Top Ten Lists List

Have you seen this FB challenge: ten albums that changed/ influenced my life – actually you can remove ‘album’ & replace it with books, movies, poems, paintings, sex partners (for those of us who are willing to admit they’ve had enough sex partners to pick ten from) & finally: ten lists that have changed my life.

I’ve been tagged on some of these but never play along. It’s not that I don’t have favourites or that there aren’t things that have changed my life. I’m just sure what ‘changed my life’ means anyway. It’s not as if I can name a movie, book etc that turned me gay – there have been some that have confirmed that fact but none that are responsible.

Some things have unconsciously affected my tastes but this I only see in retrospect. Always wonder how, say, Hercules’s junk stayed under his tunic even when he was wrestling a lion – certainly had an affect 🙂 How it was that women would be naked for sex while the men often were fully clothed? No fly opens wide enough to actually fuck pleasurably. Stuff like that is where movies changed my life.

oh yes – 10 albums/musicians that influence my music tastes: 1. Stanley Black’s recording of Rhapsody in Blue; 2. Pizzicato 5; 3. Yes: Tales From Topographic Oceans; 3. John Coltrane: Blue Train & 4. A Love Divine; 5. Miles Davis: Kind of Blue, 6. Bitch’s Brew; 7. Beatles: Revolver & 8. Sgt. Pepper; 9. Liszt’s Hungarian Rhapsodies; 10. Meco: Star Wars. Oh wait I forgot …. 

I have blogged here about many of my inspirations: writers, composers, painters. There’s a post in the archives of movies I watch over & over. There’s a difference between inspiration & pleasure. Not everything has to have some sort of emotional, creative weight to bring me joy. In fact nothing everything has to be ‘good’ either, it can be fun. I freely admit my shallowness 🙂

Or perhaps this list itch is a way if people exercising  some sort of control in a time when we fear the world is spinning out of control.

Confirmation

blood

my blood

sticky on my fingers

quick to cool 

iron on my tongue

red black thin

not enough to feel warmth

enough to know I have cut 

myself 

 

not where anyone can see it

I don’t cut for attention

no marks along my arms or wrists

no mesh of scars to explain 

to haunt me years later

 

I don’t remember how it started

was it to see some blood

or a need to make me hurt 

a grounding in shame

take that you stupid idiot

teach my body a lesson

teach my heart a song

let it sing that small drip refrain

 

I wash my hands when I’m done

watch the healing

then forget the ceremony

for hours 

for days

even for years 

before I am compelled once more

to feel my blood

sticky ripe between pale fingers

it smells the same

tastes the same

still comes as eagerly when called 

by the blade

as I evoke

a few confirming drops of my self

Hey! Now you can give me $$$ to defray blog fees – thankspaypal.me/TOpoet 

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