A Poppy by Any Other Name

[Poppy Fields]

Credits: “La Belle Dame Sans Merci” by Frank Cadogan Cowper, codeine molecule, Alice and the hookah-smoking caterpillar, Iceland poppies, Trent Reznor of NIN in “Perfect Drug” video, Johnny Depp in “From Hell”, antique laudanum bottles, Art Nouveau ode to absinthe, “Beata Beatrix” by Dante Gabriel Rossetti

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Oh, poor abandoned blog – I still love you! I’ve been legitimately busy with real-world work, so can’t complain. But the ideas are backing up and I should probably let one out before I completely forget how to string a sentence together! I will also get around to replying to all comments and forum posts! I miss my new PL friends :'(

One of the lovely PL cats asked if my choice of pinup name has anything to with the poem “In Flanders Fields” and Remembrance/Poppy Day. I sent a short summary back – limited by 2,000 characters and my desire not to completely bore them to death ;) -, but it reminded me that that’s something I meant to blog about. So here goes (boredom to death optional).

Once upon a time there was a rather morbid little girl with a brain like a sponge, who had an overdeveloped interest in poison, medical anomalies and all things dark and age-inappropriate in general. She grew into a young lady with advanced reading skills and a library card for the adults' section to match and later – after finally accepting the biological inevitability of the process - a woman with unrestricted internet access. And lo, much warping and twisting of the little girl's mind did take place and it was all so very, very good.

I've had close to 20 electronic identities since I first felt the loving embrace of Sweet Mother Internet half a lifetime ago. Often alluding to obscure religious symbolism and usually in French, these identities have littered countless chat rooms, forums and communities with such witticisms and bon mots as “I KNOW!”, “Oh. My. God.” And “BWAH-HA-HA-HA-HAAAAAA!!”. Why so many changes? Well, partly I get bored easily – especially with myself – but mostly because every time I get a new identity, they get a new email address. Everywhere. Rocketmail, Prontomail, Ananzi, [insert long-forgotten email servers here], Hotmail, Yahoo and now Gmail.

As excellent as I am at creating these identities, I am even more excellent at creating convoluted passwords for their various accounts. Passwords so convoluted that, although they make sense at the time, if I neglect them for more than two weeks the logic and reasoning behind them disappears into the mists.
And I do it time. And time. Again.*
Email username already taken? Guess it's time to create a new identity!

So. Poppy Fields. Why? And who is she?
At the risk of ruining the “mystery” with lecturing self-indulgence: what’s in [my] name?

I like poppies.
Ha! Simple as that. Well, sorta.
I really do like poppies though, especially Iceland poppies (Papaver nudicaule). The texture of poppy petals is so velvety... it's like the softest skin you could ever imagine touching; this in direct contrast to the ridiculously long and gangly, prickly stems they perch upon. Both my grandmother and the mother of a childhood friend were master gardeners and they had beds of poppies in every colour. I loved stroking the petals and gently coaxing the “cocoons” off newly emerging flowers. They reminded me of the way silkworms shed their skin (actually, the texture of poppy petals is very similar to silkworm skin, now that I think of it). The fact that none of the other flowers got a “big reveal” made poppies all the more special. They obviously had something to hide... or something to tell?

Little did I know I was merely incorporating yet another symbol of death and oblivion into my personal schema, which was already richly influenced by Egyptian embalming rituals, world mythology and folklore, all sorts of monsters and a particularly gory article in National Geographic on Aztec human sacrifices.
Yes, I was a special child ;)

And then I discovered art history. And the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. And all the things that went along with being a brilliant, talented, Victorian miscreant: opium, absinthe, laudanum, consumptive beauties and untimely deaths. Poison and narcotics and hallucinogens, oh my – how simply marveilleuse! And what was the driving force behind much of this oh so tragically romantic and artistic era? Why, the little poppy with her sensuous folds and deep, dark secrets. Without her mystical juices there would be huge gaping holes in literature, poetry and other fine arts. Byron, Shelley, Carroll, Keats, Coleridge, Poe, Dickens, Coleridge – all avid fans of the “exotic orient”.

I am entirely fascinated by the whole concept of rolling the dice with your mortality and seeing where that takes you, creatively (works for Dr. Yoshiro Nakamatsu!) However, I've never had the balls to be anything more than fascinated from this side of the looking glass. (Also, cocaine ruined everything. Hyperactive b****.)

And where there's death, there's sex. Flowers are - by their nature and purpose - a brazen symbol of fertility; poppies are a perfect blend of the two and for me, no era more perfectly expresses this potent combination than the decadent, bohemian and absolutely debauched years of the Weimar Republic. Anyone familiar with a little musical called “Cabaret”? That Weimar Republic, but with less Liza and more Berber. It was the embodiment of Flapper culture, a place where taboos were not so much broken as annihilated. Naturally, I am drawn to this like the proverbial (Death’s Head?) moth :)
And then came the Nazis.

“In Flanders Fields the poppies grow / Between the crosses, row on row...”
The first time I heard that poem, my eyes welled with tears. Somewhat embarrassing, as I was in history class at the time; I discreetly wiped the tears away and carried on with the learning. But it left a mark. Something in my genetic composition makes me susceptible to Heavy Things; I can't even visit a war museum without feeling sick to my stomach. It's too visceral. That was warfare. This “push a button drop a bomb” is too easy. Anyway.
Most recently I visited a local museum for a Marilyn Monroe exhibit (OMG clothes!), not knowing that there is a permanent “Art of Asia” exhibit (OMG buddhas and dakinis and goddesses!). It was lovely to sit in front of a giant Buddha and chill, undisturbed. I saw they have a collection of Samurai armour so I hopped upstairs to look at that (OMG swords!), not knowing that it was a “History of Warfare” exhibit. Ugh. Downer Deluxe.
The armour was beautiful, but the POW stories and walls of “things to bash heads in with” was too much.

There they are again: the poppies, the blood, the death. A reminder. A remembrance.
And also, a transformation: Death is not the end, merely a phase-shifting of Being.
Whereas once poppies only denoted all the things I didn’t have the experiences to understand, now they are a powerful image for meditation; a symbol of my own transformation.

But wait – there’s more!
Just when the party looks like it's taking a turn for the maudlin, we introduce the LOLs to save the evening.
Please note that when I chose to go with “Poppy” and was deciding on a last name to accompany it, I was completely unaware that there is a Strawberry Fields in “Quantum of Solace”. I was playing around with the usuals: “Luck”, “Delight”, “McGee”, but nothing felt right. I thought to my self: “Self, what would capture the spirit of pinup, the humour and cheekiness, while still being gently self-deprecating and true to who I am?” The answer came to me in a flood of giggles: Bond Girls! Xenia Onatopp? Holly Goodhead? Octopussy? Who doesn’t get a good laugh out of those entendres? And they’re pinups too! I love it when a plan comes together ;D

A side effect of all this pondering and postulating is that the personality of Poppy Fields is taking on a life of its own. This weekend I walked into the living room and, apropos of nothing (I was working on an unrelated project), announced to The Man that “Poppy Fields wears an eye patch. Apparently.” I spent the wee, painful hours of early this morning designing costumes for Poppy (there is much velvet and abuse of Swarowski crystals. As if.) I would rather have been sleeping. I have neither the time nor the resources to facilitate your creation right now, Poppy. I refuse to get sucked into this madness!

Goddammit.
Look what you started.

ETA: How could I forget codeine?! Codeine, my blessed opiate saviour from migraines. Nothing else works when all I can think about is removing my eyeball with a corkscrew JUSTMAKETHEPAINSTOP!!!

* I have developed an almost me-proof password formula in recent years. So far, so good. But when the day comes that I don't appear on PL for a 2 week stretch... you'll find me by the sound of the D'OH!

[Poppy Fields]

A+ for effort ;)

[Clay Stephenson]

Oh Poppy your so fine. Your so fine you blow my mind...Oh Poppy!

Sorry that's the best I could come up with.

[Poppy Fields]

sfphoto - Thou art verily forgiven ;) I adore "Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came" by Robert Browning, as well as "The Highwayman" by Alfred Noyes - it has such great rhythm! Oh, I think you might like "Lady Love" by Paul Eluard for the imagery:

She is standing on my eyelids
And her hair is in my hair
She has the color of my eye
She has the body of my hand
In my shade she is engulfed
As a stone against the sky

She will never close her eyes
And she does not let me sleep
And her dreams in the bright day
Make the suns evaporate
And me laugh cry and laugh
Speak when I have nothing to say

Perfection!

Raven: The past 7 years have been nothing but one death after the other, or possibly a long, drawn-out singular process because I refused to submit :) It's been rough, but I've come out the other side in not too bad shape, so don't be too afraid.

Wink: I _love_ the "I am Made of Poison" thing! I used to only wear red and black and when asked, would say it's because I'm like one of those Amazonian frogs or beetles - it's a warning that I'm made of poison. Very silly, but fun :D and: "I'm meeeeeltiiiing..."

Syd: I get my codeine _flown in_. You can buy much stronger doses right off the shelf in other parts of the world ::sssh:: Tylenol makes me ill, ill, ILL. I was wondering if I was getting a little too intense with this one, but then figured: aaaaafuckit ;) Glad I didn't chicken out.

[Syd Valentine]

Oh, MY... I LOVE your style. I too, thank the heavens for Codeine. I think we will find we have more important things in common too....

[Wink Holliday]

And I'm always hearing in my head the Wicked Witch of the West, murming to hersef:

So, you won't take warning, eh? All the worse for you. I'll take care of you now instead of later. When I gain those ruby slippers, my power will be the greatest in Oz. (She stirs the potion.) Now my beauties. Something with poi-son in it I think. With poison in it. But attractive to the eye and soothing to the smell. Ha-ha-ha-ha. Poppies. Poppies. Poppies will put them to sleep. Sle-ee-p. Now they'll sle-ee-p.

The BF seems to get upset when I make my "made of poison" claim, but I still very much want one of the series of these shirts (the design changes periodically; available at topatoco.com):

[Raven Foxx]

I too am going through my own mini death. I'm glad there is beauty and renewal at the other end. I think like the Native Americans, my name will have to change too.