Class Rings

Just finished up my Fall 2010 term at PSU and I'm pretty excited to be getting my Bachelors of Arts in six months. So excited that I haven't slept and instead spent the night (after finishing submitting my last final) going through requirements for the graduation application, commencement ceremony details, and designing my class ring on the Jostens website. I guess you could say I can get a little obsessive.

It's kind of a big deal. I put a lot of thought into all the details. I thought maybe I'd share them with people -- never mind how incoherent it may all end up being or how confused people who do not know much about me and my history will find themselves. So please forgive me ahead of time, and feel free to chalk all of this up to a result of not getting enough sleep.

HappyLight Energy Lamp

I don't know if it's some sort of sign of desperation or what, but the other day my parents took a suggestion my doctor has made several times in the past to buy me a lamp that simulates natural light. I guess people with seasonal affective disorder (with the convenient acronym SAD) find it helpful.

I've been using it for an hour or two each day -- can't say that I'm noticing anything, but it's hard to tell since I've been sick and have needed a lot of rest. It's pretty fucking bright, though. It must do something, I guess. Plus, it's called a HappyLight. I mean, come on.

I dunno. We'll see how it goes.

Stories

I'm taking Intro to Fiction Writing this term, and to be honest, I really didn't care for it much. I used to write short stories when I was in elementary school, but just sort of stopped. It's nice to be writing them again, though. I write way differently now than I did back then in process, style and subject, but I definitely missed it.
If I'm feeling particularly brave one day, I'll share something here. We'll see!

On Language and Laziness

So I guess I haven't done this in a while, huh. I'm forgetful. And lazy. Those two are a terrible mix. I've been writing longhand in a notebook lately, so this poor blog has been neglected. Maybe I'll put up some entries I wrote in there. Maybe not, though. Like I said, I am pretty lazy. And forgetful.

Let's talk about... let's talk about language. About how it looks and what it represents to me. I'm taking a rhetoric that's been making me think about this kind of stuff a lot lately.

One thing people always ask me about, particularly in my poetry, is capitalization and punctuation. Okay, I guess that's two things. But they're like tied for first place.

I'm certainly heavily inspired by E. E. Cummings and W. S Merwin, breaking convention and making frequent use of he ability. It's sort of a philosophical thing now, something that just sort of developed in my head. Let me try to explain.

"...just no more three-by-fives."

What does it say that I've never really been much for taking myspace style pictures?

I've just never been somewhere or had something happen where I was like, MAN, I want to take a picture of myself. I don't make fun of other people who do it (well, there are certainly exceptions...) but it just always makes me feel extremely conceited. I understand that people want to remember moments -- but how much more often do you see people taking pictures of themselves versus taking pictures of actual events? I'm a big fan of candid photos. How often do you see people out somewhere spending more time taking photos of themselves then staring at them on the screen of their digital cameras for a minute before taking more? Not nearly, I feel, as much as you see people out living in the moment, taking in every detail of things -- the sounds, the scents, the rushes of excitement found in actually doing things rather than posing for pictures? There's just something weird about seeing pictures of some event rather than actually talking to any of the people who were there, even more so than getting pictures of relatives you just never meet.

John Mayer's "3x5s" is one of my favorite songs, and it really sums up how I feel about the whole issue:

"Today I finally overcame trying to fit the world inside a picture frame.

Maybe I will tell you all about it when I'm in the mood to lose my way (withwords) but let me say

You should have seen that sunrise with your own eyes -- it brought me back to life.
You'll be with me next time I go outside; no more 3x5's."

All or nothing, in a way. Essentially: if I want to share a moment from my life with you, it won't be in a Facebook picture or an envelope come Christmas. I'll make the effort to immerse you in a detailed recount, with a mindset undistracted and expressive so that you can get a glimpse of what I felt at that moment -- or better yet, come along. Pictures just aren't enough.

I can't explain it-

I don't know what's wrong with me.

It's like a pit.

There's really no other way to describe it.

Regardless of whether or not I dug it myself, I feel like I'm stuck at the bottom, swollen and helpless. It's dark. Thinking clearly seems like a feat far beyond my capability. My chest tightens and my breaths become shallow.

And the pit moves.

It moves away, far away from anything and far away from everything and it feels like it won't ever stop. I surrender; I collapse. They say hope never spread her wings but on unfathomable seas, but they never mention my desert.

Fall 2010 term

Today started out kinda rough. Some mornings -- actually, a lot of mornings as it turns out -- just don't seem to go right for me at all. I don't know what it is. I just have terrible luck with these things. Or I'm a shitty planner. Sometimes I'm pretty good at it, but most of the time I'm just way too scatterbrained to really figure it out. So I'm like perpetually running late, and this is a nightmare for my stress levels. I ended up skipping my first class because I wasn't going to make it on time and wanted to eat and collect myself.

So my first class today was Intro to Rhetoric and Composition Studies, or Rhet-comp, as the professor called it, effectively confusing about five people to the point that they were about to leave, thinking it was the wrong course. That would've sucked, since the class is held in the Unitus Building, approximately 2600 miles (coincidentally, the length of the continental United States) away from the main campus. Uphill. I'd heard good things about Dr. Miller, knowledgeable in her field and accommodating to students so it should be a good class. I've read a lot of Aristotle and my boyfriend happens to be a rhetoric and linguistics major. I've got this shit in the bag.

Create

I've been thinking a lot lately about my writing. Or rather, my lack thereof, particularly with regards to my own life. In short, I just never think I'm interesting enough to talk about. I have lots of thoughts on various subjects, but I just let them go. I mean, surely they're nothing no one else has thought of. Why bother writing the words? So I keep things to myself. It always reminds me of those army recruitment commercials they used to run on TV with shots of men and women doing important military-related tasks while the voiceover asks, "if someone wrote a book about your life... would anyone want to read it?" My instinct both now and then is to say "of course not, my life is boring." I assume that's what they expect as well. But I think about the reponses to my old LiveJournal and the immense popularity of Twitter and microblogging and begin to think that isn't the issue.

It occurred to me that it isn't just big events in someone's life that interest people, but rather how people take smaller events. I remember Peter saying once, after I'd written some LJ post about my obsession with fire (haha), that I had a knack for turning the mundane into so much more. Why else would anyone bother following some teenage girl's ramblings? It's fascinating to read about how an individual interprets things, the multitude of ways they digest what happens or could happen to any one of us.

And that's the lure of art, isn't it? What is a painting but an artist's view of the world? What is a song but a musician dissecting life into sound? It doesn't matter if it's exactly the same as what you see or the complete opposite -- the talent an artist wields is simply the ability to capture that.

I've decided that it's one of the worst possible things I could do to simply keep all my thoughts to myself. I consider myself an artist, limited mostly to poetry but I'm certainly proficient with prose. What a selfish thing it truly is to keep silent when I have so much to say. If I crank out some uninteresting posts, so be it. But if just one line I write strikes some sort of chord in anyone who stumbles across my writing, I've done my job as an artist.

Do I not even believe my own ars poetica? The most important thing of all?

"A thought is worth more than the vulgarity of speech;
Embellish it, exaggerate,
and most of all--
create"




PS: please forgive any typos my iPhone has not caught while I've written this -- I have had no sleep tonight and I'm typing without my contacts in

Tuesday Afternoon Musings

I've tried countless times to maintain a journal or diary. A friend of mine has kept a series of journals for years -- I admired his diligence, but when he read a few days' entries and I saw how far back he'd kept a record, I couldn't help but be struck by how... dull it was. I didn't really care to know that he went to the movies that day. It wasn't that interesting that he bought such-and-such DVD that one weekend.

I've tried -- much more successfully -- to keep archive of all my poetry. The internet has made the endeavor infinitely easier, since paper gets lost easily and computers are never reliable enough for those sorts of things for very long. I've also got a handful of blogs here and there from some time periods, but if I were to look back at my life, I wouldn't want to read through those -- I'd look through my poetry. None of the latter is dated, and although I keep my work together chronologically for the most part I couldn't really tell you when it was that I wrote any given piece of writing. I just don't remember when it was.

But I remember how I felt.

I remember my thoughts, I remember stringing letters and words, lines and stanzas together to convey whatever it was I couldn't say in any diary. And despite the capricious nature of my memory, the familiarity of my poetry keeps me in touch with my past in a way no daily blog entries could.

Unfortunately, I do not write poetry all the time. I write when I feel compelled to write and that isn't necessarily all the time. As a result, huge gaps of time remain undocumented, months or years where I hardly write a single word regarding my own personal life. I can find traces of habit or stylistic choices based on my outlook on life at the time, but I'll never have a dozen spiral notebooks in my drawer recording my 16th birthday or my trips to the coast or to the mountains, every movie I see in theatres or watch with my family from Netflix on Saturday nights.

But I think that I'm okay with that.

(750 stats)

It's not called insomnia

I may be incredibly indecisive, but I do know very well when I'm not getting what I want.

"California, show your teeth--"

3 days and 10 hours. Can't wait!
California's been nice, if disgustingly hot. Definitely glad I don't have to endure the 18-hour car ride back to Oregon!

Location:Oxnard Blvd,Oxnard,United States

How could I forget?

Alright. There's no way around it.

I still love Christopher while I am with Thomas. Yeah, I know. I'm a shitty girlfriend any way you look at it and I'm completely nuts for confessing any of it.

Christopher, I will always love you. And yet, you and I --

remember that day I was simply inconsolable?

remember that day that to you was hardly out of the ordinary because

remember that day was like any other day for you because

remember that you never understood why you hurt me so easily? I sent you a song and you were excited to listen to another piece of music which

reminded that silly little girl of yours of the two of you, like the ones I'd sent before with love and devotion (if you need a hand to hold there look down by your knee) and you had nothing to say because you were not expecting a song that forced you to

remember that nagging thought in the deep dark place in the back of your head that said exactly what the chorus did

-- we are not meant to be. Tyler Connolly had it right, didn't he? I love you, but I am no longer in love with you.

Thomas, sweet Thomas, you will never be perfect.

You will upset me and you will let me down and you will make mistakes and you will forget important things. But the fact that you would give me a place in your life, the fact that you want me there for the long haul, and the fact that you could never imagine telling me it'd be better to plan my life without your protective arms around me or whispering in my ear that it's going to be okay or promising me you'll make it all better... that is all that I have ever wanted.

I can't type any more because the gentle sigh you let escape as you sleep quietly on the other end of Skype is almost sufficient to burst my heart open. You just don't know all that it is you do so effortlessly.

i am still a shitty girlfriend.

MySpace

Watching old episodes of Tosh.0 on Comedy Central while we're waiting for the pizza to arrive. Apparently, Daniel deleted his MySpace? I don't know if that's legit or if it's still true, but that's pretty awesome. I should totally get rid of mine. Can you even do that still? I know some of my friends have deleted theirs -- although the majority of those people have promptly recreated accounts because they're stupid fucking addicts or something, so it was at least possible at some point. Should look more into this some time.

California!

The original plan was to leave home at 4AM this morning but apparently my daddy couldn't sleep, so they decided to leave around midnight.

I forgot how uncomfortable sleeping in a car was, but I sure got a pleasant reminder!

Think I'll just try reading or something.

Location:E Cypress Ave,Redding,United States

i am Old Salamano.

Pulled my luggage out of the attic the other day so I could start packing for my trip. Grabbed a pair of scissors to remove the old tags from my last trip.

And I wanted to cry right then and there.

I remembered sitting on the floor in your room last winter, finishing up my packing. You rose from the bed and brought scissors over to carefully cut off the old airline tags as I watched quietly. I stared at the printing on them, mind reeling. PDX to YYC. Portland to Calgary. Me to you. Me to you to us. Within hours they would be replaced with new tags, sending me back (your arms feel like) home. I didn't know (how could I know?) that it would be the last time I saw ever you. I didn't know.

We went to bed and I spent the night lying awake. I already felt so far away from you, with your back to me once again in sleep. So far from you, and yet I could still touch you. But you were mine, and I was yours. I whispered "I love you" to your figure breathing shallow under the blankets. And I did love you. So much. I did and I did and I do and I always will.

I stared at the tags from Air Canada for a long moment before they rested at the bottom of my trash bin.

Vacation!

So we're headed down to California Friday morning, hitting Sacramento (where I was born!) then pushing our way to Ventura, where my aunt lives. I'm excited -- I've always loved California, and there's nothing more fun than tons of sunshine, amirite?

Leaving LAX on the 24th for Indiana, where I'll spend the rest of my summer, until classes start up again at PSU.

Fuck, I should be packing.

The Envious

I like to think that I'm a pretty friendly person. I really try to get along with everyone. Maybe too hard, sometimes.

So what makes me more frustrated than anything else is people that don't like me... and disregard any peace offering attempts because they've already got some judgement they've made about me.

It hasn't been a problem since high school. But we all know high school girls are jealous and stupid by nature, so I took what I could get for the most part. It still stung, but it's understandable given how shallow their collective pool of maturity is.

When it happens NOW, I have to wonder -- were you one of those self-absorbed bitches that must've had serious insecurity issues? Thomas thinks she's the "princess" type, hating anyone else that gets more attention than her. I mean, I'll be the first to admit I'm an attention whore. Pot calling the kettle black, right? But I never bring people down -- like I said, I try to get along with everyone. Empathy is like a natural thing to me. I've been guilty of jealousy, but certainly not envy.

What's the difference, you ask? In common speech, people use them as synonyms. Jealousy is even filed under envy in the list of the seven deadly sins. But the words themselves carry different meanings: both involve a longing for something someone else has, but envy takes it a step further, wanting that other person to suffer from the lack of it just as they do. Dante talks about how the envious get punished by having their eyes sewn shut with wire so they can no longer take pleasure from watching others suffer in Inferno. What an excellent solution.

I don't know what my point is. I'll never understand people's obsession with themselves to the point where they feel that others must be brought down. Never.

But you seem to be a master of this, miss. Maybe you can teach me?

Making District Finals

I'm pretty good at spelling. Some people tell me it's because I have a knack for words.

How do I remember how to spell words people often spell incorrectly? I associate the letters with things I won't ever forget.

-Unnecessary

-Recommend

I learned these in fourth grade.

Two N's, two E's, two S's...

Two M's, two E's...

Two of everything but C. Because C is for Chel and she is not necessary. We do not recommend her.

I turned down the opportunity to compete in the statewide spelling contest every year, only getting into district finals because that just involved a silent test in class.

How funny.

Relocating?

Thinking of moving the blog somewhere else. The only reason I opted for Blogger is that I'm a Google follower. I'd hoped they'd do more work with Blogger, but hoping for years gets kinda old sometimes. Might revive the old LiveJournal, might check out some other alternatives. If you have any recommendations, let me know.

S. Colbert: "agnostics are just atheists without balls."

"Agnostics don't assume they know that there's nothing, but we don't assume we know there's something. we just accept we don't know."

No.

You're just an atheist without balls.

Conflicted

A little move I picked up from you, my dear;
if I ignore it long enough, maybe the whole issue will just go away.

"He won't be back for another 12 hours. OMG I miss him so much!"

no.



don't you dare bastardize the meaning of that phrase with your trivial little childish whining. you have no fucking idea what it's like to miss someone. no idea. you don't have a clue what it's like to be only connected by a phone line. you don't know how it feels to wake up every morning (alone, once again) and realize you had only dreamed that they were beside you last night.

when have you resigned after too many unanswered rings? how close was it to dawn when your tiredness overwhelmed your worry and finally let your eyes close?

when was the last time you had to stare at a computer screen and how many sobs did you let escape before the pixels finally calmed you down in lieu of a simple hug?

you can't possibly comprehend all the fear and insecurity and misunderstandings and assumptions and the sad, sad mutual loneliness captured by the silence exchanged through the telephone receiver -- the constant ringing of that too-familiar sound that fills your head and always seems to seep out the pores of your skin, untouched for days weeks months

you
have no
idea.

don't you dare act as if some quantifiable amount of hours away from the love of your life -- the reason you breathe, you smile, you sing (well, you used to) -- is the most unbearable thing in the world.

you don't know.
you just really don't know.

but be glad that you probably never will.

"I miss you already!!!"

shut the fuck up.

you don't know how it feels to miss someone so strongly every waking (i say waking because there is never restful sleep alone) moment. to miss them so frequently and so passionately that even in the short periods of time when they're with you -- because that awful empty feeling has lived inside your little heart for so long, expanding so tremendously to create a knot of contiguity with solitude -- you could never,
ever be close enough to them
to melt it away.

(my turn now)

         i am waiting
                waiting.

what am i waiting for?

(my turn now)

i am waiting for love to fall into my lap.

love

free

from jealousy or pride

unbearable distance

and striped bowls smashed against the wall.

           (my turn now)

love trusting
love honest
love love love love                                   i have spent so
                                                               i have spent oh-so long
                                                   chasing you
                                                   chasing your shadow
                                                   even when I can't/don't/won't
                                                   see the sun

Old school stuff

off Insipid

you will never mean anything to me--
my saviour you will never be.

the attempts you made to fix this mess
arose a slow, sickening, self-regress

can't you ever comprehend?

don't reach out again.

Restless

I'm officially done with classes for the school year. So I should be less stressed, right? Summer's great, right?

Maybe I just need more time to fall into summer mode.

Maybe the term's still got me down a bit, maybe I'm kinda worried.

Why am I not happy yet?

Ars Poetica

(c’mon)

muse for hire

uninspired?

when you have an idea, run with it.

(let’s just make a run for it)

take a concept and

(don't look back)

drag it out, carry it along,

coax it with semicolons and em dashes

you hold complete control over language,

bend conventionality and forms to your will

(don't you like the way

you/i/we/they

wrap(s) around

your/my/their

finger?)

make the text convey

what you want it to say

the means justify the ending

so forget what you have been told---

for poetry is not putting

the square block in the circle hole

and although the words should sound from your lips

just as they flow from your pen

a thought is worth more

than the vulgarity of speech.

embellish it, exaggerate

and most of all—create

(750 stats)

ars poetica, first draft: 750 scribbles

(c’mon)


muse for hire
uninspired?

all i need from you, Erato, are your pretty words Thalia, just lend me all your exclamation marks and Melpomene and i will ring like Polyhymnia's verses twirling letters like Terpsichore that shine bright in Urania's sky

when you have an idea, run with it.
(let’s just make a run for it)
take a concept and
(don't look back)
drag it out, carry it along, coax it out with semicolons and em dashes

you hold complete control over language, bend conventionality and forms to your will (don't you like the way they/i/you wrap(s) around your/my/their finger?) make the text convey what you want it to say

the means justify the ending so forget what you have been told—
for poetry is not putting the square block in the circle hole

and although the words should sound from your lips just as they flow from your pen
a thought is worth more than the vulgarity of speech
embellish it, exaggerate and most of all—create

when i write, it's all at once -- it's a deliberate attempt to make something tangible from the abstract

and i like it to be pretty
i like it to be oh-so-pretty.
words, oh, words
will never want to leave the page

they belong there, they're intended, it's all intentional, it's all meant to be you are creating reality, you are creating today you are creating tomorrow, you are creating yesterday

why stop there?
why stop there?
such a simple design
why?

write with a purpose but don't you dare stick to it go with the flow let the current of inspiration carry you carry you to the way the stanzas will cascade down your sheet of paper

be it lined, blank, hotel, recycled, perforated, borrowed

it's your sheet of paper

it's your canvas

hidden in your poem's combination of letters spaces and punctuation is the feeling you have when you write it

be vague, be specific, be whatever it takes to take your idea and run with it be alone with just your thoughts and in the silence, create create

you're making something out of nothing but in all reality, it's everything poetry, to me, is everything. i breathe it, seethe it, bleed it

maybe that's why it's so hard for me to write about my own writing process

it just comes naturally i have a thought i think my thought i write i polish i finish

revising, i hate revising why must art be subjected to this "correcting?" who could tell davinci to put a smile on the Mona Lisa? who could tell picasso there's something wrong with his images?

it seems to me so stuffy, so snobby, so pretentious i can hardly stand it it's just depressing, really. Holden would certainly agree. does everything really need to be improved? i like my poetry the way it is -- that's why i created it this way. i don't do drafts. drafts are just unfinished works to me if i don't like what i have as a "draft," i will scrap it completely and start anew

drafts i don't do drafts. they're an unnecessary step in the process from start to finish and that's what you want to get to, isn't it?

you're just building the bridges to get to where you want to be (you can burn them later if you'd like) so what if one bridge is flimsy, so what if another isn't as pretty

oh but it should all be pretty it's art art is pretty

at least when i create it because i want it that way i like it pretty, so i make it so there's simply no other explanation i have no other reasoning other than the fact that i like pretty words. i want my poetry to be pretty. so i make it pretty. it can deal with ugly images and ugly ideas but them poem itself will be oh-so-pretty it will be the golden child the parents carry along with them and beam with pride whenever others say "what a pretty little thing," what a a pretty little thing.

it is for no other reason than because i want it to be.

and i think—oh fuck it, i know—that's good enough for me

i don't know how to write an ars poetica and i don't know what the hell i'm doing to do for this but it's got me thinking about my writing process more than Crumb's documentary sure did.

i’m ignoring the phone on purpose, you know

whatever it is  you see in me

(I could ask, but I would not dare)

there is no reciprocity.

when you speak and I smile back blankly.

your trivial story I cannot bear,

whatever it is. You see in me—

an  object  of  idolatry,

but I disregard your pitiful prayer.

there is no reciprocity.

the smile I wear is but a courtesy—

you know your voice composes my nightmares?

—whatever  it  is  you  see  in  me

and whatever you try to give to me

(I could  ask,  but  I  do  not care)

there is no reciprocity.

it’s all your one-dimensionality

that’s very plainly killing me—I swear

whatever it is you see in me;

there is no reciprocity.

Blah blah, copied from 750w

let's do this. what's on my mind, what am I thinking? do I want something familiar to people or do I want something personal and vague? what is it I'm obsessed about? I don't know that I'm obsessed so much as I am apathetic and just overall listless. I've been that way a lot lately and I don't know why. It's hard to explain and it just sort of happens out of nowhere (or at least I think it's out of nowhere) once in a while. I know by now that the feeling will pass and things will be fine, but that doesn't make going through that time period any easier for me. I'm frustrated with myself, I tear apart my every tiny flaw and I reject every idea I think to offer myself for hope. Why?


I suppose I just feel lonely at times. I know that I am not -- I'm always talking with someone and people are all around me and I have easily a dozen friends who would be there for me at a moment's notice (give or take, I suppose) and I go out and to class and all, but I still feel alienated and alone. Sitting there with my headphones in my ears staring out the window at nothing in particular and yet still searching for something, something perhaps beyond my eyes, beyond those ears, beyond the typical means of expressing emotion -- intuition, instinct, I search for you.


We are all social creatures. This is true in so many ways. And yet I fit that description to a fault and beyond -- I need people, I need attention, I need love and care and contact and recognition from people important to me. Hell, if there isn't anyone important to me then I'll create an importance in someone new. de Saint Expery's king has nothin' on me. I long for this, I thrive on this, this is what I live for essentially.

I can't understand how I keep managing to get myself into these long-distance relationships when I know how disgustingly difficult and painful it is for either party. Why can't you just find a nice boy here in Portland, Chel? Why can't you stay within a 50mi radius of your home like "normal" people?


I suppose I don't consider myself normal. I often wish I was -- to fade into anonymity, to become simply part of the mass. But it's not in my nature, it's not in my blood. I can try it and fake it pretty damn well, but I know how contradictory it is to who I am.


I like to listen instead of talk a lot. I'm a very aural person and find it easier to pay attention to something I hear than something I read or feel. I am a poet -- so I certainly have words to express my thoughts and feelings, but in reality, who is concerned about those? Humanity tends to have this view of the universe that is extremely individualized. Deaths are statistics until someone you know dies. Numbers are numbers until they hold significance for you. We just have this sort of innate selfishness that we can't shake -- in fact, we often encourage it and see those that foster it prosper. It seems silly to me. I think people need to stop and put things in perspective more often. Not too often, of course -- I know the consequences of this all too well -- but enough so that you can learn to drop these conceited habits and ideas and continue being just as the universe is.


I had mixed emotions about this quote over the years -- sometimes it would be depressing and sometimes it would be hopeful. Sometimes I agreed with it and sometimes it made me want to just scream. But I do think that it is true. Though that innate selfishness taints our species, we belong just as much as any other thing in the universe. Things are beyond our control, sadly -- or perhaps for the better. Have faith? Believe? Or be afraid? Defend? Who is to say? It's all such a big mess to me in my head that I can't talk about it anymore.

"You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should."

Sestina

I

lost you

somewhere

in the dreaming.

in the stars  and

every constellation  you can(‘t) name.

  oh ,  what’s  in  a  name  ?

a rose by any other name, I

think,      would smell as sweet    (and

probably look the same,too) don’t you

think    that every  weed  is dreaming

there is a garden for her somewhere?

Rambling in my notebook during class

"God, I hate war," Amela declared... "Hate it, hate it. What a waste of lives. A waste of the world...it's throwing diamonds into a ditch. It's throwing babies into a ditch, for all the good it's ever done."

"That's a good way of putting it," said Jackie slowly... "That's the poet's way," she added, with apparent admiration. Then her voice hardened. "The poet's way out. ... War is savage -- say that. You'll always have a poem. Say it's repulsive. You'll never be wrong."

(day) dreaming

Placeholder for

(750 stats)

I'm perpetually running late.

So I was late to class... kinda long story. Shitty. Usually not a big deal. But when I got there, everyone was broken up into little groups all around the room, since apparently that's how we were workshopping poems today. SURPRISE. Obviously, when the instructor said "we're going to take a break from workshopping next week and do some lecturing," she meant we needed to bring in poems for small group work.

Rant

Missed my bus stop and had to walk an extra six blocks. Why? Because I wasn't paying attention to tug the little stop request cord before we reached it and even when I jumped up and sprang to get off, the driver wasn't paying attention I didn't want to shout and bother him to open the back door to let me out. I decided to just get off at the next stop. Why? I don't know. Because I was embarrassed? Lazy? Ashamed? Felt guilty? I don't even fucking know. But when we finally got to the next stop—over half a dozen blocks away—and I got out, I had cut across some building and the highway onramp to run to class. It's pretty pathetic, I was almost in tears—I was so mad at myself and so frustrated and so upset and so Idon'teveknow. I was already going to be a few minutes late if I'd gotten to the bus stop when I was supposed to. How stupid could I be? How hard would it have been to speak up? Why did I decide it was worth adding an extra six blocks to the twelve I normally walk every damned day so that the driver didn't have to pull some extra lever?

God, I hate myself sometimes.

Ruh roh

I've been really bad about blogging and 750 words lately (failed May's challenge already, boo) but I've got scraps of things I've scribbled down all over the place.

In the Good News Department, I'm skipping Literature of Genocide right now and feeling great. I'd skip Shakespeare too, but I've got a paper I have to hand in and she takes attendance. FML.

(750 stats)

the neon lights beckon you home again and my letters still escape you, don't they?

& she's a pretty little thing, she is

her careful hands you hold are gloved in white

& she's a pretty little thing, she is

you're laced with  b r i l l i a n t  smiles tonight

defiled Motel 6 sign lets you know it

has  v a c a n c y  for you  (your new friend, too)

a dirty window— the dirty window—

it seems to say, "you see through me, don't you?"

a lipstick stain's all she leaves behind her

( it's crimson, a bouquet of dead roses )

  the  only  difference  here's  the  color

  of  the  powder on the women's noses

the  pretty words  you wanted  there  to be

tonight  are (always) still just out our reach

(scribbled on unlined paper in a hotel room)

         It was just as if Erato herself
burst  forth  from this  beating heart
to tug tightly  by  papillary muscles
all  of  my  worn
                        chordae tendineae

—shooting blood past tricuspid 

&blood past the mitral valves— 

she knocked breath from these lungs to shoot
up past my throat, without skipping my voice-

box,   just to tickle my tongue while my teeth
felt  vibrations  from the  rest  of my  skeleton
like she'd plucked at her  lyre's strings  from a
throne  atop my spine  but  my lips  could not
react fast enough  to the tumultuous anatomy
within this heart before my brain caught her spell on the tips of my lips and—

I almost said I love you.

but i              

(& Melpomene: we)

                                     know better.

I can sum things up very simply:

Iron Man 2 in IMAX: a-fucking-mazing.

Too..

Tired to write a legitimate blog entry, pissed off with technology freezing up, apathetic to bother with homework, excited for the weekend, obsessed with new pink socks.

(750 stats)

Dirty Thief

It was pretty funny how I was able to just bullshit some stuff during poetry class today when the instructor called on me. I think she likes me and that's both a blessing and a curse, I believe. Ehh. Whatever! I'd like to think that most people like me! I feel that I'm a pretty amiable person... or at least I come across as so, even if I know that I would personally hate myself if I knew me. That is, however, besides the point. I thrive on love and attention and must have it! Otherwise I get pretty depressed. I don't really know what to say today. To tell the truth, I don't even want to fucking write at all. I'm just doing this out of habit.

What had I been writing in my notebook in class before I was so rudely interrupted by having to participate in class? I think I was coming up with titles like she had asked us to do in our journals, but we had just started class... I know I had at least one other thing on my mind. Oh, it was about using lyrics from songs as poetry inspiration-- that's what I used to do all the time (it's pretty heavily Lifehouse-influenced now that I look back on it) but when other people read my work from then they can't tell a thing. I guess it's true, whoever that guy Hugo was quoting in Triggering Town-- was it T.S. Elliot? "Bad poets borrow. Good poets steal."

I can do stealing!

(750 stats)

"Too much green to feel blue!"

In a fantastic mood today! It feels soooo good to be done with midterms (except for Shakespeare-- Greenstadt redid her syllabus because she was gone for so long so we're having the midterms a bit later in the quarter). I know most universities are having finals right now... but Portland State does quarters (3 terms plus summer session) so everything's just weird. Registration for fall is like in two weeks I think? It feels like school's just going by so fast! English is definitely the right major for me. Speaking of, there's an advising fair for undergrad English majors tomorrow that I should go to, I guess. I think they have cookies... so I suppose it'll be worth it.

Can't wait for the weekend! It'll be a blast, I just know it.

(750 stats)

Silly poet ramblings

The feedback I got when I workshopped my chocolate chip pancakes poem in class last week was interesting—I must admit that I get a kick out of listening to other people's interpretations of my work when my intention or inspiration was something completely different.

They said something about feeling "sin" was too vague, too broad to work in the context of the poem. I can't find any better words to convey what I meant... well, no. That's a lie. I can't find a concise way to convey it. From my WR 213 notebook, scribbled in the margins:

Excerpt from 750 Words

I try so hard to hate you and I try so hard to let you go but you linger on my lips and in my ears and when I close my eyes I still see you, I still see you

I took down our frame of photos the other day. Covered it up with notes from Victorian Literature. Tucked it away in a little plastic drawer next to my desk. And all the little tickets and all the little things you gave me. I still wear the necklace... although I must admit that I am conflicted about it. I remove it before showering and sometimes just don't bother to put it back on again. It never ceases to make me think of you and sometimes I just simply cannot bear it. Sometimes, if I'm lucky, the thought of you is a mere fleeting moment that I can suppress for the time being.



Sometimes.

Hrmm.

Feeling a tad apathetic today. It's been hard to get my work done. I've finished the most pressing stuff, but with midterms this week I know there's still a fuckton of stuff left to do. Ehhh. Not exactly the way I wanted to start May, but I guess I still have the rest of the month to turn things up.

(750 stats)

":i say / that even after April / by God there is no excuse for May"

bad memories and broken hearts and nights spent in the ICU at the hospital and bad dreams and severe insomnia and depression and dropped courses and new pills to make me happy and mood swings and disappointment and wasted tears and relapsed anorexia and— you know,
they say that April showers bring May flowers.

I think that I would like to see them this year.

May Day (not to be confused with mayday!)

I'm glad May is finally here! I have a bad history with this month, but this time around I think I'm feeling lucky.

I took the April challenge on 750 Words and, quite to my surprise, stuck with it all month and completed it. Go me, goby! When you sign up for the challenge you have the opportunity to come up with a reward and a consequence for completing it or not, right? Apparently, I'd said that for my reward I'd go to the salon for some stuff. Since I didn't specify what I'd actually get done there -- my exact words were "I will... hit the salon!" -- that's sort of what I'm deciding on today. The problem with coming up with a reward for myself is that I don't exactly have the highest level of self-esteem around so it's quite possible I just won't go at all to save time and monies. That and I'm disgustingly indecisive in general.

I think the image the was in my head when I came up with the idea was just me sitting there being pampered at some salon? -- like I said, I didn't really expect to actually stick to the challenge. I dunno. I might go with a manicure or pedicure? Hell, maybe indulge and do both. ...okay, well, probably not. But I'm positive this week's going to drag by painfully slowly, so might be nice to start it off feeling pretty! We'll see what I decide on later I guess.

(750 stats)

April showers allegedly bring May flowers.

We'll see how that turns out.

(750 stats)

"Remember! Girls are more prone to whiplash... so headbang safely."

Jin invited me to come down for Warped Tour in June! That'll be awesome. Technically I'm the backup in case this other girl can't go, but since I don't mind being a third wheel (I embrace awkward situations) I'll probably end up going anyway. Oregon is literally the last stop for the tour, so instead of waiting 'til August (and I might go to that show anyway) I get to go two months early! Hooray for me! The lineup looks pretty neat. The band I'm most excited to see is Mayday Parade, but Motion City Soundtrack's gonna be there, All-American Rejects, The Rocket Summer... uhmm, well, a lot of bands that I can't remember right now because I'm tired and I think this week's totally fried my brain.

"You take the breath right out of me—"

So tired.

I need more sleep. But I also need to study more.
Obviously I just need more hours in the day. Sometimes it feels like I get home from classes, pass out and then go back. This is not a very pleasant feeling!

Whoops.

I've been super busy lately, which is why I've been so behind in the blogging department here. Since I'm too lazy to make several filler posts for my 750 stats, I'll just tack all of them to the end of this one. Whatever!

"Which of the bold-faced lies will we use?"

"Hello! How are you doing today?"

Hm. Well.
I guess I would say I am sincerely bewildered.

I honestly wonder how people put up with me. Even I would not want to be my own friend. It isn't like this is a new development or anything—I've always felt this way. The only reason it's particularly fresh in my mind is because I was talking to Jin about it the other day. Once again I failed to make someone see me the way I see myself. Maybe that's for the best? I know I'd go mad if I didn't have any company.

But is there something about me that just attracts people? Rollyn made some comment jokingly, about "how popular you are!" I didn't know what to say. Instantly I'm the one everyone defers to in my little Victorian Lit group. I did the least amount of work but got the most praise. It seems unfair. Professor Mercer was delighted. But I didn't do anything... why am I getting all this credit? In my poetry class I've ended up being one of the people the professor turns to for comments on students' poetry when no one offers anything. What right do I have to spend so much time criticizing other people's poetry when they offer so much positive feedback on mine?

This is not to say that I do not love the attention—it is really quite endearing. But it certainly does not come without guilt for not deserving the vast majority of it. I often feel that I am unusually lucky when it comes to interactions with people. I have nothing to offer any of them, and yet I take so much from all of them.

Sigh.
Why the hell am I even complaining? Do I just need a reason to bitch?

I am sorry.

"I'm fine, thank you."

"...so nod your head because you know that I'm right."

So I was actually somewhat productive today. Certainly not as much as I really should be, but I don't have really high standards for myself when it comes to Saturdays. Still got a lot of work to do tomorrow... midterms are next week. Feels like this term's going by pretty fast!
Two weeks to the concert -- unfortunately I just found out Danielle and Tony are having their big housewarming party that same night.I told her I'd see what I could do... but it's literally during the show time. I feel kinda bad! I'll make it a point to hang out with them another time, I suppose. Iron Man 2's out that weekend as well and apparently the plan is to hit the midnight showing in IMAX somewhere Thursday night. It'll be a fun weekend! Good way to wrap up midterms, eh?

(750 stats)

"I'm the black Macgyver—Blacgyver!"

Saw The Losers tonight. Great cast, but pretty weak ending. Wouldn't really recommend it, at least not in theatres. I had a free ticket, so I couldn't complain haha. I was a bit disappointed the sun didn't come out to play today. Then again, I slept in til like 1 something so it's not like I had tons of time to enjoy it.

My shoulder's been bugging me a bit lately... I dropped down to only one visit a week to the chiropractor because he said I was making good progress, but I had to go in early this week for an adjustment (Monday instead of Wednesday, so not too bad?) because it was just bothering me too much. Apparently doing my stretches is extra important now with less visits. I've been having to cut the neck stretching (Dr. Ramsey recommended half an hour a day) and my usual yoga routine (~45 minutes?) short or skip it completely lately because I've been either too busy or too tired with school.

(750 stats)

3 in the morning

3AM

and I

have never really ever got along. that's safe to say, isn't it?

and long gone

are the
(days) times (nights) where I could call for you and you would be (waiting) there (smiling)

on and on

I tell myself that

"it's okay," (trembling) "we're it's okay,"
"I'll we'll get through this together, baby."

come lazy
afternoons we will
say hello and exchange pleasantries in these lives
of ours that have grown apart ever-
(so-slowly (and yet so instantaneously))
y single day
and

the irony
of the matter is
that whether or not you say a word to me ever again I still need you to be there to (hope) know (pray) that I have not failed completely (again).

Needs moar slp

So I just woke up from a 5-hour nap.

Life is good.

Still tired though -- my body's been bitching that it hasn't had enough rest for weeks, so I'm giving in for the weekend.

Greenstadt's back. Modified syllabus -- the rest of the term sounds like cake.

Counting down the days to Breaking Benjamin! ♥.

I went to Walgreens to buy more gummy bears. They were sold out. Apparently I had bought the last of their stock on Saturday. Oops.

Bought a 3lbs bag from Fred Meyer instead.

Life is good.

(750 stats)

"I'd say your worst side's your best side—"

Filler post to hold 750 stat page link.

(750 stats)

"He's from the Renaissance!"

So Professor Greenstadt wasn't in class again. My Victorian lit professor told us about it on Monday, since she was originally supposed to sub in for her again but had some other engagements, and said that we would enjoy him and he knew much more about the history because "he's actually a Renaissance guy!" while she just liked to look at pretty pictures from the Renaissance. After a moment of thought, she thought to clarify that she didn't mean that Professor Wolk was actually from back in the Renaissance, but  we found out in class today that she wasn't far off. He was really old. I mean, he was a very knowledgeable and friendly guy, -- he'd often joke that he "didn't know what they said exactly" at particular historical events regarding the War of the Roses and whatnot because he "wasn't there." Silly. But anyway, what bothered/amused me was that he would literally pause mid-sentence and blink, as if he'd suddenly forgot what he was talking about. This led to the most random tangents, thus ending with us only having read and discussed most of the first soliloquy in Richard III. We're... we're pretty behind.

(750 stats)

App store gem

Today I discovered that HARIBO, my beloved German gummy bear (and worm and licorice) company has an iPhone application. I got it immediately and tried it out. It's pretty simple—you have a "bag" of HARIBO gummy bears. You "tear" off a corner then shake the iPhone to move the gummy bears around inside the bag. It seems to end when you've poured all the gummy bears out and gives you a score (at least I think it's some sort of score, I don't know German and apparently they had not bothered to translate the text in the images before submitting the app to Apple). Anyway. I took a bunch of screenshots because I thought it was just the most amazing thing in the world.

Ladybug, revised, and submitted

To you, my darling,
what am I

—your pretty red insecticide)?

If I become a ladybug,
shall I be your savior, love?

or         your

condemner?

I’m thinking and thinking and overthinking—
an answer for

the aphid plague on your garden—

Well, maybe's it's okay.
  and maybe you'll let me loose
because "it's okay, we’reit's okay,"
though I know you know that I know
damn well it won't be that way,
because I

will taint

the nectar you drink

with my futile attempts

to defend the tiny red—
spotted
—lump that is my heart.

(&whenyouaredonedrinkingiwillripoutyours)

                   This poem, oh, this metaphor,

                   it's really little fucking more
    than a caricature of art

       ( like us to happiness, no? )

and I can't do it

I can't do it
, darling.

I can only dream of being a ladybug,

     that lucky little insect who could never possibly comprehend

     the unending agony of ending day after day after day

     looking around her empty little garden to see everything

you've left behind.

I can only dream.
I can only dream (of you).

"...got half a mind to tell you half of my heart won't do."

Still addicted to Mayer today. Of course. I'm very thankful Eric took me to his concert last month... kinda to the point that I feel a bit bad for not really talking to him much. Yeahhh, I know. Just not really interested in the least.

Quite frankly, I'm not in any position to be getting into any sort of new relationship for a while. And yes, I realize how odd that is for me considering the fact that I've been involved in a long-term relationship for the vast majority of the past decade. The longest I can remember being single... 2-3 months? That's probably a bad thing. So I'm cool with this whole vulnerable still-devoted ex-girlfriend role I've got going on.

That is not to say that I've resigned -- I'll probably get back into the game after a while. I've survived some pretty rough break-ups. I know I'll be okay.

My heart's a little soldier.

(750 stats)

"Yeah, I don't really know what to do with my arms now. They worked better around you."

"I'd steal your heart before you ever heard a thing—"

Lots of reading today. Some school stuff, but mostly recreational -- it's tough to read literature on genocides when you're sitting outside on a beautiful day sipping orange juice. Well, at least it is for me.

While wasting time on Facebook, I had poetry readings playing on my laptop so I could listen. I'm a very aural person, so I find that listening to speeches or readings or audiobooks are really helpful for me. Now if only they had textboks like that... hmmmm. Smells like a somewhat untapped market to me.

I've had "Assassin" stuck in my head the entire day. I don't care much for the rest of John Mayer's latest album, but I adore that song and I can still remember his live performance of it last month when he was in town. Epic.

(750 stats)

My day, in a nutshell:

Facebook. Chatting. Reading. Writing. Eating. Sleeping.

Roughly in order of time spent, descending.

(750 stats)

"She takes these pills

&she MOVES along.

She takes these pills and i(t')s better."

Oh Mr. Sun, Sun~ ♫

It was a lovely sunny day today.

Professor Greenstadt didn't show up for Shakespearean Tragedies again today -- of course there was no explanation, there never is any explanation -- but my Victorian Lit and old Intro to Shakespeare instructor Professor Mercer came in to substitute. "Man, this is like Guest week or something," Rollyn mumbled. Our previous class period was covered -- for only a few minutes 'til he had to go to his normal class -- by Professor Walker, who taught Shakespearean Comedies last term. I can't say that I mind Greenstadt not showing up since it meant my favorite professors coming in instead -- but I dunno. There's something to be said for consistency and reliability. Whatever.

Lost one of my earrings today somewhere on campus. This made me sad. But it was sunny and beautiful out, so I got over it really fast. I also went through three bags of gummy bears today. It's a miracle that my blood sugar isn't insanely irregular. But it made me happy and happy is good, ya?

(750 stats)

"The time is passing by--

--you're my insecticide."

Far too tired to even attempt at a coherent blog entry. This week is killing me!

(750 stats)

Happy Tuesday!

Nothing better than getting out of class early because your professor doesn't show up and one of your favorite professors subs in for a few minutes before dismissing you.

New music on Rock Band -- two new tracks from Serj Tankian. I got "Empty Walls" -- which, after attempting it on Hard, should really be called "Empty Lungs" and some other songs that'd come out semi-recently like Skillet's "Monster" and Breaking Benjamin ♥. Tons of fun! You should play Rock Band with me if you're on Live.

(750 stats)

"Lighthead's Guide to the Galaxy"

by Terrance Hayes

Ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and children of the state,

I am here because I could never get the hang of Time.
This hour, for example, would be like all the others
were it not for the rain falling through the roof.

Scrapped poem for my writing class

to you,
what
am I?

If I become a ladybug,
do I change you or do you change me?



I'm thinking and thinking and overthinking—
but hey, maybe it's okay if I only live for a few weeks.
Maybe's it's okay.
Maybe you'll let me loose
because "it's okay, it's okay,"
though I know you know that I know
damn well it won't be that way
because I
will taint the nectar you drink
with my futile attempts to defend the tiny red—
spotted
—lump that is my heart.

(&whenyouaredonedrinkingiwilleatyours)

this poem, this metaphor,

it's really little fucking more

than a caricature of art (like us to happiness, no?)

and I can't do it

I can't do it

Lord, I can only dream of being a ladybug, that lucky little insect who could never possibly comprehend the unending torture of ending day after day after day looking around her little garden to see everything you've left behind.
I can only dream.
I can only dream (of you).

Not-So-Lazy Sunday

I'm a tad stressed. Lots to do today. In particular, a group project for Victorian Lit... since no one's emailed me back at all. I have no idea what we're planning to do and it's kinda irritating. Had to bail on a movie with a friend because I'm not able to finish my homework otherwise. Long sigh goes here.

Back to work.
Remember to celebrate National Poetry Month today! Like, oh I dunno, buying your favorite poet gummy bears.

(750 stats)

Celebrating National Poetry Month~!

Some iPhone apps for the iProduct addicted like me:

Poetry Everywhere -- My favorite! Free thanks to some great sponsors, this app has videos of poets discussing poetry and reading their own works. I love it.
Love Poems @ Coffee -- very cute, and free right now.
Touch Poet Lite -- I get bored of this sort of stuff easily, but I know a lot of people like building poems word-by-word from a pool. So here you go!
iPoet -- Another one of these build-a-poem thingies.
Poems of William Shakespeare -- It's normally $.99, but currently free. Nice UI. I'm assuming you can guess what it features.
Let's Write Poetry -- This is a fun application that lets you write poems with other people, one couplet at a time! I also like free.
Poem Flow -- it's free to download and comes with about 20 poems. Although you do have to pay to subscribe ($.99-$2.99), some of the money actually goes to the AAP, which is pretty cool.

I haven't found many paid apps that looks good enough to try out. A lot of them are really ugly and typo-ridden. Ewww.

(750 stats)