Tag Archives: poetry

smile upon me

8 Feb

Ah, feels good to lie down on my MONDO-BED and relax for a little while. My French homework’s done, I am looking forward to tomorrow (Think Tank! No Advanced Math! Journalism!) and everything is pretty lovely at the moment.

About the previous post, Seaweed Song: that is going to be kept private, as I am not nearly ready enough to let that info out. Plus, it is very explicit, and I may actually delete it in a few days, depending on what I feel like. No worries, you’re not missing anything- just some desperate drabbles.

Speaking of drabbles, I’ve been writing bilingual poems that sound absolutely marvellous (okay, not quite that, but mighty close). Here’s one:

“another raisin in the driest sun;
sec! un autre-mais notre
et votre voleurs sur les grands nuits
en l’habite des loups.
oh, we frolicked while you slept
and draped curtains of flowers,
bright and velvety, around your face
obscuring the light.
somewhere in there, we played
pan-pipes and nearly exploded
upon your kitchen floor
Wih the joy-
nous sommes les voleurs, nous attrapons
ton mots et ton chance
mais nous ne faisons pas du bruit
nous ne faisons jamais du bruit, petit cherie.”

No idea if it’s gramatically correct or not (especially the notre and votre bit), but I think I did okay. Poetry sounds so much more soothing in French, same as swearing- someone famous once said “it’s like wiping your ass with silk,” and I think he’s right.
Merde!
So relieving! That is what a curseword should make you feel- kind of relieved through your obscenity.

I’m going to write more like this. Much more- I like this sort of free exchange between languages.
I’ve been doing midnight drabbles for the last four or five nights, I will probably type them all up in one huge post and be done with it.

Also: I left my book at Ryan’s house. Dang.

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spare me the suspense

23 Nov

I have not blogged in the last two days, which may be a record for me, I’m not sure. In any case, Thanksgiving break starts on Wednesday, and I will be having a helluva fun time. Hopefully.
Well, today was an unremarkable day, excepting the two periods of awesome I have every Day 2. Oh, the day system: it is a six-day rotation schedule that was put into effect two years ago, to much confusion and rage. Now it’s pretty integrated, and people like it because you can take many more classes than you previously could. Sweet!
I am rapidly running out of things to write about; I attempted to write some poetry earlier but ended up with a pile of crap and a much less motivated attitude.
Writer’s block sucks! It sucks a lot! It sucks worse than Owl City (who I only know of through my friends Genna and Lillian), which sucks pretty bad.
I suppose I’ll leave you all here then.
Ciao.

in case of emergency, break glass

17 Nov

and the glass is in shards around my ankles right now. God, I’m confused and heartachey and full to the brim with this feeling- this feeling that will not go away, no matter how many times I listen to Steam Engine or lie in bed staring blankly at the ceiling, thinking of things better left buried deep in my subconcious. I am in the center of a ring of confusion- on one side are my friends, one of which may or may not be going through a mental breakdown and has not told me, the other of which may be slowly falling away from sanity and beginning to embrace stress as an acceptable way of life.
Then there’s the three people responsible for this heartache- one that I am deathly afraid of him hating me/never speaking to me again/renouncing any inkling of our friendship and possibly ignoring me for the rest of my life. The second one is worrying me as I am starting to write frickin’ poetry about him (not on LiveJournal, thank god) and I know he doesn’t think of me as anything other than another person. (Maybe. ) The
third is just plain being an enigma, telling me one thing then suddenly, inexplicably, turning into a tacit stress magnet. Not that he wasn’t one before, but now it’s scaring me, how seriously he’s taking these standardized tests. I am afraid if he doesn’t get into this program he might be broken beyond recognition, or worse… I don’t even want to think about that possibility. No, I will not let myself even consider it.
But I feel stifled somehow, like I have something so great to write about but no ideas… Maybe it has to do with the music, or maybe it has to do with the people, or maybe I am just slowly going stark raving mad and no one is frank enough to tell me.
Bortglomt. I would like a hug from you, though you probably don’t read this.
Tweed, you are bloody confusing.
Agætis, I hope you survive your ordeal and go back to being your slightly off-the-wall self; the self I like to talk to and spend time with.

so take your money don’t look back…my morning jacket, you are brilliant and I’d like to give you all lumberjack thrash hair hugs.

Ciao, dears.