Five on one hand, half of ten on the other...

On one hand -


Edge

The woman is perfected.
Her dead
Body wears the smile of accomplishment,
The illusion of a Greek necessity
Flows in the scrolls of her toga,
Her bare
Feet seem to be saying:
We have come so far, it is over.
Each dead child coiled, a white serpent,
One at each little
Pitcher of milk, now empty.
She has folded
Them back into her body as petals
Of a rose close when the garden
Stiffens and odors bleed
From the sweet, deep throats of the night flower.
The moon has nothing to be sad about,
Staring from her hood of bone.
She is used to this sort of thing.
Her blacks crackle and drag.

Slyvia Plath, 1963




But on the other hand -


Oh I'm picking out a thermos for you
not an ordinary thermos for you
but the extra best thermos you can buy
with vinyl and stripes and a cup built right in
I'm picking out a thermos for you
and maybe a barometer too
and what else can I buy
so on me you'll rely
a rear end thermometer too

Steve Martin, The Jerk (quite possibly the funniest movie ever, of all time)


Is it just me or is ot odd to have these two polar opposites playing themselves out in my mind?

All I know is I don't need you, I don't need anyone. Except this ashtray, and that's it. This ashtry and these matches, and thats ALL I need. And this lamp. This lamp, the ashtray, the matches and this paddle board game. And that's all I need...