Tuesday, November 29, 2005
In the car, on the local classic rock station, I heard several George Harrison songs. ("Apple Scruffs," which inspired my screen name for those of you who know it, was one of them. Oooooh :) I was wondering why they were playing George songs until I realized that today is November 29. The four year anniversary of George's death. *Sigh*
They played Within You, Without You, which I think is a beautiful, profound song by a beautiful, profound person.
We were talking
about the space between us all
and people who hide themselves
behind a wall of illusion
never glimpse the truth
then it's far too late
when they pass away
We were talking
about the love we all could share
When we find it
to try our best to hold it there
with our love, with our love
we could save the world
if they only knew
Try to realize it's all within yourself
no one else can make you change
And to see you're really only very small
and life flows on within you and without you
We were talking
about the love that's gone so cold
and the people who gain the world
and lose their soul
They don't know, they can't see
Are you one of them?
When you've seen beyond yourself
then you may find
peace of mind is waiting there
And the time will come
when you see we're all one
and life flows on within you and without you.
Monday, November 28, 2005
This morning I was reading excerpts from one of the adult books on Christian living to Mother.
"The Word of God says, 'Be not unequally yoked together with unbelievers, for what fellowship hath righteousness with unrighteousness, and what communion hath light with darkness?' God makes it perfectly clear that a believer is not to marry an unbeliever. If that's true, then why date an unbeliever? You don't share any common spiritual ground."
I guess you could say I'm guilty of being unequally yoked in my current relationship, along with plenty of other sins I commit daily. (I'm not even going to get into how offensive I find it that those of other religions or no religion are 'darkness' out to contaminate those of us in the 'light'.) I said to Mother, "This whole Christian life thing is really not feasible." She said, "Yeah, but some people do it. How do they do it?" I replied, "You don't know that they do; it just appears to others that they do. You never really know." She said, "Well, that's why the Bible says that the road is narrow. Broad is the road to destruction and most people enter there."
I said to her, "Suppose a teacher gives a test to a class. She tells the class, 'I have made this test extremely hard... unbelievably hard. Only about two of you will pass, and those of you who fail will burn in hell for all eternity.' Can you imagine such a thing?" She said the Holy Spirit gives us the answers.
I guess it's a bad analogy. Supposedly God doesn't make it hard for us, Adam did, or the Devil, or whatever. And the Holy Spirit doesn't take away the difficulty and struggle of getting the answer right simply by providing it.
On Thanksgiving we drove past a church, one of those big, beautiful ones that has been around for a hundred years, and I was filled with such a longing. I don't know why. Part of the religious life appeals to me so much. I used to be so pious, you know? Now it's like, to hell with everything, and I don't think that's me either. I need to figure out where 'me' lies.
I'm even craving C.S. Lewis. What's going on, folks?
On another note, I think the whole hell thing has been bothering me again. Last night I had a disturbing dream, something about me living the wrong way and going to be punished for it, but I don't remember the details. It's fuzzy.
Do I deserve to go to hell? Do any of us?
Sunday, November 27, 2005
I was looking at the American Poems website this morning and all of a sudden I remembered an essay I had written in high school, a fictitious account in which I met Emily Dickinson. It was one of those falling-asleep-while-writing-a-paper-on-Emily-Dickinson-and-waking-up-back-in-time-totally-plagiarized-from-Twain's-Connecticut-Yankee-idea stories, and from what I remember, I encouraged her to come out of her shell and live a little. You know, leave the house once in a while. God, I wish I still had a copy of that.
Come to think of it, that seems to be a theme of my high school writing. Another English teacher assigned us an essay in which we were supposed to take two characters from the books we had read and fictionalize a meeting between them. I made Pilate Dead from Song of Solomon meet Laura Wingfield from The Glass Menagerie, and naturally, Pilate told Laura to suck it up and have some confidence.
Maybe I was meant to be a motivational speaker, and not a writer.
Saturday, November 26, 2005
Sick sick sick. You know how everyone has at least one loser friend who's always sick and you think they're either a hypochondriac or making it up so they don't have to hang out with you? I'm that friend. Sick practically every other week, I swear. Consequently, I missed out on Thanksgiving leftover day. Oh well. I guess that counteracts the bad eating choices I made on Thanksgiving, doesn't it?
I think Comtrex is the worst medicine in the world. It knocks out your cold symptoms but it makes you want to curl up into a ball and die. Hell in pill form. Fortunately, I finished one of my papers yesterday, but afterwards, I wasn't able to do any work. I couldn't even get myself to read - READ! I stayed in bed and watched the entire first season of the Vicar of Dibley. I made Mother watch the Elton John episode with me. Ha! I love that show.
Friday, November 25, 2005
I had a nice Thanksgiving. If you haven't played Catch Phrase, you should play it. With several people. It's quite possibly the most fun game ever.
Now I can't sleep; I guess my tummy is too full. Just because you don't eat turkey doesn't mean a damn thing. Whew. But it's only one day of over-indulgence a year, and how unpatriotic would I be if I didn't participate?
Memorable Quotes of the Evening:
Clue: "The place in Italy with all the water and gondolas!"
Clue: "The Shakespeare play about food!"
Clue: "Eggs and..."
The best part of my day was Sister badgering me about a dessert that I make on Thanksgiving and Christmas. It's a treat that my family affectionately calls Pecan Slop. That's the most accurate way to describe it. Sister is the tough-girl type who will never admit that she likes the stuff, yet she eats practically the whole damn thing when I make it. Today I didn't make it because Mother bought/made way too much dessert. Sister went on and on about how much she wanted some, even though she "doesn't like it." She said, "I want some of that nasty stuff that gets stuck in my teeth!!" *Laughs* Weirdo.
Thursday, November 24, 2005
Happy Half-Nekkid Thanksgiving everyone! Here is a shot of Sojourness pretending to be domestic. I actually used to be, cooking and sewing and caring for children, but those things have gone out of style for me, at least at twenty-one.
I saw Nutritionist yesterday and apparently I lost another pound and a half. Damn, this weight loss "the healthy way" thing is slow. I miss the good old days when you just didn't eat for a while and it melted right off :] But that's okay, I'm not entering any Miss America pageants in the near future.
Everyone have a great T-day, eat a bunch, and I will see you at the gym on Friday.
Monday, November 21, 2005
We were watching Sister play one of those old school Super Mario games, and at one point, Mario jumped and fell into a sea of flames. I said, "He must've been a sinner," which sent F.S. into a frenzy of laughter (but not Mother).
Strangely enough, I had a religious discussion with Ex last night. He IMed me to say hello and all that, and I let something slip about my current spiritual state (a sarcastic joke, you know me). All of a sudden, he was pretty concerned. (They always are.) His father is a pastor; what the hell was I thinking, saying that to him? I suppose I should be flattered by the Christians I know being so concerned about my soul, but I have come to resent the implications. He asked me why I feel the way I do, I told him that it takes intellectual leaps to believe certain things (F.S. later commented, "Leaps? Try the Grand Canyon."), eccetera, eccetera. I cut the conversation short because I just can't listen to that stuff anymore. Healthy, lively apologetics debates use to fascinate me; now they just get on my nerves. He said that he would pray for my faith to return. I'm not a total callous bitch, I appreciate it, I really do, but geez. Of all people to want to lead me on the straight and narrow.
F.S. and I had more of our great talks as we traveled to the library together. Topics included Free Will, Schmee Will, Name That Poet, and Modern Heresy 101. Good times.
Tonight we took my sisters out to dinner. It was like we were playing house. At one point, F.S. said, "This is the closest that I will ever come to a heterosexual family." It was very funny. Kid Sister #2 kept calling F.S. by Boyfriend's name because the last time I took them to dinner at that restaurant, it was with Boyfriend. Ahh, my heart hurts. Anyway...
I think that I am due for a celebration anyway, because I finally finished editing Mentor's book. Woohoo. We have been having a lot of fun. Earlier we watched The Vicar of Dibley and Talk Sex with Sue Johanson with Mother. Now we are up at all hours, with Bud Light and chocolate and good conversation. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind is on T.V. I love this movie when I'm feeling down. I can't explain why, it's just one of those movies, you know? I love the Italian movie poster; it translates into "If you leave me, I'll erase you." Hee hee.
Saturday, November 19, 2005
Friday, November 18, 2005
I burst into uncontrollable laughter. She gave me a look that was half-smirk, half-you-shouldn't-be-laughing-so-hard-when-did-my- daughter-become-such-a-heathen? Yes folks, this little gem was on the door to my and my sister's bedroom when we were growing up. The folks must have bought it and bestowed it upon us. I can't believe this used to hang in our home. How far we... uh, I... have fallen.
I hung out with Fellow Seeker last night, and we discussed this very thing. I hadn't seen him in nearly a month because I was pulling my recluse bit for a while. Yesterday, however, I was having a really bad day, so instead of going to Italian class, I trekked out to see him for a few hours. We were leaving the library (yes, we are so cool) and I asked him, "Do you still consider yourself a Christian?" He said no. I said, "Me either. I feel like it's deceptive to even use that term, it's so inaccurate." He agreed. He said, "I am only a Christian in the most liberal, liberal sense of the term." I don't even think I can lay claim to that.
At one point in the evening we were waiting for what seemed like an eternity for the light to change so we could cross the street. I was like, "C'mon, I'm getting old here," which then inspired me to burst into verse: "I grow old. I grow old. I shall wear my trousers rolled." F.S. started laughing and asked what I was reciting (apparently I don't have it in me to just be poetic in my own right). I told him it was Eliot and tried to remember as much as I could from one of my favorite poems, which was unfortunately not much. "Let us go then, you and I, when the evening is spread out against the sky like a patient etherised upon a table." "I have measured out my life in coffee spoons." "Do I dare eat a peach?" "Mermaids singing, each to each. I do not think they will sing to me." "Till human voices wake us, and we drown." You know what? It doesn't make much sense that way. I once heard one of the younger fellows rap that poem to a hip hop beat, and he had memorized all the words. It was one of the most beautiful things I have ever heard.
The more I spend time with myself, the more I think that I am possibly one of the most boring people ever. After reading what I said while walking down the street with F.S. last night, I don't think you can dispute that :]
Today the strangest thing happened in class. We were discussing a book we just finished reading: Refuge by Terry Tempest Williams. In the book, Williams talks about her mother's bouts with cancer, and there is a bit of conflict between her Mormonism and her feminism (if not feminism, then simply her self-respect). At one point, she says that she considers the Holy Spirit to be a Mothergod because there is a Father and a Son, so that would complete the heavenly trinity.
First, Professor G began discussing illness and what it does to the family in the book. He then asked us if we had any personal experiences on the topic that we wanted to share. I thought I was going to start retching. My stomach literally did flips. I felt like everything I had eaten that day was going to be on display in about five seconds, so I left the room. It was so strange. I had never had such strong physical reactions to painful subjects before. Maybe they had bothered me, but not that much.
Anyway, I stayed out in the hallway for a few minutes. I spent the time returning Mother's phone call, and I mentioned to her that I was hiding out in the hallway and why. She said to me, "Well, if it makes you feel any better, Father's dealing with it pretty well. He has God's grace to get through it. God's grace and Valium." She didn't mean it as a joke, but I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
I returned to the classroom and was quite relieved to find that the discussion had ended. Professor G. informed me that we were rereading the Mothergod passage. I sat down and pretended to read it. I was still a little fuzzy. After reading it, we got into a "discussion" that quickly turned into a heated debate. I fear that the heated part was my doing. (Future Priest can attest to this.) Now, normally I can get pretty worked up in debates, especially over feminist issues. At times, I will get angry. Not because I can't handle being disagreed with, but because sometimes I feel that people say things that are terribly insensitive without realizing it. When someone derides the feminist cause, I feel like they're personally deriding me as a woman, and it upsets me. Today, however, I practically exploded. I think that came from the fact that we were not just talking about feminism, but about God and spirituality, and all the anger and resentment I have towards God, coupled with the nausea I was enduring due to the previous topic of conversation, proved to be a volatile combination. I stated emphatically, "It's easy for men to say that God is gender-less, because you don't know what it's like to be a woman! You don't know what it's like to pick up the Bible - a book that's supposed to guide you in life - and always have to read about 'God the Father' and 'the righteous man' and 'he' 'he' 'he,' and the only time you hear about a woman is in Proverbs 31, about how the ideal woman takes care of her husband and children. As men, you just can't understand." (There are six people in the class, and there is only one other woman besides me.) After I had said it, I could feel how flushed my cheeks were, and I thought, "Why am I so worked up?" A couple of the guys said something along the lines of how I had just dealt a blow to all of them. I don't see how; saying that they don't understand what it's like to be a woman is not exactly news, and it's not an insult. I told them that I couldn't understand what it's like to be a man; it goes both ways. *Shrugs shoulders*
Also, I told Professor G. that I had read up on women leaving the faith because they felt it denigrated them, and the reason that I had read up on it was because "I used to be a Christian." I swear, I actually said that. It was the first time I had verbally admitted to something like that, and I could barely get the words out, because it was just so damn strange.
Thursday, November 17, 2005
Happy HNT my darlings. I look like a librarian in this picture, don't I? I know I've done the eye shot before (in my treatise on the sexist implications of eyebrow waxing) but this photo looks more scholarly. Hee hee.
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
"The artist, like the God of the creation, remains within or behind or beyond or above his handiwork, invisible, refined out of existence, indifferent, paring his fingernails."Professor G. told us about this quote as we discussed Deism in class the other day. The Religious Tolerance website defines Deism beautifully: The God That Got Away. Deism.org elaborates: "Belief in God as revealed by nature and reason combined with a disbelief in scripture, prophets, superstition and church authority." Professor G. described it as the belief in a God who created the universe and then withdrew completely. Doesn't care at all about what goes on down here. That makes so much sense to me right now, I cannot tell you.
The discussion came up when we were analyzing this poem:
"Inditing a Good Matter"
I find nothing to say,
I am heavy as lead.
I take small satisfaction
in anything I have said.
Evangelists want your assent,
be it cringing, or idle, or eager.
God shrugs. We taste dismay,
as sharp as vinegar.
He shrugs. How can He care
what billets-doux we send Him,
how much we applaud? Such coxcombs
inclined to commend Him!
My heart had been inditing
a good matter. My tongue
was the pen of a ready writer
who had been writing too long.
Whoever supposes his business
is to commend and bless
is due for this comeuppance:
feeling it less and less.
But I find something to say.
I pump it out, heavy as lead:
'Buoy me up out of the shadow
of your ramparts overhead.'
Like one of those vanished performers
on an afternoon-matinee console,
'Admit to your rock
this ready, this shriven, soul.'
Obviously Davie is saying that it is useless to praise God and to think that He cares about anything we do. Professor G. asked us what we thought the last part meant, and I said that Davie is challenging God. He's telling God, "Buoy me up out of the shadow of your ramparts overhead." In other words, "Why don't you do something? Why don't you help me?" Professor G. agreed that it was a challenge. I didn't come up with it because I'm so great at analyzing poetry. It just seemed obvious to me because I tell God that very thing practically every day. What are You doing up there? Paring Your fingernails?
Saturday, November 12, 2005
But, you know, I can't blame Pat all that much. It's not like he doesn't have a biblical basis for his threats.
15But it shall come to pass, if thou wilt not hearken unto the voice of the LORD thy God, to observe to do all his commandments and his statutes which I command thee this day; that all these curses shall come upon thee, and overtake thee:
21The LORD shall make the pestilence cleave unto thee, until he have consumed thee from off the land, whither thou goest to possess it.
22The LORD shall smite thee with a consumption, and with a fever, and with an inflammation, and with an extreme burning, and with the sword, and with blasting, and with mildew; and they shall pursue thee until thou perish.
27The LORD will smite thee with the botch of Egypt, and with the emerods, and with the scab, and with the itch, whereof thou canst not be healed.
28The LORD shall smite thee with madness, and blindness, and astonishment of heart:
35The LORD shall smite thee in the knees, and in the legs, with a sore botch that cannot be healed, from the sole of thy foot unto the top of thy head.
45Moreover all these curses shall come upon thee, and shall pursue thee, and overtake thee, till thou be destroyed; because thou hearkenedst not unto the voice of the LORD thy God, to keep his commandments and his statutes which he commanded thee [...].
Yowser. The last thing you want is to be smote with mildew.
The only problem with this logic is the fact that God didn't explicitly command intelligent design to be taught in schools. If He would print out a couple more tablets or something, it might clarify things a bit.
Facetiousness aside, this is how religion strikes me now, I swear. Well, my religion. Er, my family's religion? Someone's religion anyway.
I'm not anti-I.D. though. I think it would be nice to explain that there are competing theories, whether I.D. is "bad science" or "un-science" or not. The truth is, there are competing theories, and no one is forcing kids to accept one over the other. It's not like they won't learn about religion in school anyway. My high school global history class was full of it. Christianity, Islam, animism... they all popped up in one section or another. If we only taught what was proven as fact, we would have no philosophy courses, no experimental literature, none of the stuff that makes academia fun!
But that's just me.
Friday, November 11, 2005
The first obligation of the day was my appointment with the nutritionist. Apparently I lost three pounds in the past two weeks. That put me in a great mood, because although I had done really well on some days, others were a disaster. After the appointment, I had a two-hour magazine meeting. We went over the submissions we're actually putting in, categorized them and put them in order.
After that, I had an Italian test. We had one of those Study Abroad people come in before the test to try to coerce us all to apply to go to Italy. After she left, Professor M. told us that there are several scholarships available to go. He has spoken of this before, but he's always referring to the summer, so I didn't think I could go (I have to do an internship this summer). After I finished my test, he asked me to step out into the hallway for a minute. I did, and he said that I should apply for a certain scholarship. I think it's around $5,000 to go study in Italy. He said, "If you apply for it, there's no way we would turn you down." I explained that I can't do it in the summer and he said that I could go whenever I want. He even said that if I choose to go for a semester rather than the summer, it would be in my favor, because apparently everyone wants to go in the summer and they're really trying to push this program more.
What an amazing opportunity. I'm not sure if I should apply for it, though, because I am most likely going abroad for my summer internship (might be to Italy, actually, but a different city). Do I really want to spend five months away from home? Yes and no. I don't want to pass up something that could change my life, but at the same time, Boyfriend may finally be set up here by then. I don't want to be away from him for so long. It's hard enough now.
Anyway, last night I went to a Scholarship Reception at the College President's home. They want recipients to go so that they can personally thank their donors. My donor wasn't there. I hate these cocktail things; they make me nervous. It was alright, though. I met a lot of people in administration, some alum's, and other students. I had a great conversation with the President's assistant about Toni Morrison and Truman Capote (she teaches English lit). The President had stacked various books on her coffee table. On top of the pile was The Plot Against America by Philip Roth. I wanted nothing more than to dive onto her couch with that book and not have to stand there awkwardly sipping my Diet Coke.
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
This morning I went for a walk by the beach. I have decided that it would be beneficial to walk every morning rather than once or twice a week, so I began today. Bundled up, book in hand, I began to walk.
I had walked half a mile when I stopped to sit down. I wasn't tired; I just needed to sit and reflect for a while. I couldn't concentrate on my book anymore. I sat there with my hair blowing in my face, shivering. An old man rode by on a bicycle. First, he nodded as if to say hello. The second time he passed me, he asked "Can I get you some coffee?" I laughed and said no. He said, "I'm serious. It's cold!" I assured him that I was fine. I don't know what I was doing. I was sitting there, staring at the water, for the longest time. I felt like Virginia Woolf, only there weren't any rocks around. (Well, the pictures make a liar out of me, but who had the energy to walk to the shore and pick one up? Geez Louise.)
I went home to swap the book for Boyfriend's camera, and I came back out. I spent over an hour just taking pictures. I think I needed to do something that didn't require much thought. I took over 70 pictures. My new profile picture is one of them, and here are my favorites:
They looked better when they were enormous but I had to resize them to stick them here. Que sera, sera. Oh, I guess the last one is my HNT pic, early once again.
I came home and got ready for the Scholarship Ceremony at school. Makeup and all. Then I sat on my bed and decided that sitting in my room would be a better way to spend the afternoon. So I did.
Then I decided that I was sick of the sight of my room, and the rest of the house for that matter, so I drove to Starbucks. I sat by the window with a Pumpkin Spice Latte, watched the rain fall outside, and cried. The other patrons must have thought I was crazy.
I didn't know what to do with myself, so I went to school and spent some time in the lounge. Future Priest bugged me. Then I went to visit Father.
"Mom says you don't like seeing me like this."
"Don't worry, I'll be walking around in no time."
"I miss taking you to lunch. One of the nurses told me that her kids love it when she takes them to lunch because she pays, and I said, 'My daughter too!'"
Where the fuck are those rocks.
Monday, November 07, 2005
I had a lovely time. We talked about school, relationships, traveling, depression, vegetarianism, writing, and Conservatives over saag paneer and vegetable kurma. A glittery Indian painting hung to our left. It made me sad to sit across from her and think that in the past few years, we had been reduced to meeting once a month, or even less, and now she was leaving to start new adventures in new places without me. She is very close to my heart.
I met Best Friend when I was around seven years old. She lived around the corner from me and I think my mother sold her mother Avon products or something. Pretty soon, our mothers plopped us into dance class together. By the time our recitals came and went, we had formed a bond. We were inseparable for the next few years, but when we went to different junior high schools, we lost touch. We started hanging out again when we got to high school. It was just before my sixteenth birthday.
When we were seventeen, we went to a showing of "A Hard Day's Night" at a local movie theater with three other friends (well, two other friends and a constant tag-along that neither Best Friend nor I liked). It was the first time I was seeing the movie, and the first time they had seen it in years. We fell in love from the very opening chords. The Beatles were young and countercultural and witty . . . everything we wanted to be at the time. We tumbled out of that theater as energized as the boys themselves were in the film, skipping along the streets and chattering excitedly. As it were, each of us had taken a liking to a certain Beatle and we decided to "assume" their identities. One friend, the one who had an obsession with pretty boys, asserted, "I'm Paul." Best Friend laid claim to George, and I chimed in, "I'm Ringo!" We turned and looked at our hippie friend, telling her that she was so John. She made a peace sign. We made the annoying tag-along Paul's clean grandfather. We lined up and crossed the streets in Abbey Road order. Yeah, we did.
The other friends fell by the wayside, but B.F. and I held fast. We were the only two of the group who got to meet Paul and Ringo in the following years. When I was in the hospital for appendicitis, she made me a Ringo teddy bear out of a plain teddy bear and hair extensions. When she studied abroad in England, she wrote our names on the heavily graffiti-ized Abbey Road sign. When George died, she called from London and we choked on our tears together. Our high school yearbooks are marked with messages to and from "George" and "Ringo."
The last time she left the country for three months, she sent me postcards from London, Liverpool, Venice, Florence, Rome, Nice, and Paris. She was a college student for the first time, having new experiences and seeing new places. I was not yet a college student, opting to take time off to raise my newborn siblings. Two totally different experiences, bridged by letters and photos and friendship.
I hope that this trip is just as, if not more, fulfilling for her than the last one. And I hope that we hang out a lot more when she gets back.
It says: "Charon ushers you across the river Acheron, and you find yourself upon the brink of grief's abysmal valley. You are in Limbo, a place of sorrow without torment. You encounter a seven-walled castle, and within those walls you find rolling fresh meadows illuminated by the light of reason, whereabout many shades dwell. These are the virtuous pagans, the great philosophers and authors, unbaptised children, and others unfit to enter the kingdom of heaven. You share company with Caesar, Homer, Virgil, Socrates, and Aristotle. There is no punishment here, and the atmosphere is peaceful, yet sad."
I seriously dig my company in Limbo.
The Dante's Inferno Test has sent me to the First Level of Hell - Limbo!
Here is how I matched up against all the levels:
|Purgatory (Repenting Believers)||Moderate|
|Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)||High|
|Level 2 (Lustful)||Moderate|
|Level 3 (Gluttonous)||Low|
|Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)||Very Low|
|Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)||Moderate|
|Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)||Very Low|
|Level 7 (Violent)||Low|
|Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)||Moderate|
|Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)||Very Low|
Take the Dante's Inferno Hell Test
Sunday, November 06, 2005
If but some vengeful god would call to me
From up the sky, and laugh: 'Thou suffering thing,
Know that thy sorrow is my ecstasy,
That thy love's loss is my hate's profiting!"
Then would I bear it, clench myself, and die,
Steeled by the sense of ire unmerited;
Half-eased in that a Powerfuller than I
Had willed and meted me the tears I shed.
But not so. How arrives it joy lies slain,
And why unblooms the best hope ever sown?
- Crass Casualty obstructs the sun and rain,
And dicing Time for gladness casts a moan. . . .
These purblind Doomsters had as readily strown
Blisses about my pilgrimage as pain.
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
Yesterday was a crazy day in poetry class. We were getting back our first papers and our midterms. One of the poems we had to go over was "The Rites of Hysteria" by David Gascoyne. It's a surreal poem with all kinds of crazy images. Professor G. then gave us two tasks to complete in groups. First, we had to choose a stanza of the poem and then illustrate it. Second, we had to write our own surreal poems about life at our college. The group with the best picture would get their lowest grade (either the paper or the midterm) boosted, and so would the group with the best poem.
I did the illustration, not because I can draw but because the two girls in my group didn't seem to want to. This is the stanza I did:
The perfumed lenses whose tongues were tied up with wire
The boxes of tears and the bicycles coated with stains
Swam out of their false-bottomed nests into clouds of dismay
Where the gleams and the moth-bitten monsters the puddles of soot
And a half-strangled gibbet all cut off an archangel's wings
The flatfooted heart of a memory opened its solitary eye
Till the freak in the showcase was smothered in mucus and sweat
Yeah, I had to draw that. Can you imagine? Then the three of us wrote a poem about how hard it is to park at school. Well, our picture was chosen (along with two others, a three-way tie) and our poem was chosen, so he said he was giving us a double grade boost. I couldn't believe it. Now I'm kicking myself for having studied so hard.