compact geometry hell

Discussion in 'Cycling Equipment' started by Callistus Valer, Feb 29, 2004.

  1. Carl Fogel <carlfogel@comcast.net> wrote:
    > David Reuteler <reuteler@visi.com> wrote in message
    > news:<40524995$0$41296$a1866 201@newsreader.visi.com>...
    >> carlfogel <usenet-forum@cyclingforums.com> wrote:
    >> > Dear Rick,
    >> >
    >> > Not even a door?
    >> >
    >> > Sylvia Plath
    >>
    >> jesus, carl, that's in pretty bad taste. i mean even
    >> for you.
    >
    > Dear David,
    >
    > Just what I thought when I came home and wanted to warm up
    > my dinner.
    >
    > Ted Hughes

    i don't think she actually had the oven turned on.
    just the gas.
    --
    david reuteler reuteler@visi.com
     


  2. carlfogel

    carlfogel New Member

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    Dear David,

    Well, no, that would have been a half-baked idea
    and uncomfortably hot.

    See

    http://www.jamesreich.com/plath-ariel.html

    which says:

    In Rough Magic (1991), Paul Alexander describes Plath’s suicide:

    She opened the window in the children’s room; then, going into the hall, sealed the room shut behind her by stuffing towels into the crack at the sill jamb and taping up the top and two sides. The children’s safety secured, Sylvia went downstairs and sealed herself in the kitchen. Again, towels under the door, tape over the cracks. Finally, in the heart of the blue hour, that part of the early morning during which she had written her best poems, Sylvia Plath opened the oven door, folded a cloth on which she could rest her cheek, turned on the gas full-tilt, and, kneeling down on the floor before the oven, rested her cheek on the folded cloth she had placed on the oven door.

    [end quote]

    For the suicidally inclined, it's worth pointing out that,
    despite the absurd purple prose of the passage above,
    gas may be the worst method, since the house filled
    with fumes may well explode, ignited by furnaces,
    electric doorbells, or static sparks off the rug from the
    shoes of those unlucky enough to be first on the
    scene.

    Far better to put a few rocks in your pocket and
    go for a walk in the Ouse, leaving no abandoned
    children behind.

    V. Woolf
     
  3. froteur

    froteur New Member

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    OOOOPS ... sorry .. i can spell but i can't type. :)
     
  4. carlfogel <usenet-forum@cyclingforums.com> wrote:
    > See
    >
    > http://www.jamesreich.com/plath-ariel.html
    >
    > which says:

    i got my version from a A. Alvarez's "The Savage God: A
    Study of Suicide" a cheery little volume that does its duty
    in my library. page 52 of the prologue (which is all about
    sylvia plath). i won't quote it, but it's pretty similiar to
    the one you referenced except that it adds that sylvia plath
    was discovered with a note that said, "Please call Dr. -"
    with his phone number. that is, it probably wasn't a serious
    attempt and it's likely she was expecting to be found.
    --
    david reuteler reuteler@visi.com
     
  5. A Muzi

    A Muzi Guest

    > carlfogel <usenet-forum@cyclingforums.com> wrote:
    >>Dear Rick, Not even a door? Sylvia Plath

    David Reuteler wrote:
    > jesus, carl, that's in pretty bad taste. i mean even
    > for you.

    Our box of razor knives used to say "Judy Garland
    Impersonator Kit" I can't print what they say now.

    --
    Andrew Muzi www.yellowjersey.org Open every day since 1
    April, 1971
     
  6. carlfogel

    carlfogel New Member

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    Dear David,

    Alas, they're all serious. (In this case, what more
    could she have done to prove that she was
    serious?)

    The game of trying to distinguish the suicidal
    gesture from the true attempt is about as helpful
    as the game of trying to decide whether John
    Hinckley is really over Jody Foster.

    (To the embarrassment of the psychiatrists who
    repeatedly pronounced Hinckley well-adjusted,
    searches of his room kept turning up dozens of
    new pictures of the actress.)

    As for Plath, her first known suicide attempt came
    at the age of 21 and also included a note:

    ". . . in August of 1953, Sylvia makes her first
    attempt at suicide. She leaves a note for her mother,
    saying she has gone for a long walk and will be back
    the next morning. Aurelia finds that a steel locked
    case containing sleeping pills is broken and the pills
    are missing. Sylvia's disappearance is made public
    on the the radio and in newspapers after Aurelia
    calls the police. Three days passed before Warren
    Plath discovered Sylvia tucked away in a space in
    the Plath's cellar wall. She has crawled into the
    small hole with a glass of water and the bottle of
    sleeping pills. She was hospitalized and treated . . ."

    "In 1962, after Nicholas is born, Sylvia drives her
    car off the road in what she later describes as a
    suicide attempt . . ."

    [Third time's a charm!"]

    "In January of 1963, Sylvia is alone with her two
    young children at Fitzroy Road, poor, during a
    furiously cold winter, while Ted was off in Spain
    cavorting with Assia Wevill. This undoubtedly
    contributed to Sylvia's mental anguish, though
    the exact reason for her death will never be known.
    It was on the morning of February 11, 1963 that
    Sylvia ended her life. Her suicide was painstakingly
    executed. She carefully protected her children by
    sealing off their room with towels and tape, opening
    their window, and she left food for them. Sylvia died
    by carbon monoxide poisoning from her oven. If she
    wrote a suicide note, it hasn't been made public."

    http://www.valkyrieshaunt.com/plath/plathbio.html

    While "painstakingly executed" (probably an
    unintentional pun), Plath's suicide actually serves
    to underline Erwin Stengel's verdict on the suicidal
    impulse:

    "Most people, in committing a suicidal act, are just
    as muddled as when they do anything important under
    emotional stress. Carefully planned acts of suicide
    are as rare as carefully planned acts of homicide."

    Plath, for example, never made a will, so control of
    her literary estate and the poems and prose that were
    supposedly the most important things in her world went
    to her estranged husband--hardly careful planning.

    Carl Fogel
     
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