterfly-arms and
crumpled her fluttering white dress
and you wondered why they
flapped so uselessly in the gale
that tore down your mindless weaknesses
and dressed her, a deflowered
dead lady
in scentless, scattered brown-tinged flowers

you carried her to the mortuary

alive and sullen in your angry misery
deserted her there
her first words ringing in your
stinging eyes -

m a k e a n a n g e l o u t o f m e . . .