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Wednesday, April 18th, 2007
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"And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye." "What is essential is invisible to the eye," the Little Prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember. "It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important." "It is the time I have wasted for my rose--" said the Little Prince, so that he would be sure to remember. "Men have forgotten this truth," said the fox. "But you must not forget it. You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed. You are responsible for your rose..."
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Friday, October 6th, 2006
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"You're a good girl."
"Why? Why am I good? What's good about me?"
"You're a good girl."
"Don't tease me. It's wrong of you." She looked aside, and she spoke in broken phrases, like little blows, as she rocked him back and forth.
She laughed softly to herself.
"I'm not good at all. It's not easy having you here. You'd best go home. Each time I come to see you I want to put on a new kimono, and now I have none left. This one is borrowed. So you see I'm not really good at all."
Shimamura did not answer.
"And what do you find good in me?" Her voice was a little husky. "The first day I met you I thought I had never seen anyone I disliked more. People just don't say the sort of things you said. I hated you."
Shimamura nodded.
"Oh? You understand then why I've not mentioned it before? When a woman has to say these things, she has gone as far as she can, you know."
(Yasunari Kawabata, Snow Country)
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Monday, September 5th, 2005
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Lower the Standard: That's My Motto
by Karl Shapiro
Lower the standard: that's my motto. Somebody is always putting the food out of reach. We're tired of falling off ladders. Who says a child can't paint? A pro is somebody who does it for money. Lower the standards. Let's all play poetry. Down with ideals, flags, convention buttons, morals, the scrambled eggs on the admiral's hat. I'm talking sense. Lower the standards. Sabotage the stylistic approach. Let weeds grow in the subdivision. Putty up the incisions in the library façade, those names that frighten grade-school teachers, those names whose U's are cut like V's. Burn the Syntopicon and The Harvard Classics. Lower the standards on classics, battleships, Russian ballet, national anthems (but they're low enough). Break through to the bottom. Be natural as an American abroad who knows no language, not even American. Keelhaul the poets in the vestry chairs. Renovate the Abbey of cold-storage dreamers. Get off the Culture Wagon. Learn how to walk the way you want. Slump your shoulders, stick your belly out, arms all over the table. How many generations will this take? Don't think about it, just make a start. (You have made a start.) Don't break anything you can step around, but don't pick it up. The law of gravity is the law of art. You first, poetry second, the good, the beautiful, the true come last. As the lad said: We must love one another or die.
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Saturday, July 26th, 2003
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tell me what you wanted to hear.
let me do the right thing. let me do the wrong thing.
if it's ever this clear... i'll only say it once.
just let me turn my amps way up, so you can hear nothing.
someone, please make really stupid things stop coming out of my mouth.
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Comments: Read 7 or Add Your Own.
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Wednesday, July 23rd, 2003
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Tookude onaji yuuhi wo miteiru no?
Are you watching this same sunset, somewhere far away?
And why can I only think about what I feel in broken, jumbled Japanese?
I don't think I'll ever master the language of emotions.
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I got home from camp today. I miss being able to walk down the hall to Wyatt's room, and being across the room from someone who was awake all hours of the night, and crazy dance parties, and late movie nights, and staying in the hall til 4 am with councelors, and and and. It's not that I'm complaining about Richmond. I honestly have never loved Richmond more at this moment. It's just that it takes around 21 days to develop a habit, and it takes around the same time to break it.
I dunno. I'm gonna go out on the roof. Maybe that will bring perspective.
So, all you people out there, please come party with me. I'm dreadfully bored and lonely. Let's make a crazy good time out of this.
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My mind's all tied up with Garcia Lorca. I can't even think straight. Who was Lorca influenced by? Flamenco dancing, gypsies, surrealists, Shakespeare, Les Miserables... I'm hearing Allen Ginsberg in my head; he's reciting "America" and telling me to put my shoulder to the wheel. I wonder if it's him. I'm hearing this one line like a mantra.
America stop pushing I know what I'm doing.
I actually think I do. Common themes in Federico's work: death, community, repression of counter-culture desires (i.e. his homosexuality), childnessness, childhood, illusion vs. reality. I'm having dreams of Lorca to the sound of Ginsberg. I know I've been in poetry class too long. I'm coming home soon.
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Okay, so after discussing this with Colligan and Lauren, I'm thinking that maybe it wasn't VAMPY that was horrible. It was me. But now, I am back on schedule with my medication, and my livejournal should not be giving off too many "I ran out of meds" vibes. Okay? Let me know if I start sounding psycho. Please.
So it's all alright now. I'm doing my project for class on Federico Garcìa Lorca, and I just have to say how much I love Lorca. He makes me smile like no other (even though he was one of the first casualties of the Spanish Civil War). Reading Lorca makes me think of Mr. Brown, and how he'd always joke with Mr. Rhodus about Lorca and Gabriel Garcìa Marquez. I'm gonna miss Mr. Brown a lot this next year.
One of the things that amuses me about VAMPY classes where we have to keep a notebook is that I always turn the notebook into something like a journal. I mean, last year, drawings and poetry overtook any actual notes I had taken. It was fun. This year, I have a feeling it's going to be the same way. I've already used almost 1/4 of the notebook. Craaaaaazy.
A poem is behind the cut. Slightly Cowboy Bebop inspired.
( 13 Ways to Look at a Puddle )
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Comments: Read 7 or Add Your Own.
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| Time: | 9:13 am. |
| Mood: | ecstatic. |
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I'm leaving for camp in twenty minutes, and when I get back, this place had better be spotless.
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I was flipping through bands on my father's Grundig shortwave radio, when I found Radio Netherlands. A nice, soothing, friendly voice told me that he was going to replay his documentary program on AIDS, because "awareness is something that we need more of in this world." I was rather expecting something boring and dry. I couldn't have imagined something so heartfelt and touching.
The documentary piece details his friendship with Frits, an HIV positive artist. It's hard to describe. The background, which brings it all together, is a tape that Frits had made for the documentarian: "An Adult Ride To The Countryside". This program is beautiful and I'm glad I stayed up for it. I can almost guarantee that, unless you're a zombie, you will feel SOMETHING after hearing this. Please take some time out of your busy day to listen to "Cycling With Frits".
The Radio Netherlands page for "Cycling With Frits"
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Thursday, June 26th, 2003
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You are most like Ender. You are intelligent and insightful, as well as ruthless, but all you really want is to live in peace with those you love. You are doomed to destroy that which you love.
Which Ender's Game Character are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
I don't think any of that comes as a surprise to anyone I've dated.
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i'm eating a cold boiled potato like an apple. jesus. and i made fun of jennifer's method of eating bell peppers.
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::doubles over in pain::
So. Have arrived back from Florida, have blown my ears out at the Motion City Soundtrack/Denali/The Weakerthans show, and have cleaned the house. It's an interesting feeling, that it is. This week, as it happened.
Florida was awesome. I wasn't nearly as psyched about going as CJ was, because I'm just not a beach and ocean kind of girl. I only like the hot weather when I can be downtown or in the mountains. Jody (my sister) hates this about me with a passion. She loves nothing more than to be as brown as the cliched bisquet. Not my thing. Anyways, we had some crazy good times. Like rolling down the boardwalk in a grocery cart. And Eric, the homeless emo boy from California. The Dragonball Gangster, who thought I was checking him out, when I was actually checking to see if the Japanese on his shirt was correct. Henna tattoos by the ocean. The deaf kid, who may or may not have been actually deaf. Hearing "#41" at night underneath the stars. Wishing for once that I smoked, just so I'd have something to do with my nervous hands. The rooftop of the Adam's Mark hotel (not where we stayed). Countless games of Skee Ball. Getting all sorts of song ideas for our band, Emo Kids Love Stars.
Getting our belly buttons pierced. As it's been said before, I'm such a trendy fuck. We had to go to the piercing place in the fucking MINIVAN OF DOOM. It was small. Crowded. Filled with Spanish music. And the driver/piercer was a piece of work. His name was Orlando, and he was apparently from New Jersey. He insisted on calling me "Captain Morgan" while he was piercing me. Afterwards, my piercing bled for about an hour solid. Then, the bruise started to form. It's good times. My stomach now looks like I have fucking ringworm, and it itches and hurts horribly at the same time. Tight shorts are now Satan to me. Grr. ::scratches stomach:: ::reels in pain::
THE WEAKERTHANS! The crowd was characteristically unenthusiastic, except for the singing along. Because happiness isn't cool, or something like that. I felt very out of place, and it was kind of nice. We were directly against the stage. Zach's god. It was the BEST EVER. I really liked the first band, Motion City Soundtrack. I couldn't actually understand a word that came out of the lead singer's mouth, but that's okay. It's okay, because the keyboarder was psychotic. No, I'm not kidding you. He jumped around the stage like a monkey on speed. At one point he did some crazy flying-in-the-air shit off of his keyboard. I thought he was going to fall over and kill all three of us. The second band, Denali, was okay. I think under different circumstances I would have liked them. If it was possible, they had less energy than the crowd. Crazy. The Weakerthans were amazing. Everything I'd hoped they be and more. The setlist was awesome, and I hope that CJ will publish that soon. That's definately on the list of the top three concerts I've been to, though I'm not sure how any of them rank. My ears will be ringing for a while, I hope.
Cleaning the house. I would like to share something that may or may not be of value to you. As some of you know, in my house, we do not have a dishwasher. My mother hates doing anything, and my father works all the time. Therefore, I am saddled with the household chores. I'm no Martha Stewart, and this is probably the lowest point of my life. But here we go anyways. I'm sure you've seen the ads on TV for that new Dawn Power Dissolver, the one where you just spray on these horribly crusted, greasy pans and it wipes away all the nastiness. I saw those ads, too, and thought, "There is no way that works like that. It must be television trickery." Friends, I am here to tell you that it actually works! There was this nasty, old cookie sheet that we had-- crusted with baked on dough that wouldn't come off, even after hours of soaking in hot water and scrubbing with the best steel wool money can buy. (Yes, I get obsessive about these things.) After fifteen minutes of Power Dissolver, that same cookie sheet looks almost new! I was impressed. Power Dissolver is my new best friend. ::nods::
Well, now that I feel like a very big dork, I'm going to go cook. Mmm... food.
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also. this is a direct order, from me, to the world.
the drama has got to stop. i repeat, the drama must cease.
thank you. that is all.
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Comments: Read 7 or Add Your Own.
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and? the next time we see each other, hold me and tell me nice lies. bitte.
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somehow it's just wrong to be listening to missy elliot before going to a funeral.
do i care? no.
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Thursday, April 24th, 2003
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lunchtime at school.
someone has, overnight, plastered the high school with posters about eating disorders. well, "poster" is a bit of an ambitious word. just sheets of computer paper with typed messages on them. quotes by ani d, poetry, song lyrics from bjork and tori, copied information off of various websites. it's kind of eerie. one says something like "recovery is every second of every day of the rest of your life. don't start." it reminds me of a conversation a week or so ago. it's kind of like in amelie when the posters asking who? where? when? or whatever go up, only it's ten thousand times less light-hearted.
"actively live or passively die."
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Comments: Read 4 or Add Your Own.
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Thursday, March 6th, 2003
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watching CNN, i just saw a commercial for Japan's PKO (peace keeping organization?), sponsored by the Japanese government. really interesting timing, right after the channel-spanning speech by bush.
...
back to the grindstone.
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spincyclescream's journal
