Melody's Musings

Stuff that catches my fancy and random, sorted thoughts from the inner scrambles of my mind.

What you may expect to find here are what I consider good taste and some of the best in photography, philosophy, humor, art, architecture, food, music, poetry, literature and dance. I hope you like some of the things I enjoy.

I like anything to do with good design such as interior design, architecture, photography, and art. I enjoy philosophy and psychology. I love to figure out what makes individuals tick. Music of most all types but particularly classical, world, pop, acoustic guitar is a big part of my life and add some dance to the music and my day is great! I like to write and occasionally I will write poetry and I really love to read it out loud and I even record it sometimes.

I'm a Myers-Briggs type ENFJ which means I love people and have a great interest in them.

I guess you could say I'm a humanities kind of person. :)







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    Some short clips of the Pulitizer prize winning poet, Anne Sexton’s home movies.
    In this video, Anne reads from her poem, “Her Kind”, a deeply personal poem in which she compares herself to the female subject of the poem. ‘A woman like that is misunderstood. I have been her kind.’ Irregardless, this poem delves deep into her psyche, and is the portrayal of the multiple nature of human personalities.  She writes of her inability to “fit” into the male-dominated society of the times.  No Mrs. Cleaver was she. 

    Her Kind

    I have gone out, a possessed witch,
haunting the black air, braver at night;
dreaming evil, I have done my hitch
over the plain houses, light by light:
lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.
A woman like that is not a woman, quite.
I have been her kind.

I have found the warm caves in the woods,
filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves,
closets, silks, innumerable goods;
fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves:
whining, rearranging the disaligned.
A woman like that is misunderstood.
I have been her kind.

I have ridden in your cart, driver,
waved my nude arms at villages going by,
learning the last bright routes, survivor
where your flames still bite my thigh
and my ribs crack where your wheels wind.
A woman like that is not ashamed to die.
I have been her kind.

    http://melodysmuse.tumblr.com/
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