Love Song to Summer

My newest poem. Prose. Thing. It's quite a bit better than the last, I think.

The blue vessel sits, solitary and neglected, downstairs
Silver spokes reflecting dimly the light of the single window 
Surrounded by so many other things neglected and forgotten -
But it is not their season. 

My soul cries out as if to some departed lover
Summer, where have you gone?
For I loved you while you remained, giving me your heat
Showing me the glorious life sheltered under your wings.

Brown-skinned and content, I played under your skies
Like a youth, forgetting
The change would come, the cycles re-turn,
As I happily rode my own cycle down lanes and avenues.

The cold fingers of winter are slowly loosening their grip
Afraid to let go, or perhaps jealous.
But I feel the promise of my lover's return in the air
In the steadily growing light, the softened grass underfoot. 

The birds fly by, sparrows singing the herald-song
Finches giving promises of budded trees and blooming flowers
Even crows, gathered in their murders, gossip -
For summer, the time for living, is coming.

And I count down the days and await through long hours
The lonely cycle haunting me between thoughts of you. 
I have grown and changed since last you saw me. 
Will you know me?

Can we be as we once were,
When your arms cradled me, surrounding me with light
Heating the earth under my feet, that I would be warm
Caressing my face with your fine daphne-scented breezes?

The other seasons courted me, but I have remained steadfast
Faithful to you, my first love. 
Return, that I may bask in your glorious days
That I may rejoice in the beauty of your nights. 

Return for the sake of the promise
That all that is left is not forgotten.

 

Bus Adventures

A woman sits there, not far from me
Her face blotched, her body bloated.
Her piglike eyes look at me, unseeing,
a permanent sneer twisting fat purple lips
in an impartial grimace.
Her hair sprouts from her head, dirty dishwater brown
with scattered bits of gravel grey.
Threads are strewn
about the frame of her expression, and,
at the back,
all individual strands are lost
in a thick, matted clump;
a gourd of hair, whose tip
falls just below her neck.
It seems a cancerous
untended growth,
bloated with years of neglect
textured by an eternity of dirt
and the grime that clings to her clothes
like moss to a dead tree.

En Ti Vive

I finally have something to write.

I was reading Pablo Neruda, and wanted to write something in Spanish.

It translates rather prettily, I guess, but I have no idea what it actually sounds like in the language I composed it in. Whether or not it flows.

Here. You can have it.

En Ti Vive

en ti, viven los nombres de doscientas mañanas,
y en ti vive la esperanza de los padres.
en ti, vive el sol de cien días de verano,
y en ti vive la luna de cien noches negras.

eres el orgullo de las estrellas,
y la boca de palabras infinitas y silenciosas.
tu aliento es de las brisas del mundo,
y tu lengua toca los labios del viento.

¿quién dice que tu vida no tiene significado?
¿quién dice cual persona es más importante?

todos tocan el mismo viento,
y sus almas cantan la misma canción.
ni te desesperes, ni te quites la esperanza,
porque eres precioso a mí.

And for all those English speakers who are like "Whoa, dude, wtf?!", here's a rough translation:

In You, Live

In you live the names of two hundred tomorrows,
and in you live the hope of fathers.
In you lives the sun of hundred days of summer,
and in you lives the moon of hundred black nights.

You are the pride of the stars,
and the mouth for silent and infinite words.
Your breath is of the breezes of the world,
and your tongue touches the lips of the wind.

Who says your life has no importance?
Who says which person is the greatest?

All touch of the same wind,
and their souls sing the same song.
Do not despair, and do not give up hope,
because you are precious to me.

No Longer

No longer will I have to rewind the past
Those I've come to glimpse of it;
No longer will I carry this weighted mass
Now I face the day with no shame!
- "No Longer", Decyfer Down

This song perfectly describes today for me.



And, oh my God, there are only ten days until my birthday.
I'm thinking a navel piercing is in order.

mp3toss . cowbirds . tv-links . film noir . relativism . danyboy

Solstice

The twenty-first of December is the first day of winter on the Gregorian calendar. It is also the winter solstice.

The winter solstice - the shortest, darkest day of the year, the day Earth is the furthest away in its orbit around the sun - has been celebrated the world over, through many different ceremonies and festivals alike. Usually the festivities are aimed towards convincing the deities of that culture, or even the sun itself, to extend the days once more; to bring light and warmth, and turn the seasons forwards in their cycle. Depending on the culture, the celebration was either a desperate sacrifice, one to make sure the seasons kept turning, or else it was a holiday, to celebrate the eventual coming of the spring.

The winter solstice - the shortest, the darkest day of the year - is also the day I was born.

This coming solstice, I will come of legal age.

It is almost the sort of thing that fantasy stories are built from. But really, it's just my birthday. Not all that special.

I'm feeling a little on the creative side. I want to create something. Write, draw, sculpt... something to let out the emotional oddness that I feel building inside me. I need an outlet.

Breathe In, Breathe Out, It's Only Monday

Had first read-through of the It's A Wonderful Life script tonight. I have officially been assigned the role of Violet, which, while not a major part, is incredible nonetheless. After only reading the lines aloud I had several people tell me I was perfect for the part, which is just great, considering what a sexy fox Violet is.

I'm making a contest with myself to see how soon I can memorize all of Violet's lines. I'm shooting for the end of this week. We'll see how that goes.

After rushing home from rehearsal I managed to finish ALL of my online Spanish workbook about seven minutes before the stroke of twelve... which probably doesn't actually affect my grade, but I'm still proud of myself for managing it. Why I didn't remember I HAD an online portion of the homework to do was completely bogus, to the point of being absolutely moronic. Undergoing a verbal beration from my mother about it when I was already beating myself over the head (with what little energy I had left from lack of sleep) somehow managed to make it that much worse.

And earlier today I finally (FINALLY) finished the pitcher from ceramics class that I've spent the last three weeks straight working on... I figure I've spent about eighteen to twenty hours on it total, what with the working on it outside of class and whatnot. I really hope I can still manage to get the other projects on my ceramics list done in time.

On a different note I've been hacking these lovely, chesty, phlegm-producing coughs for the last four or five days now. I'm not sure what these coughs are or where they came from, but the fact that I'm actively coughing things up is a good thing. I think.

Okay. I'm going to go collapse into bed now. Kitty want to snuggle?

Oh, yeah, and it's only Monday. DAMMIT.

Briefly Speaking

It's strange

I'd like to sleep...
I'd love to sleep...

I'm so very tired

Tired...

But not sleepy.

I close my eyes
And rest my head
And my mind busies itself

Restlessly self-defeating
My own best intentions

My body cannot remain
Comfortable
I twist and turn
On my usually comfortable mattress

Can I yet sleep?
I am so tired...

My mind must eventually stop

My thoughts must eventually meld
Into the bizarre dreams
And strange images
Which the brink of sleep lends them.

But not yet.
Not until my mind has exhausted itself
Run itself into the ground
Never listening to my own body

Please, stop, it entreats
And my mind listens not
But runs its own course
Robbing me of rest
Of peace and of healing

Can I yet sleep?
I am so very tired.

Of Actors and Auditioning

I had an audition on Friday evening to be in the play It's a Wonderful Life, the production by a local church. For my audition I found a really cute little poem I read aloud (and need to memorize):

“A Puzzle”, by Margaret Eytinge

Old Nathan was out in the garden
One beautiful flower-sweet day,
When Dorothy, golden-haired maiden,
Came pensively wandering that way.
“And isn’t this very fine weather?
I never saw finer,” said he,
But she made reply, “Why, I think it
As cheerless a morn as could be.”
“As cheerless?” repeated old Nathan,
Half in doubt he had heard her right,
Then he muttered, “She’s daft,” for he knew not
She had quarreled with Robert last night.

The day was departing; its sunshine
Had vanished; the wind whistled shrill;
The birds hurried home to their nestlings,
And the air grew quite heavy and chill.
The gardener hastened to shelter
His tender young plants, when again
Dolly passed him – this time with light footsteps –
And she called in the merriest strain,
“Oh! isn’t the weather just lovely?”
While her face fairly shone through the mist.
“She’s daft,” said old Nathan – he knew not
The lovers had met and had kissed.

Yes. Completely adorable. Well, a friend of mine (who auditioned soon after me) is good friends with the director, who is apparently the father of his best friend... and he says the director said that he "enjoyed me", which, despite its capacity for double entendre, is a very good sign. I should hear back within the next week on whether or not I got a part, though I've been informed that "there's a good possibility", which is heartening.

As for the audition itself, I believe I really do have a bit of the acting bug, so to speak. I almost expected myself to be entirely nervous about auditioning, but, quite honestly, I was merely excited. I wanted the opportunity to take my neat little poem and go to the front of the room and show it off to my three-person-audience. I was really very happy about it. My body still shook while I was performing, but the reaction didn't reach my emotions... as a matter of fact I was annoyed at my body for betraying what I considered a positive and fun experience.

Anyways. In short, we'll see how this pans out. I'm really very happy about this. Even if I don't get the part, I liked auditioning so much that I'm willing to try it some more.

As a completely irrelevant side note, my birthday is in 69 days. For the first time in years I find myself counting down the days. I think someone should throw me a party.

To My Passengers

Okay. So this last week has been a bit... busy.

Firstly, in my classes I am doing quite well. Art History is interesting, though certainly not riveting; Creative Writing Poetry I'm actually enjoying, and may post the fruits of my latest labors here before long, though as an actual "class" it is woefully lacking in instruction; Spanish is good to sink my teeth into, and it's cool to learn languages as well as find that I love doing so; Ceramics is not only fun, it's challenging, and I'm completely enjoying myself in creating these clay pots, sculptures, and whatnot. The problems come when I get too involved in the detail of a single pot when the class has been assigned to complete a certain number of objects by class' end. That aspect is rather frustrating to an artist like myself.

Secondly, spending five full hours with a person of the opposite gender who you have no will or desire to cultivate a personal relationship with, or, really, any relationship at all, is really rather stupid. On the one hand, yes, I learned a bit from him, and sketched a very nice full portrait of his character, but on the other hand five hours really wasn't necessary, thank you.

Thirdly, spending enough time talking with the person of the opposite gender, who you did have a very good interest in cultivating a personal relationship with, enough to find out that you really can't see spending your life with them, seems to be rather... disappointing, to say the least. Mentally, I'm already beginning to speak my goodbyes, and can even discern the beginning of relief; emotionally and physically, however, I can feel the palpable desire to take this relationship a lot further. It doesn't help that I really like and respect the guy.

Fourthly, I'm sick, and being sick sucks. I want to go to classes, and I HATE knowing that I'm not there and I'm going to MISS OUT ON SOMETHING! but alas, there is not really anything I can do besides sleep... and there's not much chance of that if I go to classes today.

So. In summary, there's been a little bit of frustration. I really wish... well. Several things. But the most important is definitely that I weren't feeling sick.

Also, read the book Darkly Dreaming Dexter (by Jeff Lindsay) the other day, which was the basis for the series Dexter on Showtime. Completely fascinating and amusing novel, sadly very short and not enough to truly get myself involved with... but I'm onto the second novel now, which will hopefully be a bit better in that respect.

The Actions of Children

Mon dieu, I am friends with absolute children! And ones who are trying to make lasting, adult-level decisions about the rest of their future... based on what? Physical attraction? Everyone else can see they're idiots for even hanging out together.

He's the most like a child... absolutely ridiculous in his actions, using his huge, gawky adult body to accomplish the will of a twelve-year-old (wrestle with me over a magazine? What kind of kid are you? What happened to the gentleman she said she was looking for?). She's practically babysitting him whenever she's with him. (And that will benefit a lasting relationship... how?) I fervently hope they don't have kids. It would be better if they never married in the first place, but I don't want any mother to have to deal with her children on top of a child-mannered father. I shudder at the thought of that scene.

She says she texts the most random inane sentences to him, and loves that he just texts back "Okay". A hint, sweetheart: it's not because he understands, accepts, and moves on. It's because he doesn't know what else to say. It's acknowledging you've spoken, that's all.

I love her to death, and I hate seeing where this relationship is taking her. All she's getting out of it right now is emotional gratification. I really hope the military with mature him, because I can't think of anything else that might. He's like a barely house-trained pet that has finally become big enough to realize the leash can't hold him. He doesn't appear to have solid rules for behaviour at all, let alone any social clue as to how a man should behave.

And this whole "I'm seeing a guy because he's seeing a girl I don't like"? What the hell? Oh yeah, that's completely solidifying your adult relationship. Come on, I thought you at least were more mature than that, girl. But even if you're not, this is CERTAINLY not convincing me of your adult status in the world.

Both of you... grow up. Dios mío.

Desesperación

Will there never be a time or place when age does not define your abilities?

God damn it. It's only a year. One year. Less, as of now... a mere couple of months. Damn it. I feel so... impotent. Inarticulate. Incapable. Irrevocably ejected from the adult world, the capable, responsible echelons of humanity. I am... exiled.

More importantly, why did it take an entire year of classes for this to sink in?

I am tired of it. So tired. And despair rips at my gut... worse than hunger or sadness, worse than those vague twinges of guilt or pain... it is loneliness that eats away at my insides. Humanity has deserted me, the sub-human, the less-than-adult me. And no matter how hard I try, I cannot redefine their lawyer's terms. I am child. That is all.

Loneliness

I went with my dad to his office so that he could take the carpool lane. While waiting for him to return from his meeting, I finished my book... and so, thinking of my poetry class, wrote the following two poems.

Visit To an Office

An unknown street,
A mystery house,
An alien town.
Wandering through doorways
Down hallways, alleys,
Wandering without purpose
Without meaning
In an unknown land.
Strange pale colours,
Bizarre carpeted floor;
Strangers populate its roads.
These inhabitants do not smile.
Escape is a meaningless word,
And discourse an empty option.
These aliens do not notice the alien
Wandering in their midst,
Do not stop to ask questions -
They stare, and then move about their tasks;
And I, the alien among them,
Don't know what to do with myself.

I hope I don't get lost.

And poem the second:

The Stranded Poet

Single, solitary light -
The others flicker,
But you, faithfully, stay
Lit
A beacon to those
Wandering these halls
And to I, who sits
Pen in hand
Scribbling these thoughts.
You are the one
Who allows me to write
For you are
Both
My inspiration
And my vision;
My enabler
And my guide.
I am lost without you.

"Shapeskearean Venting"

God, you ever get to that point where you're so tired of stupid movies, and then you see a Shakespeare, and it's like water after a desert?

That's how I felt after I watched Much Ado About Nothing. It was so refreshing to see a cohesive, coherent, plausible movie, with completely solid characters, played by actors who completely understood their roles and the spirit of Shakespeare. It was just... nice.

Flash Fiction-ating

As I don't really like posting entire compositions here, I'll try something new and just give you the first few lines:

I ran down the corridor, breathing heavily. I had lost her. My chest heaved, and a sob cracked its way through my chest and up my throat. I thought furiously through the desperation that threatened to consume me. There was no way to regain her. She was too far away, they would know exactly where I went, and I would lose her again, whatever I did. They knew me too well.

... and then give you the link to the rest: My Life - Gone, With One Click.

Wrote it in a flash of inspiration based on a six-word story I wrote, now serving as the title, on projectsidewalk.com. You should go look at that, too.

Bike

I am now in possession - and apparently have been for some time - of an incredibly cool bike. A Univega Shimano 600, circa 1980 or so. Fabulous bike. Blue, with California road licenses on the frame, and almost exactly like this one. An old road racing bike.

I've cleaned all the rust off of the chain and the spokes, and now all it needs are some new tires.

I really like this bike.

Univega is still around, is apparently a German bike company, and has some really cool bikes. You should go take a look.

I'm going to use this bike. I'm not sure what for yet, but as I suck so much at driving cars, this might be my saving grace. We'll see.

Why, Because Then They'd Be Adults?

One of the things I'd like to be able to say when I'm older is that I successfully avoided the trappings of youth.

Whether that be in decisions about occupation, education, or men, I wish for wisdom.

It makes my heart hurt when I see those people who don't respect maturity, or don't desire it.

There's nothing wrong with maturity. It is the next phase, the graduation of intellect, of existence; it is what we have termed Moving Forward. While there are some things we should retain of our childhood, the selfish desires of youth are not one of them. Innocence, openness, yes - but intentional blindness to the knowledge and behaviours of adulthood?

We are made to grow older. We should accept this as the nature of the passage of time, and grow with it, rather than resist what is. We cannot control the passage of time, but we can control how gracefully we will accept the inevitability of change.

And our tastes should adjust with our wisdom, with our realizations of what is real, what is important, what is crucial in life, in love, in spirit.

My taste has changed from boys to men, as I am aware that the taste of men has matured to reflect what is deemed crucial of value in life. So it hurts even more to realize that my friends don't care for what I consider to be the natural change in preference.

Film Etiquette

One of the traits in my ideal man is that he will know when commenting during a movie isn't okay. There are times when the movie is spinning such a great atmosphere that I want to lose myself in it, and someone beside me commenting on the scene tends to ruin that atmosphere. No questions about the film, please; no clarifying, no jokes, no comments. Allow the epicness of the film to stand alone. It should be able to handle it.

That's not to say that I don't like joking around with movies EVER. It's just that there is a time and a place and a certain type of movie that I can't STAND it with. We can discuss the interesting change of social interplay AFTER the credits.

It's not that I'm angry, either. I just really wish more people knew how to lose themselves in the same movies that I do.

Sprouting

Well, I'm not sure how it's happened, but it seems I've grown taller lately. I should be too old for growing. It makes me happy. :)

Also it would explain my recent inexplicable habit of eating like a horse at every meal.

But it reminds me of the part in the second Lord of the Rings, The Two Towers.

Merry: Why are you taller than me?
Pippin: I've always been taller than you. What are you, three foot six? At the tallest? And I'm pushing three foot seven. *burps* Three eight!
Merry: Three foot eight...?!

It's funny, because even though they're totally excited about growing a couple of inches, they're still less than four feet tall, so no one else cares, because everyone else is five nine and up.
Yeah, I feel like that.

Earthly Advancement

The beginner's drawing course so far has proved enormously basic for my artistic sensibilities. So today I collected some of my past works and went to my teacher (late, I might add - my alarm had been set on a silenced cell phone, unfortunately) to inquire as to my inappropriate placement. Being a man of few words as he is, he looked over my work and murmured a "Good" or two where he felt necessary. The only reason I know he was actually impressed with my work is that he asked me questions about certain works I had done, especially with my black-on-white computer illustrated work. He also asked me more than once if what I drew was from my head or from a model. I insisted that most of what I did was without reference of any kind, to which he replied that, "If you really don't look at anything to do these, they're really good."

I tried very hard to take offense, but I really can't. He doesn't know me or what I do... if I were him I wouldn't believe me either, though I might have been a little more tactful about my skepticism. It's okay. I'll prove to him what I can do.

50th Post

Not that this is necessarily a significant milestone, but if I don't notice, no one will. And that's just not right.

So I stayed up until two in the friggin' morning last night in order to finish my first draft, due today. I have my teacher look at the essay, telling her I didn't get a chance to finish, and she says, "Oh, that's just fine. Especially considering it's not due for another week."

Oh. Great, thanks. Might as well finish the essay and start on my history paper then.

Dammit. And to think I lost sleep over the bloody thing. *trundles off*