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Friday, May 09, 2008

  • Currently Reading
    21: Bringing Down the House - Movie Tie-In: The Inside Story of Six M.I.T. Students Who Took Vegas for Millions
    By Ben Mezrich
    see related

    Summertime in the Sticks

    So, I'm done with finals
    and I'm completely moved back home.
    The stress of living with my family has already begun to take its toll.
    I've been home two days, and my parents are already bitching at me to get a job
    which I was going to do applications today, but it's not enough for them for me to get a job.
    NO, they don't think the jobs I'm applying for are "good" enough.
    What they don't understand is that we living in the fucking sticks,
    and there are NO "good" jobs for the taking,
    they are all already taken by people who have had them for twenty five years.
    I already have to drive twenty miles to and twenty miles from the place that I'm going to work,
    to get a better job I'd have to drive sixty miles to and from the place,
    and gas is way too damn expensive (nearing four dollars a gallon)
    for my minimum wage ass to pay for (6.25/hr).


    Sorry for the rant, I meant to put something creative up, but this came out. It always happens when I come home. It's like I lose a couple hundred brain cells, (along with the ability to use proper grammar when I'm speaking, I swear to god, NO ONE in this place has any idea what the fuck subject/verb agreement is) and all I can do is rant about how much I hate it.....

Wednesday, May 07, 2008

  • I had a slightly morbid thought while studying for my brit lit test today. I want the Shakespearian song from Cymbeline to appear on my tombstone:

    Fear no more the heat o' th' sun

        Nor the furious winter's rages;

    Though thy worldly task hast done,

        Home art gone and ta'en thy wages.

    Golden lads and girls all must,

    As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.

     

    Fear no more the frown o' th' great;

        Thou art past the tyrant's stroke.

    Care no more to clothe and eat;

        To thee the reed is as the oak.

    The sceptre, learning, physic, must

    All follow this and come to dust.

     

    Fear no more the lightning flash,

        Nor th' all-dreaded thunder-stone;

    Fear no slander, censure rash;

        Thou hast finished joy and moan.

    All lovers young, all lovers must

    Consign to thee and come to dust.

     

    No exorciser harm thee,

    Nor no witchcraft charm thee.

    Ghost unlaid forbear thee;

    Nothing ill come near thee.

    Quiet consummation have,

    And renowned be thy grave.

    It is a bit long, maybe just a stanza or two....

Tuesday, May 06, 2008

  • Product of Procrastonation

    this is what I do when I can't make myself study:

    This one is inspired by recent events; a friend of the family recently got back from Iraq, and he expects everyone to ignore his disgusting behavior just because he is a "hero" (he didn't really do anything more than any other soldier, but he feels entitled). I think He's a whore, and the whole business arguing with him and whatnot is aggravating me.[FORGIVE THE HORRIBLE RENDITION OF THE BIRD, I'VE NEVER FELT COMPELLED TO DRAW IT BEFORE, AND THAT WAS A FIRST ATTEMPT]




    My family, the super "nice" people that they are, is letting a friend of my sister's live with them, for the time being. She's just about the dumbest person I've ever met, she doesn't get rhetorical questions, and she's constantly mistaking words for other words ..... btw she slept with the guy i called a whore in the previous drawing.





    This next one was an actual conversation I had with my little brother, angel that he is......



    the next two are just a slice of my life, and a few thoughts I've had.


Monday, May 05, 2008

  • Next semester I"m taking a metrical poetry workshop. Meter is the bane of my life, my metrical poems tend to be saccharine and cliche, or pathetically angsty..(I hate it when i read it in other people's poetry, and i hate it even more when it appears in mine).

    So for now, here's the last of the free verse (other than what i randomly come up with to post on here):

    The Shack 

    There it sits on the edge of town
    It used to be a meeting place
    Where the faithful went to worship
    Now, Holes in the roof leak water on to beams
    Where it slides until it drops down.
    Dripping onto that old organ’s yellowed ivory keys.
    Purple velvet bleached to lilac, covers pews
    Set into straight rows
    where the ghosts of parishioners still sit
    looking for absolution and redemption
    somewhere out of sight
    a shutter flaps and bangs in the wind
    weakly mourning its decay.
    Scraps of paper and fallen plaster
    scatter in the breeze.
    I sit here, on this lilac bench
    Praying for deliverance or salvation or whatever may be
    Just for something to happen,
    and for the shutter to finally stop flapping in the wind.


Sunday, May 04, 2008

  • Currently Reading
    The Place of the Lion
    By Charles Williams
    see related

    Compared to Yours, Mine is infinite

    you're a guy

    you want to know what it's like?

    you can't comprehend what it's like for me

    for you it's this continuous upward journey

    building and building to an ultimate reward

    and then when you finally reach the peak

    there it is, just waiting for you

    you shudder with ecstasy and fall

    from the peak exhausted

    into Morpheus's arms.

    for me it's much different

    it begins the same

    blood starts pumping

    heat radiates from every part of my body

    breath quickens and pupils dilate

    my journey, like yours, is upward

    yearning for something... just.. out... .of ... reach

    every now and then i get sweet intimations of it

    small rises compared with what's to come

    rise and dip, moan and gasp

    over and over again

    little climaxes building to the finale

    and when it comes,  o it comes

    over and over

    slowly subsiding

    but it doesn't exhaust me

    i have a strange clarity

    and all i want to do

    is meld every inch of my skin to yours

    touch you everywhere all at once

    and to be touched everywhere all at once

    in a still and seemingly eternal paralytic embrace.

beth_of_bells

  • Visit beth_of_bells's Xanga Site
    • Name: beth
    • Birthday: 8/21/1987
    • Gender: Female
    • Member Since: 4/29/2007

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About Me

  • There are times when I loathe everything about the place i'm at, and then there are times when i love it. My emotions tend to be as changeable as the seasons.

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