#bee reaved

[lifeinpoetry]

Everything I've loved is being decimated. Zap. Gone. But my love is still here, directionless as a migratory bird that has lost its instincts. If someone's going to die they should take the love with them, not leave it behind, confused.

— Dodie Bellamy, from “Chase Scene,” Bee Reaved

[sacredwhores]

I press the search button over and over and information streams through my eyes and into my body, so much information it's impossible to retain any particular bit of it. Online information, like avantgarde poetry or music, is a process, an onrush you experience moment by moment by moment, with no catchy tune, no overarching meaning, to pull it all together. It's not substances ghosts are hungry for, but time - a metronomic immersion to break the vast gray vague of eternity. Out of glowing screens they reach, lusting for time.

Dodie Bellamy, The Ghosts We Live With 

[lifeinpoetry]

Is there tenderness at the end of our undoing? I hope so.

— Dodie Bellamy, from “On Becoming Undone,” Bee Reaved

[lifeinpoetry]

I feel shaky but calm, and my self has softly returned; yet there's a sense of peering out into the world rather than existing in it.

— Dodie Bellamy, from “On Becoming Undone,” Bee Reaved

[lifeinpoetry]

She imagines creating an audio collage of every time he says “I love you”—not passionately, but hurried and casual, often no more than as a substitute for good bye—because that's what 33 years of marriage is, a study in redundancy and variation, and so much love there is no need to fixate on any particular moment of it.

— Dodie Bellamy, from “Bee Reaved,” Bee Reaved

[lifeinpoetry]

When we were still newlyweds you crouched over me in this same bed on all fours and said, “I'm your house.” Your chest was my ceiling, your cock and balls dangled above my belly. You nibbled my ear, whispered, “This is what you always wanted, isn't it, a house that talks.” You acted like sex was a miracle, like I was a miracle that happened to you. But it is you who were the miracle. Bye.

— Dodie Bellamy, from “Chase Scene,” Bee Reaved

[lifeinpoetry]

There are so many lacunae in my memory, it's like your death and aftermath occurred under a strobe light. Flashes and darkness, flashes and darkness. It's hard to grasp on to any one thing.

— Dodie Bellamy, from “Chase Scene,” Bee Reaved

[lifeinpoetry]

What is erasure all about? It's not just death, it's . . . forgetting. It's not just forgetting, it's the inability to take in pleasure and a sense of one's own worth.

— Kevin Killian, from “Kevin and Dodie,” published in Dodie Bellamy’s Bee Reaved