talking of Michaelangelo.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
-
hemingway // 11:36 am
"Oh, you're so sweet. And maybe I'd look lovely, darling, and be so thin and exciting to you and you'll fall in love with me all over again."
"Hell," I said, "I love you enough now. What do you want to do? Ruin me?"
"Yes. I want to ruin you."
"Good," I said, "That's what I want too."
Ah, the power of dialogue.
Striking.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
-
forget me // 10:16 am
Waiting for the warmth of April.
I'm worn out and tired.
Good night.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
-
one of those rare times where i let an author become one of my favourites // 7:03 am
Say hello to Gwendolyn Brooks. I'm going to elaborate my thoughts so that I don't sound racist, but if you take offense... well that's your problem because I don't mean it to be offensive at all.
After that lovely disclaimer, just want to share that we've been studying the Harlem Renaissance in my favourite class - 366 (Modern Lit) and as always I'm not very interested in the development of African American literature. It's not that I feel that it's not significant, it's just that it doesn't touch me... or GET THROUGH to me the way some of the other stuff does. Anyhow, I just feel like some of the stuff sounds so repetitive. Just decades of mourning over how decrepit that racial social circle has become due to slavery.
Of course, the repurcussions of slavery, I would never feel or suffer through, but the identity crisis or the angst of the African American ideologies don't touch me like others do.
However, after today's class, I had a little change in perception and... I must say, what a delight it was to read Gwendolyn Brook's poetry! Innovative and unique. I think what really made my ears grow fond of her was that she was inspired by Ezra Pound, T.S. Eliot, and E.E. Cummings.
Anyhow, she's great! The way she reads her poetry, her jazzy, snappy rhythm. I just like her spirit that really comes through in the poems!
Delighted to share with you:
kitchenette building
We are things of dry hours and the involuntary plan,
Grayed in, and gray. "Dream" mate, a giddy sound, not strong
Like "rent", "feeding a wife", "satisfying a man".
But could a dream sent up through onion fumes
Its white and violet, fight with fried potatoes
And yesterday's garbage ripening in the hall,
Flutter, or sing an aria down these rooms,
Even if we were willing to let it in,
Had time to warm it, keep it very clean,
Anticipate a message, let it begin?
We wonder. But not well! not for a minute!
Since Number Five is out of the bathroom now,
We think of lukewarm water, hope to get in it.
by Gwendolyn Brooks
I added the emphasis.
Hope you liked it as much as I did :)
Friday, March 13, 2009
-
death stalker // 11:43 am
Perception,
is
everything.
(Please feel free to enlarge by clicking)
Tell me, what do you see?
All this time, all I saw was the skull and not the pretty lady staring at herself, full of vanity. Though the moral lesson behind this story is that vanity is a terrible thing, don't do it. I see something else. I see a mistake.
A mistake in perception leading to a momentary blindness.
That's where the mistake was. That is the missing point.
Shooting the messenger in the foot won't patch up any problems.
Let's just face it - a mistake in perception... can be deadly.
I don't want to be one of those people who are perpetually blinded by some recurring mistake I can't get myself unstuck in.
It has really been a long terrible week.
P.S. Rick Lavoie is intimidating, but pretty cool. Teachers should learn from him.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
-
// 8:35 am
...what kind of a sick joke are you playing on me?!?!
I can't go on.. I just can't.....
-
problems // 6:36 am
呢幾日做乜得罪人多稱呼人少...
痴左線... 講多錯多... 有病... 做乜都錯.
必定係我錯...
Monday, March 09, 2009
-
// 10:38 am
See if I'm ever going to talk to you again.
Get out of my life.
No, crawl.
Saturday, March 07, 2009
-
faltered for a moment // 1:31 am
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Interesting that it ends in semicolons.
Must share:
K: There are no guarantees in ANYTHING let alone friendship... I'm so scared because when we leave this place, this institution. School. University... think of it... we are forced in social circumstances to be friends in school. We get to know each other because we happen to be at the same place at the same time... when we leave....... There are no guarantees. That's why I'm scared. It sounds juvenile, but I'm scared people will leave me. Perhaps I'm immature, naive, simple?
P: ...but at the same time when they do leave, you'll adapt and eventually accept and then forget about those who left you.
K: That's my biggest problem is - I never forget. I never "let go".
P: Of course you do. It just hasn't been long enough.
K: The past is what makes up your present, if you don't have a past, you'd be an empty sheet of
P: Are we talking about the same thing here? Past means memories.
K: mhm
P: You let go of the friendship... but not the memories.
K: How do you do that?
P: I mean, not the friendship... but you let go of that need of having them around.
K: But then you remember all those things... those promises, friendship promises and to think that will forever be somewhere, only a figment of your imagination... P, I think that's enough to kill me.
P: I think you're being too dramatic.
K: As always, my friend. But on that note... I'm so convincingly dramatic that I convince myself that all the drama is real. How sad I really am.
P: Life would be hard if you live like that.
Faltered for too many moments. It's like an avalanche... too much all at once. But I didn't see it coming, so I was smashed and wasn't able to run from it. I crumbled because my centre could not hold. Yeats is so wise, you know.
"Why times How equals What." - a nice equation provided by the Muskrat in The Mouse and his Child. Children's books holds more wisdom than a lot of us think.
I live in fiction.
That's what we do.
Life is but a play of shadows.
Thursday, March 05, 2009
-
life is but a play of shadows // 1:02 pm
What am I doing here then?
"to make that scratch, that undying mark on the blank face of the oblivion to which we are all doomed..." - Faulkner
Absalom, Absalom!
...something half remembered, half forgotten.
Symmetry is a sign of aestheticism.
But to me, I prefer lopsidedness.
Tuesday, March 03, 2009
-
on Faulkner II // 7:17 am
Again! I must be self-contradictory here. Even though I complain and intolerable amount about having to read it having to go through it... it's quite rewarding actually. I love hearing Prof. McIntire speak. She's so... soothing and intellectual. Her gaze kinda lingers on you... like she can see through you but in a good way. It's hard to get a good vibe of someone who kinda sees through you... but I really admire her as my prof.
Anyway, onto our play of shadows... "to make that scratch, that undying mark on the blank face of the oblivion to which we are all doomed..." Words that just wash over me... and there's MORE!
"That was all. Or rather, not all, since there is no all, no finish; it not the blow we suffer from but the tedious repercussive anti-climax of it, the rubbishy aftermath to clear away from off the very threshold of despair. You see, I never saw him. I never even saw him dead. I heard an echo, but not the shot;"
It's difficult and pretty dense stuff, but I enjoy it thoroughly, despite my complaining.
"I thought you liked it." Yeah, I really do... it just gets frustrating at times.
Monday, March 02, 2009
-
on Faulkner // 7:18 am
"
Maybe nothing ever happens once and its finished. Maybe happen is never once but like ripples maybe on water after the pebble sinks, the ripples moving on, spreading, the pool attached by a narrow umbilical water-cord to the next pool which the first pool feeds, has fed, did feed, let this second pool contain a different temperature of water, a different molecularity of having seen, felt, remembered, reflect in a different tone the infinite unchanging sky, it doesn't matter: that pebble's watery echo whose fall it did not even see moves its surface too at the original ripple-space, to the old ineradical rhythm thinking..."
Faulkner time threads... Faulkner's stream of conciousness. Oh Will Faulkner... your Absalom, Absalom! is killing me! But how can it be that I enjoy my slow death by you.
How can I actually be enjoying this slaugther!
855/2500 of the presentation. I can do this!
