Thursday, January 26, 2012
Today, someone found my blog by googleing "i seldom kill people."
This morning, within the space of five minutes, my scale weighed me at (in order):
Apparently it was a very eventful five minutes. This is unusual, and worries me, because even though I know my scale is cheap and therefore not entirely accurate, I don't like to think about it making mistakes. And this is so clearly a mistake. (I decided, of course, to write down 208.6 pounds.)
I have a sketch for my tattoo. It brings me joy. The layout and a lot of the decisions were taken from old Navy tattoos (not to be confused with Old Navy tattoos), and the tattoo artist has worked on nearly everyone I know in Iowa City. I feel like this is my grounding tattoo, my connection to other things. To history, of sorts, because there are traditions I am referencing, to my home in Iowa City, to my body, because I feel as if I am claiming it. I am decorating, therefore I am moving in, for real, and not just passing through.
I have decided against the Ansay quote. It resonates with me, but isn't something I want to focus on. On the other hand, I am quite pleased by the poem. I like that it's odd, and it even feels a bit irreverent, although I'm not sure I could explain why. I like the idea of it, celebrating unexpected beauty, celebrating the now. I've never thought "this is my favorite poem," but I've remembered it for the 13 or so years since I first read it, and I always enjoy it when I go back to it. When I first thought, "hey, let's think about text, what poems do I like?" It was the first that came to mind. I mean, I like Plath, I like her a lot. I think she does amazing things with language. But I am not going to get a Sylvia Plath tattoo.
I think that I would put each stanza on a leg, starting at the back of my thigh and moving down. It means that one leg will have more than the other, and I like that. I think that one should have an illustration, something with an oval border, a tree in a meadow. Something like a John R. Neill illustration. (Oz wouldn't be the same without him.)