Lady Lazarus BY SYLVIA PLATH I have done it again. One year in every ten I manage it—— A sort of walking miracle, my skin Bright as a Nazi lampshade, My right foot A paperweight, My face a featureless, fine Jew linen. Peel off the napkin O my enemy. Do I terrify?—— The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth? The sour breath Will vanish in a day. Soon, soon the flesh The grave cave ate will be At home on me And I a smiling woman. I am only thirty. And like the cat I have nine times to die. This is Number Three. What a trash To annihilate each decade. What a million filaments. The peanut-crunching crowd Shoves in to see Them unwrap me hand and foot—— The big strip tease. Gentlemen, ladies These are my hands My knees. I may be skin and bone, Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman. The first time it happened I was ten. It was an accident. The second time I meant To last it out and not come back at all. I rocked shut As a seashell. They had to call and call And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls. Dying Is an art, like everything else. I do it exceptionally well. I do it so it feels like hell. I do it so it feels real. I guess you could say I’ve a call. It’s easy enough to do it in a cell. It’s easy enough to do it and stay put. It’s the theatrical Comeback in broad day To the same place, the same face, the same brute Amused shout: ‘A miracle!’ That knocks me out. There is a charge For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge For the hearing of my heart—— It really goes. And there is a charge, a very large charge For a word or a touch Or a bit of blood Or a piece of my hair or my clothes. So, so, Herr Doktor. So, Herr Enemy. I am your opus, I am your valuable, The pure gold baby That melts to a shriek. I turn and burn. Do not think I underestimate your great concern. Ash, ash— You poke and stir. Flesh, bone, there is nothing there—— A cake of soap, A wedding ring, A gold filling. Herr God, Herr Lucifer Beware Beware. Out of the ash I rise with my red hair And I eat men like air. Good Dog Nigel BY JOHN LENNON Arf, Arf, he goes, a merry sight Our little hairy friend Arf, Arf, upon the lampost bright Arfing round the bend. Nice dog! Goo boy, Waggie tail and beg, Clever Nigel, jump for joy Because we are putting you to sleep at three of the clock, Nigel.

The Future by Neil Hilborn The worst thing about being naked and then being hit by a car is that road rash is a problem for skin. Why was I naked in the middle of the road at noon? I'm glad you asked, imaginary other half of this conversation! I have no idea. Some characteristics of bipolar disorder include dissociation, hallucinations, and fugue states, so sometimes, I wake up in places I didn't go to sleep. Has this ever been a problem? My, you are inquisitive, imaginary conversation partner! And also a bad listener. See aforementioned attempt to befriend a windshield. So there I am, nude, rolling on the hood of a car screaming about the government conspiracy to take away my feet. Not my real feet, just my brain feet. I'm about six inches from the concrete when I realize, in slow motion: like the exact opposite of a bank robbery, this... is not how I imagined my life would turn out. When I was young, I broke both of my ankles because I was sure a cape would enable me to fly. My parents attributed this to my strong imagination. When I did this last year, my therapist called it a delusion. I fail to see the difference. Also, I really can fly and see the future and make people leave coffee shops with my mind 43% of the time. The point is, here is a list of things my brain has told me to do: join a cult, start a cult, become a cabinet maker, kill myself (so, in essence, become a cabinet maker), break into and then paint other peoples' houses, have sex with literally everyone who reminds me of my mother, fight people who are much... fightier than me, like the cops (so, in essence, kill myself). I think a lot about killing myself, not like a point on a map, but rather like a glowing exit sign at a show that's never been quite bad enough to make me want to leave. See, when I'm up I don't kill myself because holy shit! there's so much left to do! And when I'm down, I don't kill myself because then the sadness would be over and the sadness is the old paint under the new. I'd still be me without it, but I'd be so boring! When they first told me I had bipolar disorder, I was somehow still surprised like, "You mean not everyone sees demons and feels as though they are covered in insects several times a day?" As it turns out, seeing and feeling things that aren't technically there is called "disordered cognitive functioning". I call it "having a fucking superpower". Sometimes, I see people as colors. This guy right here (gestures to man in audience) is purple, which means he just got a promotion or a blow job. A blowmotion, if you will. Y'all, sometimes I really can see the future. The future, it looks like a child in a cape. The future looks like gravity. Everyone just wants to be a part of someone else. The future is a small town we're all gonna move to someday. I saw the future. I did, and in it, I was alive.

She’s a palate cleanser, Yes, that girl is a palate cleanser She’s a palate cleanser, Yeah, that girl is a palate cleanser! She’s made of found footage, And she smells like perfume, She never wears perfume But she smells like perfume, She’s made of found footage And she smells like her perfume! Her nails are exquisite (But not too exquisite) Her hair is exquisite (But not too exquisite) Her face is exquisite (But easily forgettable) Her name is exquisite (But you already forgot it!) She’s a palate cleanser, Yes, that girl is a palate cleanser She’s a palate cleanser, Yeah, that girl is a palate cleanser! That girl is a computer, But she lives on a screen, That girl on your computer Yeah, that girl is a machine, That girl seems familiar Cuz’ that girl is a meme. You met that girl (Somewhere or other) You want that girl (Somewhere or other) You would’ve called that girl (But you forgot her number) You would’ve stalked that girl (But you blew your cover!) She’s a palate cleanser, Yes, that girl is a palate cleanser She’s a palate cleanser, Yeah, that girl is a palate cleanser! And everyone’s dancing all around you, But there’s only one girl you want to talk to, But how can you remember which one is her? All you know is she’s a palate cleanser! She’s a palate cleanser, Yes, that girl is a palate cleanser She’s a palate cleanser, Yeah, that girl is a palate cleanser! She’s a palate cleanser, Yes, that girl is a palate cleanser She’s a palate cleanser, Yeah, that girl is a palate cleanser!