8: the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart (Continued)
I have moments where I find myself on the verge of tears. One of them was when I read the following: Continue reading
Archive for e.e. cummings
Desperate Romantic: My Life as a Stalker (A Lamentably True Story)
Posted in Acts of devotion, Love letters, Observation, Real Men with tags 100 Love Sonnets, Ace, Corinthians, e.e. cummings, Eurydice, google, i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart), Joker, Leo Tolstoy, Pablo Neruda, Phi Phi Island, stalker on November 28, 2014 by Jarrod Boyle
Desperate Romantic: My Life as a Stalker (A Lamentably True Story)
Posted in Acts of devotion, Love letters, Observation, Real Men with tags Ace of Spades, e.e. cummings, rose, somewhere i have never travelled on November 25, 2014 by Jarrod Boyle
5. Fifty-One Jokers and an Ace (Continued)
That really knocked me onto my heels. I don’t know if you’ve heard it, but there’s a poem called somewhere I have never travelled that says, Continue reading
Share this:
the hair of thy head is one warrior innocent of defeat
Posted in Love letters with tags e.e. cummings, Rihanna Maggs on September 18, 2014 by Jarrod Boyle
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility
Posted in Love letters, Observation, Real Men, Statement of intention with tags e.e. cummings, flowers, Heather Locklear, somewhere i have never travelled, The Dirt, Tommy Lee on March 12, 2014 by Jarrod Boyle
“She [Heather Locklear] showered me with flowers and I learned to love it. Any guy, I decided, who doesn’t like flowers is insecure about his masculinity.”
– Tommy Lee, The Dirt
The title is taken from the poem ‘somewhere i have never travelled’ by e.e. cummings.
Share this:
In Defence of Pornography
Posted in Pornography with tags Birth of Venus, Chloe, e.e. cummings, Feminism, First Time Videos, Gail Dines, Karen Pini, Martin Grimwood, Penthouse Magazine, Playboy Magazine, The Age Newspaper on June 8, 2011 by Jarrod Boyle
“There is no place for pornography in a just society.”
– Gail Dines, ‘How the Hardcore Porn Industry is Ruining Young Men’s Lives’, as published in The Age, May 18, 2011.
“Those magazines, they aren’t about sex. They’re about beauty.”
– Martin Grimwood, in reference to my collection of Penthouse Magazines, published circa 1970. Continue reading
Share this:
Commentator
Posted in Journalism, Reading with tags e.e. cummings, lifestyle trainers on March 21, 2011 by Jarrod BoyleI attended the ‘Lifestyle Trainers’ exhibition at Birrarung Marr on the banks of the Yarra yesterday. It was an exhibition to publicise the health and fitness website I have been writing for as an ‘expert commentator’. It tickles my ego to be billed as a commentator, probably because the implication is that I am currently paid to give my opinion. Thinking about this pricks a small space somewhere inside me, which I suspect if very close to whichever metaphysical organ can be described as my conscience; by way of justification or explanation of the commentator tag, I offer something chanced upon again the other day in one of my most prized possessions, The Collected Works of e.e. cummings. Continue reading
Share this:
Love Letter
Posted in Love letters, Writing with tags e.e. cummings, Hampi, i carry your heart, India, Jaya on October 8, 2010 by Jarrod Boyle
I remember on Sex and the City how Carrie Bradshaw was a big reader of the love-letters of ‘great’ men; I was inspired by this notion at the time. I looked up some of the letters, Beethoven’s specifically and was, well, disappointed. Not that I am a ‘great’ man (no one other than me seems to think so, anyway,) but I have always felt that this letter was one of my better efforts.
It’s strange to think that all my writing, all that work, can boil down to one single effort, much like a sprinter’s entire training life can be boiled down to that sub-ten seconds he’s tearing along that hundred meter track. But I guess that’s the thing; ordinary lives find their extraordinary moments for that finite stretch of seconds, or words, or moments.
So here’s mine. The girl is long gone; I’m certainly the better for it. But I remember being transfixed by a sorrow so great it could only be described as grief, and here are the thousand-odd words I wrote in the hope of transfiguring it into something more than a squalid agony.
Theme Park at its Darkest 