"Sometimes a woman's love of being loved gets the better of her conscience, and though she is agonized at the thought of treating a man cruelly, she encourages him to love her while she doesn't love him at all. Then, when she sees him suffering, her remorse sets in, and she does what she can to repair the wrong." Thomas Hardy, JUDE THE OBSCURE - If I had read Jude The Obscure before I met My Beloved, I could have spared myself at least three years of every negative experience a man can possibly suffer at the hands of a woman; however, it would have been at the expense of being lifted by those same hands to levels of ecstatic fantasies I would have thought not accessible by any human experience. Writing many of the poems felt like I was attempting to translate poems originating from some sort of ecstatic utterance, which I know nothing about, into a language I know only slightly better. *Ecstatic utterance (Glossolalia or speaking in tongues) is the fluid vocalizing (or less commonly, the writing) of speech-like syllables which lack any readily comprehended meaning. Explains a lot about my "style," doesn't it? - "She," around which the poems orbit like electrons around the nucleus of an atom, exists now only in my imagination "where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal..."
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