I have just completed my first year of graduate school. Just two more years and I'll have an MFA in Creative Writing...I hope. I am in the process of transferring my degree from the MA in Literature to the MFA, so I'm operating under the assumption that they still want me at BSU. I just hope they decide sooner rather than later because I really need to know if I'm getting my financial aid or not.
I really don't know what to say here - I'm not doing anything very exciting right now, nor have I been for the past few months (whenever I last updated this journal, I was doing the same sorts of things, I'm sure). Working at Barnes and Noble, studying, playing World of Warcraft, all this hasn't changed much. I've started watching more movies and TV shows through Netflix. I'm just starting on season 6 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. It's quite a good show, I was rather surprised. I rented the first season because I thought I should give it a go, considering I liked Firefly so much.
Anyway, I'm hoping the Blizzard people are now done with WoW maintenance and I can get back on my account. :)
13 May 2008
31 October 2007
A touch of homesickness, perhaps
I have another new poem. OK, not entirely new, but new enough, and I did edit it something fierce. I'm having it workshopped on Thursday. I was supposed to have it done on Tuesday, but we ended up with only fifteen minutes left in class and they all decided it wasn't enough time to do justice to my poem. Obtuse of me, but I really enjoyed the fact that they wanted more time with my writing. :)
In other news, I've been reading lots of silly romance novels. :/ I swear, I'm succumbing to escapist fiction because my life sucks or something. If you're a romance reader, don't read Laura Kinsale. My God. The one I read, Flowers From the Storm was just miserable. The hero is practically mentally retarded. Now, I don't care how physically attractive a person is, but a mental handicap just doesn't do it for me. It's not that he's stupid - no, it's far worse - he was relatively normal for a romance hero and then he has a stroke or something (Kinsale doesn't actually tell you what happened) but his condition is pretty suggestive of a person with his corpus callosum cut (that's the connector in the middle of the brain, makes you do you all sorts of weird stuff 'cause the two sides of your brain aren't talking to each other). So, he's locked up in a mental asylum and the heroine is a Quaker with "creaturly desires." I am not kidding. She's more often than not in a tizzy because she's betraying her faith and her Friends. I'm not even going to start on the "thee's and thou's." Blood hell.
The one I just finished reading was Welcome to Temptation by Jennifer Crusie. I'm not generally a huge fan of contemporary romances, but this one was fun. Maybe because it reminded me so much of John Day. Basically the heroine, a lovely gal from the wrong side of the tracks, comes to the town of Temptation to shoot a movie with her sister and runs slightly afoul of the mayor, who is the hero. Seriously, Phin Tucker is H.O.T. :) And dirty. Which is super fun, let me tell you. Anyway, it's a murder mystery and there's lots of great smut and a definite good read.
The one I'm reading now, however, I can't decide. It's called Princess by Gaelen Foley. I'm in the middle of it. This is a tortured hero. Seriously tortured. Though perhaps not quite so much as others I've read. Like I said, I can't decide. Though it seems to me that tortured heroes generally just get themselves confused and have misunderstandings with the heroines because they're too busy feeling put-upon and sorry for themselves. Most tortured heroes can be avoided by simply communicating with their heroines (or by allowing the heroines to say their bit instead of storming out of the room like a drag queen who just had her wig insulted). Darius Santiago is an assassin and spy, Spanish, hot (of course) with a scar marring his mouth (I don't understand why the imperfections of the hero are so often dwelt upon by the authors - it's like he can't be too perfect, but their writing isn't up to making his personality less-than-perfect, it has to be a small feature of appearance that can be repeated often and briefly...) Anyway...the writing isn't bad, but I'm more than three-fourths done with the book and only just got to the real smut. *shrug* Also, there was a line that totally threw me at the beginning of the book (about a quarter in) where the hero tells the heroine (the princess) that he can taste her milk. Seriously. Now, I'm no doctor or biologist, but am I correct in assuming that unless you're PREGNANT you do not lactate? I mean, wtf? In spite of that, I continued reading. The dialogue is a bit forced (milk, honestly) and the princess, Serafina, is a whiny little bitch, but Darius is still pretty fucking hot. The final verdict I may never post, because I haven't been keeping up with this blog, but we'll see.
Anyway, the poem I promised at the beginning. (I'm avoiding writing a paper that's due tomorrow, so of course I'm blogging - procrasturbation for the win!) It is untitled.
18 October 2007
in past times it may have seemed insubstantial
this needingness of youth today
an orchard by a flat-rocked river
cherries, peaches, small-mouth bass, and thunder
basalt cliffs, love, for flying
a woman died in that house before the war
not young or alone or old with family
do not look at her empty husk
just follow the red lines to the town over the hill
white amidst the yellow and ever moving together
and how many of the innocent trudged away defeated
dents being signs of cunning and luck
shaped like the river you drift
so low the sky is a ribbon
where the stars still come out for us
you rural dragon
keeper of knotty-limbed brides
the hidden and the timeless transient
breathe us an old purpose
for posterity
or rationality
please
In other news, I've been reading lots of silly romance novels. :/ I swear, I'm succumbing to escapist fiction because my life sucks or something. If you're a romance reader, don't read Laura Kinsale. My God. The one I read, Flowers From the Storm was just miserable. The hero is practically mentally retarded. Now, I don't care how physically attractive a person is, but a mental handicap just doesn't do it for me. It's not that he's stupid - no, it's far worse - he was relatively normal for a romance hero and then he has a stroke or something (Kinsale doesn't actually tell you what happened) but his condition is pretty suggestive of a person with his corpus callosum cut (that's the connector in the middle of the brain, makes you do you all sorts of weird stuff 'cause the two sides of your brain aren't talking to each other). So, he's locked up in a mental asylum and the heroine is a Quaker with "creaturly desires." I am not kidding. She's more often than not in a tizzy because she's betraying her faith and her Friends. I'm not even going to start on the "thee's and thou's." Blood hell.
The one I just finished reading was Welcome to Temptation by Jennifer Crusie. I'm not generally a huge fan of contemporary romances, but this one was fun. Maybe because it reminded me so much of John Day. Basically the heroine, a lovely gal from the wrong side of the tracks, comes to the town of Temptation to shoot a movie with her sister and runs slightly afoul of the mayor, who is the hero. Seriously, Phin Tucker is H.O.T. :) And dirty. Which is super fun, let me tell you. Anyway, it's a murder mystery and there's lots of great smut and a definite good read.
The one I'm reading now, however, I can't decide. It's called Princess by Gaelen Foley. I'm in the middle of it. This is a tortured hero. Seriously tortured. Though perhaps not quite so much as others I've read. Like I said, I can't decide. Though it seems to me that tortured heroes generally just get themselves confused and have misunderstandings with the heroines because they're too busy feeling put-upon and sorry for themselves. Most tortured heroes can be avoided by simply communicating with their heroines (or by allowing the heroines to say their bit instead of storming out of the room like a drag queen who just had her wig insulted). Darius Santiago is an assassin and spy, Spanish, hot (of course) with a scar marring his mouth (I don't understand why the imperfections of the hero are so often dwelt upon by the authors - it's like he can't be too perfect, but their writing isn't up to making his personality less-than-perfect, it has to be a small feature of appearance that can be repeated often and briefly...) Anyway...the writing isn't bad, but I'm more than three-fourths done with the book and only just got to the real smut. *shrug* Also, there was a line that totally threw me at the beginning of the book (about a quarter in) where the hero tells the heroine (the princess) that he can taste her milk. Seriously. Now, I'm no doctor or biologist, but am I correct in assuming that unless you're PREGNANT you do not lactate? I mean, wtf? In spite of that, I continued reading. The dialogue is a bit forced (milk, honestly) and the princess, Serafina, is a whiny little bitch, but Darius is still pretty fucking hot. The final verdict I may never post, because I haven't been keeping up with this blog, but we'll see.
Anyway, the poem I promised at the beginning. (I'm avoiding writing a paper that's due tomorrow, so of course I'm blogging - procrasturbation for the win!) It is untitled.
18 October 2007
in past times it may have seemed insubstantial
this needingness of youth today
an orchard by a flat-rocked river
cherries, peaches, small-mouth bass, and thunder
basalt cliffs, love, for flying
a woman died in that house before the war
not young or alone or old with family
do not look at her empty husk
just follow the red lines to the town over the hill
white amidst the yellow and ever moving together
and how many of the innocent trudged away defeated
dents being signs of cunning and luck
shaped like the river you drift
so low the sky is a ribbon
where the stars still come out for us
you rural dragon
keeper of knotty-limbed brides
the hidden and the timeless transient
breathe us an old purpose
for posterity
or rationality
please
06 October 2007
New poem
A new poem to share. Wrote it a while ago. Going to be workshopping it in my poetry class on Tuesday.
Declamation
Pond grass under snow
a divergent speciality of sorts
or a spectacular transcendental physics
the lineaments of which we barely comprehend
a red wine mania
propagated
in part
by lunar cycles and Australian schoolchildren
Spenser speaks to me in circles
and my life course becomes
once more
obfuscated by secondary tediousness
I am told there resides in this world
a man
the man
constructed of man-parts, thinking man-thoughts
and he shall define/solidify my woman-ness
Crossed the ecliptic this morning
existentially I’m thriving
according to the man who takes my money
Diana has lost all semblance of virginity
see she traverses the horizon
swollen belly, bloated single mother
white with stretch marks and a cigarette’s fume veiling her eyes
a case of incest so rancid
her own father cast her from home
Mind the small sins, dearest
one cannot pray without votives
such an end we make of this happening
lights, colors, masks, wordless as ever
Drinking wine, like the blood of doves
spent with flying and mourning of mates
its succulency wanes, though it is all I
can afford tonight
Imagine the fruits of labor
bulbous, yellow, thick of skin
but unlike their sour counterparts
nectar to taste, bitter on the outsides of
your tongue
the light wanes
Soft, arising moon, the moment for
bitter memories
approaches
grandly garbed in pale ocher
alone I sit and seethe for other candles
The waning of the year has come upon us
a season of mists indeed
but all fruitfulness has passed to latter days
and seems to us but dreaming
fitful and unsubtle like to crystal
I knew you, yes once I knew
how faces fell to ruination
that punch-drunk tragedy of tightly wound youth
long legs encircling holy precepts
1 October 2007
Declamation
Pond grass under snow
a divergent speciality of sorts
or a spectacular transcendental physics
the lineaments of which we barely comprehend
a red wine mania
propagated
in part
by lunar cycles and Australian schoolchildren
Spenser speaks to me in circles
and my life course becomes
once more
obfuscated by secondary tediousness
I am told there resides in this world
a man
the man
constructed of man-parts, thinking man-thoughts
and he shall define/solidify my woman-ness
Crossed the ecliptic this morning
existentially I’m thriving
according to the man who takes my money
Diana has lost all semblance of virginity
see she traverses the horizon
swollen belly, bloated single mother
white with stretch marks and a cigarette’s fume veiling her eyes
a case of incest so rancid
her own father cast her from home
Mind the small sins, dearest
one cannot pray without votives
such an end we make of this happening
lights, colors, masks, wordless as ever
Drinking wine, like the blood of doves
spent with flying and mourning of mates
its succulency wanes, though it is all I
can afford tonight
Imagine the fruits of labor
bulbous, yellow, thick of skin
but unlike their sour counterparts
nectar to taste, bitter on the outsides of
your tongue
the light wanes
Soft, arising moon, the moment for
bitter memories
approaches
grandly garbed in pale ocher
alone I sit and seethe for other candles
The waning of the year has come upon us
a season of mists indeed
but all fruitfulness has passed to latter days
and seems to us but dreaming
fitful and unsubtle like to crystal
I knew you, yes once I knew
how faces fell to ruination
that punch-drunk tragedy of tightly wound youth
long legs encircling holy precepts
1 October 2007
26 August 2007
Another School Year
Tomorrow I begin classes as a grad student. I feel very strange, as though I'm not actually in school. I'm not moving into a dorm, I'm not leaving a summer job, I'm not meeting up with old friends or making new ones (yet) on campus, I'm just sitting around waiting to work and, incidentally, go to class after I leave B&N for the day. Mum says it's real life catching up to me, that this is how adult people go about their higher education - working a job or two and attending school at the same time. If so, I don't wat to be an adult about it. I want to remain juvenile and blissfully unaware of the necessity for money and maintaining eight-twelve schedules.
Classes should be interesting, though I'm terrified to start. This Masters thing is going to be more intensive than I had originally anticipated. One of my professors sent out a tentative syllabus, and I nearly shit myself - two 30 minute presentations and 2 12-page research papers, not including works cited and endnotes. The papers I can handle, I think. The presentations...dear God, how am I going to survive giving two half-hour presentations? I hate presenting, lecturing, anything that has to do with standing up in front of a group of people and expressing myself in a manner both eloquent and poised. I don't remain calm, I start shaking, my voice quavers, I lose my train of thought, I become self-conscious - all to the point that I might faint or vomit. It's a small class, only 15 people, but still...I don't think I'll survive. It's about things with which I'm not particularly familiar, either. American Romanticism...like I know anything about it! The Brits, sure, I could feasibly do that, but not the Americans - I haven't the slightest notion of American Romantic ideals, themes, creeds, whatever. I can only hope they are at least somewhat similar to British Romantic ideas. I mean, you'd think the American Romantic movement would have been derived from the British one, just as the Brits took theirs from the Germans. I don't know. I'm really just freaking myself out about nothing, I think. We'll see...
I suppose I should go do some reading for my class tomorrow. The professor emailed everyone and gave us a reading assignment for the first class because he claims we're going to be missing at least two classes and need to get an early start. Nothing like jumping the gun and getting us all worked up before term even starts.
Classes should be interesting, though I'm terrified to start. This Masters thing is going to be more intensive than I had originally anticipated. One of my professors sent out a tentative syllabus, and I nearly shit myself - two 30 minute presentations and 2 12-page research papers, not including works cited and endnotes. The papers I can handle, I think. The presentations...dear God, how am I going to survive giving two half-hour presentations? I hate presenting, lecturing, anything that has to do with standing up in front of a group of people and expressing myself in a manner both eloquent and poised. I don't remain calm, I start shaking, my voice quavers, I lose my train of thought, I become self-conscious - all to the point that I might faint or vomit. It's a small class, only 15 people, but still...I don't think I'll survive. It's about things with which I'm not particularly familiar, either. American Romanticism...like I know anything about it! The Brits, sure, I could feasibly do that, but not the Americans - I haven't the slightest notion of American Romantic ideals, themes, creeds, whatever. I can only hope they are at least somewhat similar to British Romantic ideas. I mean, you'd think the American Romantic movement would have been derived from the British one, just as the Brits took theirs from the Germans. I don't know. I'm really just freaking myself out about nothing, I think. We'll see...
I suppose I should go do some reading for my class tomorrow. The professor emailed everyone and gave us a reading assignment for the first class because he claims we're going to be missing at least two classes and need to get an early start. Nothing like jumping the gun and getting us all worked up before term even starts.
31 May 2007
Have you forgotten me, yet, internets?
I've gone over to the enemy. I'm betraying independent booksellers everywhere. I am a corporate stooge. I have been working for the past three weeks for Barnes and Noble. But the employee discounts are brilliant! At least 30% off everything in the store, and 50% off food items. Coffee, books, music, DVDs...yes, I have sold my soul and don't regret it for a moment.
What have I been doing with my life? Nothing, really. Still not writing - just can't seem to get anything to come out of my head through my fingers that's worth the effort. Seen Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End twice. Will probably see it more. :) The sea battle blows my mind. I am so disappointed by the ending, though. Finished Wives and Daughters. Wonderful book. I'm now reading Angle of Repose by Wallace Stegner. Apparently it's the quintessential Western novel. It's about a man who returns to his grandparents' house to chronicle their history as Western pioneers. So far, I'm really enjoying it. Anyone who has any sort of Western feeling or kinship with the West should read this novel. There are moments that are truly beautiful.
Well...time to get my butt in gear. My mum and grandmother are visiting and I have to take them around and entertain them today. :)
What have I been doing with my life? Nothing, really. Still not writing - just can't seem to get anything to come out of my head through my fingers that's worth the effort. Seen Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End twice. Will probably see it more. :) The sea battle blows my mind. I am so disappointed by the ending, though. Finished Wives and Daughters. Wonderful book. I'm now reading Angle of Repose by Wallace Stegner. Apparently it's the quintessential Western novel. It's about a man who returns to his grandparents' house to chronicle their history as Western pioneers. So far, I'm really enjoying it. Anyone who has any sort of Western feeling or kinship with the West should read this novel. There are moments that are truly beautiful.
Well...time to get my butt in gear. My mum and grandmother are visiting and I have to take them around and entertain them today. :)
26 April 2007
Interminable intermission
You remember in Monty Python and the Holy Grail how the crazy music and colorful screen come on at the most random moment to cue the intermission? Yeah.
Still jobless in Boise. I'm almost losing track of all the places I've applied now. Three hospital jobs, Borders, Barnes and Noble, two school jobs (though they don't start until August)... I really don't want to resort to food service jobs.
It's the end of April. It's only the end of April. Somehow I keep expecting warmer weather, but it's really only spring, so I shouldn't. I feel like we should be in summer right now. I am tired of being cold. My brother finishes his freshman year of school on May 10th. I'll have company around the house then, which will be nice. It's hard being alone all day long. If I had a job, I wouldn't be so morose, but there's that slight problem of not being able to force one's employment.
I haven't ridden a bicycle for about fifteen years. I did so today. It really is just like riding a bike. :) My legs are killing me, though. They're definitely not used to that sort of movement. It's nice, though, because the grocery store is so close that it feels stupid to actually drive there. So, I ride my bike. When I get more comfortable with the whole riding process, maybe I'll venture further afield. The streets of Boise are nice and flat, so I shouldn't have any problems with my lack of physical ability to do anything more strenuous than pedal a few times every thirty seconds. Heh...I'm such a lazy ass.
Been reading Wives and Daughters by Elizabeth Gaskell. What a lovely book. Not as dramatic as North and South but engrossing. Going to start reading Angle of Repose soon. Mum says it's one of the most incredible books she's ever read. I believe her. Finished Kenilworth, finally, in Florida. Good book. Very dense language, though. Very Walter Scott. Been playing WoW. I know, I should take up healthier habits, but, seriously...being a vegetable has its charms. Been playing Twilight Princess! Holy crap, that game is incredible. My brother finally let me play with his Wii... >:) Yes, I know how that sounds. I said that the other day to my mum and she gave me a very concerned look because she didn't know what the Wii was. Hehehe. I then had to explain it was the name of Nintendo's new gaming system, the one they were thinking of calling 'The Revolution,' but opted for Wii instead because all the Asians would be saying, 'Levolution.' Thus they chose , 'Wii' as it is more internationally accessible. /racial slur
I know I am a bad person. I am ok with this.
Well...I guess I should go make dinner. It's hard to actually get myself to eat when I have to cook for myself all the time. It is nice to have palatable food every evening. The dorms are not a place I miss for their living arrangements or food. All you lovely people in the dorms, I do miss you. Life could be worse, though. I'm having beer-boiled and barbecued bratwursts tonight, just before I go see 300. I promised myself I'd see 300 before it left cinemas, and, as it's about to leave Edwards' 21, I should go see it, I think. I'm almost tempted to see it on the IMAX, but that costs $11 plus tax. Not that worth it. Not when I can get away with it for $7.25 plus tax. I might actually be able to afford red licorice wands at that price! :)
Still jobless in Boise. I'm almost losing track of all the places I've applied now. Three hospital jobs, Borders, Barnes and Noble, two school jobs (though they don't start until August)... I really don't want to resort to food service jobs.
It's the end of April. It's only the end of April. Somehow I keep expecting warmer weather, but it's really only spring, so I shouldn't. I feel like we should be in summer right now. I am tired of being cold. My brother finishes his freshman year of school on May 10th. I'll have company around the house then, which will be nice. It's hard being alone all day long. If I had a job, I wouldn't be so morose, but there's that slight problem of not being able to force one's employment.
I haven't ridden a bicycle for about fifteen years. I did so today. It really is just like riding a bike. :) My legs are killing me, though. They're definitely not used to that sort of movement. It's nice, though, because the grocery store is so close that it feels stupid to actually drive there. So, I ride my bike. When I get more comfortable with the whole riding process, maybe I'll venture further afield. The streets of Boise are nice and flat, so I shouldn't have any problems with my lack of physical ability to do anything more strenuous than pedal a few times every thirty seconds. Heh...I'm such a lazy ass.
Been reading Wives and Daughters by Elizabeth Gaskell. What a lovely book. Not as dramatic as North and South but engrossing. Going to start reading Angle of Repose soon. Mum says it's one of the most incredible books she's ever read. I believe her. Finished Kenilworth, finally, in Florida. Good book. Very dense language, though. Very Walter Scott. Been playing WoW. I know, I should take up healthier habits, but, seriously...being a vegetable has its charms. Been playing Twilight Princess! Holy crap, that game is incredible. My brother finally let me play with his Wii... >:) Yes, I know how that sounds. I said that the other day to my mum and she gave me a very concerned look because she didn't know what the Wii was. Hehehe. I then had to explain it was the name of Nintendo's new gaming system, the one they were thinking of calling 'The Revolution,' but opted for Wii instead because all the Asians would be saying, 'Levolution.' Thus they chose , 'Wii' as it is more internationally accessible. /racial slur
I know I am a bad person. I am ok with this.
Well...I guess I should go make dinner. It's hard to actually get myself to eat when I have to cook for myself all the time. It is nice to have palatable food every evening. The dorms are not a place I miss for their living arrangements or food. All you lovely people in the dorms, I do miss you. Life could be worse, though. I'm having beer-boiled and barbecued bratwursts tonight, just before I go see 300. I promised myself I'd see 300 before it left cinemas, and, as it's about to leave Edwards' 21, I should go see it, I think. I'm almost tempted to see it on the IMAX, but that costs $11 plus tax. Not that worth it. Not when I can get away with it for $7.25 plus tax. I might actually be able to afford red licorice wands at that price! :)
08 April 2007
Sun!!!
Happy Easter, and spring, and warmth, and sun!
I received my diploma in the mail just the other day. Apparently it's official. I have graduated from college. And there is nothing I can do with a B.A. in English except for grad school, or so I believe. So...grad school. I'm accepted to Boise State University, which is fun. I'll live in my parents' second house and...play WoW all day long? Heh...I'm not really sure. I'm going to apply for a job and will be working in Boise this summer, then taking classes at BSU in the fall.
Speaking of WoW...
Seriously, this game has eaten all that was left of my brain. It's not that interesting, and yet it's so addicting. It doesn't make any sense. I don't have any idea why it's so compelling. Needless to say, I've dedicated way too much time to playing it.
I've been writing more. A silly fairy tale, pot boiler thing. I'm enjoying it. Been reading a lot of Neil Gaiman and trying, desperately, to finish Kenilworth. It's a tough book. I'm going to read tonight, so I don't have to take the book on the plane tomorrow.
Hehe...plane...yeah, I'm going to Florida tomorrow. :) This is my bribe vacation to get me to graduate early. A whole week of 80+ temperatures on Cocoa Beach outside of Orlando, just south of Cape Canaveral. We get to go to the Animal Kingdom for a day at Disney and do a massive new roller coaster. Fun times! Oh, yeah...booze is cheap in Florida, too. And Daddy's paying for everything. Life is really fucking good.
Guess that's all for now. Maybe, after days of lying on a beach, drinking rum, I'll post some poetry. Can't guarantee anything good, though.
I received my diploma in the mail just the other day. Apparently it's official. I have graduated from college. And there is nothing I can do with a B.A. in English except for grad school, or so I believe. So...grad school. I'm accepted to Boise State University, which is fun. I'll live in my parents' second house and...play WoW all day long? Heh...I'm not really sure. I'm going to apply for a job and will be working in Boise this summer, then taking classes at BSU in the fall.
Speaking of WoW...
Seriously, this game has eaten all that was left of my brain. It's not that interesting, and yet it's so addicting. It doesn't make any sense. I don't have any idea why it's so compelling. Needless to say, I've dedicated way too much time to playing it.
I've been writing more. A silly fairy tale, pot boiler thing. I'm enjoying it. Been reading a lot of Neil Gaiman and trying, desperately, to finish Kenilworth. It's a tough book. I'm going to read tonight, so I don't have to take the book on the plane tomorrow.
Hehe...plane...yeah, I'm going to Florida tomorrow. :) This is my bribe vacation to get me to graduate early. A whole week of 80+ temperatures on Cocoa Beach outside of Orlando, just south of Cape Canaveral. We get to go to the Animal Kingdom for a day at Disney and do a massive new roller coaster. Fun times! Oh, yeah...booze is cheap in Florida, too. And Daddy's paying for everything. Life is really fucking good.
Guess that's all for now. Maybe, after days of lying on a beach, drinking rum, I'll post some poetry. Can't guarantee anything good, though.
26 February 2007
Darling, we go a-drowning
25 days.
I'm really loving The Decemberists right now. How have I never heard their stuff before thisschoolyear?
Goddamn snow. Seriously. This is southern Oregon (read: Northern California). Snow does not happen after January 31. Someone did not get the memo, obviously.
I am so bored. Makes me want to cry. The weather does that as well.
Chocolate Festival this weekend. I'm rather excited for that.
Tiny demons on my back and shoulders. Pinprick toenails and chills in all the cracks of my spine. They've eaten all the good intentions and hope I had for this term. No UNC, you see. Two down, three to go. What if I don't get in? What the fuck do I do then?
I'm really loving The Decemberists right now. How have I never heard their stuff before this
Goddamn snow. Seriously. This is southern Oregon (read: Northern California). Snow does not happen after January 31. Someone did not get the memo, obviously.
I am so bored. Makes me want to cry. The weather does that as well.
Chocolate Festival this weekend. I'm rather excited for that.
Tiny demons on my back and shoulders. Pinprick toenails and chills in all the cracks of my spine. They've eaten all the good intentions and hope I had for this term. No UNC, you see. Two down, three to go. What if I don't get in? What the fuck do I do then?
12 February 2007
One of those days when I *wish* the sky was California blue...
I knew this week would get awful in a hurry. It never fails around Valentine's Day. Perhaps I should forcibly change my mindset regarding this most terrible of holidays and I'd be happier? Doubtful.
Heard back from Duke this afternoon. There's not enough room for me at Duke, apparently. Figures.
I found this article interesting. I think Truss has a good point. I always find myself less into a novel when I find out it's based on real life. Don't know why. It seems to diminish the imaginative power of a work when it's just a bunch of real-life garbage strung together. No one wants "real life" when reading a novel. Fiction is about escaping from real life. Though, now that I say that, it seems a very simple and generalized thing to say about fiction. Let me say that, while fiction is escapist, it is also elevating. It brings us to a place above real life. This is the reason I don't care for Shakespeare in Love as much as I would, otherwise. I like the movie, but to imply that Romeo and Juliet is just based on a silly love affair between Shakespeare and some noblewoman lessens the impact of Shakespeare's play for me. At the same time, there are events in my life, things that people say or do, that are too good to pass up for inclusion in poetry or fiction. Perhaps what Truss means when she argues against "real life" in fiction is that she doesn't like it when "real life" takes over the fiction. Like she says about the American play, she was disappointed when she found out he'd strung anecdotes together instead of writing a play.
Enough of that for now.
Poetry later?
Heard back from Duke this afternoon. There's not enough room for me at Duke, apparently. Figures.
I found this article interesting. I think Truss has a good point. I always find myself less into a novel when I find out it's based on real life. Don't know why. It seems to diminish the imaginative power of a work when it's just a bunch of real-life garbage strung together. No one wants "real life" when reading a novel. Fiction is about escaping from real life. Though, now that I say that, it seems a very simple and generalized thing to say about fiction. Let me say that, while fiction is escapist, it is also elevating. It brings us to a place above real life. This is the reason I don't care for Shakespeare in Love as much as I would, otherwise. I like the movie, but to imply that Romeo and Juliet is just based on a silly love affair between Shakespeare and some noblewoman lessens the impact of Shakespeare's play for me. At the same time, there are events in my life, things that people say or do, that are too good to pass up for inclusion in poetry or fiction. Perhaps what Truss means when she argues against "real life" in fiction is that she doesn't like it when "real life" takes over the fiction. Like she says about the American play, she was disappointed when she found out he'd strung anecdotes together instead of writing a play.
Enough of that for now.
Poetry later?
02 February 2007
ROBOPO to celebrate a new layout
ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A DEAR ROBOT
Paro is a robot for psychological enrichment using his powers
to channel the voice and musical stylings of Isaac Hayes’s multiple plot lines
flashbacks featuring psychological illness booby-traps and zombies
To: Mind-numbed Robot.
-Religion in Danger STOP
-The Seduction of Truth STOP
-Bill Clinton Voodoo doll very funny STOP
a new excursion into the beating heart of evil
witchcraft and magic with an all-black cast
Mental Commit Robot for Psychological Enrichment
in this field robots confront
"special psychological pressures and ethical dilemmas"
novus aevum pro apparatus
CONFESSIONS OF A HOLLYWOOD GORILLA In BRIDE OF A GORILLA
a voodoo curse changed a gaunt Raymond Burr into a werewolf-ape
he played both a gorilla and a robot
using a technique analogous to police sketches called "photo robot"
a.k.a. Supersonic bionic robot voodoo power
Early research on psychological stress focused on extreme conditions
such as robot combat
Voodoo deaths may occur this way
Commonly, psychosomatic disorders in the future may involve
robots that are programmed to mimic
Robots and machines are now classed as inanimate objects
without rights or duties
end the curse
It is not a robot, for a robot is not human
By itself, this organic metal body is a spiritual robot because it has no life
What voodoo is this?
If there is a difference to be heard, then you will hear it.
God finds a robot and thinks it can help rescue the White Wizard
A myriad of old voodoo relics
- and paraphernalia -
littered the organic basis of theistic psychology
I’d like to maybe introduce a zombological perspective on this
like Black Secret technology is postmodern sonic alchemy
Shooting Gallery Blow-Guns
So like, I watched six hours of robot mating documentaries in a row
That was the highlight of my holidays
Ricky Ricotta's Giant Robot Vs. The Voodoo Vultures from Venus
(the Third Robot Adventure Novel)
On a few occasions, the Brain utilized the body of a giant robot named Rog
He just wants a good job, a good car, and a sexy robot girlfriend
Also, did you know that robots can draw pretty things?
The rise of this phenomenon, which is called psychological neoteny,
means that many people never need a voodoo doll
that can be shaken to express frustration
cyber-attacks are a mysterious and invisible concept
we have used them for entertaining psychological experiments
Robot conquistano il mondo
well crafted psychological horror unleashes his voodoo fury
but we wanted to make it as real and sick and psychological as possible
for the late robot Paro
1 February 2007
Paro is a robot for psychological enrichment using his powers
to channel the voice and musical stylings of Isaac Hayes’s multiple plot lines
flashbacks featuring psychological illness booby-traps and zombies
To: Mind-numbed Robot.
-Religion in Danger STOP
-The Seduction of Truth STOP
-Bill Clinton Voodoo doll very funny STOP
a new excursion into the beating heart of evil
9. Psychological ExperimentationDoes the body compete with the eye?
10. Oldest Living Artificial Mind
11. Installing Mind Forth in a Robot
12. Troubleshooting
13. Shutting Down Mind
witchcraft and magic with an all-black cast
Mental Commit Robot for Psychological Enrichment
in this field robots confront
"special psychological pressures and ethical dilemmas"
novus aevum pro apparatus
CONFESSIONS OF A HOLLYWOOD GORILLA In BRIDE OF A GORILLA
a voodoo curse changed a gaunt Raymond Burr into a werewolf-ape
he played both a gorilla and a robot
using a technique analogous to police sketches called "photo robot"
a.k.a. Supersonic bionic robot voodoo power
Early research on psychological stress focused on extreme conditions
such as robot combat
Voodoo deaths may occur this way
Commonly, psychosomatic disorders in the future may involve
robots that are programmed to mimic
Robots and machines are now classed as inanimate objects
without rights or duties
Sitting unobtrusively off in one cornerto South Africa now and run over a voodoo chief with a jeep
is a robot Andy Warhol
from when he was the poorest
of Hammer’s psychological horror films
end the curse
It is not a robot, for a robot is not human
By itself, this organic metal body is a spiritual robot because it has no life
What voodoo is this?
If there is a difference to be heard, then you will hear it.
God finds a robot and thinks it can help rescue the White Wizard
A myriad of old voodoo relics
- and paraphernalia -
littered the organic basis of theistic psychology
I’d like to maybe introduce a zombological perspective on this
like Black Secret technology is postmodern sonic alchemy
Shooting Gallery Blow-Guns
So like, I watched six hours of robot mating documentaries in a row
That was the highlight of my holidays
Ricky Ricotta's Giant Robot Vs. The Voodoo Vultures from Venus
(the Third Robot Adventure Novel)
On a few occasions, the Brain utilized the body of a giant robot named Rog
He just wants a good job, a good car, and a sexy robot girlfriend
Also, did you know that robots can draw pretty things?
The rise of this phenomenon, which is called psychological neoteny,
means that many people never need a voodoo doll
that can be shaken to express frustration
cyber-attacks are a mysterious and invisible concept
we have used them for entertaining psychological experiments
Robot conquistano il mondo
well crafted psychological horror unleashes his voodoo fury
a great robotThere were a lot of options, voodoo among them,
controlled by a human head
may account for some of the psychological aspects
of zombification
but we wanted to make it as real and sick and psychological as possible
for the late robot Paro
1 February 2007
25 January 2007
Mr. Rochester is kind of a douche
I've been reading Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë, which is a very entertaining book, if a bit overwrought. Mr. Rochester, the love-interest, is a big, crazy asshole for most of the book. I've got about 90 pages to go and I remember that he doesn't get much better. Granted, it's been ten years since I've read this book, so my remembrances might be inaccurate. I certainly hope they are, otherwise the protagonist will have gone through all this heartache and melodrama for absolutely no reason.
Anyway, this isn't the reason I am posting. No, indeed. I have a much better reason. Jane Eyre only came up because I was scrounging for post-title. Mr. Rochester seemed like the best candidate to abuse in the header. Thusly, there he is. :)
My actual purpose in molesting your web browser is to post a poem. It's about a week old...sort of. When I say "a week old" you should probably read "more than a month but I can't remember when I wrote it by hand - this is the date I typed it up and saved it to my computer." Therefore, a poem. Without a title. What a shame, no? I need to work on my titling skills. I have a feeling they shall be pressed into service at some point in the future.
Anyway, this isn't the reason I am posting. No, indeed. I have a much better reason. Jane Eyre only came up because I was scrounging for post-title. Mr. Rochester seemed like the best candidate to abuse in the header. Thusly, there he is. :)
My actual purpose in molesting your web browser is to post a poem. It's about a week old...sort of. When I say "a week old" you should probably read "more than a month but I can't remember when I wrote it by hand - this is the date I typed it up and saved it to my computer." Therefore, a poem. Without a title. What a shame, no? I need to work on my titling skills. I have a feeling they shall be pressed into service at some point in the future.
I smell like the problem too much
You and your thrice-burned throat
Indulging in a passion too classist to endure
With those running shoes you’ll never get close enough
Warped leather belt
Mother’s homemade hat
What a tractless warrior you seem
Any mustachios half so fine
Must be inseminated intrinsically
I saw two falling stars tonight
Instead of wishing I conjured the legend
And mourned my wishful hesitation
Because I
Like so many more
Know not what is best for me
The touches against my skin are not traitorous
Though I might allow more if they were
I trust and fear and trust and leave
A tender cycle of misappropriation
Even cacti need the water’s blessing
Endless reams of red paper
Stitches cannot stem the purgation
Wherever would we have gotten all this
And how did we digress to slang
My fingers have clawed at this stench all night
While dawn brings it fresh from my pores
Making me suspect ice resides in lawn chairs
Insects perched upon treacherous precipices
Plummet is such a grand word
For such a quiet death
A bow’s slick sweep across cello strings
Brushing against such softness is sin
Endured and renewed like starlight
Terrible in reality but fondly remembered
It is never the gentler we want it to be
Also, I have been writing a bit of prose of late. Nothing good, of course, but I'm attempting a story I've had in my head for a while now. Very fantastical and childish, but I'm enjoying myself. I should write books for kids. They always seem to expect less from their reading material than adults.
20 January 2007
Mememememememememe
Hehehe, been tagged by Jess Rowan to do this Meme. Therefore, prepare thyself. Five things little known about Katelyn Holland follow:
1. I read (and sometimes write) obscene amounts of Harry Potter fanfiction.
2. In high school I renounced Christianity for a year to become Wiccan. I even held a private sabbat in my bedroom for Samhain. This lasted all through my sophomore year until my mother decided I liked reading my tarot cards a little too much and had a serious talk with me about the history of Wicca. :)
3. I love bass fishing on the John Day River. (Almost) Every year my dad and brother and myself raft for five or six days through seventy-two river miles, fishing, camping, and baking in the sun.
4. Peas make me throw up.
5. Snakes fascinate me. In fact, I like snakes so much that I have almost picked up two rattlesnakes in my life, though accidentally. I generally step on the snake to pin it and then realize what sort I've pinned. Then, I just have to wait for someone to show up with a shovel. The biggest snake I've held was an eight-foot albino python at a zoo. The largest snake I've found and held in the wild was a four foot bull snake that attached itself to our raft going down the river.
This is a picture of the exceptionally large bull snake.
I tag whoever wants to do this who hasn't already been tagged. I have a feeling I'm receiving the tail-end of this Meme, though.
1. I read (and sometimes write) obscene amounts of Harry Potter fanfiction.
2. In high school I renounced Christianity for a year to become Wiccan. I even held a private sabbat in my bedroom for Samhain. This lasted all through my sophomore year until my mother decided I liked reading my tarot cards a little too much and had a serious talk with me about the history of Wicca. :)
3. I love bass fishing on the John Day River. (Almost) Every year my dad and brother and myself raft for five or six days through seventy-two river miles, fishing, camping, and baking in the sun.
4. Peas make me throw up.
5. Snakes fascinate me. In fact, I like snakes so much that I have almost picked up two rattlesnakes in my life, though accidentally. I generally step on the snake to pin it and then realize what sort I've pinned. Then, I just have to wait for someone to show up with a shovel. The biggest snake I've held was an eight-foot albino python at a zoo. The largest snake I've found and held in the wild was a four foot bull snake that attached itself to our raft going down the river.
This is a picture of the exceptionally large bull snake.
I tag whoever wants to do this who hasn't already been tagged. I have a feeling I'm receiving the tail-end of this Meme, though.
17 January 2007
Found one
Something I found in my journal. I really like it. It's from last term. This is to make up for the shitty one I posted earlier.
There is this pain
against war
a fine example
masterpieced together
of a tender wreck in sleep
which no one shall have
I've been hearing it
my whole life
though I've never felt it
any other way
such a great and wonderful joy
in self-denied genius
a star in any other sky
glimmers like dawn frost
28 Nov. 2006
There is this pain
against war
a fine example
masterpieced together
of a tender wreck in sleep
which no one shall have
I've been hearing it
my whole life
though I've never felt it
any other way
such a great and wonderful joy
in self-denied genius
a star in any other sky
glimmers like dawn frost
28 Nov. 2006
Hey, hey...
It has taken me a while to do, but I've finally written myself a poem. It's great what a combination of merlot and syrah will do for your creativity. It's not a good poem at all, and I don't even think I like it, but I am going to post it because this is my writing blog. That's what I do here. That said, you don't have to read my bad writing if you don't want to do so.
I am committed
to an existential debauchery of headache remedies
I am resolved on this
more than the new year allows
when my shadow dies for my entitlement
I’ll know that I need to get off my ass
pirate opera singers have their spectacle
it’s just TV without the stock ticker
like Super Bowl without tits
such a straight nose
I mistook your eyebrows for power cables
spiral bound with a handbasket to boot
that man looks awfully red
to be the devil
I suppose now would be the time
shooting my best friend in the head
is a fantastic solution
to clear-cutting kelp forests
everyday we rebuild Rome
we long for those hills
but cannot bear to see them nude
is it any wonder we are without morals this morning?
blue sashes and gold beads
our bordello rests comfortably in daylight
perhaps our mothers might as well
no nod to Ralegh in this quick verse
Love, Nature, and Time can bicker in their corner
I’ll have no part of that pickle
meantimes my maid is hospitalized
her guts are curdled cream
and dust decays her lungs
15 January 2007
16 January 2007
This poem resulted from my efforts to create something for the extra credit on Kasey's close-reading assignment for Ralegh's "Nature, that washed her hands in milk." Needless to say, I didn't capture the tone or the idea of the poem at all. Also, this isn't the poem I intend to turn in with my paper (which, incidentally, still needs writing). That said, I am going to procrastinate more on the internet and hope that the motivation to write a paper comes to me sooner, rather than later.
I am committed
to an existential debauchery of headache remedies
I am resolved on this
more than the new year allows
when my shadow dies for my entitlement
I’ll know that I need to get off my ass
pirate opera singers have their spectacle
it’s just TV without the stock ticker
like Super Bowl without tits
such a straight nose
I mistook your eyebrows for power cables
spiral bound with a handbasket to boot
that man looks awfully red
to be the devil
I suppose now would be the time
shooting my best friend in the head
is a fantastic solution
to clear-cutting kelp forests
everyday we rebuild Rome
we long for those hills
but cannot bear to see them nude
is it any wonder we are without morals this morning?
blue sashes and gold beads
our bordello rests comfortably in daylight
perhaps our mothers might as well
no nod to Ralegh in this quick verse
Love, Nature, and Time can bicker in their corner
I’ll have no part of that pickle
meantimes my maid is hospitalized
her guts are curdled cream
and dust decays her lungs
15 January 2007
16 January 2007
This poem resulted from my efforts to create something for the extra credit on Kasey's close-reading assignment for Ralegh's "Nature, that washed her hands in milk." Needless to say, I didn't capture the tone or the idea of the poem at all. Also, this isn't the poem I intend to turn in with my paper (which, incidentally, still needs writing). That said, I am going to procrastinate more on the internet and hope that the motivation to write a paper comes to me sooner, rather than later.
10 January 2007
06 January 2007
When it comes down to it
Time again for school and I don't want to go. I'm watching the Seahawks get their butts handed to them by the Cowboys. The Cowboys...seriously. John Madden is a douchebag.
Remember when cell phones were just cell phones? We should go back to that. They do too damn much these days. I don't want people that in-touch with me. You just can't escape, you know?
Last term of college and I'm just wishing it was over already. All ready? I hate that word. Too much riding on it. There's many words I hate. I'm not going to list them all.
I'm such a bitch...or I'm just in a bitchy mood. The new year always does it to me. I always get introspective and depressed in the winter. Short and cold days. That, and our idiot consumerist society has already put out the Valentines' Day garbage. Bitterness, anyone?
I haven't been writing. I haven't even been reading. I spent the majority of the break playing Oblivion. I'm the Grey Fox, a Dark Brotherhood Listener, the Guildmaster of the Fighters' Guild, the Divine Crusader of the Nine Divines, and a Wizard in the Mages Guild. I need a life, but that game is so bloody addicting.
Saw some movies over break. Night in the Museum is brilliant. Such a wonderful movie. Fun and clever and very wholesome. Eragon was a very shit movie. If they'd put another 15 minutes worth of effort into the film it would have been twenty times better. There was too much left out to make it a decent movie. Granted, the book wasn't the best ever. Very cliché but it's still a fun read. The movie just wasn't. Oh well.
That's it for me. Gotta go to bed so I can drive in the snow tomorrow. Oh, joy.
Remember when cell phones were just cell phones? We should go back to that. They do too damn much these days. I don't want people that in-touch with me. You just can't escape, you know?
Last term of college and I'm just wishing it was over already. All ready? I hate that word. Too much riding on it. There's many words I hate. I'm not going to list them all.
I'm such a bitch...or I'm just in a bitchy mood. The new year always does it to me. I always get introspective and depressed in the winter. Short and cold days. That, and our idiot consumerist society has already put out the Valentines' Day garbage. Bitterness, anyone?
I haven't been writing. I haven't even been reading. I spent the majority of the break playing Oblivion. I'm the Grey Fox, a Dark Brotherhood Listener, the Guildmaster of the Fighters' Guild, the Divine Crusader of the Nine Divines, and a Wizard in the Mages Guild. I need a life, but that game is so bloody addicting.
Saw some movies over break. Night in the Museum is brilliant. Such a wonderful movie. Fun and clever and very wholesome. Eragon was a very shit movie. If they'd put another 15 minutes worth of effort into the film it would have been twenty times better. There was too much left out to make it a decent movie. Granted, the book wasn't the best ever. Very cliché but it's still a fun read. The movie just wasn't. Oh well.
That's it for me. Gotta go to bed so I can drive in the snow tomorrow. Oh, joy.
11 December 2006
Literature Abuse
For Shannon (though I am not the original author (and I don't remember who is), I promised her I'd show her this...)
LITERATURE ABUSE: AMERICA'S HIDDEN PROBLEM
Self-test for Literature Abusers
How many apply to you?
1. I have read fiction when I was depressed, or to cheer myself up.
2. I have gone on reading binges of an entire book or more in a day.
3. I read rapidly, often 'gulping' chapters.
4. I have sometimes read early in the morning or before work.
5. I have hidden books in different places to sneak a chapter without being seen.
6. Sometimes I avoid friends or family obligations in order to read novels.
7. Sometimes I re-write film or television dialogue as the characters speak.
8. I am unable to enjoy myself with others unless there is a book nearby.
9. At a party, I will often slip off unnoticed to read.
10. Reading has made me seek haunts and companions which I would otherwise avoid.
11. I have neglected personal hygiene or household chores until I have finished a novel.
12. I have spent money meant for necessities on books instead.
13. I have attempted to check out more library books than permitted.
14. Most of my friends are heavy fiction readers.
15. I have sometimes passed out from a night of heavy reading.
16. I have suffered 'blackouts' or memory loss from a bout of reading.
17. I have wept or become angry or irrational because of something I read.
18. I have sometimes wished I did not read so much.
19. Sometimes I think my reading is out of control.
20. I have left a perfectly good social engagement to go home and read.
If you answered 'yes' to three or more of these questions, you may be a literature abuser. Affirmative responses to five or more definitely indicates a serious problem.
Once a relatively rare disorder, Literature Abuse, or LA, has risen to new levels due to the accessibility of higher education and increased college enrollment since the end of World War II. The number of literature abusers is currently at record levels.
Social Costs of Literature Abuse
Abusers become withdrawn, uninterested in society or normal relationships. They fantasize, creating alternative worlds to occupy, to the neglect of friends and family. In severe cases they develop bad posture from reading in awkward positions or carrying heavy book bags. In the worst instances, they become cranky reference librarians in small towns.
Excessive reading during pregnancy is perhaps the number-one cause of moral deformity among the children of English professors, teachers of English, and creative writing instructors. Known as Fetal Fiction Syndrome, this disease also leaves its victims prone to a lifetime of nearsightedness, daydreaming, and emotional instability.
Heredity
Recent Harvard studies have established that heredity plays a considerable role in determining whether a person will become an abuser of literature. Most abusers have at least one parent who abused literature, often beginning at an early age and progressing into adulthood. Many spouses of an abuser become abusers themselves.
Other Predisposing Factors
Fathers or mothers who are English teachers, professors, or heavy fiction readers; parents who do not encourage children to play games, participate in healthy sports, or watch television in the evening.
Prevention
Premarital screening and counseling, referral to adoption agencies in order to break the chain of abuse. English teachers in particular should seek partners active in other fields. Children should be encouraged to seek physical activity and to avoid isolation and morbid introspection.
The Decline and Fall: The 'English Major'
Within the sordid world of literature abuse, the lowest circle belongs to those sufferers who have thrown their lives and hopes away to study literature in our colleges. Parents should look for signs that their children are taking the wrong path - don't expect your teenager to approach you and say, "I can't stop reading Spenser." By the time you visit her dorm room and find the secret stash of feminist poetry, it may already be too late.
What to do if you suspect your child is becoming an English major:
1. Talk to you child in a loving way. Show your concern. Let her know you won't abandon her - but that you aren't spending a-hundred-grand to put her through Stanford so she can clerk at Waldenbooks, either. Remember that she may not be able to make a decision without help; perhaps she has just finished Madame Bovary and is dying of arsenic poisoning.
2. Face the issue. Tell her what you know, and how: 'I found this book in your purse. How long has this been going on?' Ask the hard question: 'Who is this Wallace Stevens?'
3. Show her another way. Move the television set into her room. Introduce her to frat boys.
4. Do what you have to do. Tear up her library card. Make her stop signing her letters as 'Emma Woodhouse.' Forcer her to take a math class, or minor in Spanish. Transfer her to a Florida college.
You may be dealing with a life-threatening problem if one or more of the following applies:
*She can tell you how and when Thomas Chatterton died.
*She names one or more of her dogs after a Romantic poet.
*Next to her bed is a picture of: Lord Byron, Virginia Woolf, Faulkner, or any scene from the Lake District.
Most importantly, remember, you are not alone. To seek help for yourself or someone you love, contact the nearest chapter of the American Literature Abuse Society, or look under ALAS! in your telephone directory.
LITERATURE ABUSE: AMERICA'S HIDDEN PROBLEM
Self-test for Literature Abusers
How many apply to you?
1. I have read fiction when I was depressed, or to cheer myself up.
2. I have gone on reading binges of an entire book or more in a day.
3. I read rapidly, often 'gulping' chapters.
4. I have sometimes read early in the morning or before work.
5. I have hidden books in different places to sneak a chapter without being seen.
6. Sometimes I avoid friends or family obligations in order to read novels.
7. Sometimes I re-write film or television dialogue as the characters speak.
8. I am unable to enjoy myself with others unless there is a book nearby.
9. At a party, I will often slip off unnoticed to read.
10. Reading has made me seek haunts and companions which I would otherwise avoid.
11. I have neglected personal hygiene or household chores until I have finished a novel.
12. I have spent money meant for necessities on books instead.
13. I have attempted to check out more library books than permitted.
14. Most of my friends are heavy fiction readers.
15. I have sometimes passed out from a night of heavy reading.
16. I have suffered 'blackouts' or memory loss from a bout of reading.
17. I have wept or become angry or irrational because of something I read.
18. I have sometimes wished I did not read so much.
19. Sometimes I think my reading is out of control.
20. I have left a perfectly good social engagement to go home and read.
If you answered 'yes' to three or more of these questions, you may be a literature abuser. Affirmative responses to five or more definitely indicates a serious problem.
Once a relatively rare disorder, Literature Abuse, or LA, has risen to new levels due to the accessibility of higher education and increased college enrollment since the end of World War II. The number of literature abusers is currently at record levels.
Social Costs of Literature Abuse
Abusers become withdrawn, uninterested in society or normal relationships. They fantasize, creating alternative worlds to occupy, to the neglect of friends and family. In severe cases they develop bad posture from reading in awkward positions or carrying heavy book bags. In the worst instances, they become cranky reference librarians in small towns.
Excessive reading during pregnancy is perhaps the number-one cause of moral deformity among the children of English professors, teachers of English, and creative writing instructors. Known as Fetal Fiction Syndrome, this disease also leaves its victims prone to a lifetime of nearsightedness, daydreaming, and emotional instability.
Heredity
Recent Harvard studies have established that heredity plays a considerable role in determining whether a person will become an abuser of literature. Most abusers have at least one parent who abused literature, often beginning at an early age and progressing into adulthood. Many spouses of an abuser become abusers themselves.
Other Predisposing Factors
Fathers or mothers who are English teachers, professors, or heavy fiction readers; parents who do not encourage children to play games, participate in healthy sports, or watch television in the evening.
Prevention
Premarital screening and counseling, referral to adoption agencies in order to break the chain of abuse. English teachers in particular should seek partners active in other fields. Children should be encouraged to seek physical activity and to avoid isolation and morbid introspection.
The Decline and Fall: The 'English Major'
Within the sordid world of literature abuse, the lowest circle belongs to those sufferers who have thrown their lives and hopes away to study literature in our colleges. Parents should look for signs that their children are taking the wrong path - don't expect your teenager to approach you and say, "I can't stop reading Spenser." By the time you visit her dorm room and find the secret stash of feminist poetry, it may already be too late.
What to do if you suspect your child is becoming an English major:
1. Talk to you child in a loving way. Show your concern. Let her know you won't abandon her - but that you aren't spending a-hundred-grand to put her through Stanford so she can clerk at Waldenbooks, either. Remember that she may not be able to make a decision without help; perhaps she has just finished Madame Bovary and is dying of arsenic poisoning.
2. Face the issue. Tell her what you know, and how: 'I found this book in your purse. How long has this been going on?' Ask the hard question: 'Who is this Wallace Stevens?'
3. Show her another way. Move the television set into her room. Introduce her to frat boys.
4. Do what you have to do. Tear up her library card. Make her stop signing her letters as 'Emma Woodhouse.' Forcer her to take a math class, or minor in Spanish. Transfer her to a Florida college.
You may be dealing with a life-threatening problem if one or more of the following applies:
*She can tell you how and when Thomas Chatterton died.
*She names one or more of her dogs after a Romantic poet.
*Next to her bed is a picture of: Lord Byron, Virginia Woolf, Faulkner, or any scene from the Lake District.
Most importantly, remember, you are not alone. To seek help for yourself or someone you love, contact the nearest chapter of the American Literature Abuse Society, or look under ALAS! in your telephone directory.
20 November 2006
Wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii
I know this will probably piss some people off, but I thought it brought up quite a few relevant points in the gaming world. I give you this article about the Wii.
I won't say anything about it yet because I don't want to warp anyone's opinion.
Enjoy!
I won't say anything about it yet because I don't want to warp anyone's opinion.
Enjoy!
10 November 2006
Only one consolation...
I'm an unwriterly little beast, but I knew that already, as, I'm sure, many other people do as well. It's just so hard to write anything when the weather is so dismal and growing colder by the day. Perhaps if it snowed, I'd be happier. The only consolation I mentioned is the eggnog latte at Starbucks. It makes the entire holiday season brighter. Seriously. There's something about drinking coffee and eggnog all frothed together in a bright red cup with a green heat-protector-sleeve-jacket-thing (I seriously can't remember the name of that little thing at the moment) that makes my day better.
The reason for my ode to Starbucks? I'm sitting in Les Schwab, freezing my fingers off, waiting for them to fix the drive axle on my poor little car. When I went to have my snow tires put on, they told me that I had to have my axle fixed because, if I didn't, I'd one day experience a horrible spinning, screaming death when my tire/axle/everything/something? snapped off. I'm almost perfectly ignorant concerning my vehicle. I can put gas in it, I can drive it, I can check the oil even though I don't know what the check actually means for my car, I can clean the interior and exterior. Other than that, I'm pretty much useless (as if that's news to anyone). Thus I have to deal with Les Schwab and their lack of heat. They do have free wireless internet, though, which means they're not all bad.
It's just a pain in the ass because I'm so bloody tired. I stayed up until 1 a.m. finishing Adam Bede, which, after the first 150 pages, is a brilliant book. It's very slow until people start fucking up their lives. The ending is lovely and romantic and bittersweet. I won't say anything else because there are people who actually read this blog (crazies that you are) who intend to read/finish Adam Bede sooner rather than later. So, stayed up to do that, then woke up at 7 to get myself ready for my 8:30 car appointment. Yes, it actually takes me that long to get my ass moving in the morning.
Time to turn off the computer, though. They're almost done with my rickety old car.
The reason for my ode to Starbucks? I'm sitting in Les Schwab, freezing my fingers off, waiting for them to fix the drive axle on my poor little car. When I went to have my snow tires put on, they told me that I had to have my axle fixed because, if I didn't, I'd one day experience a horrible spinning, screaming death when my tire/axle/everything/something? snapped off. I'm almost perfectly ignorant concerning my vehicle. I can put gas in it, I can drive it, I can check the oil even though I don't know what the check actually means for my car, I can clean the interior and exterior. Other than that, I'm pretty much useless (as if that's news to anyone). Thus I have to deal with Les Schwab and their lack of heat. They do have free wireless internet, though, which means they're not all bad.
It's just a pain in the ass because I'm so bloody tired. I stayed up until 1 a.m. finishing Adam Bede, which, after the first 150 pages, is a brilliant book. It's very slow until people start fucking up their lives. The ending is lovely and romantic and bittersweet. I won't say anything else because there are people who actually read this blog (crazies that you are) who intend to read/finish Adam Bede sooner rather than later. So, stayed up to do that, then woke up at 7 to get myself ready for my 8:30 car appointment. Yes, it actually takes me that long to get my ass moving in the morning.
Time to turn off the computer, though. They're almost done with my rickety old car.
02 November 2006
Lost my flower
I'm no longer an open mic virgin. I've exposed my tender artistic soul to the critical world and read my words aloud. It was a rather dead open mic, though. I blame Halloween. God knows, I was pretty tired. Considering Shannon and I were practically the only students there and that we had a grand total of eight acts (nine people), we managed to fill two and a half hours rather admirably. Shannon has pictures of me reading, if anyone cares. And what did I read? I can hear the crowd clamoring now for an accounting of my performance. (Yes, my ego is going to get me killed someday.) I read my newest poem, which you can find just down the page here. I also read an old poem, which is as follows.
It's that silly New Sentence stuff we worked on in WR 341. Fun times.
So, it's National Novel Writing Month and the SPEWS staff is accepting the challenge to write 50,000 words in the month of November. I've started some things, though I'm pretty sure they're all crap. Writing is the key, though. If you visit the SPEWS website, you can see the staff word counts, updated each Friday. Yes, chillin's, I'll be on there in all my glory. All I have to say is that my picture had better not suck. (Just a note, I don't actually know if this has all been implimented yet...I haven't checked the SPEWS site for a while.) I invite anyone and everyone who reads this blog to take the challenge with me. Can you get to 50,000 words by 30 November 2006?
FIREFLY
Blogging is an exercise in public futility: the more you write, the less they care. Pop music stuck on repeat. “It’d take months to climb Everest, because, I mean, you have to accumulate.” Policemen stop the patrol car to chat with the security guard on her rounds. Another box of Kleenex gone. Root menu, title menu, special features, feature film and no one can find the fucking remote. Pass around the after-dinner mints, darling? Fingernails grow at an alarming rate when not chewed regularly. This is the night to trip over my own inconstancy. Sixty-some years and she still cries at
It's that silly New Sentence stuff we worked on in WR 341. Fun times.
So, it's National Novel Writing Month and the SPEWS staff is accepting the challenge to write 50,000 words in the month of November. I've started some things, though I'm pretty sure they're all crap. Writing is the key, though. If you visit the SPEWS website, you can see the staff word counts, updated each Friday. Yes, chillin's, I'll be on there in all my glory. All I have to say is that my picture had better not suck. (Just a note, I don't actually know if this has all been implimented yet...I haven't checked the SPEWS site for a while.) I invite anyone and everyone who reads this blog to take the challenge with me. Can you get to 50,000 words by 30 November 2006?
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