symptom recital

4:23 p.m. x 2006-04-25

this entry is basically a pity party.

if i were you
here's what i'd do
i'd give my heart a break
instead of trying to break my heart
if i were you
i'd do this too
i'd string along with me
instead of keepin' me on a string
i'd love me the whole day long
you'd never catch me nappin'
wouldn't have a change of heart
not for fear
that such a thing should happen
if i were you
here's what i'd do
i'd stick to me
my whole life through
if i were you

bille holiday, "if i were you"

why was i born
why am i livin'
what do i get
what am i givin'
why do i want for things
i dare not hope for
what can i hope for
i wish i knew
why do i try
to draw you near me
why do i cry
you never hear me
i'm a poor fool
but what can i do
oh baby why was i born
to love you

billie holiday, "why was i born?"

i'm a sentimental sap, that's all,
what's the use of trying not to fall?
i have no will, you've made your kill
'cause you took advantage of me.
i'm just like an apple on a bough
and you're gonna shake me down somehow,
so what's the use, you've cooked my goose
'cause you took advantage of me.
i'm so hot and bothered that i don't know
my elbow from my ear.
i suffer something awful each time you go
and much worse when you're near.
here i am with all my bridges burned,
just a babe in arms where you're concerned,
so lock the doors and call me yours
'cause you took advantage of me.

billie holiday, "you took advantage of me"

in may my heart was breakingó
o, wide the wound, and deep!
and bitter it beat at waking,
and sore it split in sleep.
and when it came november,
i sought my heart, and sighed,
"poor thing, do you remember?"
"what heart was that?" it cried.

dorothy parker, "autumn valentine"

love has had his way with me.
this my heart is torn and maimed
since he took his play with me.
cruel well the bow-boy aimed,
shot, and saw the feathered shaft
dripping bright and bitter red.
he that shrugged his wings and laughedó
better had he left me dead.
sweet, why do you plead me, then,
who have bled so sore of that?
could i bear it once again?...
drop a hat, dear, drop a hat!

dorothy parker, "the burned child"

woman wants monogamy;
man delights in novelty.
love is womanís moon and sun;
man has other forms of fun.
woman lives but in her lord;
count to ten, and man is bored.
with this the gist and sum of it,
what earthly good can come of it?

dorothy parker, "general review of the sex situation"

her mind lives in a quiet room,
a narrow room, and tall,
with pretty lamps to quench the gloom
and mottoes on the wall.
there all the things are waxen neat
and set in decorous lines;
and there are posies, round and sweet,
and little, straightened vines.
her mind lives tidily, apart
from cold and noise and pain,
and bolts the door against her heart,
out wailing in the rain.

dorothy parker, "interior"

if i don't drive around the park,
i'm pretty sure to make my mark.
if i'm in bed each night by ten,
i may get back my looks again,
if i abstain from fun and such,
i'll probably amount to much,
but i shall stay the way i am,
because i do not give a damn.

dorothy parker, "observation"

razors pain you;
rivers are damp;
acids stains you;
and drugs cause cramp.
guns arenít lawful;
nooses give;
gas smells awful;
you might as well live.

dorothy parker, "resume"

should they whisper false of you.
never trouble to deny;
should the words they say be true,
weep and storm and swear they lie.

dorothy parker, "superfluous advice"

i do not like my state of mind;
i'm bitter, querulous, unkind.
i hate my legs, i hate my hands,
i do not yearn for lovelier lands.
i dread the dawnís recurrent light;
i hate to go to bed at night.
i snoot at simple, earnest folk.
i cannot take the gentlest joke.
i find no peace in paint or type.
my world is but a lot of tripe.
iím disillusioned, empty-breasted.
for what i think, iíd be arrested.
i am not sick, i am not well.
my quondam dreams are shot to hell.
my soul is crushed, my spirit sore;
i do not like me any more.
i cavil, quarrel, grumble, grouse.
i ponder on the narrow house.
i shudder at the thought of men...
iím due to fall in love again.

dorothy parker, "symptom recital"

lilacs blossom just as sweet
now my heart is shattered.
if i bowled it down the street,
who's to say it mattered?
if there's one that rode away
what would i be missing?
lips that taste of tears, they say,
are the best for kissing.
eyes that watch the morning star
seem a little brighter;
arms held out to darkness are
usually whiter.
shall i bar the strolling guest,
bind my brow with willow,
when, they say, the empty breast
is the softer pillow?
that a heart falls tinkling down,
never think it ceases.
every likely lad in town
gathers up the pieces.
if there's one gone whistling by
would i let it grieve me?
let him wonder if i lie;
let him half believe me.

dorothy parker, "threnody"

the sunís gone dim, and
the moonís turned black;
for i loved him, and
he didnít love back.

dorothy parker, "two-volume novel"

i'm wearied of wearying love, my friend,
of worry and strain and doubt;
before we begin, let us view the end,
and maybe i'll do without.
there's never the pang that was worth the tear,
and toss in the night i won'tó
so either you do or you donít, my dear,
either you do or you don't!
the table is ready, so lay your cards
and if they should augur pain,
i'll tender you ever my kind regards
and run for the fastest train.
i haven't the will to be spent and sad;
my heart's to be gay and trueó
then either you donít or you do, my lad,
either you donít or you do!

dorothy parker, "ultimatum"

by the time you swear youíre his,
shivering and sighing,
and he vows his passion is
infinite, undyingó
lady, make a note of this:
one of you is lying.

dorothy parker, "unfortunate coincidence"

if anybody should ask i'm going to a seminar
pieces of the moon
sensitive heart, you're doomed from the start
(& etc)

anybody can be just like me, obviously.
not too many can be like you, fortunately.
© KL 02-11