Much have I traveled in the realms of gold
Free until you halted me that winter morning
Suddenly, everything turned to ice.
The box had been opened.
Unclaimed guilt turned into scars
Because you were helpless, but then again,
So was I.
What once came in small doses now slapped me in the face
So you took that hand and broke it with your remaining strength,
Swept me up and showed me a new way
To look at the morning.
Now our scars match, but they're beautiful
And I can travel the realms of gold again
Because you laid the path.
19 March 2013
Structure
Lethal
Danger in her eyes
Fire beneath fingernails
She, little weapon
Guitar
And so you played it
Honey-colored music notes
Breathless at the taste
Captivated, you had me
Contagious love behind sound
Danger in her eyes
Fire beneath fingernails
She, little weapon
Guitar
And so you played it
Honey-colored music notes
Breathless at the taste
Captivated, you had me
Contagious love behind sound
Monday
How is it only Monday? I leave for home on Saturday, and based on how slowly today went by, it's going to be a long haul to get there. While there is a feeling of victory in that I finished my research paper this evening, there is still (and always seems to be) more work to do. I'm hoping that spring break can serve as a catch-up time--both in sleep and work. Yesterday I went to bed at 5 in the morning so I have a feeling I will be doing a lot of sleeping next week. Not too many thoughts for today other than the glacial pace of time. Today The Shins came and played a concert at Tulane, which was awesome, so I'll share a favorite song of mine:
18 March 2013
17 March 2013
2013
So it's been a little over a year since I've used this blog, and while I considered deleting it for a while, I have recently decided to just keep writing in it. I'm on my computer so much anyway for school and spend hours slaving over work in the library that I figured this could be a nice outlet for when things get too stressful. I doubt anyone actually reads this anymore though, so maybe it will just be a chronicle of thoughts. Just something to keep me sane.
I have an 8-11 page research paper due on Tuesday and am doing just about anything to avoid writing it. But my friend changed my Facebook password so that's no longer an option (for the best). So now I'm back on here. More later, I suppose.
Found this recently, I really like it:
I have an 8-11 page research paper due on Tuesday and am doing just about anything to avoid writing it. But my friend changed my Facebook password so that's no longer an option (for the best). So now I'm back on here. More later, I suppose.
Found this recently, I really like it:
23 February 2012
08 February 2012
II. A Game of Chess (Stanza 7)
When she came in uniform, he said—
“I missed you so, something wasn’t right without you”
GUNS AREN’T FOR GIRLS, GUNS AREN’T FOR GIRLS
“Make yourself useful, the floor’s dirty”
So she spat on it and held back the tears
She held for eight months
“There’s dirt underneath your fingernails”
She called him a failure for not finding a job
And he replied that he didn’t need one
If there were no kids to take care of.
She spit again, in the sink this time.
He said, I swear, I can’t bear to look at you.
GUNS AREN’T FOR GIRLS, GUNS AREN’T FOR GIRLS
She sat at the window
Behind a desk
And watched the leaves fall
One by one until the earth had a blanket
But she was cold.
“We’re not getting any younger"
Why would she want another version of herself,
Sad and hollow and small.
“A figure like that can’t support a baby”
He speaks to her bones.
He bursts in the door every 2 A.M.,
Slurring words and stenches of cheap perfume,
He bleeds guilt but feels nothing.
GUNS AREN’T FOR GIRLS, GUNS AREN’T FOR GIRLS
“I need a real woman”
A ring on the finger but no children
To bear a concoction of your features,
An unfulfilled prophecy; selfish.
GUNS AREN’T FOR GIRLS
GUNS AREN’T FOR GIRLS
Goodbye captain. Goodbye sergeant. Goodbye lieutenant. Goodbye.
Farewell. Goodbye. Goodbye.
Goodbye gentlemen, goodbye brothers, goodbye, goodbye.
“I missed you so, something wasn’t right without you”
GUNS AREN’T FOR GIRLS, GUNS AREN’T FOR GIRLS
“Make yourself useful, the floor’s dirty”
So she spat on it and held back the tears
She held for eight months
“There’s dirt underneath your fingernails”
She called him a failure for not finding a job
And he replied that he didn’t need one
If there were no kids to take care of.
She spit again, in the sink this time.
He said, I swear, I can’t bear to look at you.
GUNS AREN’T FOR GIRLS, GUNS AREN’T FOR GIRLS
She sat at the window
Behind a desk
And watched the leaves fall
One by one until the earth had a blanket
But she was cold.
“We’re not getting any younger"
Why would she want another version of herself,
Sad and hollow and small.
“A figure like that can’t support a baby”
He speaks to her bones.
He bursts in the door every 2 A.M.,
Slurring words and stenches of cheap perfume,
He bleeds guilt but feels nothing.
GUNS AREN’T FOR GIRLS, GUNS AREN’T FOR GIRLS
“I need a real woman”
A ring on the finger but no children
To bear a concoction of your features,
An unfulfilled prophecy; selfish.
GUNS AREN’T FOR GIRLS
GUNS AREN’T FOR GIRLS
Goodbye captain. Goodbye sergeant. Goodbye lieutenant. Goodbye.
Farewell. Goodbye. Goodbye.
Goodbye gentlemen, goodbye brothers, goodbye, goodbye.
05 February 2012
II. A Game of Chess (Stanzas 5 & 6)
I remember
When I first saw your gaping mouth, your lifeless eyes
‘Are you alive, or not? Is there nothing in your
head?’
Please
Doctor, doctor won’t you please prescribe me something
A day in the life of someone else?
Because I’m a hazard to myself
I’m my own worst enemy
‘What can I do now? What can I do?’
‘My capabilities running through my fingers like
grains of sand, I shall rush out
‘As I am, no glance in a mirror
‘No costume on my face, so. Where do I go now?
‘Where do I ever go?’
A meeting at noon.
And if it snows, by the fireplace we’ll be again,
And we shall play a game of chess.
We are just as much of no one as the hollow eyes
Over coffee cups,
We are vapors, temporary,
The steam billowing from the milky brown elixir
We exist, we rise, then we disappear.
When I first saw your gaping mouth, your lifeless eyes
‘Are you alive, or not? Is there nothing in your
head?’
Please
Doctor, doctor won’t you please prescribe me something
A day in the life of someone else?
Because I’m a hazard to myself
I’m my own worst enemy
‘What can I do now? What can I do?’
‘My capabilities running through my fingers like
grains of sand, I shall rush out
‘As I am, no glance in a mirror
‘No costume on my face, so. Where do I go now?
‘Where do I ever go?’
A meeting at noon.
And if it snows, by the fireplace we’ll be again,
And we shall play a game of chess.
We are just as much of no one as the hollow eyes
Over coffee cups,
We are vapors, temporary,
The steam billowing from the milky brown elixir
We exist, we rise, then we disappear.
II. A Game of Chess (Stanzas 2, 3, & 4)
‘The dreams are bad tonight. Yes, bad. Stay with me.
‘Comfort me. Why are you so cold. Empty.
‘What were you thinking? What thinking?
What?
‘I never knew what you were doing. Remember.’
The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms
‘What is that noise?’
Death’s twilight kingdom
‘What is that noise now? Do you hear the thunder?’
Nothing again nothing.
‘Do
‘You hear nothing? Did you think nothing? Do you
remember
‘Nothing?’
Note: there are several indentations that I intended to make here that show up in Microsoft Word but not Blogger. Same goes for other stanzas.
‘Comfort me. Why are you so cold. Empty.
‘What were you thinking? What thinking?
What?
‘I never knew what you were doing. Remember.’
The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms
‘What is that noise?’
Death’s twilight kingdom
‘What is that noise now? Do you hear the thunder?’
Nothing again nothing.
‘Do
‘You hear nothing? Did you think nothing? Do you
remember
‘Nothing?’
Note: there are several indentations that I intended to make here that show up in Microsoft Word but not Blogger. Same goes for other stanzas.
Lazy Sunday
Wow being sick is so great!! I missed three days of school and have basically been sick on and off since last Sunday. Luckily my immune system has finally decided to forgive me, and I'm pretty much healthy again.
Being sick means that I haven't had much time to write. In fact, I got 16 pages behind in my Writing Workshop class. Luckily, I managed to crank out 8 pages yesterday and 8 today, so I'm pretty much caught up. That also means I have more of The Waste Land to post!
I don't have much to update on, although being a second semester senior doesn't bring much crazy life updates in general. It's Superbowl Sunday, but I would be lying if I said I was really excited. What I'm more interested in is the Michigan vs. Michigan State basketball game, but the Wolverines are having a poor showing so far.
My wi-fi's been awful lately, and actually I had finished this little rant and was going to post it but then the internet stopped working and deleted half my post. Talk about first world problems. But from what I can remember, basically I said that I was astonished that Spirit Week starts tomorrow. Usually it's months of me biting my nails and thinking about costumes and such, but this year I guess I'm just going through the motions. Maybe once it starts I'll have more energy and excitement.
That being said, it's going to be a crazy busy week. I also have three basketball games which means I'm going to be all over the place and extra busy. So I apologize in advance for not posting much. Thanks for your patience, whoever you are out there!
Being sick means that I haven't had much time to write. In fact, I got 16 pages behind in my Writing Workshop class. Luckily, I managed to crank out 8 pages yesterday and 8 today, so I'm pretty much caught up. That also means I have more of The Waste Land to post!
I don't have much to update on, although being a second semester senior doesn't bring much crazy life updates in general. It's Superbowl Sunday, but I would be lying if I said I was really excited. What I'm more interested in is the Michigan vs. Michigan State basketball game, but the Wolverines are having a poor showing so far.
My wi-fi's been awful lately, and actually I had finished this little rant and was going to post it but then the internet stopped working and deleted half my post. Talk about first world problems. But from what I can remember, basically I said that I was astonished that Spirit Week starts tomorrow. Usually it's months of me biting my nails and thinking about costumes and such, but this year I guess I'm just going through the motions. Maybe once it starts I'll have more energy and excitement.
That being said, it's going to be a crazy busy week. I also have three basketball games which means I'm going to be all over the place and extra busy. So I apologize in advance for not posting much. Thanks for your patience, whoever you are out there!
01 February 2012
29 January 2012
II. A Game of Chess (Stanza 1)
The Chair she sat in, like a lonely throne,
Ebony legs met chestnut floor, glowing
By solemn candlelight, shadows in a dance,
Circling, changing with every flicker,
Her diamonds reflecting their own light.
Shadow puppets from sterling silver, cast iron, twenty four carat gold,
(They had more life than her.)
She saw herself in the glass cover of the cabinet,
Saw her sunken eyes and the dancing around her,
Saw her plants, her powders, her pills,
Saw the smoke form the joint between her skeletal fingers
join the smoke of the candles,
Saw the scars on the walls and remembered her broken promise—
troubled, confused
And drowned the sense by inhaling; forgetting.
Suddenly everything became brighter, louder.
Reds burst from the sides of her well-worn nails,
Bitten to the core, she swore she could see her bones,
Bare and white as her hollow skin.
In the sad light her skeleton danced,
All alone
But beautiful,
Moving to no music.
She looked to the window and was reminded of her emptiness.
She surrendered to the Poseidons of her eyes,
She let herself drown
She drowned in her throne
She was the queen, she was every color.
Silence screamed form her desperate mouth
She swallowed all the darkness,
And still she cried, and still the world pursues,
“Quiet, girl,” from crooked teeth,
Tracing curves of her silhouette
The shadows teased and tickled.
She felt the heat of the candles, she burned,
She tore out her hair and watched it burst into flames,
Her skin fell as ashes.
The throne was empty, the room still.
Ebony legs met chestnut floor, glowing
By solemn candlelight, shadows in a dance,
Circling, changing with every flicker,
Her diamonds reflecting their own light.
Shadow puppets from sterling silver, cast iron, twenty four carat gold,
(They had more life than her.)
She saw herself in the glass cover of the cabinet,
Saw her sunken eyes and the dancing around her,
Saw her plants, her powders, her pills,
Saw the smoke form the joint between her skeletal fingers
join the smoke of the candles,
Saw the scars on the walls and remembered her broken promise—
troubled, confused
And drowned the sense by inhaling; forgetting.
Suddenly everything became brighter, louder.
Reds burst from the sides of her well-worn nails,
Bitten to the core, she swore she could see her bones,
Bare and white as her hollow skin.
In the sad light her skeleton danced,
All alone
But beautiful,
Moving to no music.
She looked to the window and was reminded of her emptiness.
She surrendered to the Poseidons of her eyes,
She let herself drown
She drowned in her throne
She was the queen, she was every color.
Silence screamed form her desperate mouth
She swallowed all the darkness,
And still she cried, and still the world pursues,
“Quiet, girl,” from crooked teeth,
Tracing curves of her silhouette
The shadows teased and tickled.
She felt the heat of the candles, she burned,
She tore out her hair and watched it burst into flames,
Her skin fell as ashes.
The throne was empty, the room still.
25 January 2012
Hallelujah
You're the girl in the back of the room
My wallflower that's in bloom
You're so oblivious to this
But I could fall into those eyes
Pretty circles that I try
To escape into, yeah
Well, Hallelujah, when you look at me
Hallelujah, you're the halo over me
You're all that I need
With you, every day is Saturday
With you, every word you say is like a song
With you, well, everything is obvious
Hallelujah, hallelujah, well I found you
I found you, I found you, Hallelujah
I never thought I'd take that jump
A nervous laugh around someone
I'm sleeping in the palm of your hand
The way you whisper on the phone
I hear your voice when I'm alone
You always understand just who I am
Hallelujah, your love is free
Hallelujah, you're the halo over me
And you're all I need
With you, every day is Saturday
With you, every word you say is like a song
With you, well, everything is obvious
Hallelujah, hallelujah, I found you
I found you, I found you, Hallelujah
The best things are unexpected just like this
Like a billboard in the sky you just can't miss
And I'm never letting this love go
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
With you, every day is Saturday
With you, yeah, every word you say is like a song
With you, yeah, everything is obvious
Hallelujah, hallelujah, 'cause I found you
Yeah, I found you, yeah I found you
Hallelujah, Hallelujah, hallelujah
24 January 2012
I. The Burial of the Dead (Stanza 4)
Millions of nobodies
Grasping for sunlight captured by concrete vortexes
Sculpting their view of the sky.
Each walks lifelessly through the maze,
Sunken eyes and Starbucks cups,
Anonymity whispered in their footsteps.
Iron gates at 116th and Broadway conceal a world.
One o’ clock meant you were supposed to be somewhere,
Buried in leather-bound books or Jack Daniels,
A temporary ignorance of a permanent problem.
She put down the book, the bottle,
And saw him standing there, hollow-eyed too.
He looked familiar.
“Let’s be miserable together, let’s go nowhere together.”
And so they talked and kissed and touched.
He smelled like old paper and whiskey,
But her heart lurched, and she was lonely
So she laughed. And they slept together.
When she woke, the table was empty
And the bottle remained.
What happened?
“You! hypocrite lecteur! — mon sembable, — mon frère!”
Grasping for sunlight captured by concrete vortexes
Sculpting their view of the sky.
Each walks lifelessly through the maze,
Sunken eyes and Starbucks cups,
Anonymity whispered in their footsteps.
Iron gates at 116th and Broadway conceal a world.
One o’ clock meant you were supposed to be somewhere,
Buried in leather-bound books or Jack Daniels,
A temporary ignorance of a permanent problem.
She put down the book, the bottle,
And saw him standing there, hollow-eyed too.
He looked familiar.
“Let’s be miserable together, let’s go nowhere together.”
And so they talked and kissed and touched.
He smelled like old paper and whiskey,
But her heart lurched, and she was lonely
So she laughed. And they slept together.
When she woke, the table was empty
And the bottle remained.
What happened?
“You! hypocrite lecteur! — mon sembable, — mon frère!”
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