Words in the dryer
warm to the touch
until fingertips
steal
their sincerity.
Powder falls into
my prints, yours
meaning settling
in the creases and folds
differently
every time
until they are as cold
as when
they started
so you put them back in
and hope
the heat holds.
Saturday, December 3, 2011
It's Raining Poems
I've written a lot of them lately.
I haven't written one for a couple weeks, after I wrote four in one night.
I was hesitant to post them, though. That's why they're still sitting on my desk, marked up but not finalized.
It used to seem like poetry wasn't meant to be published; like it was the rawness of thoughts passionately scribbled in the heat of a moment that made it beautiful.
I'm beginning to realize, though, that while the thoughts that make the poem special still come in that moment, the poem itself is the product of lots of careful thinking.
Instead of thinking of my poems as a done deal as soon as I place the last period, I've decided that they will never really be done until I can look at them and say yeah, that's about it. I have nothing more to say about that.
My teacher also suggested that I try grouping some of them. It's not all that uncommon for my poems to revolve around the same basic subject matter as poetry is written according to what occupies your brain, and for me, certain thoughts permeate through so many different aspects of my thinking that no matter what initially inspires a poem, they end up becoming a main part of it.
So, long story short, I'm going to be posting some poetry. But none if it is done. It's all still a work in progress.
Maybe one of these days I'll finish it all.
Until then, enjoy.
I haven't written one for a couple weeks, after I wrote four in one night.
I was hesitant to post them, though. That's why they're still sitting on my desk, marked up but not finalized.
It used to seem like poetry wasn't meant to be published; like it was the rawness of thoughts passionately scribbled in the heat of a moment that made it beautiful.
I'm beginning to realize, though, that while the thoughts that make the poem special still come in that moment, the poem itself is the product of lots of careful thinking.
Instead of thinking of my poems as a done deal as soon as I place the last period, I've decided that they will never really be done until I can look at them and say yeah, that's about it. I have nothing more to say about that.
My teacher also suggested that I try grouping some of them. It's not all that uncommon for my poems to revolve around the same basic subject matter as poetry is written according to what occupies your brain, and for me, certain thoughts permeate through so many different aspects of my thinking that no matter what initially inspires a poem, they end up becoming a main part of it.
So, long story short, I'm going to be posting some poetry. But none if it is done. It's all still a work in progress.
Maybe one of these days I'll finish it all.
Until then, enjoy.
I Would Like to Apologize in Advance
For the amount of posts that will be on today's date. I have lots of different things to talk about.
First of all, I'm thinking about getting rid of the music player on my page.
I mean, come on, it's really just kind of annoying.
Even I mute it as soon as I open the page. And it's my music. I picked it. Yet I hate listening to it.
Maybe it's because I'm unfocused and can't read and listen to any sort of music at the same time.
Anyway, do you guys actually like it there, or do you just immediately mute it too?
First of all, I'm thinking about getting rid of the music player on my page.
I mean, come on, it's really just kind of annoying.
Even I mute it as soon as I open the page. And it's my music. I picked it. Yet I hate listening to it.
Maybe it's because I'm unfocused and can't read and listen to any sort of music at the same time.
Anyway, do you guys actually like it there, or do you just immediately mute it too?
Oh, Hey There
The other day, I was all daaaamn I've done a ton of writing lately.
Which I have.
In my head.
Isn't that great? I compose entire entries, and then they never get an audience. Except the one in my head. And that audience really enjoys what I have to say.
One of them that I never got to share with you was about hedgehogs.
They're cute.
And I want one.
Too bad it would have a crazy person for a mother.
Anyway, that's not even the point of this post. At all. The point is concerts.
Concerts, in case you weren't aware, have rules. Not the kinds of rules that are embossed on a cheap piece of plastic and nailed next to the door, but the unspoken rules that everybody should have the common sense and lack of idiocy to follow.
First rule: Leave your fucking candy at home.
Honestly.
When your crinkly wrapper begins to overshadow the violin solo, we have a problem.
So unless what you are unwrapping is vital to your immediate health, put it away, I'm begging you. Before I get violent.
Second rule: When asked to sing along to a piece, sing the melody like everybody else in the entire auditorium.
Yes, we know there is a harmony to this song. Do you know it? Great. Do you sound good on it? What's that? You don't? Then shut the hell up.
There was this one lady tonight, seated a bit further down the row than my family, who had one of the classic old lady voices. Like the muscles that used to hold her chords in place so she could sing nice, clear pitches have gotten so old and flabby that her vibrato has practically taken on a life of its own. She's singing away, the floor is on the verge of shaking with the reverberations of her vocalizing, and decides that it is absolutely necessary to broadcast her knowledge of obscure harmonies.
Now, I'm not saying harmonizing is a bad thing. But if you learned it back when you still had teeth and haven't sung it since, you probably should not attempt it any more. Because, news flash, it sounds like shit.
Also, she decided that the rest of us silly audience members had clearly never been in a choir before, because instead of singing along with the conductor who was at least 100 feet away and therefore not on the same tempo as the sound that was actually reaching our ears, we were listening instead to the choir, and singing along with them.
Silly us.
So she sang with the conductor. Putting her a fraction of a beat ahead, a couple notes off key, and dangerously far away from any sort of sound that people would ever voluntarily listen to.
Third rule (and, may I say, the most important rule): I. Don't. Want. To. Hear. You. Breathe.
Ever.
EVER.
Like, Christ. If I wanted to hear some sort of confirmation that you were still alive over there, I would just wait until the song was over and see if you clapped. But unless you just finished running a marathon, I don't want to hear your breath ever. Blanket rule.
Especially if you're like the woman to my right who couldn't even breathe in a normal pattern like every other person on the planet.
You know, most of us take an in breath, let it out. An in breath, let it out.
Not that you can hear us.
But no, no no. That was not good enough for this woman.
Instead, she voted to take two quick breaths, one right after another. Hold without noise for about five seconds. Then two more quick breaths. And hold.
All while sounding like an elephant with asthma.
Well, lady, if there was a chance I was going to enjoy this piano solo, you just blew it. Thanks.
I could barely contain my rage.
Other unmentioned rules include: keep your illness at home or at least don't cough like you're a wild animal, note that stage whispering does not actually count as whispering, especially during a quick, sensitive song, and please for the love of god do not clap in the middle of a song. It's not over until the conductor's hands are down or the soloist breaks out of the moment. Everybody knows that. Everybody.
But anyway, on a calmer, less violent note, the concert was fantastic! I now kind of wish that I could play the violin, or that I was a man so that I could sing tenor.
You know, either works.
Which I have.
In my head.
Isn't that great? I compose entire entries, and then they never get an audience. Except the one in my head. And that audience really enjoys what I have to say.
One of them that I never got to share with you was about hedgehogs.
They're cute.
And I want one.
Too bad it would have a crazy person for a mother.
Anyway, that's not even the point of this post. At all. The point is concerts.
Concerts, in case you weren't aware, have rules. Not the kinds of rules that are embossed on a cheap piece of plastic and nailed next to the door, but the unspoken rules that everybody should have the common sense and lack of idiocy to follow.
First rule: Leave your fucking candy at home.
Honestly.
When your crinkly wrapper begins to overshadow the violin solo, we have a problem.
So unless what you are unwrapping is vital to your immediate health, put it away, I'm begging you. Before I get violent.
Second rule: When asked to sing along to a piece, sing the melody like everybody else in the entire auditorium.
Yes, we know there is a harmony to this song. Do you know it? Great. Do you sound good on it? What's that? You don't? Then shut the hell up.
There was this one lady tonight, seated a bit further down the row than my family, who had one of the classic old lady voices. Like the muscles that used to hold her chords in place so she could sing nice, clear pitches have gotten so old and flabby that her vibrato has practically taken on a life of its own. She's singing away, the floor is on the verge of shaking with the reverberations of her vocalizing, and decides that it is absolutely necessary to broadcast her knowledge of obscure harmonies.
Now, I'm not saying harmonizing is a bad thing. But if you learned it back when you still had teeth and haven't sung it since, you probably should not attempt it any more. Because, news flash, it sounds like shit.
Also, she decided that the rest of us silly audience members had clearly never been in a choir before, because instead of singing along with the conductor who was at least 100 feet away and therefore not on the same tempo as the sound that was actually reaching our ears, we were listening instead to the choir, and singing along with them.
Silly us.
So she sang with the conductor. Putting her a fraction of a beat ahead, a couple notes off key, and dangerously far away from any sort of sound that people would ever voluntarily listen to.
Third rule (and, may I say, the most important rule): I. Don't. Want. To. Hear. You. Breathe.
Ever.
EVER.
Like, Christ. If I wanted to hear some sort of confirmation that you were still alive over there, I would just wait until the song was over and see if you clapped. But unless you just finished running a marathon, I don't want to hear your breath ever. Blanket rule.
Especially if you're like the woman to my right who couldn't even breathe in a normal pattern like every other person on the planet.
You know, most of us take an in breath, let it out. An in breath, let it out.
Not that you can hear us.
But no, no no. That was not good enough for this woman.
Instead, she voted to take two quick breaths, one right after another. Hold without noise for about five seconds. Then two more quick breaths. And hold.
All while sounding like an elephant with asthma.
Well, lady, if there was a chance I was going to enjoy this piano solo, you just blew it. Thanks.
I could barely contain my rage.
Other unmentioned rules include: keep your illness at home or at least don't cough like you're a wild animal, note that stage whispering does not actually count as whispering, especially during a quick, sensitive song, and please for the love of god do not clap in the middle of a song. It's not over until the conductor's hands are down or the soloist breaks out of the moment. Everybody knows that. Everybody.
But anyway, on a calmer, less violent note, the concert was fantastic! I now kind of wish that I could play the violin, or that I was a man so that I could sing tenor.
You know, either works.
Saturday, October 8, 2011
Ideas Love Nature
People are funny creatures. We continually try and convince ourselves that we are original and unique, and that nobody else is quite like us.
But we've all heard the old motif. "If everybody's special, then nobody is."
I don't really believe either of those. Not everybody is perfectly unique, there aren't near enough traits for every single person to have their own. But at the same time, the human race is far from homogeneous.
Really, it's just this:
Ideas are recycled.
Every great movie, book, person, action, anything has probably been done before in some way, shape or form.
But that doesn't make it any less unique. It just means that it's not entirely original.
People tend to get so hung up on convincing themselves that what they are doing comes from their own mind, not from an outside influence. I know that I do. But the truth is that everything has a motivation, and motivations are all recycled.
There is a fine line between motivation and pure duplication, however. If something is done merely because somebody else did it, there's nothing slightly original about it. If it's done in your own way but the action was inspired by somebody else's, that's simple motivation, and has been altered enough to become unique in its own right.
We heard from a guest speaker in my lit class the other day. He worked with famous poets, and is a poet himself. And when he first introduced himself to us, he started with an idea that I found very interesting.
He told us that people were all connected through lineage. If a person shares the same passions as you do, they are from your lineage. Not all people from the same lineage are really that similar though, as you well may know.
I have often met people through similar interests, thinking that because of our share passion we will immediately get along.
Most of those people end up being douches.
Which brings me to the second point that Randy made.
Of the people who share your lineage, there are only some who are also in your tribe.
That tribe extends all the way around the world.
So when you find somebody that seems so similar to you it's as if the gods just made a carbon copy, it may be tempting to think of your ideas as no longer original.
Because they're not.
They're recycled from the same sources that are drawn upon by all of the rest of the people who share your lineage, and utilized by the people in your tribe.
The ideas are still your own.
They may be recycled, or motivated by a common influence, but no matter how many people you may find from your same tribe, ideas are personal, and their similarities should be reveled in, never run from.
And although this reasoning may have been entirely circular and in the end make sense to nobody but myself, I think that it's fairly sound advice.
Love your ideas.
They have also stemmed from other brains. They are motivated by the world around you, no matter how hard you try to convince yourself that they came from your soul and not the people you associate yourself with.
But they are yours, and should be utilized as such.
But we've all heard the old motif. "If everybody's special, then nobody is."
I don't really believe either of those. Not everybody is perfectly unique, there aren't near enough traits for every single person to have their own. But at the same time, the human race is far from homogeneous.
Really, it's just this:
Ideas are recycled.
Every great movie, book, person, action, anything has probably been done before in some way, shape or form.
But that doesn't make it any less unique. It just means that it's not entirely original.
People tend to get so hung up on convincing themselves that what they are doing comes from their own mind, not from an outside influence. I know that I do. But the truth is that everything has a motivation, and motivations are all recycled.
There is a fine line between motivation and pure duplication, however. If something is done merely because somebody else did it, there's nothing slightly original about it. If it's done in your own way but the action was inspired by somebody else's, that's simple motivation, and has been altered enough to become unique in its own right.
We heard from a guest speaker in my lit class the other day. He worked with famous poets, and is a poet himself. And when he first introduced himself to us, he started with an idea that I found very interesting.
He told us that people were all connected through lineage. If a person shares the same passions as you do, they are from your lineage. Not all people from the same lineage are really that similar though, as you well may know.
I have often met people through similar interests, thinking that because of our share passion we will immediately get along.
Most of those people end up being douches.
Which brings me to the second point that Randy made.
Of the people who share your lineage, there are only some who are also in your tribe.
That tribe extends all the way around the world.
So when you find somebody that seems so similar to you it's as if the gods just made a carbon copy, it may be tempting to think of your ideas as no longer original.
Because they're not.
They're recycled from the same sources that are drawn upon by all of the rest of the people who share your lineage, and utilized by the people in your tribe.
The ideas are still your own.
They may be recycled, or motivated by a common influence, but no matter how many people you may find from your same tribe, ideas are personal, and their similarities should be reveled in, never run from.
And although this reasoning may have been entirely circular and in the end make sense to nobody but myself, I think that it's fairly sound advice.
Love your ideas.
They have also stemmed from other brains. They are motivated by the world around you, no matter how hard you try to convince yourself that they came from your soul and not the people you associate yourself with.
But they are yours, and should be utilized as such.
Pointless Party Games
We crush the pebbles under sandaled feet
The dirt becomes a whisper in the past
to dwindle to the heart's unending beat
and leave predictions wondering, aghast.
The stars sit in their seat above our heads
with lives as tokens, tossing wooden dice
Philosophizing, lying in our beds
pretending there is room in paradise
directions circling endlessly like wind
but never blowing where the meter aims
No bets are placed on those who haven't sinned
And glory's patrons, only those with claim
There are no gods observing from their clouds
Dead six feet down, not looking to be proud.
The dirt becomes a whisper in the past
to dwindle to the heart's unending beat
and leave predictions wondering, aghast.
The stars sit in their seat above our heads
with lives as tokens, tossing wooden dice
Philosophizing, lying in our beds
pretending there is room in paradise
directions circling endlessly like wind
but never blowing where the meter aims
No bets are placed on those who haven't sinned
And glory's patrons, only those with claim
There are no gods observing from their clouds
Dead six feet down, not looking to be proud.
Saturday, October 1, 2011
I'm Actually Laughing With You This Time, Not At You
I had a revelation tonight. You know, one of those deep, philosophical ones? Yeah, of course you do.
Anyway, I was all, hey, I should blog about that.
I was gonna make it be a post like "guess what I just realized about human nature as a whole."
But then I realized, it's probably just me.
Because most people aren't like me.
In fact, I would say nobody's quite like me, except the special few.
I actually had somebody tell me at rehearsal the other day that I was the most frank person that they had ever met.
They asked me if I had a boyfriend.
I said no.
They laughed.
I told them that I hated them.
It really helped counter their point.
Anyway, I really did have a revelation. And it's that I, if not other people who may or may not be nicer than me, tend to take people who make me feel good for granted.
I generally just assume that unless people are assholes, I will get along with them well enough to have a good time.
But that's really not the case. People don't have to simply not suck, they actually have to be cool too.
There are plenty of people who I don't hate. In fact, I really don't hate anyone.
And there are most definitely some people I would really rather not spend any time with, ever.
So when I have a long shift at work that actually doesn't feel that long and I get home in a good mood, it makes me reflect.
Plenty of people are on what you could call my "good side." I don't love them, but I like them enough that if I am forced to spend time with them, I can at least leave in a neutral state of mind.
Some people are on my good side only because they're stupid, and their idiocy entertains me.
I like those people.
But the people who make me laugh not because they're stupid, but just because they're fun, deserve more mental appreciation from me than they're currently getting.
Just mental, though.
Wouldn't want to get crazy.
I've never thought that I was that tough of a person to get along with.
But I realize that I'm intimidating, and as my choir teacher has told me, I am a "dragon lady in training."
I'm proud of that.
People just really don't get appreciated for the way that they act, and I think it's because everybody values different personality traits in the people that they choose as their friends.
I, for one, like it when people have a good sense of humor, but they're not so uptight that they can laugh a little about stuff that may not cause the moral compass to point due north.
I also like it when they're not stupid. But hey, that's just an added bonus. Some of my best friends earned their position because of their lack of i.q. points. Haha, not really, I'm just kidding...
You know who you are.
But when people that I have not actually taken the time to pick as my friends still fit into the category, damn ees niiiice.
So gee, people, thank you.
Really.
I mean it.
Merci.
Anyway, I was all, hey, I should blog about that.
I was gonna make it be a post like "guess what I just realized about human nature as a whole."
But then I realized, it's probably just me.
Because most people aren't like me.
In fact, I would say nobody's quite like me, except the special few.
I actually had somebody tell me at rehearsal the other day that I was the most frank person that they had ever met.
They asked me if I had a boyfriend.
I said no.
They laughed.
I told them that I hated them.
It really helped counter their point.
Anyway, I really did have a revelation. And it's that I, if not other people who may or may not be nicer than me, tend to take people who make me feel good for granted.
I generally just assume that unless people are assholes, I will get along with them well enough to have a good time.
But that's really not the case. People don't have to simply not suck, they actually have to be cool too.
There are plenty of people who I don't hate. In fact, I really don't hate anyone.
And there are most definitely some people I would really rather not spend any time with, ever.
So when I have a long shift at work that actually doesn't feel that long and I get home in a good mood, it makes me reflect.
Plenty of people are on what you could call my "good side." I don't love them, but I like them enough that if I am forced to spend time with them, I can at least leave in a neutral state of mind.
Some people are on my good side only because they're stupid, and their idiocy entertains me.
I like those people.
But the people who make me laugh not because they're stupid, but just because they're fun, deserve more mental appreciation from me than they're currently getting.
Just mental, though.
Wouldn't want to get crazy.
I've never thought that I was that tough of a person to get along with.
But I realize that I'm intimidating, and as my choir teacher has told me, I am a "dragon lady in training."
I'm proud of that.
People just really don't get appreciated for the way that they act, and I think it's because everybody values different personality traits in the people that they choose as their friends.
I, for one, like it when people have a good sense of humor, but they're not so uptight that they can laugh a little about stuff that may not cause the moral compass to point due north.
I also like it when they're not stupid. But hey, that's just an added bonus. Some of my best friends earned their position because of their lack of i.q. points. Haha, not really, I'm just kidding...
You know who you are.
But when people that I have not actually taken the time to pick as my friends still fit into the category, damn ees niiiice.
So gee, people, thank you.
Really.
I mean it.
Merci.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Old Souls
In the time of the classics
their thoughts coursed
multiplied
fed on themselves
and intertwined
under the stars
they mingled
realizing the reflection
in the face
of the other
in the time of the classics
together they talked of gods
worlds
stars
met by their eyes
in the blackness
their eyes
in the time of the classics
boundaries
like running watercolors
never bleeding
but becoming art
reflected
by the stars
stars
that absorbed them
their essence
their eyes
absorbed by the stars
in the time of the classics.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Seriously. Slackin.
I cannot believe that I haven't posted about Les Mis yet.
Can. Not. Believe.
I just don't feel like I've had the proper amount of time to write about it yet. If I rush myself, I won't do the show any justice.
Maybe tomorrow.
In the meantime, did you know that tuna and refried beans make a terrible snack?
And that if you play a witch, no little children want to say hi to you after the show?
Well now you know.
Can. Not. Believe.
I just don't feel like I've had the proper amount of time to write about it yet. If I rush myself, I won't do the show any justice.
Maybe tomorrow.
In the meantime, did you know that tuna and refried beans make a terrible snack?
And that if you play a witch, no little children want to say hi to you after the show?
Well now you know.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
A Week Later
And I still have not given you all an extensive review of Les Mis.
I'm a little disappointed in myself.
I'll try and get that up tomorrow. Save myself from my shame.
By the way... it was awesome.
I'm a little disappointed in myself.
I'll try and get that up tomorrow. Save myself from my shame.
By the way... it was awesome.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)