BILITIS 1 - 13
DEAR DAVID HAMILTON,
MS. FRANCIS LAI, PATTI D'ARBANVILLE,
I HOPE YOU ALL MAY BE DELIGHTED BY THE APPLE I OFFER, AND TASTE THE OVERRIPE SWEET GREEN APPLEJACK OF 1977, BEFORE THE SNAKE B'YT'ES FIRST, BANNING US FROM ITS EDEN.
ESPECIALLY YOU, D.H., WHAT WITH THE TROUBLES AT HOME OVER SILLY FIRKIN PUBIC OFFICIALS. YOU SHOULD SAY, "EXCUSE ME GUVNOR, BUT ARE YOU AWARE THAT YOU ARE QUESTIONING THE MORALS AND ARTISTIC INTEGRITY OF ONE AND THE SAME GENTLEMAN WHOSE INVENTION--SOFT-FOCUS PHOTOGRAPHY, INTENDED EXACTLY, SIR, THAT WHICH YOU OR SUCH LIKE YOURSELF NOT BE TROUBLED FINDING: FUZZY, FURLESS FOLDS OF FECUND FEMININITY, FULLY! PERHAPS TOO FEW IN YEARS, FROM WHAT, I KNOW NOT. BUT "A" SOCIETY NOW SAYS, 'WHAT WAS ART IS NOW NOT.' BUT HOW DOES THE DAVID FEEL DRESSED IN SOCIETY'S CLOTHING, SIR? NUDE, THAT IS HOW; AND NOW YOU SEE MY PROBLEM. ART IS BUT ART ONCE AND FOR ALL, ONLY "A" SOCIETY BECOMES ARTLESS, MY KIND SIR; AND FOR IT, WOULD I RATHER BURN, CLUTCHING THE PINK PUISSANCE PROUDLY IN A PREMATURE PYRE, AND PETTING MY PEELING PORTFOLIO.
THEY'LL WRITE: HE WAS BLURRED AT THE STAKE, LIKE JOAN. DON'T LET YOU OR ANY MEMBER OF YOUR TRIBUNAL CAST A DOUBTING AYE TO MY POTENTIALLY PROBLEMATIC PREDICAMENT OF PURPORTED PERVERSITY . IT IS THE PURITY OF MY ADOLESCENT CHRONICLING WHICH YOU WANT TO POP, IS IT NOT? IGNITE YOUR FIRE, OR PRODUCE A PIN, SIR, IF YOU WISH, SIR, BUT YOU'LL GAIN NO ENTRANCE TO MY HOME OR THAT WHICH IN ITS WALLS ARE HOLY."
THANK YOU FOR YOUR SPECIAL MOOD--SOMEWHERE BETWEEN OPIUM AND A RANDY TEENAGE SUMMER'S DAYDREAM [AT AROUND 2:30, WHEN THE CHINESE MAN GOES TO THE DENTIST].
AND LAI! LADY LAI; LAI ACROSS MY BIG BRASS BED YOUR ACADEMY AWARD AND THIS--BILITIS--SO RARE, SO LIGHT LIKE ETHER--TRULY BATHETIQUE MAXIMUM, TRES BON. MERCI, FRANCIS.
AND I DEDICATE THIS TO MY SPECIAL MUSE WHOM IT WAS WE FIRST DID WATCH TOGETHER BUT SEPARATE THE PRETTY PLAYING, AND DID LAUGH AND LISTEN TO DULCET TONES ACCOMPANYING TENDER TOWELINGS.
[AND ALSO THIS TO THE HORRIFIED PHOTOGRAPHERS AFTER WILLIAM EGGLESTON, AND THE MILLIONS OF 1970s LADIES WHOSE VALENTINE WAS A SOFT, MACRO-BLURRY ROSE PETAL, BEADED OF DEW DISTINGUISHED BY ITS GLISTENING AGAINST CRIMSON, AS IF A MAN WITH CATARRH OF BOTH EYES WERE STROLLING IN WINDSOR'S ROYAL GARDEN, WHEREUPON BENDING TO INHALE A FRAGRANT PERFUME, A TEAR DID FALL ONTO A PETAL; FOR BEAUTY HAD HE GLIMPSED--AS SO TOO, THE WORLD, GLIMPSED
'BILITIS,' THROUGH A GLASS SOFTLY.
Image via Wikipedia
![Reblog this post [with Zemanta]](https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/blogger_img_proxy/AEn0k_vWbs01Cel-hNNZuUXSxS24LOzbdc7WqOh0jA1diSFK2bR0fJUH4tQnuVwpd58b4RI7KXJv1885V55v2l2dV8d30UjlimZrvLnRuSbruDpegRNnGpU9ufl6FHEzaLUuBzArMH4UwPyMKmzLdCAg0XI=s0-d)
