I realize now that the last few posts I've had are only for English class. She's taken over my blog, that English teacher has!
It's funny how easy this is. Moving forward and loving on. There's no need to look behind. Everything that was left behind you is what you left behind, by choice, by heart, with mind. There's nothing left to say about it.
I become faced with my own dilemma, however. In that week, where there was so much conflict, risk, possibility. Where I had everything I wanted and spent (collectively) twenty dollars in consequences. Where did that lead me. And the longer I thought, the harder it was. To say that I would let go. That was a scary thought. I hated everything about that subject, but there was a flash-a moment where I didn't want one stripe. Luckily, I got what I wanted in reality (not in craziness) and went on my merry way.
Here we go with boys again.
'Geometry is about circles,
with play about cats.
Boys with crushes,
and girls who blush.
Don't trip in the upward sand,
kiss in the cracks.'
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Seventeen of Vasaris of Twenty Eleven
Running through the mysterious woods, who cries more than the lone girl? Everyone. She runs away from her life, her morals, her beliefs. She abdicated her security and standards for a life of risk. "Would you like to play a game?" And no one runs and strays from the path quicker than her. No one has fallen to their desires faster. Her alacrity led her somewhere new. She is the easiest corrupted, changed, and conquered. And this is not something she arrogates. The proof is what has not yet been determined. To use a cliché, like an angel, she fell from her Heaven. And the question becomes, why would even leave glory? Why would anyone walk away from the beautiful approbation that they worked so hard to achieve?
Can I borrow your phone?
The answer is simple. Okay, that's a lie. Life was made to vex it's players, and only a zealot could make it through. Everything is a trick of the light, and nothing will be anodyne. Anyways, the answer is simple, but with complex reasons and though processes behind it. Because I want to be yoked to you. It's all a concept of love and wants. Because that winsome boy came and swept me off her feet. Sure, his love didn't come to her easily, more like something vicious. However, every day now is beautiful. Sure, her wantonness isn't how her parents, or herself, saw her future self, but she loves it. She embraces who she is now. "I'm not fat."
However, I'm going to abscond from the above conversation and move on to a topic more serious. There's no way to phrase this that abates what it means, what it involves, what it represents. Who knows what could happen before the end? Everything whirls in my head and is variegated. For this could possibly be a debt I cannot pay but with suffering, nothing I could amortize and get rid of. I wish it were something I could walk away from, something that I could abjure and be like, "Peace, bitches." However, it is not. This is a situation of antipathy. For, when I think of it, an acidulous note hits my heart, and I think about the consequences. Why did I have an aberrant moment?! The thoughts of this make my brain feel wizened.
The coincidence is that a drunken girl is is a situation similar to mine but more likely. I am a similar situation with a drunk girl. FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU.
'Tired, abstemious food breaks not the bland barrier,
With the verdant forest to cover the mistakes.
The superego abased me,
and the wan face of a girl with a rubber band.
And the xenophobes cry
for the anachronistic Italian lovers.'
Can I borrow your phone?
The answer is simple. Okay, that's a lie. Life was made to vex it's players, and only a zealot could make it through. Everything is a trick of the light, and nothing will be anodyne. Anyways, the answer is simple, but with complex reasons and though processes behind it. Because I want to be yoked to you. It's all a concept of love and wants. Because that winsome boy came and swept me off her feet. Sure, his love didn't come to her easily, more like something vicious. However, every day now is beautiful. Sure, her wantonness isn't how her parents, or herself, saw her future self, but she loves it. She embraces who she is now. "I'm not fat."
However, I'm going to abscond from the above conversation and move on to a topic more serious. There's no way to phrase this that abates what it means, what it involves, what it represents. Who knows what could happen before the end? Everything whirls in my head and is variegated. For this could possibly be a debt I cannot pay but with suffering, nothing I could amortize and get rid of. I wish it were something I could walk away from, something that I could abjure and be like, "Peace, bitches." However, it is not. This is a situation of antipathy. For, when I think of it, an acidulous note hits my heart, and I think about the consequences. Why did I have an aberrant moment?! The thoughts of this make my brain feel wizened.
The coincidence is that a drunken girl is is a situation similar to mine but more likely. I am a similar situation with a drunk girl. FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU.
'Tired, abstemious food breaks not the bland barrier,
With the verdant forest to cover the mistakes.
The superego abased me,
and the wan face of a girl with a rubber band.
And the xenophobes cry
for the anachronistic Italian lovers.'
Monday, February 7, 2011
Seven Vasaris of Twenty Elven
I would just like to say, before I post this, that I hate my English teacher with my heart and soul.
Now, "Dover Beach" by Matthew Arnold
"The sea is calm to-night.
The tide is full, the moon lies fair
Upon the straits; on the French coast the light
Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand;
Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!
Only, from the long line of spray
Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land,
Listen! you hear the grating roar
Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
At their return, up the high strand,
Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
The eternal note of sadness in.
Sophocles long ago
Heard it on the A gaean, and it brought
Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow
Of human misery; we
Find also in the sound a thought,
Hearing it by this distant northern sea.
The Sea of Faith
Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore
Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.
But now I only hear
Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
Retreating, to the breath
Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
And naked shingles of the world.
Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night."
Let's start with the first stanza:
Personally, I think the first six lines have a calm, slightly happy, tone to them. The mood is light and calm, but I can picture the setting being dark, so it has this foreshadowing to darkness. I can, almost, see foreshadowing in the actual text as Arnold writes, "the light/Gleams and is gone;" which is the only sad part (in between lines three and four). The lines eight through fourteen are more sad and depressed, but just kind of disappointed, really. [Ebb: a flowing backward or away; decline or decay]. In these last few lines, Arnold addresses the back and forth pattern of the oceans waves and refers to it as the way people come and go to faith. (I will now allude to the Mormon reference of the hand: There are five prophets to be true to God and in between them are the low spots where people fall away from God. Rise and fall of faith.)
Some figurative language here is the personification in line two ("the moon lies fair"). This not only personifying the moon by giving it the ability to lie down, but personifies it by calling the moon "fair," in the sense of being beautiful and young. Like, the way a woman would seem fair. The next is in line six, when the speaker states, "sweet is the night air!" This is gustatory imagery, but describes a touch imagery thing. When I think of sweet, I think of that classic sugary taste from a lollipop that is sugary, but not too overwhelming, so it's pleasant. However, when I think of night air, I think of that soft breeze that's just too cold to be pleasing, and raises the goosebumps on your arms. But, this synaesthesia, used by Arnold, portrays and odd sense of warmth at night. It's kind of comforting, even though it shouldn't be at all. In line nine, there is hyperbole as Arnold says, "you hear the grating roar/Of pebbles." Come on, seriously? Unless it's a tsunami, the pebbles are not roaring with the sea. Get it together, Arnold. And in line ten, the speaker writes, "waves draw back and fling". This is a metaphor for the pull and push that people have from the goodness of religion.
The first stanza also helps to identify the speaker and the listener of this DRAMATIC MONOLOGUE. Place is identified in lines one through five as, obviously, being Dover Beach (in England). The speaker, which is oddly William Arnold, is in his home with his wife and addressing her. We see this in the way he says, (in line six) "Come to the window," so it must be someone in his home.
Stanza Two:
Stanza two follows promptly along with the end of stanza one, mimicking it's mood-disappointed. Arnold mainly refers to how humans, through the centuries, come and go with God, and thus, see happiness and tragedy. The flow of the ocean is also stressed in this paragraph. This overall metaphor (which keeps appearing throughout the monologue that could be a badly formed sonnet, since it isn't argumentative, could be considered conceit, but don't count on it).
SINCE ALLUSION IS NOT FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE: The two allusions in this stanza are in line fifteen and line sixteen. Arnold alludes to Sophocles and Aegean. sophocles is the author of Antigone, and I guess Aegean relates somehow too. [Antigone stuff and Aegean sea?]. Okay, scratch that. Anyways, Sophocles talks a lot about human misery in his plays especially, but he stresses (to quote bitch), "rising above misery and tragic circumstances." Then, when Arnold says (in line sixteen), "Heard it on the Aegean" he i alluding the Aegean Sea, which is below the Mediterranean. (Makes since that Sophocles would hear it there, considering he was Greek).
I can only find one figure of speech in this stanza and is in lines seventeen and eighteen. Arnold says, "turbid ebb and flow/Of human misery". This goes along with the overall metaphor (which, once more, is the rise and fall of human faith blah blah blah).
It's more of an external perspective of the loss of faith.
Stanza Three:
I feel that stanza three is when Arnold goes back and reflects on how people were with solid faith. Arnold seems very nostalgic, especially with his word choice. When Arnold uses phrases like, "Was once," or "But now" he implies that he is reflecting on a time he once knew and comparing it to the time that is present. [Girdle: a lightweight undergarment, worn especially by women, often partly or entirely of elastic or boned, for supporting and giving a slimmer appearance to the abdomen, hips, and buttocks; furl'd: to gather into a compact roll and bind securely, as a sail against a spar or a flag against its staff]. Arnold goes on about how the sea (faith, religion, goodness, et cetera) was once large and expansive (as it should be), but that now the ocean simply is "getting smaller" and leaving pebbles behind (because they want to leave; the pebbles are people). [Shingle:a thin piece of wood, slate, metal, asbestos, or the like, usually oblong, laid in overlapping rows to cover the roofs and walls of buildings.]
There are three (four-ish) figures of speech in this stanza. First is in line twenty-one, when he says, "sea of faith." This is obviously a metaphor. (Please now refer to anytime I have mentioned the overall metaphor previously). The second is in line twenty-three as he says, "like the folds of a bright girdle furl'd". This refers to how the ocean was, in the good times, and strengthens the connection between the past and present. This also clarifies the speaker's mood, being sentimental/nostalgic, about the past. The third is from line twenty-six to twenty-seven, "the breath/Of the night-wind". This is personification because wind can't have breath. It has no lungs; it cannot breath. But, this personification does help to illuminate the feeling of the wind (especially relating back to line six-with the night air reference there). The fourth figure of speech (which is kind of sketchy) is the last line of the third stanza (line twenty-eight). "And the naked shingles of the world." This is possibly a metaphor roofs tops, but I can't figure out what it would go with. However, it could just continue on and be details to the overall metaphor.
The whole stanza refers to how faith was once strong, but is now sad and exposed by human greed and stupidity. (Okay, not stupidity-I can't back that up. But it always feels like poets are trying to say it but never do!)
Stanza Four:
In stanza four, I feel that lines 29-32 portray happiness, hope, light, and positive emotions. Arnold, here, using words like: love, dreams, beautiful, new. This diction is here to sharply contrast the rest of the stanza. The rest of stanza four (lines 33-37) is worried and depressed. This part leaves a tone of anxiousness and fear (like impending doom) upon the reader. [Or, maybe just some sadness.] The diction here is incredibly different from the beginning of the stanza, with words like: neither/no/nor, darkling, confused, struggle, flight, ignorant, clash, night. Anyways, the first two lines (29-30), seem to me like a plea. Or, asking questions like Why? Is it really that hard to get along? I see as more of a desperate call out to the world. I see a lot of anxiety in the diction of the second-to-last line (36), when Arnold writes, "confused alarms of struggle and flight". This seems very anxious to me because it makes me picture war alarms and people running around and trying to pull it together.
Figures of speech here are kind of complicated, but both anaphora. The first example of this is in line 32, when he says, "So various, so beautiful, so new" where So is the word repeated. In lines 33-34, Arnold writes, "nor love, nor light,/nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain" where Nor is the word repeated. Anaphora is typically used to place stress on important phrases and use certain words to tie them all together. So, here, Arnold is stressing the different moods in the stanzas with back-to-back anaphora.
This last stanza covers the speaker's views of appearance versus reality. (The two moods of the stanza relate back to that). Also, in lines 33 and 34, I wonder if Arnold is suggesting that people are better ambivalent than emotional.
Other Sources:
"Dover Beach" Analysis
"Dover Beach" Analysis
"Dover Beach" Analysis
'Tried begins to fall away,
but true stays to pity.
With hope just like Tinkerbell,
it flies away fickle.
Late nights and green highlighters,
they complete the broke stream.
And along toys jingle,
when mother sings this song.'
Now, "Dover Beach" by Matthew Arnold
"The sea is calm to-night.
The tide is full, the moon lies fair
Upon the straits; on the French coast the light
Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand;
Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!
Only, from the long line of spray
Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land,
Listen! you hear the grating roar
Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
At their return, up the high strand,
Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
The eternal note of sadness in.
Sophocles long ago
Heard it on the A gaean, and it brought
Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow
Of human misery; we
Find also in the sound a thought,
Hearing it by this distant northern sea.
The Sea of Faith
Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore
Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.
But now I only hear
Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
Retreating, to the breath
Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
And naked shingles of the world.
Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night."
Let's start with the first stanza:
Personally, I think the first six lines have a calm, slightly happy, tone to them. The mood is light and calm, but I can picture the setting being dark, so it has this foreshadowing to darkness. I can, almost, see foreshadowing in the actual text as Arnold writes, "the light/Gleams and is gone;" which is the only sad part (in between lines three and four). The lines eight through fourteen are more sad and depressed, but just kind of disappointed, really. [Ebb: a flowing backward or away; decline or decay]. In these last few lines, Arnold addresses the back and forth pattern of the oceans waves and refers to it as the way people come and go to faith. (I will now allude to the Mormon reference of the hand: There are five prophets to be true to God and in between them are the low spots where people fall away from God. Rise and fall of faith.)
Some figurative language here is the personification in line two ("the moon lies fair"). This not only personifying the moon by giving it the ability to lie down, but personifies it by calling the moon "fair," in the sense of being beautiful and young. Like, the way a woman would seem fair. The next is in line six, when the speaker states, "sweet is the night air!" This is gustatory imagery, but describes a touch imagery thing. When I think of sweet, I think of that classic sugary taste from a lollipop that is sugary, but not too overwhelming, so it's pleasant. However, when I think of night air, I think of that soft breeze that's just too cold to be pleasing, and raises the goosebumps on your arms. But, this synaesthesia, used by Arnold, portrays and odd sense of warmth at night. It's kind of comforting, even though it shouldn't be at all. In line nine, there is hyperbole as Arnold says, "you hear the grating roar/Of pebbles." Come on, seriously? Unless it's a tsunami, the pebbles are not roaring with the sea. Get it together, Arnold. And in line ten, the speaker writes, "waves draw back and fling". This is a metaphor for the pull and push that people have from the goodness of religion.
The first stanza also helps to identify the speaker and the listener of this DRAMATIC MONOLOGUE. Place is identified in lines one through five as, obviously, being Dover Beach (in England). The speaker, which is oddly William Arnold, is in his home with his wife and addressing her. We see this in the way he says, (in line six) "Come to the window," so it must be someone in his home.
Stanza Two:
Stanza two follows promptly along with the end of stanza one, mimicking it's mood-disappointed. Arnold mainly refers to how humans, through the centuries, come and go with God, and thus, see happiness and tragedy. The flow of the ocean is also stressed in this paragraph. This overall metaphor (which keeps appearing throughout the monologue that could be a badly formed sonnet, since it isn't argumentative, could be considered conceit, but don't count on it).
SINCE ALLUSION IS NOT FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE: The two allusions in this stanza are in line fifteen and line sixteen. Arnold alludes to Sophocles and Aegean. sophocles is the author of Antigone, and I guess Aegean relates somehow too. [Antigone stuff and Aegean sea?]. Okay, scratch that. Anyways, Sophocles talks a lot about human misery in his plays especially, but he stresses (to quote bitch), "rising above misery and tragic circumstances." Then, when Arnold says (in line sixteen), "Heard it on the Aegean" he i alluding the Aegean Sea, which is below the Mediterranean. (Makes since that Sophocles would hear it there, considering he was Greek).
I can only find one figure of speech in this stanza and is in lines seventeen and eighteen. Arnold says, "turbid ebb and flow/Of human misery". This goes along with the overall metaphor (which, once more, is the rise and fall of human faith blah blah blah).
It's more of an external perspective of the loss of faith.
Stanza Three:
I feel that stanza three is when Arnold goes back and reflects on how people were with solid faith. Arnold seems very nostalgic, especially with his word choice. When Arnold uses phrases like, "Was once," or "But now" he implies that he is reflecting on a time he once knew and comparing it to the time that is present. [Girdle: a lightweight undergarment, worn especially by women, often partly or entirely of elastic or boned, for supporting and giving a slimmer appearance to the abdomen, hips, and buttocks; furl'd: to gather into a compact roll and bind securely, as a sail against a spar or a flag against its staff]. Arnold goes on about how the sea (faith, religion, goodness, et cetera) was once large and expansive (as it should be), but that now the ocean simply is "getting smaller" and leaving pebbles behind (because they want to leave; the pebbles are people). [Shingle:a thin piece of wood, slate, metal, asbestos, or the like, usually oblong, laid in overlapping rows to cover the roofs and walls of buildings.]
There are three (four-ish) figures of speech in this stanza. First is in line twenty-one, when he says, "sea of faith." This is obviously a metaphor. (Please now refer to anytime I have mentioned the overall metaphor previously). The second is in line twenty-three as he says, "like the folds of a bright girdle furl'd". This refers to how the ocean was, in the good times, and strengthens the connection between the past and present. This also clarifies the speaker's mood, being sentimental/nostalgic, about the past. The third is from line twenty-six to twenty-seven, "the breath/Of the night-wind". This is personification because wind can't have breath. It has no lungs; it cannot breath. But, this personification does help to illuminate the feeling of the wind (especially relating back to line six-with the night air reference there). The fourth figure of speech (which is kind of sketchy) is the last line of the third stanza (line twenty-eight). "And the naked shingles of the world." This is possibly a metaphor roofs tops, but I can't figure out what it would go with. However, it could just continue on and be details to the overall metaphor.
The whole stanza refers to how faith was once strong, but is now sad and exposed by human greed and stupidity. (Okay, not stupidity-I can't back that up. But it always feels like poets are trying to say it but never do!)
Stanza Four:
In stanza four, I feel that lines 29-32 portray happiness, hope, light, and positive emotions. Arnold, here, using words like: love, dreams, beautiful, new. This diction is here to sharply contrast the rest of the stanza. The rest of stanza four (lines 33-37) is worried and depressed. This part leaves a tone of anxiousness and fear (like impending doom) upon the reader. [Or, maybe just some sadness.] The diction here is incredibly different from the beginning of the stanza, with words like: neither/no/nor, darkling, confused, struggle, flight, ignorant, clash, night. Anyways, the first two lines (29-30), seem to me like a plea. Or, asking questions like Why? Is it really that hard to get along? I see as more of a desperate call out to the world. I see a lot of anxiety in the diction of the second-to-last line (36), when Arnold writes, "confused alarms of struggle and flight". This seems very anxious to me because it makes me picture war alarms and people running around and trying to pull it together.
Figures of speech here are kind of complicated, but both anaphora. The first example of this is in line 32, when he says, "So various, so beautiful, so new" where So is the word repeated. In lines 33-34, Arnold writes, "nor love, nor light,/nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain" where Nor is the word repeated. Anaphora is typically used to place stress on important phrases and use certain words to tie them all together. So, here, Arnold is stressing the different moods in the stanzas with back-to-back anaphora.
This last stanza covers the speaker's views of appearance versus reality. (The two moods of the stanza relate back to that). Also, in lines 33 and 34, I wonder if Arnold is suggesting that people are better ambivalent than emotional.
Other Sources:
"Dover Beach" Analysis
"Dover Beach" Analysis
"Dover Beach" Analysis
'Tried begins to fall away,
but true stays to pity.
With hope just like Tinkerbell,
it flies away fickle.
Late nights and green highlighters,
they complete the broke stream.
And along toys jingle,
when mother sings this song.'
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Three Vasaris of Twenty Eleven
Girls are the most miserably painful creatures on the face of the Earth. Which leads me to loving Ventrilo more than ever now. I can listen, and someday speak, to all the boys/teenagers that I desire to know better. And even though I really don't know what's going on, I can hear them. It would be creepy, but they know I'm here.
I am not a tyro of the life alone. And neither are you. However, with you, it's unsurprising. I am not seraphic, but I care about people and give them a chance. Unlike you. You are so introverted and stuck up in your own ways that you're far too obsessed to be anything but horribly annoying. Everything fell apart not because I changed, but because I stripped off my false skin and exposed my umbrage out. It should never have had to hide; Nor should it have existed. I'm not some bitch for finally telling you how they feel. No wonder she left you and let all her friends tell you off. At least I'm not that heartless. I was converted to hatred of someone I never knew because I "had to." Why is it that everyone has to share your opinion? But, I guess that's how friends have to be, right? We aren't your sycophants! Friends aren't like that. That's when it hit me. You're just like him. Sure, he valued you as a friend because you never fell to him-but the problem is that you two are alike in that way. No reason for you positions, no justification. And everyone has to be yours. Your friends. You opinions. Your last word. No. I'm not here, complaining, trying to upbraid you. I'm just pissed off. There's no reason for me to act sanguine when I don't feel that way. Here's another thing: You're unsupportive. I remember that Thursday when you told me I didn't support you with boys, I was literally laughing in my head. Uh, stupid bitch, what boys? Oh, right, they don't exist. I wonder why! Anyways, you're unsupportive. You go off on your all-about-me tangents and then won't listen to a word I say about what is important in my life. You bring up your friends, who I don't know but know don't like me, and I listen. I laugh. I understand. I bring up him, someone important in my life, and you glare me down, shoot me evil glares. Maybe your logic is that I'm unsupportive because I'm not alone with you. Maybe that's because I'm not a bitch and actually treat boys like people instead of being an overwhelmingly sardonic. Which brings up another point; you're also contradicting. Your life isn't a paradox. You logic is that you need a guy, who you care about, to tell you to improve your looks. Because, obviously, it's the best choice to have some guy say, "Bitch, you're fat." or, at beast, "You've been gaining some weight." And you hate yourself so much, it's like you're asking to make it worse. Every time I told you that you could help yourself, your torpor gets in your way. Oh, and hypocritical. "I was bullied!" --> 'Help me, I'm so innocent! Don't hurt me feelings! But, I will hurt you like none other and I have the right to because I was hurt when I was younger and I'm damaged! Sure, it was, like, seven years ago, but they were mean! So, I have the right to be judgmental and critical and rude to everyone because I'm a cynic.' -Facepalm- And then you say that you don't treat your friends the way you treat people you don't know, but how do you expect to make friends when you're an unfeeling bitch? This makes me wonder if you were ever trying to be a toady...And there it is -hypocritical, bitchy, contradictory, unsupportive.
(Feel lucky I didn't decide to mention all the infamous times you've tried to "guilt trip" me.)
Do not let that last paragraph convince you that I am some goddess of right, because I don't have an inferiority complex and I can admit that I'm wrong. I know that I'm a "bad" human being according to standards of society. I hate kids, I have ribald tastes, I'm sometimes stentorian, I am mainly stolid when I hate people, come on-I have a surfeit of bad things I could list about myself. I would never claim to be a sacrosanct like you are.
Gosh, that paragraph was supposed to be about these last few days, but I guess I just had a few more things to say about you.
Your voice is trenchant is holding onto my heart. Some people may believe that our choices may be have bad salience, but it doesn't. Only sublime affection.
I can't wait for your rejoinder.
My meter is not a heartbeat in iamb,
or a reverse.
My heart's chorus calls out to syncopated notes,
that are completely tacit.
The impossibility is for me to be spartan when my heart is,
in a way of tiny tongues, turgid-
Past towns have left me feeling like the practice of love
left talons in my veins,
while soporific things left me dead.
Dreaming and death were connected by Hamlet,
as he tried to pride his home and castle.
He had such sedition; I envy it.
Arrest me for usury of my soul,
and specious tall tales.
I am not a tyro of the life alone. And neither are you. However, with you, it's unsurprising. I am not seraphic, but I care about people and give them a chance. Unlike you. You are so introverted and stuck up in your own ways that you're far too obsessed to be anything but horribly annoying. Everything fell apart not because I changed, but because I stripped off my false skin and exposed my umbrage out. It should never have had to hide; Nor should it have existed. I'm not some bitch for finally telling you how they feel. No wonder she left you and let all her friends tell you off. At least I'm not that heartless. I was converted to hatred of someone I never knew because I "had to." Why is it that everyone has to share your opinion? But, I guess that's how friends have to be, right? We aren't your sycophants! Friends aren't like that. That's when it hit me. You're just like him. Sure, he valued you as a friend because you never fell to him-but the problem is that you two are alike in that way. No reason for you positions, no justification. And everyone has to be yours. Your friends. You opinions. Your last word. No. I'm not here, complaining, trying to upbraid you. I'm just pissed off. There's no reason for me to act sanguine when I don't feel that way. Here's another thing: You're unsupportive. I remember that Thursday when you told me I didn't support you with boys, I was literally laughing in my head. Uh, stupid bitch, what boys? Oh, right, they don't exist. I wonder why! Anyways, you're unsupportive. You go off on your all-about-me tangents and then won't listen to a word I say about what is important in my life. You bring up your friends, who I don't know but know don't like me, and I listen. I laugh. I understand. I bring up him, someone important in my life, and you glare me down, shoot me evil glares. Maybe your logic is that I'm unsupportive because I'm not alone with you. Maybe that's because I'm not a bitch and actually treat boys like people instead of being an overwhelmingly sardonic. Which brings up another point; you're also contradicting. Your life isn't a paradox. You logic is that you need a guy, who you care about, to tell you to improve your looks. Because, obviously, it's the best choice to have some guy say, "Bitch, you're fat." or, at beast, "You've been gaining some weight." And you hate yourself so much, it's like you're asking to make it worse. Every time I told you that you could help yourself, your torpor gets in your way. Oh, and hypocritical. "I was bullied!" --> 'Help me, I'm so innocent! Don't hurt me feelings! But, I will hurt you like none other and I have the right to because I was hurt when I was younger and I'm damaged! Sure, it was, like, seven years ago, but they were mean! So, I have the right to be judgmental and critical and rude to everyone because I'm a cynic.' -Facepalm- And then you say that you don't treat your friends the way you treat people you don't know, but how do you expect to make friends when you're an unfeeling bitch? This makes me wonder if you were ever trying to be a toady...And there it is -hypocritical, bitchy, contradictory, unsupportive.
(Feel lucky I didn't decide to mention all the infamous times you've tried to "guilt trip" me.)
Do not let that last paragraph convince you that I am some goddess of right, because I don't have an inferiority complex and I can admit that I'm wrong. I know that I'm a "bad" human being according to standards of society. I hate kids, I have ribald tastes, I'm sometimes stentorian, I am mainly stolid when I hate people, come on-I have a surfeit of bad things I could list about myself. I would never claim to be a sacrosanct like you are.
Gosh, that paragraph was supposed to be about these last few days, but I guess I just had a few more things to say about you.
Your voice is trenchant is holding onto my heart. Some people may believe that our choices may be have bad salience, but it doesn't. Only sublime affection.
I can't wait for your rejoinder.
My meter is not a heartbeat in iamb,
or a reverse.
My heart's chorus calls out to syncopated notes,
that are completely tacit.
The impossibility is for me to be spartan when my heart is,
in a way of tiny tongues, turgid-
Past towns have left me feeling like the practice of love
left talons in my veins,
while soporific things left me dead.
Dreaming and death were connected by Hamlet,
as he tried to pride his home and castle.
He had such sedition; I envy it.
Arrest me for usury of my soul,
and specious tall tales.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
One Vasaris of Twenty Eleven
No no no no no no no no no. There it was, quivering in the back of my mind, screaming at me internally, "Fuck things up! Fuck things up!" And there I am, refusing, saying, "I won't say it this time. I'm jinxing it." And then what did I go and do? I screwed up. I did. I know.
You're right; I regret it. With every string of my being I wish I could tear apart time and take it all back. Take it all back. I can't accept myself for this.
Did I not know risk? I knew risk. That when the less conservative, slightly more arrogant me was exposed, that this could happen. Did happen. Fuck.
Everything is wrong. I messed up. I can't tell anyone. I'm breaking. Fighting. Drowning. -Don't cry. Don't cry- And the worst part is, there the end. That's it. I say it, and it's over. Something I want. Something I crave. Oh, here come tears.
I gave you everything. My heart, especially. And look at me. There is no probation for this. I am sick and sorry.
"Should've said no. Should've gone home. Should've thought twice for [I] let it all go."
And there goes the one thing I stood for.
The worst part is that you won't forgive me and you won't ever speak to me again. And I wish I could take it back.
I am dirt; please kick me in the face.
'Bleeders don't deserve you.
This bitch doesn't either.
And the ocean that covered me,
I spit in it's face.
Personal insult.'
You're right; I regret it. With every string of my being I wish I could tear apart time and take it all back. Take it all back. I can't accept myself for this.
Did I not know risk? I knew risk. That when the less conservative, slightly more arrogant me was exposed, that this could happen. Did happen. Fuck.
Everything is wrong. I messed up. I can't tell anyone. I'm breaking. Fighting. Drowning. -Don't cry. Don't cry- And the worst part is, there the end. That's it. I say it, and it's over. Something I want. Something I crave. Oh, here come tears.
I gave you everything. My heart, especially. And look at me. There is no probation for this. I am sick and sorry.
"Should've said no. Should've gone home. Should've thought twice for [I] let it all go."
And there goes the one thing I stood for.
The worst part is that you won't forgive me and you won't ever speak to me again. And I wish I could take it back.
I am dirt; please kick me in the face.
'Bleeders don't deserve you.
This bitch doesn't either.
And the ocean that covered me,
I spit in it's face.
Personal insult.'
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Thirty Sausis of Twenty Eleven
It's too hard to blog about what happened.
Here's some English stuff:
1.28.11
"As she walks forward, cold falls in her trail,
like shards of ice her footprints break the snow.
If I a man who is blind and with brail,
then she is a fire, lighting pages slow.
Ripping into delicate fabric hearts,
her words are mountain beast claws in my soul.
Her smile is made of bitter pastry tarts;
Yet, everyday she takes her low toll.
Her eyes are made of a blazing fire
too intoxicating to escape from.
And most burning ashes tend to tire,
perpetually forward moving some.
How she must see the misfortune she brings
With her devilish horns and angel wings."
6.11.09
"In my woeful life you are the sunshine.
You're the radiant in more ways than one.
You are warm, kind, hopeful, and very fine.
You light up my day when we're having fun.
Our goodbyes and good mornings are so sweet;
Your love will light up my dark, hollow sky.
When you rise, the birds start to sing and tweet,
and day is dark 'til we say our first, "hi."
At night, when you're behind the moon so pale,
I know that you expose your love to her.
Although, at loving me you seem to fail.
When I confront you, your response is "sure."
You're the light in my life and hers as well,
Your love story with her you don't retell."
But what gets me most is not that he is gone. It's that he faded. Even though I was too young to remember him without his disease, I can remember the crippling story of Alzheimer's. [Is it odd that our lives are connected by memories that don't fit?] I remember last summer, he was in the nursing home. And, his memory was literally gone-too much to even remember his wife of sixty years (but it had been months since he remembered her). But, he was almost child-like. Him, a man so strong, to have seen so much, but he smiled that sweet, innocent smile. Like, 'Hey, there are people here to see me. Cool.' And it's that. Like he never got a chance. No one deserves to leave without remembering anything.
Isn't the last moments of life when you think something about your entire life. And this disease destroys any concept of reflecting.
Stone against diamond,
soul against life.
Scratched and beaten with tears-breaking down,
there is no way to hold firm,
hot tears of broken wings and a fallen solider.
There's no heartbreak to describe
the descend of an elderly child.'
Here's some English stuff:
1.28.11
"As she walks forward, cold falls in her trail,
like shards of ice her footprints break the snow.
If I a man who is blind and with brail,
then she is a fire, lighting pages slow.
Ripping into delicate fabric hearts,
her words are mountain beast claws in my soul.
Her smile is made of bitter pastry tarts;
Yet, everyday she takes her low toll.
Her eyes are made of a blazing fire
too intoxicating to escape from.
And most burning ashes tend to tire,
perpetually forward moving some.
How she must see the misfortune she brings
With her devilish horns and angel wings."
6.11.09
"In my woeful life you are the sunshine.
You're the radiant in more ways than one.
You are warm, kind, hopeful, and very fine.
You light up my day when we're having fun.
Our goodbyes and good mornings are so sweet;
Your love will light up my dark, hollow sky.
When you rise, the birds start to sing and tweet,
and day is dark 'til we say our first, "hi."
At night, when you're behind the moon so pale,
I know that you expose your love to her.
Although, at loving me you seem to fail.
When I confront you, your response is "sure."
You're the light in my life and hers as well,
Your love story with her you don't retell."
But what gets me most is not that he is gone. It's that he faded. Even though I was too young to remember him without his disease, I can remember the crippling story of Alzheimer's. [Is it odd that our lives are connected by memories that don't fit?] I remember last summer, he was in the nursing home. And, his memory was literally gone-too much to even remember his wife of sixty years (but it had been months since he remembered her). But, he was almost child-like. Him, a man so strong, to have seen so much, but he smiled that sweet, innocent smile. Like, 'Hey, there are people here to see me. Cool.' And it's that. Like he never got a chance. No one deserves to leave without remembering anything.
Isn't the last moments of life when you think something about your entire life. And this disease destroys any concept of reflecting.
Stone against diamond,
soul against life.
Scratched and beaten with tears-breaking down,
there is no way to hold firm,
hot tears of broken wings and a fallen solider.
There's no heartbreak to describe
the descend of an elderly child.'
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Twenty-One Sausis of Twenty Eleven
My blog may be the only place where I can truly be me. Where I can be so cryptic that it pains my readers, but opine in such a way that my point can be understand. That I am hurt, that life is complicated, but that I still (and possibly always will) have quixotic dreams and hopes for this world. Is it so wrong? Is no a peccadillo, but a federal crime to believe in those silly fantasies? Does it make me puerile? No. Because, secretly, everyone has hope. Everyone sees that "light at the end of the tunnel" and they strive towards it. We walk to the light, to the hope, to our dreams, to the end of the tunnel. And no matter how many times we fall, convince ourselves that it's stupid, we keep going forward-driven by only blind faith. But, it's always been better than being pallid.
I'm sorry if my prattle hasn't been to your liking, but that's not really the point of mindless chatter. I can't be perfect; I can't please everyone. I stand as one-one person. With dreams, goals, beliefs that contradict others, but that's who I am. I was never made to be a paragon. I'm not a plastic person who falls to others. The only regrets I have are those of my mistakes, but I don't heave and grieve over them until I die. No. I accept them, for denying can lead to worse outcomes than lies. If life has taught me anything, it's that. Acceptance is my redress.
There you stand, my beautiful raconteur. And here you come, towards me, with your smile and your probity. Who could have had the prescient to see us? "'Not I' said the cat." No one would have thought that you, my sumptuous-ness, would be there to hold me hand. To care about me. To, dare I say, love me. And there I was, like a cliff with water rushing towards it. Here you came, like the ocean with waves that crashed against me by fate and Luna herself. (I told you to address her by her name in her presence.) Now, it is ever-ostensible what will happen to us. What will be lost. What we must now live with. What thing we brought upon ourselves in such a precipitate manner.
The perspicacious minded are never the pedant. They are the brilliant, the bold, the polyglots, the talented, but never the braggers. And she, who holds herself so high, who believes she is so phlegmatic, falls with the know-it-alls. How is it that she, someone who once believed so much, falls with everyone she hated? The saddest part is that she doesn't know she's there. She believes that she has the propriety of the rest of the world. How tragically wrong.
Achievements are, I find, very pathogenic. Especially since pride is the worst of the seven sins (Wrath, Sloth, Lust, Greed, Pride, Gluttony, Envy). It takes over as just subtle pride, knowing that this one thing is good. But soon, it progresses to a "Look at me; look at me." Slowly, as achievements grow, they slip away. The audience watches as the person isn't even thinking about pugilism with their sin. Because no one realizes when they get to high up, or they wouldn't be there.
You're having a parley now.
'I stand in the plebeian world,
and we stare at the shadows.
Like clouds,
our guesses our pithy.
The pain to ossify
matches the sadness of a tragic hero.
Penury and the politic man,
made LBJ.'
I'm sorry if my prattle hasn't been to your liking, but that's not really the point of mindless chatter. I can't be perfect; I can't please everyone. I stand as one-one person. With dreams, goals, beliefs that contradict others, but that's who I am. I was never made to be a paragon. I'm not a plastic person who falls to others. The only regrets I have are those of my mistakes, but I don't heave and grieve over them until I die. No. I accept them, for denying can lead to worse outcomes than lies. If life has taught me anything, it's that. Acceptance is my redress.
There you stand, my beautiful raconteur. And here you come, towards me, with your smile and your probity. Who could have had the prescient to see us? "'Not I' said the cat." No one would have thought that you, my sumptuous-ness, would be there to hold me hand. To care about me. To, dare I say, love me. And there I was, like a cliff with water rushing towards it. Here you came, like the ocean with waves that crashed against me by fate and Luna herself. (I told you to address her by her name in her presence.) Now, it is ever-ostensible what will happen to us. What will be lost. What we must now live with. What thing we brought upon ourselves in such a precipitate manner.
The perspicacious minded are never the pedant. They are the brilliant, the bold, the polyglots, the talented, but never the braggers. And she, who holds herself so high, who believes she is so phlegmatic, falls with the know-it-alls. How is it that she, someone who once believed so much, falls with everyone she hated? The saddest part is that she doesn't know she's there. She believes that she has the propriety of the rest of the world. How tragically wrong.
Achievements are, I find, very pathogenic. Especially since pride is the worst of the seven sins (Wrath, Sloth, Lust, Greed, Pride, Gluttony, Envy). It takes over as just subtle pride, knowing that this one thing is good. But soon, it progresses to a "Look at me; look at me." Slowly, as achievements grow, they slip away. The audience watches as the person isn't even thinking about pugilism with their sin. Because no one realizes when they get to high up, or they wouldn't be there.
You're having a parley now.
'I stand in the plebeian world,
and we stare at the shadows.
Like clouds,
our guesses our pithy.
The pain to ossify
matches the sadness of a tragic hero.
Penury and the politic man,
made LBJ.'
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