This hasn't been resolved. We're both not in a great state of mind. She represents a world I don't ever want to be a part of. She represents the known, the shallow, the ones who are not deep nor great nor grateful. The ones who do not respect one another or care for ones emotions above one's physical characteristics. The ones who see everything for face value. The ones who do not reach deeper. The ones who are unfeeling and say "I told you so" when you are hurt. The ones who are vicious. The ones who do not apologize. The ones who are so self-seeking that the best way to show them is to have passion for something that will harm them, which is being weak in the longest run. But they do not know. They do not see things for more than monetary value. They do not love one another. They do not know one another. They do not care. They are indifferent and selfish. If an issue does not affect them, they do not even have the time to listen. If an issue does not invoke thoughts of shallow, selfish desires and wants and needs, they are unimportant. This is foul. Only foul. Yet so fair a face, behind the makeup and the things. Behind the success. Behind the cars and the houses and the big swingsets on the expensive property somewhere else in the world, there is something there. There is something there that hates itself and everyone else. There is something there that wishes to kill all that is fun and good. There is something there. Yet behind that something else there is a soul. A soul who has been hurt. A soul who is the way she is because of her history. There is a soul that has been mistreated, a soul who lived so passively that she never knew "no" or pain or hurt. And this soul has begun to devour herself.
This is not resolved. I hope the best for this country.
Monday, April 23, 2007
Monday, April 16, 2007
Darkness
I had a dream, which was not all a dream.
The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space,
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;
Morn came and went--and came, and brought no day,
And men forgot their passions in the dread
Of this their desolation; and all hearts
Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light:
And they did live by watchfires--and the thrones,
The palaces of crowned kings--the huts,
The habitations of all things which dwell,
Were burnt for beacons; cities were consum'd
And men were gather'd round their blazing homes
To look once more into each other's face;
Happy were those who dwelt within the eye
Of the volcanos, and their mountain-torch:
A fearful hope was all the world contain'd;
Forests were set on fire--but hour by hour
They fell and faded--and the crackling trunks
Extinguish'd with a crash--and all was black.
The brows of men by the despairing light
Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits
The flashes fell upon them; some lay down
And hid their eyes and wept; and some did rest
Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smil'd;
And others hurried to and fro, and fed
Their funeral piles with fuel, and look'd up
With mad disquietude on the dull sky,
The pall of a past world; and then again
With curses cast them down upon the dust,
And gnash'd their teeth and howl'd: the wild birds shriek'd
And, terrified, did flutter on the ground,
And flap their useless wings; the wildest brutes
Came tame and tremulous; and vipers crawl'd
And twin'd themselves among the multitude,
Hissing, but stingless--they were slain for food.
And War, which for a moment was no more,
Did glut himself again: a meal was bought
With blood, and each sate sullenly apart
Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left;
All earth was but one thought--and that was death
Immediate and inglorious; and the pang
Of famine fed upon all entrails--men
Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh;
The meagre by the meagre were devour'd,
Even dogs assail'd their masters, all save one,
And he was faithful to a corse, and kept
The birds and beasts and famish'd men at bay,
Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead
Lur'd their lank jaws; himself sought out no food,
But with a piteous and perpetual moan,
And a quick desolate cry, licking the hand
Which answer'd not with a caress--he died.
The crowd was famish'd by degrees; but two
Of an enormous city did survive,
And they were enemies: they met beside
The dying embers of an altar-place
Where had been heap'd a mass of holy things
For an unholy usage; they rak'd up,
And shivering scrap'd with their cold skeleton hands
The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath
Blew for a little life, and made a flame
Which was a mockery; then they lifted up
Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld
Each other's aspects--saw, and shriek'd, and died--
Even of their mutual hideousness they died,
Unknowing who he was upon whose brow
Famine had written Fiend. The world was void,
The populous and the powerful was a lump,
Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless--
A lump of death--a chaos of hard clay.
The rivers, lakes and ocean all stood still,
And nothing stirr'd within their silent depths;
Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea,
And their masts fell down piecemeal: as they dropp'd
They slept on the abyss without a surge--
The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,
The moon, their mistress, had expir'd before;
The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air,
And the clouds perish'd; Darkness had no need
Of aid from them--She was the Universe.
~Lord Byron
The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space,
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;
Morn came and went--and came, and brought no day,
And men forgot their passions in the dread
Of this their desolation; and all hearts
Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light:
And they did live by watchfires--and the thrones,
The palaces of crowned kings--the huts,
The habitations of all things which dwell,
Were burnt for beacons; cities were consum'd
And men were gather'd round their blazing homes
To look once more into each other's face;
Happy were those who dwelt within the eye
Of the volcanos, and their mountain-torch:
A fearful hope was all the world contain'd;
Forests were set on fire--but hour by hour
They fell and faded--and the crackling trunks
Extinguish'd with a crash--and all was black.
The brows of men by the despairing light
Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits
The flashes fell upon them; some lay down
And hid their eyes and wept; and some did rest
Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smil'd;
And others hurried to and fro, and fed
Their funeral piles with fuel, and look'd up
With mad disquietude on the dull sky,
The pall of a past world; and then again
With curses cast them down upon the dust,
And gnash'd their teeth and howl'd: the wild birds shriek'd
And, terrified, did flutter on the ground,
And flap their useless wings; the wildest brutes
Came tame and tremulous; and vipers crawl'd
And twin'd themselves among the multitude,
Hissing, but stingless--they were slain for food.
And War, which for a moment was no more,
Did glut himself again: a meal was bought
With blood, and each sate sullenly apart
Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left;
All earth was but one thought--and that was death
Immediate and inglorious; and the pang
Of famine fed upon all entrails--men
Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh;
The meagre by the meagre were devour'd,
Even dogs assail'd their masters, all save one,
And he was faithful to a corse, and kept
The birds and beasts and famish'd men at bay,
Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead
Lur'd their lank jaws; himself sought out no food,
But with a piteous and perpetual moan,
And a quick desolate cry, licking the hand
Which answer'd not with a caress--he died.
The crowd was famish'd by degrees; but two
Of an enormous city did survive,
And they were enemies: they met beside
The dying embers of an altar-place
Where had been heap'd a mass of holy things
For an unholy usage; they rak'd up,
And shivering scrap'd with their cold skeleton hands
The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath
Blew for a little life, and made a flame
Which was a mockery; then they lifted up
Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld
Each other's aspects--saw, and shriek'd, and died--
Even of their mutual hideousness they died,
Unknowing who he was upon whose brow
Famine had written Fiend. The world was void,
The populous and the powerful was a lump,
Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless--
A lump of death--a chaos of hard clay.
The rivers, lakes and ocean all stood still,
And nothing stirr'd within their silent depths;
Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea,
And their masts fell down piecemeal: as they dropp'd
They slept on the abyss without a surge--
The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,
The moon, their mistress, had expir'd before;
The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air,
And the clouds perish'd; Darkness had no need
Of aid from them--She was the Universe.
~Lord Byron
Thursday, April 12, 2007
I was asked to answer a series of questions by a friend because I feel the drenching dregs of winter and that the marrow of life has been sucked from my bones as of late. The first of the questions was, "What made me happy before?" Happiness being not yet defined, I think I shall seek the help of a dictionary. Because what exactly is happiness anyway?! I think the best the dictionary did was "Enjoying, showing, or marked by pleasure, satisfaction, or joy." Pleasure is something I used to get from a good cup of coffee; participating in a long, meaningful conversation; reading a good book; listening to and making music of all kinds; petting, walking or brushing the dog; baking things or simply going for a long walk. I used to find satisfaction upon the completion of things which gave me pleasure, and also upon the completion of things like cleaning, helping someone, or running. I found profound joy in worship, friendship, and the love of my family.
The second question I was asked to answer was "What good and bad things happened this year" This year I met the love of my life, I composed three new songs, I wrote endless poems and blogged and did things in books. I learned to think differently. I learned what it means to be there for people who are truly suffering. But to ask what good things happened perhaps means more, what things of good fortune happened this year to me. And to answer that question: not alot. I am not one to complain about things though. That's the problem. It isn't as if I live in third world country and everyone I know is dying of aids. It isn't as if I am likely to starve to death. I am getting an incredible education at a fantastic school. I have a plethora of people who love me. I am a white American in her late teens, meaning I am young, rich and powerful. I have never been admitted to a hospital for any reason except when I was born and when I had my wisdom teeth out, but neither of those experieces were illness or injury and I'm not even sure that the wisdom teeth thing was in a hospital. My life is f***ing fantastic. Who the hell am I to complain about it?
Still, I'm trying to wrack my brain for events which have happened this past year that have been particularly fortunate and I'm still not coming up with anything. The best I can do is come up with bad things that didn't happen. This is not good. I just haven't had a particularly fortunate year. Bleh. No. I won't take it for granted. That's wrong.
But what bad things happened this year?! I don't mind complaining I guess...bleh. bleh bleh bleh.
My best friend almost died, my parents are facing financial lows they've never faced before as well as the ensuing maritial problems, I found out one of my deepest crushes has had a much more troubled life than I could possibly imagine, I found out my other best friend was abused as a child, as well as someone else I've bonded with alot. A certain family member of mine is severely depressed and has been cutting. Actually...you know..that's all that comes to mind. Dad broke his wrist. It's really not all that bad. Amanda pulled out of her illness, Kevin continues to deal with life, as do Amber and Dawn, I think Melissa is doing better too. I can't say much for my parents though. I don't quite know how to stomach it because I don't live with them anymore.
"How did/do I feel about life?" was the third question. How did I feel about life before? I wasn't always happy, but I felt that life was ultimately about doing what God wants and not what I want. I was rather ambitious, I would have ups and downs, rants and raves, times where I could laugh until I cried, and times I would cry, but then feel better. I've always feared failure, I've always considered independence to be important. I wrote in my journal a mission statement, once, when I was much younger:
"I am a positive young woman with a bright future, with talent and spirit. I refuse to complain, I refuse to control, I refuse to give up. I will try my hardest at everything I do..."
Yet all of this has changed now. I am too old to keep the attitude I had and too young to merit hopelessness so I am stuck in a limbo of not being allowed to think anything, to feel anything or to be anything anymore. I am not a positive young woman anymore. I am rather a pessimistic old buffoon. My immediate future is far from bright, my talents are far inferior to those around me. My refusal to complain hasn't made me stronger in the least, refusing to control...I don't even know what I meant by that now, and I've given up on so many people at so many times about so many things that even that seems to be a complete and total fantasy of my past. Erg. What is this? How do I feel about life now? I think I pretty well summed it up. Lathargic, even to the point at which cynical humor is just mildly entertaining. I am beginning to feel as if the only real joys I'm getting from life are coming from Amanda and Kevin. This is not good. Oh, no, I know that this is not good. But what exactly can I do about this?
How do I feel about myself? I don't think I'm all that horrible of a person or anything. I merely realize that I'm not worth as much as I thought I had been. Human worth is immeasurable, and regardless of how worthless I may feel, I retain some worth by merely living. I realize that. I also realize that my life isn't mine to take, that this wave of dispair can and will pass and that if I was faced with my own mortality, there are alot of things about this life that I would miss. I feel that the best things about myself are things that I have allowed to die, and the worst things about myself: my obnoxiousness, my selfishness, my inherant ability to hurt the feelings of the people I care about, and the fact that I'm completely irresponsible and incapable of accomplishing anything important, and the fact that I was completely full of myself and my perfect f***ing life and my perfect f***ing abilities and friends and likes and how when it all fell apart I had little to no integrity about it and allowed it to drag me into the current state of my being, those things are the things that prevail in my life now.
What am I passionate about now? Sleep. Kevin and Amanda. God. Probably in that order, which I know is completely disjointed, twisted and perverse. Music doesn't matter. Classes don't really matter. It is one in the morning...nearing two. I don't want to go to bed because I don't want to wake up tomorrow. So what have I to do?
Fair is foul, foul is fair.
The second question I was asked to answer was "What good and bad things happened this year" This year I met the love of my life, I composed three new songs, I wrote endless poems and blogged and did things in books. I learned to think differently. I learned what it means to be there for people who are truly suffering. But to ask what good things happened perhaps means more, what things of good fortune happened this year to me. And to answer that question: not alot. I am not one to complain about things though. That's the problem. It isn't as if I live in third world country and everyone I know is dying of aids. It isn't as if I am likely to starve to death. I am getting an incredible education at a fantastic school. I have a plethora of people who love me. I am a white American in her late teens, meaning I am young, rich and powerful. I have never been admitted to a hospital for any reason except when I was born and when I had my wisdom teeth out, but neither of those experieces were illness or injury and I'm not even sure that the wisdom teeth thing was in a hospital. My life is f***ing fantastic. Who the hell am I to complain about it?
Still, I'm trying to wrack my brain for events which have happened this past year that have been particularly fortunate and I'm still not coming up with anything. The best I can do is come up with bad things that didn't happen. This is not good. I just haven't had a particularly fortunate year. Bleh. No. I won't take it for granted. That's wrong.
But what bad things happened this year?! I don't mind complaining I guess...bleh. bleh bleh bleh.
My best friend almost died, my parents are facing financial lows they've never faced before as well as the ensuing maritial problems, I found out one of my deepest crushes has had a much more troubled life than I could possibly imagine, I found out my other best friend was abused as a child, as well as someone else I've bonded with alot. A certain family member of mine is severely depressed and has been cutting. Actually...you know..that's all that comes to mind. Dad broke his wrist. It's really not all that bad. Amanda pulled out of her illness, Kevin continues to deal with life, as do Amber and Dawn, I think Melissa is doing better too. I can't say much for my parents though. I don't quite know how to stomach it because I don't live with them anymore.
"How did/do I feel about life?" was the third question. How did I feel about life before? I wasn't always happy, but I felt that life was ultimately about doing what God wants and not what I want. I was rather ambitious, I would have ups and downs, rants and raves, times where I could laugh until I cried, and times I would cry, but then feel better. I've always feared failure, I've always considered independence to be important. I wrote in my journal a mission statement, once, when I was much younger:
"I am a positive young woman with a bright future, with talent and spirit. I refuse to complain, I refuse to control, I refuse to give up. I will try my hardest at everything I do..."
Yet all of this has changed now. I am too old to keep the attitude I had and too young to merit hopelessness so I am stuck in a limbo of not being allowed to think anything, to feel anything or to be anything anymore. I am not a positive young woman anymore. I am rather a pessimistic old buffoon. My immediate future is far from bright, my talents are far inferior to those around me. My refusal to complain hasn't made me stronger in the least, refusing to control...I don't even know what I meant by that now, and I've given up on so many people at so many times about so many things that even that seems to be a complete and total fantasy of my past. Erg. What is this? How do I feel about life now? I think I pretty well summed it up. Lathargic, even to the point at which cynical humor is just mildly entertaining. I am beginning to feel as if the only real joys I'm getting from life are coming from Amanda and Kevin. This is not good. Oh, no, I know that this is not good. But what exactly can I do about this?
How do I feel about myself? I don't think I'm all that horrible of a person or anything. I merely realize that I'm not worth as much as I thought I had been. Human worth is immeasurable, and regardless of how worthless I may feel, I retain some worth by merely living. I realize that. I also realize that my life isn't mine to take, that this wave of dispair can and will pass and that if I was faced with my own mortality, there are alot of things about this life that I would miss. I feel that the best things about myself are things that I have allowed to die, and the worst things about myself: my obnoxiousness, my selfishness, my inherant ability to hurt the feelings of the people I care about, and the fact that I'm completely irresponsible and incapable of accomplishing anything important, and the fact that I was completely full of myself and my perfect f***ing life and my perfect f***ing abilities and friends and likes and how when it all fell apart I had little to no integrity about it and allowed it to drag me into the current state of my being, those things are the things that prevail in my life now.
What am I passionate about now? Sleep. Kevin and Amanda. God. Probably in that order, which I know is completely disjointed, twisted and perverse. Music doesn't matter. Classes don't really matter. It is one in the morning...nearing two. I don't want to go to bed because I don't want to wake up tomorrow. So what have I to do?
Fair is foul, foul is fair.
Monday, April 02, 2007
Each time I sit down to write I suppose things that I oughtn't. I have faults I thought not to have. I have become disloyal to myself. I am a cynical person who eats cyanide jellybeans. It is all the fault of the one who lives in my head who is not me. However, whoever it is is not to be blamed. Things happen. It is not the fault of anyone. This incredibly terrible and wonderful world we live in is full of terrors and wonders. Not to be rediculously rhetorical or anything. I'm just blabbing at this point.
I've done it. I played in a Shakespeare production. It was marvelous. I was the good Doctor Pinch, who was less than good by troth, but yet it's interesting to think of the way things are. I've been listening to Stravinsky's Rite of Spring too much to keep my sanity intact. Yet it's all alright with me.
It's going to be a long time before I'll be able to quiet my digits and desist this contemptuous yammering of my fingers upon the keys. It isn't in the movies he quotes, nor the things he says nor the way I've treated him that bothers me most of all. It is the fact that the subject of our discourse was that he was not religious and that by being religious he feels people are fake. Has he then decieved me for the sake of "truth"?
When he, one day, says that I am incapable of handling the truth. That truth being that worship is entirely incomprehensibly irrational and that all those who worship are obviously fabricating something for their own advancement in society or in some other way, that the Truth is that God does not in fact, exist at all, that Christ's life was entirely pointless and that the comprehension of all religious things are hypocritical...
Then the next he tells me that religion is what he needs in his life, that God is impacting him directly anyway...that prayer does affect him. Is he lying? Is he lying because he feels I am incapable of handling the truth? Is everything a lie?
Men were decievers ever...
I don't quite know what to think. I have two choices, optimism or pessimism and I feel I have come to a crossroads. If I have the courage, I will dare to be optimistic and maybe, just maybe, this will turn out for the better. There's an equal chance that it won't turn out for the better and that will cause my optimism to fail and myself to be rapt in foolishness, finally realizing regretting for the rest of my life the mistake I made in hoping for the best.
If I do not have the courage, I will assume pessimism and break this entire thing off presently, move on with my life and he and I will remain trite aquaintances for the rest of time. Aside from the tragedy of a mere, meagre, trite aquaintance being derived from so passionate a love, and not mentioning the sickness that has often been called dispair, I quite feel that if the pessimist within me o'ertakes my mind, then why not give up on a great many other things, ultimately and namely my life altogether. The only benefit to being pessimistic is the fact that I may avoid falling further...if one is optimistic and proves to be wrong, it's a great deal more of a fall, a hurt, an embarressment than one who is pessimistic about it all along.
In the end the love you take is equal to the love you make.
Nevermind. I'm sick of thinking about all of this. I can hope for the best, and yes, I dare to. I do. Yet the things that really scare me are (1) The point of finding truth of anger and the realities of that truth (2) The idea of creating drama for the sake of drama. I've already screamed at him. What the heck is going to happen next? I am beginning to see our fights escalating and I really don't need to go up a fight escalator right now. I know where that can lead. I know where, statistically speaking, it is likely to lead.
I have other things in my life to worry about than this right now. The point of me being in college is to get my degree. It is to become educated. Meeting all the amazing people along the way has been wonderful and fun, traumatic and telling. I've learned more from my friends than from my professors truths of this world.
Yet this is coming to a point where I'm not certain why I am here anymore. I have helped people heal. People have helped me. Yet I feel that I have been sanded down to the bare bone of who I am, and now it is the world : the professors, the friends, the loves, the hates ....there is hardly anything but bone left, and that too they are chipping at. It is a greed in a way, I feel I have been subject to. The only way I have been able to cope with this greed is (1) to chip away at other people, which is something I can hardly abide doing - thereby must do it craftily - and has caused the true retaliation of many if not all the ones whom I love to take a step back and feel only for themselves the harm I have caused them. (I won't pretend to be coherant, but you may pretend that I am)
(2) to chip away at myself, for after all, if you cannot beat them, you may join them. It is an age old lesson taught to children in cartoons throughout all ages. If I build myself up, then I am arrogant, if I work hard silently, I am contemptuous. This and other things bring me to John Lennon's working class hero.
They hurt you at home and they hit you at school,
They hate you if you're clever and they despise a fool,
Till you're so fucking crazy you can't follow their rules,
A working class hero is something to be...
It has alot of truth to it, yet...it can be poisonous to be cynical.
People are of the mindset-these days especially-that being happy/joyous/vivacious/ ... and to be falsely happy is the most dangerous and terrible of ways to be. While this is true, I have found through my own experience, namely those filled with the truth of the cynic I've become, it is equally as dangerous and terrible to be filled with negitivity. It is entirely stupid and silly to forcefeed myself cake in the hopes of my life getting better, it is equally stupid and silly to feed upon the bitterness of life in the hopes of showing people that I do not eat cake. It is entirely rediculous of me to put on a happy face just because people expect me to. It is also entirely rediculous for me to cause myself to constantly feel unduly upset for no real reason. It's better alwithal not to feel anything.
Which is why numbness is so desireable.
Speaking of numbness, one might question the ways in which one may cause damage to onesself. Leaving entirely out the question of why, let us examine more creative and unorthodox ways in which people damage themselves.
Rather, first let us name the normal ones. Drinking is most popular, damage through jollity. Huzzah. Then there is overeating and the occasional smoker. A number of us (college students) decide to draw blood and the masochism of being sleep deprived is enjoyed by all. These are too mainstream, perhaps for the likes of me.
Ergo, I have decided to think of different ways of self-harm. Those of atonal music, those of bad grammer, those of friendless yammerings to onesself. Those of Stravinsky, Lennon...those of Shakespeare, those of the eyes and fingertips. Those of caffeine. Those of ambition. For what better way to harm onesself than feining success and ultimately dying?
I will paint with red paint. I will decieve blue skies. I will pray fervently, and perhaps masochism will turn to optimism and in the light of hope I may reside once more.
I must now ask myself the one question that will have my mind for some time. If there is fear in beauty, is there then, joy in self distruction? Isn't that ultimately what life is about anyway? Death. We all ultimately cause our own demise, whether knowing it or not. We are all to blame for our own deaths because even the "accidents" could have been avoided with some forethought...correct? It doesn't much matter though. I think that part of this problem is that nothing can be entirely erased.
No amount of smiling can change the fact that things are not really good right now. For anyone. This is the end of this incredibly rediculous rant. Anyway. I have a number of things to examine as it be right now.
Listen to Stravinsky's Rite of Spring if you have the chance. Think of the riots it caused in Vienna when the ballet was first shown.
Fair is foul. Foul is fair.
I've done it. I played in a Shakespeare production. It was marvelous. I was the good Doctor Pinch, who was less than good by troth, but yet it's interesting to think of the way things are. I've been listening to Stravinsky's Rite of Spring too much to keep my sanity intact. Yet it's all alright with me.
It's going to be a long time before I'll be able to quiet my digits and desist this contemptuous yammering of my fingers upon the keys. It isn't in the movies he quotes, nor the things he says nor the way I've treated him that bothers me most of all. It is the fact that the subject of our discourse was that he was not religious and that by being religious he feels people are fake. Has he then decieved me for the sake of "truth"?
When he, one day, says that I am incapable of handling the truth. That truth being that worship is entirely incomprehensibly irrational and that all those who worship are obviously fabricating something for their own advancement in society or in some other way, that the Truth is that God does not in fact, exist at all, that Christ's life was entirely pointless and that the comprehension of all religious things are hypocritical...
Then the next he tells me that religion is what he needs in his life, that God is impacting him directly anyway...that prayer does affect him. Is he lying? Is he lying because he feels I am incapable of handling the truth? Is everything a lie?
Men were decievers ever...
I don't quite know what to think. I have two choices, optimism or pessimism and I feel I have come to a crossroads. If I have the courage, I will dare to be optimistic and maybe, just maybe, this will turn out for the better. There's an equal chance that it won't turn out for the better and that will cause my optimism to fail and myself to be rapt in foolishness, finally realizing regretting for the rest of my life the mistake I made in hoping for the best.
If I do not have the courage, I will assume pessimism and break this entire thing off presently, move on with my life and he and I will remain trite aquaintances for the rest of time. Aside from the tragedy of a mere, meagre, trite aquaintance being derived from so passionate a love, and not mentioning the sickness that has often been called dispair, I quite feel that if the pessimist within me o'ertakes my mind, then why not give up on a great many other things, ultimately and namely my life altogether. The only benefit to being pessimistic is the fact that I may avoid falling further...if one is optimistic and proves to be wrong, it's a great deal more of a fall, a hurt, an embarressment than one who is pessimistic about it all along.
In the end the love you take is equal to the love you make.
Nevermind. I'm sick of thinking about all of this. I can hope for the best, and yes, I dare to. I do. Yet the things that really scare me are (1) The point of finding truth of anger and the realities of that truth (2) The idea of creating drama for the sake of drama. I've already screamed at him. What the heck is going to happen next? I am beginning to see our fights escalating and I really don't need to go up a fight escalator right now. I know where that can lead. I know where, statistically speaking, it is likely to lead.
I have other things in my life to worry about than this right now. The point of me being in college is to get my degree. It is to become educated. Meeting all the amazing people along the way has been wonderful and fun, traumatic and telling. I've learned more from my friends than from my professors truths of this world.
Yet this is coming to a point where I'm not certain why I am here anymore. I have helped people heal. People have helped me. Yet I feel that I have been sanded down to the bare bone of who I am, and now it is the world : the professors, the friends, the loves, the hates ....there is hardly anything but bone left, and that too they are chipping at. It is a greed in a way, I feel I have been subject to. The only way I have been able to cope with this greed is (1) to chip away at other people, which is something I can hardly abide doing - thereby must do it craftily - and has caused the true retaliation of many if not all the ones whom I love to take a step back and feel only for themselves the harm I have caused them. (I won't pretend to be coherant, but you may pretend that I am)
(2) to chip away at myself, for after all, if you cannot beat them, you may join them. It is an age old lesson taught to children in cartoons throughout all ages. If I build myself up, then I am arrogant, if I work hard silently, I am contemptuous. This and other things bring me to John Lennon's working class hero.
They hurt you at home and they hit you at school,
They hate you if you're clever and they despise a fool,
Till you're so fucking crazy you can't follow their rules,
A working class hero is something to be...
It has alot of truth to it, yet...it can be poisonous to be cynical.
People are of the mindset-these days especially-that being happy/joyous/vivacious/
Which is why numbness is so desireable.
Speaking of numbness, one might question the ways in which one may cause damage to onesself. Leaving entirely out the question of why, let us examine more creative and unorthodox ways in which people damage themselves.
Rather, first let us name the normal ones. Drinking is most popular, damage through jollity. Huzzah. Then there is overeating and the occasional smoker. A number of us (college students) decide to draw blood and the masochism of being sleep deprived is enjoyed by all. These are too mainstream, perhaps for the likes of me.
Ergo, I have decided to think of different ways of self-harm. Those of atonal music, those of bad grammer, those of friendless yammerings to onesself. Those of Stravinsky, Lennon...those of Shakespeare, those of the eyes and fingertips. Those of caffeine. Those of ambition. For what better way to harm onesself than feining success and ultimately dying?
I will paint with red paint. I will decieve blue skies. I will pray fervently, and perhaps masochism will turn to optimism and in the light of hope I may reside once more.
I must now ask myself the one question that will have my mind for some time. If there is fear in beauty, is there then, joy in self distruction? Isn't that ultimately what life is about anyway? Death. We all ultimately cause our own demise, whether knowing it or not. We are all to blame for our own deaths because even the "accidents" could have been avoided with some forethought...correct? It doesn't much matter though. I think that part of this problem is that nothing can be entirely erased.
No amount of smiling can change the fact that things are not really good right now. For anyone. This is the end of this incredibly rediculous rant. Anyway. I have a number of things to examine as it be right now.
Listen to Stravinsky's Rite of Spring if you have the chance. Think of the riots it caused in Vienna when the ballet was first shown.
Fair is foul. Foul is fair.
Monday, February 26, 2007
Don't hate me because I'm beautiful
Marcela, the shepherdess...
"Moreover, you must remember that the beauty I possess was no choice of mine, for, be it what itmay, Heaven of its bounty gave it me without my asking or choosing it;and as the viper, though it kills with it, does not deserve to beblamed for the poison it carries, as it is a gift of nature, neitherdo I deserve reproach for being beautiful; for beauty in a modestwoman is like fire at a distance or a sharp sword; the one does notburn, the other does not cut, those who do not come too near."
Cervantes
trans. Ormsby
"Moreover, you must remember that the beauty I possess was no choice of mine, for, be it what itmay, Heaven of its bounty gave it me without my asking or choosing it;and as the viper, though it kills with it, does not deserve to beblamed for the poison it carries, as it is a gift of nature, neitherdo I deserve reproach for being beautiful; for beauty in a modestwoman is like fire at a distance or a sharp sword; the one does notburn, the other does not cut, those who do not come too near."
Cervantes
trans. Ormsby
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Monday, February 05, 2007
Hildegard von Bingen
Hildegard described not only how the elements combined to form the cosmos, but also how they helped to shape and give life to our ...human bodies: (Schipperges is maddeningly awkward and I hate his unnecessary writing style, but commend him on his knowledge). "when God made humanity, the earth out of which it was form (limus) was glued together by water. God sent the breath of life - fire and air - into this form made from earth and water. Because the human form was made from Earth and Water, the earth became flesh through fire of this breath and through air. The water that held this together became blood. When God made Adam, His radience instantly embraced the entire earth out of which Adam was made. This earth showed itself outwardly in Adam's fashioning - in the shape of his limbs - but Adam was hollow within. (Curae et Causae 42,)
Hildegard went on to describe how the heart, liver, stomach, bowels, brain and other inner organs were made: the soul filled the human heart which pumped elements throughout the body. The liver heated the heart, the lungs covered it...
The heart was thought to be the seat of all knowledge, the liver the seat of all emotions. This we know to be false today...but in medieval times...well...hmmnnn...
I don't like this source one bit, honestly. Schipperges insisted that psychologically analyzing Hildegarde was a bad idea but it seems that he does so throughout the book himself, whether he realizes it or not. Perhaps he doesn't use psychological terminology, but he seems to make his own inferences, all of which are based in the context of psychology today. I wish I had more time to read in depth his book however, at least so that I could further disagree (or change my mind and agree) with him.
I guess I just don't like it when scholars use words like "puny" and "libido"
Hildegard went on to describe how the heart, liver, stomach, bowels, brain and other inner organs were made: the soul filled the human heart which pumped elements throughout the body. The liver heated the heart, the lungs covered it...
The heart was thought to be the seat of all knowledge, the liver the seat of all emotions. This we know to be false today...but in medieval times...well...hmmnnn...
I don't like this source one bit, honestly. Schipperges insisted that psychologically analyzing Hildegarde was a bad idea but it seems that he does so throughout the book himself, whether he realizes it or not. Perhaps he doesn't use psychological terminology, but he seems to make his own inferences, all of which are based in the context of psychology today. I wish I had more time to read in depth his book however, at least so that I could further disagree (or change my mind and agree) with him.
I guess I just don't like it when scholars use words like "puny" and "libido"
Sunday, February 04, 2007
I'm not capable of this anymore. I simply cannot continue to be the way I am. I feel at some times so happy, yet at others, so unhappy. It is tempting for me, stoic-faced to tell myself that "that's life" and that dealing with happiness and unhappiness is a part of it. But at the same time, I feel that there is the one who, having been gone, has returned and is, like me, mingling happiness and unahappiness, but perhaps doesn't think of things the best way. One must allow onesself to heal from psychological trauma, not constantly wallowing in one's suffering.
At the same time, there is the one that was here and is leaving. This is the one that all too often is the cause of my happiness and of my unhappiness. I fear being lied to again more than anything. I feel that it is wrong of me to give this person anymore leeway. It is wrong of me to be so understanding, so justifying. It is wrong of me to allow this person not to treat me the way, someone said, I deserve to be treated. I deserve to know where this person is, I deserve to know how they feel and what they are thinking. I deserve loving attention and I deserve a person who doesn't constantly cause me grief in one way or another.
At the same time though, I feel selfish in asking for this attention that according to a friend, I deserve. There are deeper things involved here than my happiness or unhappiness. There are bigger things in this world than the offense I feel when I am blown off or not cared about. There is more than the simple fact that to some people, I don't matter...and never will.
Every person thinks of themselves as number one.
I knew going into this thing that it would not be easy to be a part of. But then, one reaps what one sows. If I give this person enough attention...if I love this person enough...someday things will be alright between us. And the "alrightness" will mean more to us than it does to most people. How much sweeter will the contentment be that was fought for?
Much.
At the same time, there is the one that was here and is leaving. This is the one that all too often is the cause of my happiness and of my unhappiness. I fear being lied to again more than anything. I feel that it is wrong of me to give this person anymore leeway. It is wrong of me to be so understanding, so justifying. It is wrong of me to allow this person not to treat me the way, someone said, I deserve to be treated. I deserve to know where this person is, I deserve to know how they feel and what they are thinking. I deserve loving attention and I deserve a person who doesn't constantly cause me grief in one way or another.
At the same time though, I feel selfish in asking for this attention that according to a friend, I deserve. There are deeper things involved here than my happiness or unhappiness. There are bigger things in this world than the offense I feel when I am blown off or not cared about. There is more than the simple fact that to some people, I don't matter...and never will.
Every person thinks of themselves as number one.
I knew going into this thing that it would not be easy to be a part of. But then, one reaps what one sows. If I give this person enough attention...if I love this person enough...someday things will be alright between us. And the "alrightness" will mean more to us than it does to most people. How much sweeter will the contentment be that was fought for?
Much.
Saturday, February 03, 2007
The Fire-Eaters
Bloodletting, Earth, Fire, Water, Air....yes, a discourse on Alchemy is in accord.
Alchemy was the midieval version of physics, psychology and medicine in one. The main purpose of alchemy was to convert base metals into gold, but aside from that, the study and practice of Alchemy in the midieval world was also to cure disease and ultimately find immortality.
Death is one of those things that people feared, especially back then. The Black death raviged people. Whole populations were lost.
Medieval thinking was largly based on heiarchies. This general idea can probably be traced to the time of the Romans. I'm not certain to whom to give the due of coming up with the "four basic elements" theory, but Earth, Water, Fire and Air were symbolic of four characteristics that, in the medieval mind, made up everything: dry, cold, moist, hot.
Earth was furthest from heaven, therefore the lowest of the elements, then water, which goes up and comes down as rain, then air, which goes up and stays up, and then fire, which the Sun is made of.
They believed that each person contained four humors which were made up of two characteristics each that symbolized and element.
Blood is hot and moist, and therefore of the element of Air.
Yellow Bile/cholor is hot and dry, therefore made of the element Fire
Phlegm is cold and moist, therefore made of the element Water
Black Bile is cold and dry, therefore made of Earth.
While the modern mind can see a great deal of problems medically that can come of this type of thinking, one must also marvel at it's partial accuracy.
Blood carries oxygen to the cells. Oxygen is found in the air. The midieval mind knew this, even without knowing truly what blood is, nor cells, nor oxygen. In the medieval mind, they knew that one's humor needed to be in balance and that each humor was largely affected by diet. The stomach and liver, to the medieval mind were the entities which converted food into each of the humors.
The idea that one is psychologically affected by the food one eats has enormous truth to it. I know because I've tested this theory on myself. It's a tremendous excercize, if one enjoys eating quite alot, but the practice of fasting should have a moment here in the limelight. Fasting is a fantastic way to clear your mind, not because of hunger pains (if you fast, I encourage you to eat enough to avoid those, but eat things which have life... citrus, leafy greens and water-bearing vegetables and fruits: watermelon more than a banana, celery more than a potato) but because of the profound feeling of being clensed.
Here in America, we eat highly-processed food, that which is usually hot and dry. So we, then are the Fire-eaters. Who also has been at war? We eat fire and therefore have an overload of yellow bile. Are we like Shakespeare's Hotspur, then, ruled by our spleens?
Perhaps our international and internal problems would be solved if we embraced the Spinach leaf...quit babbling about fears of ecoli and ate something healthy for a change.
It was only a harmless musing.
Alchemy was the midieval version of physics, psychology and medicine in one. The main purpose of alchemy was to convert base metals into gold, but aside from that, the study and practice of Alchemy in the midieval world was also to cure disease and ultimately find immortality.
Death is one of those things that people feared, especially back then. The Black death raviged people. Whole populations were lost.
Medieval thinking was largly based on heiarchies. This general idea can probably be traced to the time of the Romans. I'm not certain to whom to give the due of coming up with the "four basic elements" theory, but Earth, Water, Fire and Air were symbolic of four characteristics that, in the medieval mind, made up everything: dry, cold, moist, hot.
Earth was furthest from heaven, therefore the lowest of the elements, then water, which goes up and comes down as rain, then air, which goes up and stays up, and then fire, which the Sun is made of.
They believed that each person contained four humors which were made up of two characteristics each that symbolized and element.
Blood is hot and moist, and therefore of the element of Air.
Yellow Bile/cholor is hot and dry, therefore made of the element Fire
Phlegm is cold and moist, therefore made of the element Water
Black Bile is cold and dry, therefore made of Earth.
While the modern mind can see a great deal of problems medically that can come of this type of thinking, one must also marvel at it's partial accuracy.
Blood carries oxygen to the cells. Oxygen is found in the air. The midieval mind knew this, even without knowing truly what blood is, nor cells, nor oxygen. In the medieval mind, they knew that one's humor needed to be in balance and that each humor was largely affected by diet. The stomach and liver, to the medieval mind were the entities which converted food into each of the humors.
The idea that one is psychologically affected by the food one eats has enormous truth to it. I know because I've tested this theory on myself. It's a tremendous excercize, if one enjoys eating quite alot, but the practice of fasting should have a moment here in the limelight. Fasting is a fantastic way to clear your mind, not because of hunger pains (if you fast, I encourage you to eat enough to avoid those, but eat things which have life... citrus, leafy greens and water-bearing vegetables and fruits: watermelon more than a banana, celery more than a potato) but because of the profound feeling of being clensed.
Here in America, we eat highly-processed food, that which is usually hot and dry. So we, then are the Fire-eaters. Who also has been at war? We eat fire and therefore have an overload of yellow bile. Are we like Shakespeare's Hotspur, then, ruled by our spleens?
Perhaps our international and internal problems would be solved if we embraced the Spinach leaf...quit babbling about fears of ecoli and ate something healthy for a change.
It was only a harmless musing.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Ah, what evil thoughts lie brooding within my brain! Have I yet died unto my failings? For what end has this person used my fears to make for his or herself a wayward mess to dote upon, perhaps even clean? Is it to my failings that I die? Or to someone elses, my grandfather's perhaps...
Something amiss, something assumed. I left the theater touched. Was it by the performance that I was touched, or something else? I closed my eyes and entered the theater of myself, my memory.
And now it is that I distrust even myself. I think evil thoughts, feel evil feelings, dream evil dreams, there is only one possible end in this. Death.
But what death? Death of a young or old woman? In so many ways I feel that I am an old woman. In so many ways I feel that I have been so lucky. If death come, be it swift and let me be well worthy of the death that will end the life I lived!
It isn't death now that troubles me, nor the thought of it. It is Time, Grandfather Time himself who has troubled me, and not that of Death and the Future, as doomed as it may be.
It is Memory, mistress to Time that now hangs heavy upon my brow. Looking, searching for fault, for pain, anger and hurt in Memory is much more difficult than allowing simple Time to take it's place, and as one gazes further inward, the more frustrating the memories become. Some may even be dreams.
Something amiss, something assumed. I left the theater touched. Was it by the performance that I was touched, or something else? I closed my eyes and entered the theater of myself, my memory.
And now it is that I distrust even myself. I think evil thoughts, feel evil feelings, dream evil dreams, there is only one possible end in this. Death.
But what death? Death of a young or old woman? In so many ways I feel that I am an old woman. In so many ways I feel that I have been so lucky. If death come, be it swift and let me be well worthy of the death that will end the life I lived!
It isn't death now that troubles me, nor the thought of it. It is Time, Grandfather Time himself who has troubled me, and not that of Death and the Future, as doomed as it may be.
It is Memory, mistress to Time that now hangs heavy upon my brow. Looking, searching for fault, for pain, anger and hurt in Memory is much more difficult than allowing simple Time to take it's place, and as one gazes further inward, the more frustrating the memories become. Some may even be dreams.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Benedick: ...it is certain I am loved of all ladies, only you excepted; and I would I could find in my hard that I had not a hard heart, for truly I love none.
Beatrice: A dear happiness to women! They would else have been troubled with a pernicious suitor. I thank God and my cold blood I am of your humor for that. I had rather hear by dark bark at a crow than a man swear he loves me.
Benedick: God keep Your Ladyshihp still in that mind! So some gentleman or other shall scape a predestinate scratched face.
Beatrice: Scratching could not make it worse, an' twere such a face as yours were.
Benedick: Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher.
Beatrice: A bird fo my tongue is better than a beast of yours.
Benedick: I would my horse had the speed of your tongue and so good a continuer. ...
Beatrice: A dear happiness to women! They would else have been troubled with a pernicious suitor. I thank God and my cold blood I am of your humor for that. I had rather hear by dark bark at a crow than a man swear he loves me.
Benedick: God keep Your Ladyshihp still in that mind! So some gentleman or other shall scape a predestinate scratched face.
Beatrice: Scratching could not make it worse, an' twere such a face as yours were.
Benedick: Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher.
Beatrice: A bird fo my tongue is better than a beast of yours.
Benedick: I would my horse had the speed of your tongue and so good a continuer. ...
Monday, January 22, 2007
Fair is foul, this is my testimony: If I release my inhibitions, I will lose. I will be driven by my release and then I will lose my focus on all the other things in my life. I have to focus on Shakespeare, Theory, History, the play, the poems, the essays, Russian, German...I don't know what to do. It's all too much, but I have such passion for all of it. The songs, the compositions...my requiem...his tango. Piano, voice, guitar...the things I want to do, I spend my time rather wisely. Nothing I do is something I don't enjoy. But my problem is that I don't have time for all of it all the time, and if I spend my time with him..."releasing" my inhibitions, I allow the focus of my life to shift, and I cannot allow that now. I cannot allow that to happen. I have built my life, my entire life, for as long as I remember, dreaming dreams and living life as fully as I can (except for those times when demons found me) ...
The truth is, I feel that we went too far. We didn't, we really did only play by the rules, but I feel also that how DARE he insinuate that we would get boring without that journey toward a release of inhibition. Inhibition...what is it? Is it my conscience? Perhaps.
The truth is, I love him more deeply than anything else in my life, but I strive to show him who I am, be everything that I am capable and more because that way, and only that way is the way I show myself love, and through that I show him my love too. I just worry that he doesn't see it. He is content to see love the conventional way. Touch.
This has created a problem because I don't see anything the conventional way. In fact, I have made a point in my life not to look at things the conventional way. I have to change my whole theory of thought around if I am to do justice to this man. He is so amazing though...truly, truly amazing. So honest, so loving...so pure. It's impossible to explain how he can be so exciting and so pure at the same time.
I love things that complete one another. Peppermint coffee is hot and cold at the same time...peanut brittle is salty and sweet at the same time, I laugh at cynical jokes, I cry at beauty...Fair is foul, foul is fair...God is the beginning and the end, the alpha and the omega, the almighty-all powerful, yet He came and became powerless and died. I love music because it is both objective and subjective and will always be both. I love Don because I am a poet, he is a philosopher, I love him because he is a thinker, I am an artist; he is an amazing man in every way that I am not, and that brings me strength and life and hope. I can only marvel at that love.
Fair is foul, foul is fair.
The truth is, I feel that we went too far. We didn't, we really did only play by the rules, but I feel also that how DARE he insinuate that we would get boring without that journey toward a release of inhibition. Inhibition...what is it? Is it my conscience? Perhaps.
The truth is, I love him more deeply than anything else in my life, but I strive to show him who I am, be everything that I am capable and more because that way, and only that way is the way I show myself love, and through that I show him my love too. I just worry that he doesn't see it. He is content to see love the conventional way. Touch.
This has created a problem because I don't see anything the conventional way. In fact, I have made a point in my life not to look at things the conventional way. I have to change my whole theory of thought around if I am to do justice to this man. He is so amazing though...truly, truly amazing. So honest, so loving...so pure. It's impossible to explain how he can be so exciting and so pure at the same time.
I love things that complete one another. Peppermint coffee is hot and cold at the same time...peanut brittle is salty and sweet at the same time, I laugh at cynical jokes, I cry at beauty...Fair is foul, foul is fair...God is the beginning and the end, the alpha and the omega, the almighty-all powerful, yet He came and became powerless and died. I love music because it is both objective and subjective and will always be both. I love Don because I am a poet, he is a philosopher, I love him because he is a thinker, I am an artist; he is an amazing man in every way that I am not, and that brings me strength and life and hope. I can only marvel at that love.
Fair is foul, foul is fair.
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
Thunder Shakes the World and its place is faced with many jabberings.
The thing that gets me is all the people of the world who are anti-catholic. For all of their accusations, for all of the fingers that point at us saying, look at how vile and sinful the Catholic Church is...for all the times I've been the butt of a joke, the object of scrutiny, and judged for my faith, I have yet to go to church and hear a homily of hatred. I have yet to hear a sermon putting someone down. I have yet to hear a priest say that any group of people is damned.
It hurts me. It has always hurt me, that anyone would judge an entire group of people based on the examples of a few.
I suppose I am simply paying for the sins of my Catholic ancestors. They were wrong. Faced with crucades and inquisitions, myriads of people killed for no reason other than the hatred that was the catholic church. That was hundreds of years ago. Since then, to be catholic is to live in humility.
So damn me, world. Yes, world, I am addressing you. Judge me. Damn me. I've been the object of scrutiny all my life for my faith. I dare you.
I have done no one wrong. I have lived my life to honor Jesus Christ, to spread His love. I have never sought to be anything other than an instrument of His peace. I have tried to bring love where there is hatred, I have tried to bring forgiveness where there is hurt, I have tried to bring light where there is darkness, faith where there is doubt. Comfort where there are tears...
But they judge me anyway.
That is life. Just because I face hatred in this world does not mean I will give up my faith or cease to live my life as I have. I am His and His alone.
Fair is foul. Foul is fair.
The thing that gets me is all the people of the world who are anti-catholic. For all of their accusations, for all of the fingers that point at us saying, look at how vile and sinful the Catholic Church is...for all the times I've been the butt of a joke, the object of scrutiny, and judged for my faith, I have yet to go to church and hear a homily of hatred. I have yet to hear a sermon putting someone down. I have yet to hear a priest say that any group of people is damned.
It hurts me. It has always hurt me, that anyone would judge an entire group of people based on the examples of a few.
I suppose I am simply paying for the sins of my Catholic ancestors. They were wrong. Faced with crucades and inquisitions, myriads of people killed for no reason other than the hatred that was the catholic church. That was hundreds of years ago. Since then, to be catholic is to live in humility.
So damn me, world. Yes, world, I am addressing you. Judge me. Damn me. I've been the object of scrutiny all my life for my faith. I dare you.
I have done no one wrong. I have lived my life to honor Jesus Christ, to spread His love. I have never sought to be anything other than an instrument of His peace. I have tried to bring love where there is hatred, I have tried to bring forgiveness where there is hurt, I have tried to bring light where there is darkness, faith where there is doubt. Comfort where there are tears...
But they judge me anyway.
That is life. Just because I face hatred in this world does not mean I will give up my faith or cease to live my life as I have. I am His and His alone.
Fair is foul. Foul is fair.
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Madness
I had a strange dream last night. It involved a peanut festival. There was this farmish place and five or six peanut-celebrating events. Steve, my brother and I were playing dice to win some peanuts somehow, and he kept throwing in more dice than were needed. He wasn't cheating, he was teasing me. I was furious and stormed off. Then there was this Cathedral, because for some reason the choirs from Concordia were there. We (Chapel Choir) were all in our robes, and Tim the Amazing was there playing an electric piano and screwing up the acoustics. Rene Clausen was furious but nobody knew it was Tim because he was under blankets and a big beach umbrella in the balcony. And in the building below there was a hallway leading away from the church and there was a room, rather a wall that read: "The Recovery from Oostburg" and something to do with lemons. When I opened the door to the room it had a bingo bar in it, and the wall collapsed and made alot of noise so I ran down the hallway and woke up.
It was so much more vivid when I was sleeping.
It was so much more vivid when I was sleeping.
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Letter
Wouldn't you like to do Hamlet? I think he could be organised delightfully into three pictures: 1) Elsinore and Hamlet before the appearance of his father's ghost; (2) Polonius (scherzando) and Ophelia (adagio) (3) Hamlet after the appearance of the ghost. His death and Fortinbras...After Hamlet I considered Francesca, and she really is beginning to please me!...Then, if Iago worries you, why not do the tale of Othello by himself? Indeed, he does merit a symphonic tableau! As you see, Hamlet is the only new subject I've devised...but if only you knew how much I wish you'd write music on my subject....
Modest to Petr Tchaikovsky
"The Lives of the Great Composers"
Schonberg
Modest to Petr Tchaikovsky
"The Lives of the Great Composers"
Schonberg
Blue
If I am blue, I'm not certain that I want to change to another color. It would explain why certain things happen; it would explain my cycles of various shades of blue.
So I could go to an artist and ask him or her what color I am. And he or she may say that I am red, blue, or yellow. Because they're ARTISTS! They get PAID to tell people what color they are. They have no interests except to make money and to paint you. And even if they're RIGHT; even if they ARE right and I am in fact, a color I oughtn't be...even then...do I really want to change? I felt such joy when a certain magic penguin asked me a certain question concerning the rest of my life. I remember the profound joy I felt at that moment. But I don't feel that way all of the time. In fact, sometimes I feel more depressed than ever about my answer to him. If I were a shade of blue, it would explain this change of color. Varying from light to dark blue would be natural.
What if I'm being rational though? Given my age, the circumstances of the question, the circumstances of the answer...given the loneliness we'd both faced this semester, given the intensities and pastinesses of our lives...I don't see how I am not being rational in wishing to rethink this. It is most dramatic to say that I am a color I oughtn't be. Perhaps he's a color he oughtn't be. In fact, that thought is far more plausable than my color being ary.
As far as desires go, I feel that he is quite too hung up on them. I feel that this entire pallate can easily go badly because, after all, Boo Radley is involved in this, isn't he?
And then I remember my tearful frenzy of colors and personalities that never ceases to amaze even myself. I've got much to do, and extremely little time. But if such minds could save from death Astronauts of Apollo 13, certainly my far inferior one can accomplish a far inferior task such as studying for this silly final.
So I could go to an artist and ask him or her what color I am. And he or she may say that I am red, blue, or yellow. Because they're ARTISTS! They get PAID to tell people what color they are. They have no interests except to make money and to paint you. And even if they're RIGHT; even if they ARE right and I am in fact, a color I oughtn't be...even then...do I really want to change? I felt such joy when a certain magic penguin asked me a certain question concerning the rest of my life. I remember the profound joy I felt at that moment. But I don't feel that way all of the time. In fact, sometimes I feel more depressed than ever about my answer to him. If I were a shade of blue, it would explain this change of color. Varying from light to dark blue would be natural.
What if I'm being rational though? Given my age, the circumstances of the question, the circumstances of the answer...given the loneliness we'd both faced this semester, given the intensities and pastinesses of our lives...I don't see how I am not being rational in wishing to rethink this. It is most dramatic to say that I am a color I oughtn't be. Perhaps he's a color he oughtn't be. In fact, that thought is far more plausable than my color being ary.
As far as desires go, I feel that he is quite too hung up on them. I feel that this entire pallate can easily go badly because, after all, Boo Radley is involved in this, isn't he?
And then I remember my tearful frenzy of colors and personalities that never ceases to amaze even myself. I've got much to do, and extremely little time. But if such minds could save from death Astronauts of Apollo 13, certainly my far inferior one can accomplish a far inferior task such as studying for this silly final.
I don't want to switch to Google!
There are certain people on this earth that I cannot stand. I grant myself that I am not a perfect person. I also grant myself that I don't always make the correct choice or the right decisions. But I also don't know what I can do about certain people who look at me with their condescending eyes, knowing that they have succeeded and I have failed, and smirk because they are pleased that it is so. The thing that gets me the most angry about it is that they have the right to do so. They are better at this than I am. They also are loved by most other people and I gradually have become more and more bitter, even to the point at which I seek simple things, worldly, fleshly things to sedate my anger.
There are certain people on this earth that I cannot stand. I grant myself that I am not a perfect person. I also grant myself that I don't always make the correct choice or the right decisions. But I also don't know what I can do about certain people who look at me with their condescending eyes, knowing that they have succeeded and I have failed, and smirk because they are pleased that it is so. The thing that gets me the most angry about it is that they have the right to do so. They are better at this than I am. They also are loved by most other people and I gradually have become more and more bitter, even to the point at which I seek simple things, worldly, fleshly things to sedate my anger.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
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