(no subject)

[reenka]

Oh woe, for my mind is churning and nothing is coming out. Don't you hate that feeling? I sit and stare and wish I could desire to read -that- thing or the other thing (but how to choose?? Oh, the horrors of a short attention span). I refresh my friends' list but to no avail. I squirm more, and resist posting random really bad drabbles (omg, you know it's bad when the characters are sulking by stormy windows).

I should do something useful-- or write something-- but I am so blank. My mind is being hopelessly drawn into an awful cycle of randomly surfing lj and groaning at the things people say. Groar.

So. Somebody-- anybody-- tell me something random. Whatever's on your mind.

Here, I'll start: I remember seeing a clip of Northern Exposure last night, and I got this weird feeling of seeing a show you used to love that now means next to nothing to you. I looked at it and was like, "I used to love this" and that should've -meant- something, except it didn't. There are so many feelings that have no exact words to describe them, but especially the memory of love-- it resists being put into words.

Also, man, whoever's doing the Late Late show is really lame. Seriously. Not as lame as the skin-care commercial people. Or Anne Rice. Anne Rice rules them all.

Or, like, ask me something equally random. If you ask me, I shall reply with as much honesty as you happen to desire (rank it! 1 to 5, ahahah, or choose 'nonsense' and I shall make something up).

Save me before my brains leak out of my ears, seriously.
~~

All right, I'll do the poem meme. Diving Into the Wreck by Adrienne Rich is one of my favorite poems. I'll add to this post with more poems as I find them on google :D

First having read the book of myths,
and loaded the camera,
and checked the edge of the knife-blade,
I put on
the body-armor of black rubber
the absurd flippers
the grave and awkward mask.
I am having to do this
not like Cousteau with his
assiduous team
aboard the sun-flooded schooner
but here alone.


There is a ladder.
The ladder is always there
hanging innocently
close to the side of the schooner.
We know what it is for,
we who have used it.
Otherwise
it is a piece of maritime floss
some sundry equipment.

I go down.
Rung after rung and still
the oxygen immerses me
the blue light
the clear atoms
of our human air.
I go down.
My flippers cripple me,
I crawl like an insect down the ladder
and there is no one
to tell me when the ocean
will begin.

First the air is blue and then
it is bluer and then green and then
black I am blacking out and yet
my mask is powerful
it pumps my blood with power
the sea is another story
the sea is not a question of power
I have to learn alone
to turn my body without force
in the deep element.

And now: it is easy to forget
what I came for
among so many who have always
lived here
swaying their crenellated fans
between the reefs
and besides
you breathe differently down here.

I came to explore the wreck.
The words are purposes.
The words are maps.
I came to see the damage that was done
and the treasures that prevail.
I stroke the beam of my lamp
slowly along the flank
of something more permanent
than fish or weed

the thing I came for:
the wreck and not the story of the wreck
the thing itself and not the myth
the drowned face always staring
toward the sun
the evidence of damage
worn by salt and away into this threadbare beauty
the ribs of the disaster
curving their assertion
among the tentative haunters.

This is the place.
And I am here, the mermaid whose dark hair
streams black, the merman in his armored body.
We circle silently
about the wreck
we dive into the hold.
I am she: I am he

whose drowned face sleeps with open eyes
whose breasts still bear the stress
whose silver, copper, vermeil cargo lies
obscurely inside barrels
half-wedged and left to rot
we are the half-destroyed instruments
that once held to a course
the water-eaten log
the fouled compass

We are, I am, you are
by cowardice or courage
the one who find our way
back to this scene
carrying a knife, a camera
a book of myths
in which
our names do not appear.
~~

Mad Girl's Love Song
Sylvia Plath

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)


The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
~~

since feeling is first
ee cummings

since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;


wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world

my blood approves,
and kisses are a far better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry
--the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids' flutter which says

we are for eachother: then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life's not a paragraph

And death i think is no parenthesis
~~

Autumn
Rainer Maria Rilke

The leaves are falling, falling as if from far up,
as if orchards were dying high in space.
Each leaf falls as if it were motioning "no."


And tonight the heavy earth is falling
away from all other stars in the loneliness.

We're all falling. This hand here is falling.
And look at the other one. It's in them all.

And yet there is Someone, whose hands
infinitely calm, holding up all this falling.

--

You who never arrived

You who never arrived
in my arms, Beloved, who were lost
from the start,
I don't even know what songs
would please you. I have given up trying
to recognize you in the surging wave of the next
moment. All the immense
images in me- the far-off, deeply-felt landscape,
cities, towers, and bridges, and unsuspected
turns in the path,
and those powerful lands that were once
pulsing with the life of the gods-
all rise within me to mean
you, who forever elude me.

You, Beloved, who are all
the gardens I have ever gazed at,
longing. An open window
in a country house-, and you almost
stepped out, pensive, to meet me.
Streets that I chanced upon,-
you had just walked down them and vanished.
And sometimes, in a shop, the mirrors
were still dizzy with your presence and, startled,
gave back my too-sudden image. Who knows?
perhaps the same bird echoed through both of us
yesterday, separate, in the evening...
~~

Tonight I Can Write
Pablo Neruda

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.


Write, for example, "The night is starry
and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance."

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is starry and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another's. She will be another's. As she was before my kisses.
Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.
~~

I taste a liquor never brewed
Emily Dickinson

I taste a liquor never brewed--
From Tankards scooped in Pearl--
Not all the vats upon the Rhine
Yield such an Alcohol!


Inebriate of Air--am I--
And Debauchee of Dew--
Reeling--thro endless summer days--
From inns of Molten Blue--

When "Landlords" turn the drunken Bee
Out of the Foxglove's door--
When Butterflies renounce their "drams"--
I shall but drink the more!

Till Seraphs swing their snowy Hats--
And Saints--to windows run--
To see the little Tippler
Leaning against the--Sun--

--

I started Early--Took my Dog--
And visited the Sea--
The Mermaids in the Basement
Came out to look at me--

And Frigates-- in the Upper Floor
Extended Hempen Hands--
Presuming Me to be a Mouse--
Aground--upon the Sands--

But no Man moved Me--till the Tide
Went past my simple Shoe--
And past my Apron--and my Belt
And past my Bodice-- too--

And made as He would eat me up--
As wholly as A Dew
Upon a Dandelions's Sleeve--
And then-- I started--too--

And He--He followed--close behind--
I felt His Silver Heel
Upon my Ankle--Then my Shoes
Would overflow with Pearl--

Until We met the Solid Town--
No One He seemed to know--
And bowing--with a Mighty look--
At me--The Sea withdrew--
~~

Poetry is the art of uniting pleasure with truth.
--Samuel Johnson

Comments

[blacksatinrose.livejournal.com]

Mad Girl's Love Song is one of my favorite poems ever. I think I like it better than the classic Plath (which I also love.)

So, something random.

I worry about my dog because her nails are too long. I want to clip them, but whenever I try she wiggles and I am terrified that I'll cut her, particularly because my mother did last time she tried it, and there was BLOOD EVERYWHERE.

*hugs her dog* :((

[yourpoison.livejournal.com]

Yeah, usually Plath's poems seem... more complex in form or meaning, I guess? But that one is just so intense & visceral. It reads like Fiona Apple should sing it :D (...I mean that in a good way.)

Meep. That is scary :((
I have no pets, mostly 'cause I'd probably suck at taking care of fish, but like, maybe vets could do that sort of thing.... :-?

[fiendling.livejournal.com]

I'm sitting here wracking my brain to think of something random to tell you.. but all I can think about is hot dogs. I must be hungry D: they are my staple food in college

but aah, I have a question, if you care to share. Did you go to college? What was your area of interest? I figure its English, but what do I know :P

what would you consider your staple food?
*runs off to make a hot dog*

[yourpoison.livejournal.com]

Ahahah hot dogs were my staple food in high school, man. We had a hot dog stand outside and they let us out at lunchtime, and mostly they were all I had money for-- and besides, they're tast(ier) than bagels & cream-cheese!! What with the ketchup -plus- the sour kraut!! Heee. ahhh, memories.

I'm still -in- college, man, ahahahah. Sometimes I think I always shall be ><
Yep, English-- and Studio Art, because er... I like my art classes and they let you in faster if you're a major. My area of interest is folklore/mythology, as of this August (I was undecided before then -.- ahahah). At home, I mostly eat bagels & cream cheese & a lot of eggs. Because I am just that lazy.

These days I get a sandwich at the deli a lot, and since I have no imagination, it's always the same sandwich. I get "roast beef on wheat bread, with mayo & [I vary the cheese but mostly provolone] & tomatoes & onions". Dude, I miss the days they had pickles, too :((

[fiendling.livejournal.com]

mmggh hot dogs. i don't care whats in them, theyve never made me sick, so theyre just fine for me :D!

college is fun :D i hope to be in for another 4 years.. woohoo!
we have the same majors :P english and art. area of interest is childrens literature for english.

and whenever i get sandwiches i always get the same thing too "6 inches white bread with turkey, swiss cheese, mustard, and a little bit of lettuce" I'm slowly trying to get vegetables into my sandwiches... lettuce is just a start /: lol

when im at home, i always make my turkey sandwiches with munster. but im starting to get sick of them so now i eat a lot of peanut butter and jelly O.o

i love talking about food :D :D! lol

[yourpoison.livejournal.com]

i have a vendetta against lettuce, 'cause it's so tasteless and is just there for filler. i'd get it if it had any flavor to it. at least tomatoes & onions have spice to them >:O ahahah. i like things salty.
ahhhh, cheese. i love munster & swiss &... well, anything but american, because that... doesn't have a lot of flavor :>


...i've never actually had a peanut butter & jelly sandwich o_0
am so unamerican.

i really love the nyc-style hot dogs with the tight skin, the long ones, y'know... thin & long & with a skin-type-thing. er. ><;;;;
i could never find them in stores, so i've stopped eating them altogether :((

[fiendling.livejournal.com]

thats why i get lettuce.. AHaha because it has no taste ): but if its not even nutricious.. i dunno :P i hate tomatoes, i taste onions for too long, sigh /: i've been trying out peppers a few times... not sure I have an opinion on them yet.

OMG NEVER HAD PBJ. WOAH. o.o *shrinks from you* :P

ghakerhg nychotdoooooogs. every time we visit NYC, we eat them sometimes 3 meals a day -.- hahahaha, sooo good. i like the jamaican beef patties they sell at the stands too. num

[shaggirl.livejournal.com]

Last night I noticed the disturbing resemblance between Spongebob Squarepants and Elijah Wood. Big, buggy eyes and gap teeth.

Tell me when you started writing and why you do it.

[yourpoison.livejournal.com]

Spongebob is enough all by himself to make me glad I don't watch TV, really -.- I had a crush on Elijah Wood when I was 12-15 or so, though, when he was basically a kid but a really cute kid and... was he in `Stand By Me'? I had a crush on everybody in that movie.

I started writing when I was 8, I think. Er... well, I did it because... uh... it... er.... how does one explain things one did when one was 8? It seemed like the thing to do; I discovered I could; it was fun; I liked to read stories-- well, I started reading when I was 8 (I was a late bloomer, though I -could- read before then) and I think I wrote a poem for class ("spring is nice", that sort of thing) and then it struck me that I should like to write a fairy-tale about the flowers on my window-sill. I thought it'd make a great novel, y'know, about their adventures. I never finished it (clearly starting a great tradition).

I always wrote 'cause I got ideas and/or something I thought up/noticed about the world seemed... pretty...? I wrote poetry because I liked to play with words, and I started about the same time. Words are fun! Look mom, I can juggle them!! THEY SPARKLE!! LOOK THEY TURN COLORS!!

um. Sometimes I got weird ideas and I thought it was only natural that I should put them down, you know, to remember them. Or I'd get a line in my head like, "she was really afraid to fly, but the night called her" or something stupid like that, and then I'd just er... ramble on.

To me, a weirder question is, why -wouldn't- I write o_0

Like, I started doodling when I was old enough to hold a pencil. Like, some people don't, but I... do. Give me a pencil and get my attention to wander, and I'll doodle as a sort of... er.... tick! Yeah, it's like a nervous tick. Some people drool, y'know. I write. Well, not -drool-... like, what do people do, exactly? Seriously. What do they DO???

...I was never a people person. To say the least. So I read, but even -I- couldn't read -all- the time, and then I had these -ideas- or images (like I'd wake up and see someone standing on top of a hill, and they'd have wings and their hair would be made of flowers....)

I mean, when I'm emotional I write too, of course, but that's not mainly -why-. I didn't have those sorts of 'issues' until I was... 18 at the very least. Suddenly I discovered I have 'stuff' to say. Whoah. About -people-....?? Eh....?? Well, mostly I just wrote about myself and my dream-images and the silly things that occured to me like, 'what if' so-and-so. Then I had questions about life and myself and emotion and ...reality, and that sort of... comes out? What am I supposed to do with them....??

See, all this rambling is to say, "I... write". Or, "I am, therefore I write", or something along those lines, but that sounds boring and flip, but it's... true. Also, I like to write-- I've always found it fun and relaxing. I get into this groove when I write, like, it's a form of meditation almost, even writing this comment-- 'cause I don't have to -think-, really. I can just write without... er... thinking. It's a different sort of thinking. I don't have to notice the time passing or anything. It's like... cruising along, daydreaming. Escapism, I guess? If there's a reason, I've probably used it and the rest also :>

[shaggirl.livejournal.com]

Heehee. This is about the answer I expected from you. I started reading at a very young age, everything I could, and never really thought about writing myself, except in an abstract, I'm sure I could do that way. Fanfic was the first thing I ever wrote outside of a class assignment, and I do it not because I feel like I have all these words or ideas that I need to express, but just because it's sometimes fun. I'm pretty sure I could give it up at any time.

[djinniyah.livejournal.com]

hmmmmm, something random right now... i bought a new bra today. :). and i'm at home and realize why i almost never come home - weird how after three and a half years in college, i'm so not a part of this house anymore. it's strange... and on a totally different note, i watched a weird lame dracula movie tonight. <3 heeeee.

hmmmmm. ::thinks::

love the poems! especially the sylvia plath one. that one deserves art, it does.

random question: what's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen? and, alternately, what's your favorite monkey (and/or ape... to not be confusing with the taxonomy)? ;)

[yourpoison.livejournal.com]

Eee, bras! That is a happy occasion. I wish more fit me. If they did, I would be a complete bra -fiend-. And panties. And cute shiny things that I don't have to wear on the outside and seem slutty-- isn't it great? One could get all sorts of risque bras and never feel it's making a statement for other people like one's normal clothes do. One could just enjoy the pretty :D Something about that just... appeals to me. Being slutty without actually... being slutty :>

Man, I'd never be able to sit through an old Dracula movie. Or an old horror movie of any sort. 'Cause I'm just that jaded :> Though I really enjoyed `I Robot' today :D

Eeee, that poem would so make a great painting :D ....though not necessarily fanart~:))

It would be difficult to rank beauty like that, methinks. Seeing `Pieta' in person was really... up there-- as was St. Peter's in general. The California coastline, especially around Monterey Bay. The sky just kills me sometimes-- I mean-- some of my most intense moments of beauty have been due to sunsets and the sky in general. The Grand Canyon wasn't beauty so much as awe.... Anything in moonlight. In general, it'd be a contest between many many instances of trees, sky and er-- women~:) I think I sort of worship all three.

What about you? What's the most beautiful thing you've seen...?

...And-- lemurs. Those -eyes-! Though they're not 'true' monkeys :>

[djinniyah.livejournal.com]

Yeah, I love bras and panties because they can be privately pretty - and however 'slutty' one feels like being... without, yeah, being slutty. ;) I think wearing sexy/pretty/slinky/whatever underwear is like a self-hug, you know? I'm currently looking forward to an excuse to buy a kind of businessy-suit type outfit with a skirt to buy thigh-high hose with the little hold-up-strappy-bits (my lingerie lingo isn't so hot :> hee hee). :)

let's see, beauty... for me, beauty is often tied into moments of happiness, because I'm usually most happy when I'm feeling awed/alive and that's, typically, when I see beautiful things. I think one of the most beautiful things ever for me, and something that I write poetry about and will look for my entire life, is the color of Lake Turkana at sunset - it's in northern Kenya, near the Ethiopian border and is isolated and desolate and when the sun sets (fiery orange with indigo mountains) the lake turns blue-ice-white, the color of icebergs. Molten silver. And it's associated, that color for me, with isolation and freedom and emptiness - it's a very barren part of the world, some of it still untouched by W. civilization, with zebras and lions and black gravel deserts in places - mirages, dust devils. For me, deserts are the most searing and soul-wrenching places in the world.

In fact, I think colors are what I remember in terms of beauty - because the color of the sands in the Sahara in Morocco were also breath-taking: orange mixed with salmon-pink and glaring in the sun. Huge dunes.

::sigh:: I'm rambling. I think a lot of it for me is also awe - breathlessness where you can't help but smile as your heart breaks for the beauty of it... mmmm. :)

And I'd love to see the Pieta - it's amazing even in photographs. Some art impacts me to: James Gleeson, Matta. I also have this photography book of the human body with lots of black-and-white nude photos - it's gorgeous. Contrasts really appeal to me and so do organic curves.

Whee for lemurs!! :D I'm not sure I have a favorite monkey, but I do adore bonobos (a chimp-like ape) 'cause they assuage group tensions with sex. boy boy, girl girl, girl boy, kids, adults... yah. Horny little bastards they are. ;)

[yourpoison.livejournal.com]

I haven't actually seen a desert except in New Mexico.... Though I can imagine. I tend to be drawn to hilly, damp places with lots of rock and water and sky and vegetation-- anything from moors to marshes to tundra to coastal areas and forests. Though mostly that's just where I grew up, too-- surrounded by oaks and maples and pines, and outside the city there were all the overgrown ponds that lent themselves to swamps. I think a lot of it is that that's where I imagine fairies to be hiding-- goblins and spirits of all sorts. I sort of feel the magic strongest in places where the plants grow wild and there are lots of hidden dark spots underneath the cover of huge roots and in hollow rotted logs. ...And I do associate beauty & awe with a sense of magic & wonder.

...I was really a water goblin in my past life, methinks :>

Contrasts & organic curves really appeal to me too, and I do think that's the language of 'natural' beauty-- nature is usually an explosion of color and flowing form-- in a fractal, from tree-branches to the cross-section of mineral crystals. *sigh*

Man, I totally collect body photography books. It's an addiction :>

[bookshop.livejournal.com]

I looked at it and was like, "I used to love this" and that should've -meant- something, except it didn't. There are so many feelings that have no exact words to describe them, but especially the memory of love-- it resists being put into words.

Have you ever looked at someone you used to love with your entire soul, and thought that?

It is one of the ...dryest feelings, and therefore the strangest, in the world.

I like your poetry choices.

[yourpoison.livejournal.com]

Man. That would be scary, if it did happen o_0
I mean, a tv show is one thing... but that would be... different. I certainly get distant and/or not as intense, but I feel like that's a defense mechanism, y'know? I feel like I scab over (like Remus, heheh) and don't let people in as deep if they hurt me, but... I don't just... stop caring altogether, though I have times I felt deeply apathetic-- which seems different, because there it's the absence of -everything-, like you've cut off a part of yourself. It's not that it's empty, it's that it doesn't exist-- but you know it'd really fucking hurt if it did. Er. Does that make sense?

I've only loved one person so very passionately, though... I loved several as deeply-- and in that case, if it's more depth (below the surface) rather than height (if that make sense) we sort of become friends. It doesn't just... I mean, where would it -go-, anyway? It has to be killed for that happen. -They- would have to kill it. It wouldn't just wither. And once, my love was pretty close to murdered slowly and painfully, with extreme amounts of drawn-out torture... but it's still there. Like a stump. It tingles, a bit o_0 I get angry sometimes-- and it's like I can feel the echoes, too. It was -too big- to escape me without still existing in a sort of... crystallized form. It leaves a mark, you know. I don't know if it's -love- but it's not indifference, y'know?

<3

[jenparakeet.livejournal.com]

Not as lame as the skin-care commercial people. Or Anne Rice. Anne Rice rules them all.

boy, did you ever say it.

also, i had to comment because i adore neruda. and that specific e.e. cummings poem (and him too) beyond all reason.

[malafede.livejournal.com]

Randomness.

I found out in extremis that I won't actually have to pay 2000 euros of taxes to continue my studies. Ain't that great? Wee, actually it is. *pumps self up*

[malafede.livejournal.com]

... Does random hate work too?

[yourpoison.livejournal.com]

random hate = good.

[malafede.livejournal.com]

STATUS. Status is the stupidest goal to aspire to. It makes me want to spank everybody who concerns him/herself with such a poor substitute for true self-realisation, or bitchslap them when I am in a bad mood. Your status doesn't say anything about you, you ninny. Only that you were good at climbing the social ladder. I especially hate it when this degeneration of ego-issues up the wazoo starts polluting art-based communities. They're not supposed to be about politics. So not. And if you think having status in an art community says anything about the quality of your art, you're even a bigger tool than I thought. But I heard the coping mechanism works. Gee, how convenient.

[malafede.livejournal.com]

QUESTION: Is Harry happy? Wait, I heard role-play wasn't real life. Mmh, so, when are you at your most happy?

(Btw, I just read badfic which would nontheless make you happy in re=sexual dynamics. I know it because it pissed me, ahaha.)

[yourpoison.livejournal.com]

Harry compartmentalizes his areas of satisfaction. Generally he's dissatisfied 'cause there's a war on & Voldemort's out there and people are dying and it's up to him and stuff. Sometimes he's content though, when it's just him & Draco & the world seems far away and also they're not arguing~:)) Usually this involves one of them being asleep, drowsy or half-naked ^^;;

I'm probably most happy when I'm lost within something-- that is, not thinking-- like when I'm really enjoying myself physically (whether taste, touch, sound or sight) or letting my subconscious take over (when I write or draw) or dissolving in Nature, when it's beautiful outside and I just exist. Er. What about you?

You've totally become completely paranoid re: the sexual dynamics thing ^^;;; Just because I can tolerate less-than-totally-butch Harry doesn't make us polar opposites in that regard y'know >

[seekersidethorn.livejournal.com]

I am never happy. Something to do with performance anxiety. But am working on it. :)

... :( All the fics I read have them switching. But this one made me pissed at Harry because they had this beautiful top/bottom dynamic and he had to go and ruin it because he wanted to be fucked too. Even if Draco really didn't like it! >:O Can you tell I overidentified?

[complete-desire.livejournal.com]

I remember in 7th grade our Literature teacher persuaded someone to come in and teach us to disect a poem word for word and then figure out which each part meant Diving Into the Wreck was what the man reccomended, however, with me being nerdy, I was the only one who did it. I'd love to waste hours on that poem again. It is by far, lovely. I do believe I have befriended Mya Angelou. I'd hate for her work to be forgotten or unmentioned.

Randomness, that is my speciality. I was pondering how there are so many people in this world, and each has their own opinion, it's amazing how there is an author out there that has somehow affected a person's life. Isn't that what power is all about? It's really amazing if you think about it.. but maybe that's just me eating my Dots and losing all attention in class.

Question for you: Hrm. What is the one thing in human nature that you cannot bear to stand? Like your pet peeve

[yourpoison.livejournal.com]

Yeah, that's the thing about `Diving into the Wreck'-- it's how it becomes more and more interesting the more you look into it and think about it and stuff, and yet it's not exactly difficult reading at the same time. I really like poems that invite you to look deeper. A lot of Rich's poems have that quality-- like I can understand them easily but also have to think to get the whole picture.


I think everyone takes away something unique from a story. Like, it's not necessarily what the author meant for them to think/believe, y'know? Every reader decides for themselves what the story means and... they affect their lives but ... it's always a different effect, y'know?

People who want power over other people and people who want others to have that power over them.


Grrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

[stellabelle.livejournal.com]

*sigh* I know this feeling. Man. Like, I have all these ideas, but I don't have the motivation/feel like I have the talent/whatever to put them on paper. Or else the ideas aren't complete enough to feel as though I could do them justice. Or else I'm just restless. But then, I'm always restless. Heh.

I love "Diving into the Wreck". It's up there with my favorites, cause it's got so much to it. I think Adrienne Rich is brilliant, really. I love the way she words things and just the visceral honesty, I think, in her work. Do you like Anne Sexton? I know a lot of Rich's stuff was really influenced by Sexton's. And man, "The Starry Night" gives me chills every time I read it.

I hope you aren't still feeling all blah. If you are, here's my question: What's your favorite album? (Or movie, or book, or all three?) See, I'm keeping it lighthearted! I was going to ask you what you're afraid of, but that's kind of a heavy question, so. :)

[yourpoison.livejournal.com]

yeah, it's the visceral honesty and the sense of... new womanhood, i guess? like, the feminism and yet the lack of rah-rah preachiness or uber-attitude like some of the feminist poets have. i actually have never gotten to reading anne sexton even though the few things i'd run across i'd really liked. it seems to be random and/or based on what classes i take, what i wind up reading, though i naturally gravitate towards sylvia plath just 'cause she's so lyrical, more so than sexton methinks.



gahhh, hard to piiiickk. i have typical responses but i'd decided them ages ago and in truth i dunno if they're true anymore, but...
movie - the neverending story.
book - the forgotten beasts of eld, patricia mckillip
comic - sandman, neil gaiman (ahahah just so it wouldn't tie for book)
album - little earthquakes, tori amos :D

what about you?

AM SO PREDICTABLE I KNOW I AM AHAHAHAHAHAH.
....that totally makes me sound like a wee lil emo teenager >< but that's my favorites at age 16 anyway ^^;;; i don't think i'm ready to move on yet :>

the only thing i'm afraid of is going insane ^^;;
and/or some debilitating disease before i'm old and/or bodily mutilation. as long as my 'self' is intact, i'm fine really :> i don't want to be homeless in my own body. but anything to do with other people/the world doesn't bother me, though i really hope we don't blow ourselves up. like, a lot.

[stellabelle.livejournal.com]

Yeah, exactly. I like Rich's ability to take such serious topics and just make them real rather than lording her knowledge/the subject over people. Sylvia Plath kills me dead. Her stuff just makes me hurt.

Um. Hmmm. It is hard to pick this kinda stuff...Er.
I guess my favorite movie would be 'Princess Bride' (cause I'm a sap) or else 'Sixteen Candles', maybe? Or 'Four Weddings and a Funeral'. Well, I love them all equally, so. Tie. I'm such a cheater, and at my own game, ahaha!
My favorite book is probably 'Pride and Prejudice'. Mmm Darcy.
Album...either 'Abbey Road' or 'The Joshua Tree'. Everyone loves the Beatles, man. Except probably 'Joshua Tree' is my true favorite, cause the songs are just like poetry to me.

I'm petrified of...like, if something happens to someone I love and I'm unable to do anything to help them. That just terrifies me. Or, in a more selfish sense, I'm afraid of people telling me I suck at what I love to do. (Like writing, obviously.)

[yourpoison.livejournal.com]

Heheh you're much more of a people person than me :> But that's probably because only REALLY REALLY messed up people are actually more insulated than i am :>

heee! 'princess bride' probably ties for favorite movie for me too-- along with 'willow'-- actually i'm just a dork for all fantasy movies. but i love `neverending story' best 'cause i identify with it most :D as far as other stuff (non-fantasy, because fantasy will always top romance when push comes to shove, for me), i love `the breakfast club' & 80s Brat-Pack movies in general, so yeah, `16 candles' along with most other Molly Ringwald movies :> Mmmm, I loved `Four Weddings' but watched it past my formative stage ^^;;;

i think `princess bride' is actually one of my interests :> man, i love it <3333333333 wah, so many priceless lines in that movie :D

[stellabelle.livejournal.com]

Haha, it's so funny you'd say that, cause lately I've been having so much trouble with...just people in general, I guess. I'm just. Argh. I think that it comes down to the fact that I let people walk all over me (I don't mean to! I swear! hehe) and then...it ends up they take me for granted and I feel so let down over it. But. I mean, I'd be friends with anyone, as long as they were decent, y'know?

I loooove 'Princess Bride'. It's romantic without really being sappy, and it's funny and clever and witty. I just adore it oh so much.

I never really got into most fantasy stuff when I was younger (except Lord of the Rings) - but for me, I've always just loved quirky, oddball humor. So pretty much anything I love (in terms of books and movies) are going to have that theme running through them. Hah, I love all those Brat Pack movies, too. There's something about the way they capture both the awesomeness and the pain of being that age that I'll just always be able to relate to, I think.

[sarahtales.livejournal.com]

Um... do not despair, for Isaac Newton invented the cat flap.
While he was having Very Serious thoughts about Gravity and its Principles, he also thought 'and damned if it wouldn't be a good idea if Felix had a little door!'
...um. that gives me hope.

[yourpoison.livejournal.com]

*COLLAPSES FROM SPORFLE*
......man. now that's what i'm talking about! :D random yet disturbingly inspiring :>

...i'm so tempted to ask you how you know that, but do i really want to know??
(though it sounds like something they have on those `science for kids' shows, hehe).