Wednesday, 3 December 2014

Winter Sun/December Flower: Internet and Immortality



I tug out pieces of my hair when I'm on my laptop. I write supposedly useful things on mental health when I am on my laptop. The internet feels both very fleeting and very permanent, it is both shaky and solid, hosting can crash and you can lose bookmarked images, whilst other images, embarrassing ones, leaked ones, can stay floating in cyber space for all eternity like bugs in chemicals in jars. like foetuses in chemicals in jars. I post read mores bout killing myself that may last longer than I do. These contradictions slot in nicely, I am both widely ambitious and worryingly self destructive. (I was the special ed kid who was planning their Nobel prize acceptance speech aged 11!) I owe much to my (white) foremothers, to authors like Sylvia P, but I refuse them credit. I am greedy. I am an only child, I suppose I do not like to share! Least of all with the privileged upper classes! I have no intention of resuscitating Ophelia, I wish to drown Millais' ghastly, ghostly Ophelia! I would rather see bubbles than lilies! I am so protective of women like Elizabeth Siddal and even Ophelia herself, I hate to see them trapped in images, I want to tear her out! To destroy the image, to keep his fantasy under the water until it bubbles and bursts, until it drowns. 


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