(This video references rape, be advised.)
(This video references rape, be advised.)
( The past several days, catching up on life. )
The philosophy class I switched into after switching out of geology is really, very interesting. It's about the only class I have that I'm taking with other people I know from around the house or through my roommate, so it's unique in that sense and it's also unique in that I really enjoy the assigned readings and find the discussion that they promote to be absolutely fascinating. It is a little intimidating, because every spare comment you choose to offer gets picked apart by the professor, who prompts you to elaborate on every little thing. He's not mean about it, he's just provoking more discussion and making you think, but it's stopped me from speaking up more than once.
Dave Vera (a local poet and Walt Whitman enthusiast) came to speak to my writing class on Friday. That also was fascinating to me. He knew like, everything about the man and really brought his poetry into perspective. So that was pretty awesome.
I was sick earlier this week, but I've mostly recovered. I don't think any of my schoolwork really took a hit, which is good. A lot of people have been sick lately, but then again there's been a lot of partying going on around campus, so I'm sure that doesn't really help those people. As for myself, I've enjoyed a few quiet nights in of reading/writing/tv watching and feel much better. I borrowed Sin City from the library to watch tomorrow.
Today was the Freshman Day of Service and, overall, I found the experience to be disappointing. My group was assigned to go to team up with a society dedicated to cleaning the rivers. We drove 45 minutes away, waited around for a while, then were ferried down the river and dropped off to pick up trash for an hour. Then we drove back. Seriously? I feel like we could have done a lot more for the local community, not just by going to a different service site, but for- I don't know- working the whole day? The plus was that I got a free water bottle (just lost mine yesterday) and Jeff Corwin (the guy from Animal Planet) talked to us for 15 minutes at the opening ceremony. I have to say, though, he wasn't very compelling. A lot of talk about frogs, incredible repetition of the phrase "the power of one" and one side story about his cameraman telling him he (Jeff) couldn't outrun that cheetah and Jeff responding "No, but I can outrun you." That was pretty amusing, at least.
Tomorrow I plan on going to the grocery store (out of milk, but not out of cereal) and doing homework. Good times!
On top of that, I updated the list of things I've read, where I'm tallying the pages and comparing them to what I accomplished last year. Last year I read 12663 pages. Right now, over halfway through the year- I'm at 3657. Not so impressive, unless I count all the things I've found online, and read via the interweb before I realized they were also available in print. Those weren't in my original tally! Which means, Shadow of the Templar (the entire series- which is on my list of things I want, but will never ask my parents for and will probably buy my fresh. year of college) gets tacked on, as well as The God Eaters by Jesse Hajicek, which I read all of between yesterday afternoon and this morning. It was a brilliant mix of fantasy, adventure and western (gay) romance; my heart is still pounding. All of you should go read and/or buy it now.
So, that brings my total up to a slightly more respectable 5610. It's amazing how I can read the equivalent of 450 pages of fiction online in less than 24 hours, but still haven't managed to start my summer reading, which is shorter than that by far.
( What I've been up to, as well as a bit of poetry, loneliness and some google.docs hating... )
On an entirely different note- because hey, if I'm going to make a long post, I might as well make it worth it- I am beating myself over the head in an attempt to convince my muses that NaNo is an entirely unthinkable obligation to make this year. What with college apps, AP classes, my creative writing class, youth council obligations, club duties and marching band stuff, I seriously do not have time for it this year. But on the off-chance that I make time, I have a brilliant plot involving adventure, thievery, corruption, and possibly romance and the most endearing characters/muses ever. Also I have basically the whole plot, just waiting to be committed to an outline.
Can anyone else see that this will not be a good thing, whichever way it goes?
( Sixty-five more words that begin with the letters 'wh'... )
So, this poem makes me fidgity, because I think it looks more like prose. Take that as you will. Originally titled "This Shower is Fed by a River in Egypt", currently just referred to as "This Shower".
Stepping under the spray of icy water he shudders
against the pressure on his purpled chest, and the
torture of this glass stall. He forgoes body wash,
willing the water alone to rid his body of sweat and sin.
It does not.
Flushed skin and uneven breaths; his thoughts
are desperate, for he knows he has been marked,
permanently, and unlike a Sharpie the evidence
will not fade after repeated scrubbing.
He has been tainted and can’t come clean.
It’s a secret though, because no one needs to know
that each of his thoughts pushes him nearer to the
fires of hell. Thoughts about attraction and bodies
that are the wrong shape, with not enough curves.
He needs this problem to disappear.
So he resolves to make that happen. This shower is
futile; instead of cleansing himself, he can only hide
and deny this condemnable love. Surely doing so
will save him from the fate of the eternally damned.
will not convey
I am outside
myself in this
pulse of bodies
thrum of music
riot of life.
goes deeper than
who can say that
beating is not
the bass but our
hearts after all?
>.> Deeefinitely influenced by Skins.
You take the feelings and
lock them into words
a letter, a note, to your
invisible friend and you
thank God he can't read.
They are a literary
Pandora's Box, these words;
Destructive. Cruel. Monsters,
that wait to tear you apart,
the moment the lid is sprung.
But you are no fool- curiosity
has no hold over you or your
unseen friend, because you
know what lies inside and
will never release it.
Or maybe you are a fool,
for even Pandora's box was
opened and, doubt and fear
have never known wooden walls.
dust in her hair, on her face, in her eyes
and fingernails that scratch against the grit
of a journey she’s been traveling for too long
far too long
she is tired and the sun is still rising high
climbing through the desert sky, with no respect
for aching bones and freckling burned skin
souvenirs of a life she just keeps living