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| Pictorial evidence of how fucked I am, academically. |
[Sunday, 11/08/09] |
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Screencap of my 1,500 word essay:
Screencap of my 3,000 word essay:
The above: Status quo for the past few weeks.
To further illustrate my failure: Not only am I not writing the essays, I am taking screencaps of Word documents in their foetal unformed-essay state and posting them here.
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| These Boys Have Never Really Grown into Men - Brian Patten |
[Sunday, 11/08/09] |
These Boys Have Never Really Grown into Men
Brian Patten
These boys have never really grown into men,
despite their disguises, despite their adult ways,
their sophistication, the camouflage of their kindly smiles.
They are still up to their old tricks,
still at the wing-plucking stage. Only now
their prey answers to women's names.
And the girls, likewise, despite their disguises,
despite their adult ways, their camouflage of need,
still twist love till its failure seems not of their making.
Something grotesque migrates hourly
between our different needs,
and is in us all like a poison.
How strange I've not understood so clearly before
how liars and misers, the cruel and the arrogant
lie down and make love like all the others,
how nothing is ever as expected, nothing is ever as stated.
Behind doors and windows nothing is ever as wanted.
The good have no monopoly on love.
All drink from it. All wear its absence like a shroud.
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[Saturday, 11/07/09] |
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music |
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the mixtape of flesh + metal |
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If all we knew, felt and did was dictated and imperative from a higher order, life, I believe, would be undoubtedly easier. If we were told to do as we should and did as we were told and believed in this way of living and code of conduct, it would be a world of a one-way street and a long narrow path, with no straying.
It might be akin to a life in North Korea but who's to say that regimented thinking and directed action are necessarily bad? What you don't know won't kill you (my personal mantra), so living under conditions you know no alternatives to could cause no resent.
Most of all, life would be much easier. If you told me to build a bridge over a river with cement and stone and jump off it after, I would do as I was told, believe in what I'm told, know nothing other than the clean, clear, absolute direction of building a bridge over a river with cement and stone and jumping off it after. (Thankfully, I can swim. But that's another story.) Telling me what to do and how to live relieves me of the fucking exhausting task and endless routine of doing it myself. I don’t have to find my own direction, I don’t have to be my own person, I don’t have to decide between the options of A, B, C or, the MOST TERRIFYING THING, all of the above. I would save a whole lot of time spent flipping goddamn coins.
If we did as we were told, it will always be right and true. If all we know is what we were told, it cannot be wrong. There will be no wrong because we know no alternative to being right. What we did, have done, are doing and will continue to do, are the only and eternal ways to do what we do. Anything that isn’t, ceases to exist.
This life we have today, there are too many choices, too many doors, too many roads and too damn much room for dissatisfaction, dissent, error, envy, inadequacy and massive confusion. All this freedom tires and overwhelms. Straight lines were always simpler than mazes and mess.
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| Black Coffee |
[Saturday, 11/07/09] |
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music |
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Otis Redding - Try A Little Tenderness |
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This is irony:
During winter, it really took a certain amount of insanity and courage to run outdoors in the freezing cold. Now it's spring, but it's too freaking hot to run outdoors either.
Moving on to awkward social situations:
I bumped into a friend of J's at the gym this afternoon. Let's call him......... Q.
Q: Hi mate, you're J's friend right?
Me: Yeah
Q: Cool. How's it going?
Me: Great. You?
Q: Yeah nice sunny day today..
Awkward silence......
Me: Oh I heard from J you're on the dean's list? Brains and brawn huh?
Q gives me the "are-you-hitting-on-me?" look: Uhm yeah!
End.
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| Czeslaw Milosz, 'And Yet the Books' |
[Saturday, 11/07/09] |
And yet the books will be there on the shelves, separate beings,
That appeared once, still wet
As shining chestnuts under a tree in autumn,
And, touched, coddled, began to live
In spite of fires on the horizon, castles blown up,
Tribes on the march, planets in motion.
"We are," they said, even as their pages
Were being torn out, or a buzzing flame
Licked away their letters. So much more durable
Than we are, whose frail warmth
Cools down with memory, disperses, perishes.
I imagine the earth when I am no more:
Nothing happens, no loss, it’s still a strange pageant,
Women’s dresses, dewy lilacs, a song in the valley.
Yet the books will be there on the shelves, well born,
Derived from people, but also from radiance, heights.
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[Saturday, 11/07/09] |
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I'm tryin' not to fall in that "save the boy" trap, but I can't deny and resist the urge to create something beautiful to impress upon you, and simply have you remember it. But y'know, I'm too uncool to do anything extraordinary. I can't even fold a paper plane.
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| In the Park, Maxine Kumin |
[Friday, 11/06/09] |
In the Park
Maxine Kumin
You have forty-nine days between
death and rebirth if you're a Buddhist.
Even the smallest soul could swim
the English Channel in that time
or climb, like a ten-month-old child,
every step of the Washington Monument
to travel across, up, down, over or through
--you won't know till you get there which to do.
He laid on me for a few seconds
said Roscoe Black, who lived to tell
about his skirmish with a grizzly bear
in Glacier Park. He laid on me not doing anything. I could feel his heart
beating against my heart.
Never mind lie and lay, the whole world
confuses them. For Roscoe Black you might say
all forty-nine days flew by.
I was raised on the Old Testament.
In it God talks to Moses, Noah,
Samuel, and they answer.
People confer with angels. Certain
animals converse with humans.
It's a simple world, full of crossovers.
Heaven's an airy Somewhere, and God
has a nasty temper when provoked,
but if there's a Hell, little is made of it.
No longtailed Devil, no eternal fire,
and no choosing what to come back as.
When the grizzly bear appears, he lies/lays down
on atheist and zealot. In the pitch-dark
each of us waits for him in Glacier Park.
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| When the cry goes up |
[Friday, 11/06/09] |
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(First time posting here. This poem is one of my favorites and is interesting to read in contrast with Not Waving But Drowning.)
When the cry goes up
by Sergey Chudakov, trans. Daniel Weissbort
When the cry goes up: “Man overboard!” The ocean liner, huge as a house, Comes to a shuddering stop. Lines are lowered and a man’s hauled up. But when a man’s soul goes overboard, When he’s choking with fear and despair, Then even his own house Doesn’t stop for him but continues on its way.
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| this is nothing more than another long run. |
[Friday, 11/06/09] |
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mood |
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 sleepy |
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Hello world, doesn't it seem weird that I haven't allowed myself an emonemo post these few days?
It's not because things are a breeze right now.
It's partly because I know I'm essentially still blessed and I know whining is an indication of weakness.
And partly because... I have no time to emo.
I have more to say, but that will have to wait.
I can't think anymore so I shall sleep for a few hours. Then it's a sleepless, caffeine-induced, income-tax-filled early morning ahead, let's go!
A friend constantly reminds me to turn whatever running power (or lack thereof, given my current unfit state) I have into mugging power.
Yes Sir, this is nothing more than another long run. And I love long runs.. right? (:
This is nothing more than another long run, another race.
There's no stopping, no hesitating, no slowing down,
only strength, perseverance, determination and confidence.
Consistency is key,
everything you do will have repercussions.
Stop losing time and energies worrying or lamenting,
divert them to to making this the best race of your life thus far.
Never let yourself or your family down,
and know it's a blessing to even be in a position to fight.
There's no way to chase back lost time, no more room for regrets,
so seize every single day, every single minute.
And remember to smile (to compensate for one's disheveled state during the exams!).
:)))
[Edited on Sat 11.27pm: I can do this, I will decipher what the judges are saying, I will think up of a kickass thesis, I will not sleep till I'm done with my portion;12 000 words between Mari and I, yes we can.]
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| creamed my pantiez |
[Friday, 11/06/09] |
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mrUak9d2P5I
I don't care, I don't care what you say. I creamed my pantiezzzzzzz.
Yen you gotta watch this!!!!
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| help -- eldridge cleaver? |
[Friday, 11/06/09] |
Hey all --
I'm looking for a poem that I think is by Eldridge Cleaver, where one of the lines is something like "hers/is the only face that smiles at me." He's talking about the pictures in his jail cell.
Any ideas what poem this is?
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| Homesteading -- Jack Gilbert |
[Thursday, 11/05/09] |
Homesteading
by Jack Gilbert
It would be easy if the spirit
was reasonable, was old.
But there is a stubborn gladness.
Summer air idling in the elms.
Silence hunting in the towering
storms of heaven. Thirty-two
swans in a København dusk.
The swan bleeding to death
slowly in a Greek kitchen.
A man leaves the makeshift
restaurant plotting his improvidence.
Something voiceless flies lovely
over an empty landscape.
He wanders on the way
to whoever he will become.
Passion leaves us single and safe.
The other fervor leaves us
at risk, in love, and alone.
Married sometimes forever.
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| The Love Cook by Ron Padgett |
[Thursday, 11/05/09] |
Let me cook you some dinner.
Sit down and take off your shoes
and socks and in fact the rest
of your clothes, have a daquiri,
turn on some music and dance
around the house, inside and out,
it’s night and the neighbors
are sleeping, those dolts, and
the stars are shining bright,
and I’ve got the burners lit
for you, you hungry thing.
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[Friday, 11/06/09] |
Checklist for self:
- Write essay about kabuki
- Write thing about sati
- Write thing about Kartini
- Write essay about gender roles
In that order. With no breaks (with exception of ingesting food and relieving self) in between. Not allowed to stop. Not allowed to fuck around. Must, do, homework.
Man am I screwed.
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| Sylvia Plath, 'The Mirror' |
[Thursday, 11/05/09] |
I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
What ever you see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike .
I am not cruel, only truthful---
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.
Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.
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[Thursday, 11/05/09] |
The good thing about being so ugly and boring is that no one has any expectations of you. No one's expectin' this dead dog to learn any new tricks, which can be good at times, because I can care a whole lot less. I don't have to wear the right things, I don't have to say the right things, hell, I don't even have to be present, on account of anyone marking my attendance.
Plus, I get to self-deprecate a whole lot WITHOUT sounding like an asshole because, my brothers, what I preach is The Truth. If you walk around looking real fine and whine about having a bad face day, people want to stick a couple of knives in your back and twist them around a bit. I, on the other hand, get to strut around looking like crap and acting like it and no one gives me no grief.
On another note, I didn't make it to school again today. I could have but I didn't want to. I blame the motherfucking distance. It's a bus ride to eternity and back and besides, I ain't got no money to pay for that ride. Having only ten bucks to my name isn't very fun. I've got to watch what I spend those last few dollars on.
Man, I have 3 essays due tomorrow and I can't do 'em because the books I need are all in school. Another due on Monday, which I can't do either. I can't and I don't.
I don't really want to do anything at all. I would like to do well, obviously, but I just ain't capable of even barely scraping through. I try to care but on days like these, it's really difficult to muster up any sense of responsbility for My Future at all. Off to have some stale breakfast now, bye.
P.S. I NEED A JOB. If anyone wants to hire me for anything at all (not too sordid though), PLEASE DO. I'm willing to work everyday and even over the Christmas period because I hate Festive Cheer and Joyous Spirit.
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| Monkey Heaven is Somewhere in Indonesia? Bali I thought |
[Thursday, 11/05/09] |
Been sent a flyer for one of this weekend's shows. The Deniros really ARE a Pixies tribute. It says here that they will be "bringing you a full double set show of PIXIES classics such as Where Is My Mind, Here Comes Your Man, Gouge Away, Debaser, and much, much more -- including some fresh new songs that we've never performed before! But that's not all! Veteran Psychopop Rockers ETC will be opening up the evening's festivities with a daring, innovative fusion of alt-rock, pop, and psychotic sounds in the vein of The Replacements, Sonic Youth and The Bad Seeds".
In the vein of who? Talk about giving us a lot to live up to! But at the moment I will just be relieved to get there in one piece. And making it out alive will be good too.
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