Sweet Tooth Journals

Dame Edith Louisa Sitwell. Not many people have heard about her. Even I had not till today morning, truth be told. This particular woman caught my attention because it is her 128th birth anniversary today. 7th September. While it has been more than half a century since she has moved on from this world, she was quite the interesting character. Born in Scarborough (Instantly feel like humming Simon and Garfunkel don't you?) to very unloving parents, she was subjected to neglect and alienation all through her childhood. She spent most of her life living in a shabby apartment with her governess and fell in love with a homosexual Russian artist. Sounds pretty messed up huh? Well she was a poet and her style and subject of poetry reflects this disturbed nature very clearly. I read quite a few of her poems all day today and a particular one caught my eye. "Sir Beelzebub" (Made me think of 'Lord of the Flies'). The poem starts with the line "Well Sir Beelzebub cal

"Everything went cold, like all the happiness had gone from the world." I start by quoting Harry Potter. My happy place. But I choose this reflection of depression because it isn't always that the Sun shines for you. A hypothetical situation has been providing fuel for my writing of late. Not a pleasant one though. Imagine a scenario where you are trapped. With consent in a way. You have a way out of physical abuse or being used by somebody. But you choose not to end the degradation and humiliation. You choose to let it go on because you want to numb all your senses to other, unrelated problems in your life. You stick to someone who neither cares, nor appreciates your situation at all. You are just pleasure on two legs. Something to give attention to for a few moments, as long as the enjoyment lasts. And then aloofness and dehumanizing you with actions. But you allow this. You throw up whenever you are alone. But you let it happen. Therefore consent. Therefore it