I heard a beautiful song tonight.
I grew up in a second, drinking
dreams with this girl I know,
where she bit my lips to
bleeding and ducked into a tunnel,
with a light shining so brightly
that it bleached all my t-shirts
her color
This kid that sang it- he gets on stage looking like a punk-ass scenester but then just busts out with one of the most incredible voices and most moving performances of anything I've ever seen. Jake Harms. It was an experience.
It was at Balls Cabaret at the Southern. If you've never been to this midnight show you owe yourself a visit. Especially since next weekend yours truly is going to be reading a little something.
Anywho, this guy is like six foot baby faced tight pants fro of unruly white almost dreadlocked curls the only thing missing is the colorful shoes another kid with an acoustic guitar thinking he's gonna woo the ladies playing Oasis on the bench. BUT. His voice was unlike anything. This deep, pained wailing. My jaw dropped like it was hot.
I said it was one of the most moving performances. But Paris, you're saying to yourself, I know you and how much you love your hyperboles. Oh golly, I wish it was hyperbole. By the end of his song I was for real about to cry. My girlfriend was next to me and I could pretty much feel her thoughts about him. She likes the brooding artistic types. I would be jealous, but hey, if she didn't find that performance attractive I would seriously question her sexuality.
You can listen to the song on the MySpace up there, but it won't come anywhere near to seeing this guy live onstage. I will forever carry the image of him squirming in that chair with his guitar.
Golly.
I wish I could do that.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Sunday, December 7, 2008
A day that will live in infamy
Yeah, Pearl Harbor.
It's interesting, or at least, I think it is. People say that was the greatest generation, them World War Two-ers. Look at what they did: They were struck down by that tragedy and pulled themselves not just up by their bootstraps and back into life, but brought this nation to be the most powerful in the world. Or was that Einstein and the Manhattan Project? I can't remember.
I wonder what my generation will be known as. We had 9/11 and then
...
I think the correct term is, "whoops"
Me and all my friends
We're all misunderstood
They say we stand for nothing and
There's no way we ever could
Now we see everything that's going wrong
With the world and those who lead it
We just feel like we don't have the means
To rise above and beat it
So we keep waiting
Waiting on the world to change
We keep on waiting
Waiting on the world to change
Wait, was John Mayer being brilliant? Yes. I dislike most of his music, but good God is his body wonderland.
Anywho I was reading Vonnegut, Armageddon in Retrospect, (Brilliant man. He was a good man and the greatest writer. I wish I could have met him and talked to him. I think he would be at my dinner.) and thinking about the greatest generation and then it's pearl harbor day and I'm diddling around on Facebook. I don't want to be the greatest, I just want to be a good one. I'll work on that once I think of a clever Facebook status.
It's interesting, or at least, I think it is. People say that was the greatest generation, them World War Two-ers. Look at what they did: They were struck down by that tragedy and pulled themselves not just up by their bootstraps and back into life, but brought this nation to be the most powerful in the world. Or was that Einstein and the Manhattan Project? I can't remember.
I wonder what my generation will be known as. We had 9/11 and then
...
I think the correct term is, "whoops"
Me and all my friends
We're all misunderstood
They say we stand for nothing and
There's no way we ever could
Now we see everything that's going wrong
With the world and those who lead it
We just feel like we don't have the means
To rise above and beat it
So we keep waiting
Waiting on the world to change
We keep on waiting
Waiting on the world to change
Wait, was John Mayer being brilliant? Yes. I dislike most of his music, but good God is his body wonderland.
Anywho I was reading Vonnegut, Armageddon in Retrospect, (Brilliant man. He was a good man and the greatest writer. I wish I could have met him and talked to him. I think he would be at my dinner.) and thinking about the greatest generation and then it's pearl harbor day and I'm diddling around on Facebook. I don't want to be the greatest, I just want to be a good one. I'll work on that once I think of a clever Facebook status.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Just in case you didn't already know:
I'm awesome.
Yeah, I busted through that 50000th word. Yeah, I went to 50268 words. In one month. I'm a beast. Look at that viking over there in that boat, yeah that's me. I'm a winner. I'm a gosh darn viking. Don't mess, don't mess.
Anywho. It's been a trip. Writing like this and keeping up with school and work and Kelly and other random crazy. Crazy. It's been sort of a rush though. I've been supes busy as the kids say, and still end up with free time. Maybe it's because I get like six hours of sleep each night...
I like to think it's because I am so awesome. And a viking. Of words. A word viking.
Just in a good mood now I guess. I had a lovely Thanksgiving weekend. Spent time with my family and bestest friend in the whole wide world. But you know, I'm ready to go back and finish the semester with style. Vip and vigor! Spit and vinnegar! I'm gonna ubdate this more often too. But for now I'm a just go to sleep.
Friday, October 31, 2008
It's Halloween! That means...
NaNoWriMo starts at midnight.
Oh jeez.
I'm not that worried about this novel, I'm about to write the next great American. There's going to be a talking Jack-o-Lantern.
Anywho. The music I listen to is better than the listen you listen to. If you haven't heard these guys yet, you best go check out The Blend. Pure poetry.
The TV I watch is also better than the TV you watch. Pushing Daisies is getting less than satisfactory ratings and might be canceled! But Private Practice is still going strong? What is wrong with the world! We lost Firefly and I lost Studio 60, watch this show and make sure we don't lose any more of the increasingly rare quality TV.
Also: I just figured out how to put links into the text.
Oh jeez.
I'm not that worried about this novel, I'm about to write the next great American. There's going to be a talking Jack-o-Lantern.
Anywho. The music I listen to is better than the listen you listen to. If you haven't heard these guys yet, you best go check out The Blend. Pure poetry.
The TV I watch is also better than the TV you watch. Pushing Daisies is getting less than satisfactory ratings and might be canceled! But Private Practice is still going strong? What is wrong with the world! We lost Firefly and I lost Studio 60, watch this show and make sure we don't lose any more of the increasingly rare quality TV.
Also: I just figured out how to put links into the text.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Shtuffly Paris
I think I'm a titch sick. My nose is shtuffly.
Anywho I've been planning ahead for the sure to be glorious November. Things on my mind:
1. On the third my little brother will turn 13.
This makes me go WHHHHHAAAAAAT? like no other. He's almost as tall as I am. I remember the day he was born and being amazed by how small he was. Now I'm frightened by how he's gonna be like, twice my size. He's awesome though, I'm excited.
2. November 4th.
You have no idea how excited I am to vote.
3. Thanksgiving!
I really enjoy eating. And breaks from school. I've got a feeling that Thanksgiving this year is going to involve some especially happiness. Just a hunch.
4. I decided that I had too much free time.
And am doing NaNoWriMo. I dunno if I'm going to be able to touch 50,000 words, but I'm going to see how far I can get. It felt like something bold and daring to do and lately I've been in the mood for bold and daring. It's like Mr. Berglund says: If you're not living on the edge, you're taking up too much space.
That's me living on the edge. Writing a novel.
Anywho I've been planning ahead for the sure to be glorious November. Things on my mind:
1. On the third my little brother will turn 13.
This makes me go WHHHHHAAAAAAT? like no other. He's almost as tall as I am. I remember the day he was born and being amazed by how small he was. Now I'm frightened by how he's gonna be like, twice my size. He's awesome though, I'm excited.
2. November 4th.
You have no idea how excited I am to vote.
3. Thanksgiving!
I really enjoy eating. And breaks from school. I've got a feeling that Thanksgiving this year is going to involve some especially happiness. Just a hunch.
4. I decided that I had too much free time.
And am doing NaNoWriMo. I dunno if I'm going to be able to touch 50,000 words, but I'm going to see how far I can get. It felt like something bold and daring to do and lately I've been in the mood for bold and daring. It's like Mr. Berglund says: If you're not living on the edge, you're taking up too much space.
That's me living on the edge. Writing a novel.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
You stay Johanna, the way I dreamed you were
I just got out of my Ethics class, having totally beasted the midterm. *Aaaaahohbighugesighohmygoodnesssuchreeeeelaxaaaation*
Beautiful.
Anywho, I've been thinking about The Great Gatsby and a poem I wrote in tenth grade. (Side note: When did tenth grade become so far in the past? I remember so vividly feeling old and being amazed with my in depth venture into teenagery- Only to now think back on how I still had no idea what was going on. It makes me wonder about how grown up I feel now. Do we ever figure out what is really going on? Do we ever stop growing up? Or is life a continuous series of lessons making us feel older and older and more wise and wizened with each step and stumble? Does anyone really learn how to walk?) Gosh that was a long thought on the side. It's as if I've supersized my ramblings.
Well. I was thinking about how The Great Gatsby is like, one of the best books ever, and I guess I never really wrote the poem, I just thought about it.
Here's the one line I had:
So maybe you're my Daisy Buchanan.
The poem was going to be about putting the person you love on a pedestal. In the book, (As you should know but if not turn off the computer RIGHT NOW and go read yourself some of that F. Scott. You will be more of a person for it) Gatsby is in love with this woman Daisy Buchanan. He is infatuated with this idealized vision of her, but it turns out she is just a nasty little (pardon my ebonics) biyatch.
My poem hinted at how everyone does this with some people they love. So maybe I've idealized you like Gatsby idealized his love when in fact you are both nothing special. Oh what a condemnation of the object of my affections. Of course I really can't help thinking that you're oh so gosh darn snazzy, I'm just going to mourn the sad fact that you might not be who I built you up as buttercup. In tenth grade my poem would end with So maybe I don't care. I love you and that's all that matters.
Hm.
I just keep thinking about how I really didn't know what was going on in tenth grade.
Beautiful.
Anywho, I've been thinking about The Great Gatsby and a poem I wrote in tenth grade. (Side note: When did tenth grade become so far in the past? I remember so vividly feeling old and being amazed with my in depth venture into teenagery- Only to now think back on how I still had no idea what was going on. It makes me wonder about how grown up I feel now. Do we ever figure out what is really going on? Do we ever stop growing up? Or is life a continuous series of lessons making us feel older and older and more wise and wizened with each step and stumble? Does anyone really learn how to walk?) Gosh that was a long thought on the side. It's as if I've supersized my ramblings.
Well. I was thinking about how The Great Gatsby is like, one of the best books ever, and I guess I never really wrote the poem, I just thought about it.
Here's the one line I had:
So maybe you're my Daisy Buchanan.
The poem was going to be about putting the person you love on a pedestal. In the book, (As you should know but if not turn off the computer RIGHT NOW and go read yourself some of that F. Scott. You will be more of a person for it) Gatsby is in love with this woman Daisy Buchanan. He is infatuated with this idealized vision of her, but it turns out she is just a nasty little (pardon my ebonics) biyatch.
My poem hinted at how everyone does this with some people they love. So maybe I've idealized you like Gatsby idealized his love when in fact you are both nothing special. Oh what a condemnation of the object of my affections. Of course I really can't help thinking that you're oh so gosh darn snazzy, I'm just going to mourn the sad fact that you might not be who I built you up as buttercup. In tenth grade my poem would end with So maybe I don't care. I love you and that's all that matters.
Hm.
I just keep thinking about how I really didn't know what was going on in tenth grade.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Sirens and Shakespeare and Sunshine (Beauty in the breakdown?)
No I'm not quoting Frou Frou.
Dunno what you're talking about.
Today in The Parable we talked about this little Kafka thing about Sirens. There was this aspect about it that floored me: this idea of beauty in sadness. It brought up so many different emotions for me, so many different thoughts, I almost can't express them completely.
I thought immediately of something Emily Gunyou said to me last year. It was about the What a piece of work is man speech from Hamlet. She said that being depressed is almost like unrequited love for the world. You don't dislike the world, you're in love with it, but you can't enjoy it- you can't be with the world. She said that to me and it stuck. I will never forget that speech.
"What a piece of work is man. How noble in reason, how infinite in faculty. In form and moving how express and admirable. In action how like an angel in apprehension how like a God. The beauty of the world, the paragon of animals, and yet to me, what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me."
It totally pwns To be or Not to be (Do the kids still say "pwns"?) no question. Hamlet is one of the most rich and satisfying pieces of literature I've ever read. The language is just so...
I used to like Romeo and Juliet. Not because of Romeo and Juliet. No, I liked it because of West Side Story. I was listening to the soundtrack today for the first time in like five years. I forgot how much I totally love that music! It's so good! The sweet and mournful tunes match the feel of the story to perfection, unlike some musicals that make no sense. *cough*Wickedisterrible*cough* But anyways, listening to that music made me want to go further into music of my childhood. So I YouTubed Rogers and Hammerstein Cinderella, you know the one with Brandy?
Omigoodness. That is some sweet melodies. It was total and complete trip down baby Paris memory lane. I used to watch that a lot. In my own little corner.
And THAT made me want to go back further so I looked up You are my sunshine because it is a beautiful and happy love song.
WRONG.
It seriously almost made me cry. You know what all the lyrics for that song are?
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine
You make me happy when skies are gray
You'll never know dear, how much I love you
Please don't take my sunshine away
The other night dear as I laid sleeping
I dreamed I held you in my arms
But when I woke dear I was mistaken
And I hung my head and I cried
There's more after that too. There is just something about tears and deep sadness that a pretty smile can't come close to capturing.
Vonnegut said something that I think encapulates what I'm trying to get accross here. He said that all great art is about how much of a bummer it is to be a human being. This is a rare instance where I'm going to disagree with my hero here. Just on semantics but still. I think the great art he was refering to is about how being a human being is full of sadness. But I don't think that's a bummer. I think it's beautiful. A happy ending is good, but a sad ending is better because it reflects the sad/beautiful moments in life. Sometimes I think the best ending is an open ended conclusion because it most accurately reflects how life is. You know, like it just trails off without fully completing its thoughts and just leaves you to ponder.
Dunno what you're talking about.
Today in The Parable we talked about this little Kafka thing about Sirens. There was this aspect about it that floored me: this idea of beauty in sadness. It brought up so many different emotions for me, so many different thoughts, I almost can't express them completely.
I thought immediately of something Emily Gunyou said to me last year. It was about the What a piece of work is man speech from Hamlet. She said that being depressed is almost like unrequited love for the world. You don't dislike the world, you're in love with it, but you can't enjoy it- you can't be with the world. She said that to me and it stuck. I will never forget that speech.
"What a piece of work is man. How noble in reason, how infinite in faculty. In form and moving how express and admirable. In action how like an angel in apprehension how like a God. The beauty of the world, the paragon of animals, and yet to me, what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me."
It totally pwns To be or Not to be (Do the kids still say "pwns"?) no question. Hamlet is one of the most rich and satisfying pieces of literature I've ever read. The language is just so...
I used to like Romeo and Juliet. Not because of Romeo and Juliet. No, I liked it because of West Side Story. I was listening to the soundtrack today for the first time in like five years. I forgot how much I totally love that music! It's so good! The sweet and mournful tunes match the feel of the story to perfection, unlike some musicals that make no sense. *cough*Wickedisterrible*cough* But anyways, listening to that music made me want to go further into music of my childhood. So I YouTubed Rogers and Hammerstein Cinderella, you know the one with Brandy?
Omigoodness. That is some sweet melodies. It was total and complete trip down baby Paris memory lane. I used to watch that a lot. In my own little corner.
And THAT made me want to go back further so I looked up You are my sunshine because it is a beautiful and happy love song.
WRONG.
It seriously almost made me cry. You know what all the lyrics for that song are?
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine
You make me happy when skies are gray
You'll never know dear, how much I love you
Please don't take my sunshine away
The other night dear as I laid sleeping
I dreamed I held you in my arms
But when I woke dear I was mistaken
And I hung my head and I cried
There's more after that too. There is just something about tears and deep sadness that a pretty smile can't come close to capturing.
Vonnegut said something that I think encapulates what I'm trying to get accross here. He said that all great art is about how much of a bummer it is to be a human being. This is a rare instance where I'm going to disagree with my hero here. Just on semantics but still. I think the great art he was refering to is about how being a human being is full of sadness. But I don't think that's a bummer. I think it's beautiful. A happy ending is good, but a sad ending is better because it reflects the sad/beautiful moments in life. Sometimes I think the best ending is an open ended conclusion because it most accurately reflects how life is. You know, like it just trails off without fully completing its thoughts and just leaves you to ponder.
Monday, October 20, 2008
I set my clocks early
Cause I know I'm always late.
So this morning my alarm didn't go off. I woke up when my roommate came in at 9:10 which is when my first class starts. After much swearing and rushing and no shower or teeth brushing, I got to my class a smidgen before 9:20.
And that's the story of how I went to class gross.
My whole week is about to get so busy. I've got a couple moments of rest now, then some quality television tonight, (them Gossip Girls and Heroes knowhatimsayin?) but the rest of the week is buckle down study for the Thursday Ethics midterm madness! among other things. I've got like six meetings to go to, three of them I'm conducting interviews. Aaahhhh! Newspaper eats my life!
The weekend is gonna be super chill so that's nice.
This recently passed weekend was bomb. Saw my parents and my brother and my cousins and my grandparents and two new squishy babies. It was full of familial warmth. And shooting droids on my brother's Playstation. And climbing to the top of the Holiday Inn for the view from the fourteenth floor with my bestest friend in the whole wide world. And listening to complicated music.
So I was so happy with my weekend and I get to come back to this great school and these great classes which are awesome even when I'm unshowered and gross and half asleep. It's some good times.
Say, what are you waiting for?
Kiss her! Kiss her!
So this morning my alarm didn't go off. I woke up when my roommate came in at 9:10 which is when my first class starts. After much swearing and rushing and no shower or teeth brushing, I got to my class a smidgen before 9:20.
And that's the story of how I went to class gross.
My whole week is about to get so busy. I've got a couple moments of rest now, then some quality television tonight, (them Gossip Girls and Heroes knowhatimsayin?) but the rest of the week is buckle down study for the Thursday Ethics midterm madness! among other things. I've got like six meetings to go to, three of them I'm conducting interviews. Aaahhhh! Newspaper eats my life!
The weekend is gonna be super chill so that's nice.
This recently passed weekend was bomb. Saw my parents and my brother and my cousins and my grandparents and two new squishy babies. It was full of familial warmth. And shooting droids on my brother's Playstation. And climbing to the top of the Holiday Inn for the view from the fourteenth floor with my bestest friend in the whole wide world. And listening to complicated music.
So I was so happy with my weekend and I get to come back to this great school and these great classes which are awesome even when I'm unshowered and gross and half asleep. It's some good times.
Say, what are you waiting for?
Kiss her! Kiss her!
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Trying to be like Grace Kelly
So I did not get to sleep until very very late last night. I only vaguely remember even going to bed. It was not some good times.
Let me rephrase that last part.
It was awesome when I was asleep. This morning was not some good times. I feel awake, I took a shower that shook me into consciousness, but my body is still like nuh-uh, you have an early bedtime tonight Paris Alexander.
So Rachel, if you're reading this, I'm sorry I made fun of you for going to bed at like 8. I understand now.
Anywho I was feeling crappy and then I started listening to the Mika CD I got at Target the other day. This music brings me such joy. My body wants me to pass out, but my heart wants to dance. If only my falsetto was as dulcet as his.
I was thinking about how much I would sing when I was little. I used to write such beautiful songs.
My best friend Joe says
"Don't eat the yucky stuff"
My best friend Joe says
"Don't eat the yucky stuff"
Brilliant. Such simple wisdom I passed on in my days as a toddler. Don't eat the yucky stuff. I feel as though those are words to live by. Just don't eat the yucky stuff. Observe that it is there, determine if it is in fact, yucky, acknowledge the yuckiness, and just eat the good stuff. Don't bother eating the yucky stuff, it is bad for your health.
Nowadays I write songs like,
You make me want to vomit
You make me want to vomit
You make me want to vomit-
You make me sick.
And of course, my short lived career as the hip-hop star Penny Whistle featuring such inspired lines about my mediocrity and straightedgedness.
I'm a world class slacker
A champion snacker
While these kids get crunk I eschew Gin & Juice for cheese & crackers.
I thought it was really clever. Dunno how the word "eschew" is ever going to make it into the rap lexicon without me. I was never very serious about Penny Whistle, it's meant to be hilarious, but there's a part of me that wants the poetic recognition that comes from underground rap and local spoken word/slam poetry. The fact is I just don't have enough control over the language yet. It's mostly a joke, but I still choke, getting shown up all day by much better blokes, sippin their Cokes-
And there's me with my Roundy's cola.
Let me rephrase that last part.
It was awesome when I was asleep. This morning was not some good times. I feel awake, I took a shower that shook me into consciousness, but my body is still like nuh-uh, you have an early bedtime tonight Paris Alexander.
So Rachel, if you're reading this, I'm sorry I made fun of you for going to bed at like 8. I understand now.
Anywho I was feeling crappy and then I started listening to the Mika CD I got at Target the other day. This music brings me such joy. My body wants me to pass out, but my heart wants to dance. If only my falsetto was as dulcet as his.
I was thinking about how much I would sing when I was little. I used to write such beautiful songs.
My best friend Joe says
"Don't eat the yucky stuff"
My best friend Joe says
"Don't eat the yucky stuff"
Brilliant. Such simple wisdom I passed on in my days as a toddler. Don't eat the yucky stuff. I feel as though those are words to live by. Just don't eat the yucky stuff. Observe that it is there, determine if it is in fact, yucky, acknowledge the yuckiness, and just eat the good stuff. Don't bother eating the yucky stuff, it is bad for your health.
Nowadays I write songs like,
You make me want to vomit
You make me want to vomit
You make me want to vomit-
You make me sick.
And of course, my short lived career as the hip-hop star Penny Whistle featuring such inspired lines about my mediocrity and straightedgedness.
I'm a world class slacker
A champion snacker
While these kids get crunk I eschew Gin & Juice for cheese & crackers.
I thought it was really clever. Dunno how the word "eschew" is ever going to make it into the rap lexicon without me. I was never very serious about Penny Whistle, it's meant to be hilarious, but there's a part of me that wants the poetic recognition that comes from underground rap and local spoken word/slam poetry. The fact is I just don't have enough control over the language yet. It's mostly a joke, but I still choke, getting shown up all day by much better blokes, sippin their Cokes-
And there's me with my Roundy's cola.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
It was a happy day today
I went on a date to Target today.
I got a gift card for 20 dollars because I took part in a photo shoot for Hamline. So me and my Complicated went and I purchased music and snacks and soda pop. We ate snacks and drank soda pop and now I'm listening to the music.
It was just one of those days. The good ones. Usually when a body says "one of those days" there's a sigh and a shrug and words spit out from behind the frown. But I mean one of those good days. When the air tastes delicious. Like a glass of water after you haven't drunk (Drank? Drinked? I hate this word because of the past tense. But anyways you haven't drinked) a darn thing all day and your tongue is dry and your throat is hurting and hot with a bad taste staining the roof of your mouth and that water is just so cold and smooth. Each breath is a sip and I'm happy to be young and alive.
I'm excited for the weekend. I'm going to see my parents and my little brother and theater with my best bud- I can't even handle it. I'm just feeling so good. It's good.
It's good.
I like to stay up late on the computer.
I got a gift card for 20 dollars because I took part in a photo shoot for Hamline. So me and my Complicated went and I purchased music and snacks and soda pop. We ate snacks and drank soda pop and now I'm listening to the music.
It was just one of those days. The good ones. Usually when a body says "one of those days" there's a sigh and a shrug and words spit out from behind the frown. But I mean one of those good days. When the air tastes delicious. Like a glass of water after you haven't drunk (Drank? Drinked? I hate this word because of the past tense. But anyways you haven't drinked) a darn thing all day and your tongue is dry and your throat is hurting and hot with a bad taste staining the roof of your mouth and that water is just so cold and smooth. Each breath is a sip and I'm happy to be young and alive.
I'm excited for the weekend. I'm going to see my parents and my little brother and theater with my best bud- I can't even handle it. I'm just feeling so good. It's good.
It's good.
I like to stay up late on the computer.
Monday, October 13, 2008
I suck at Halo
I wasted so much time playing that game yesterday. My second time playing in my life and it was spent the same as my first: The two other guys murdering me while I get in a lucky shot every so often.
But digression is in order.
I have to write an outline for my Ethics mid-term paper today. I was going to start it yesterday but... Yeah... That happened. It sucks because I've been so good with that stuff you know? I've been balancing work and school and playtime so well and then yesterday whoops there goes three hours on my friend's xbox that I'll never get back.
Aaaaaaand digression.
I got Kafka's Metamorphosis from the library. I read the first little chapter and I'm totally digging it. It's weird and odd and oddly serious and seriously weird. It's great though. Very lonely and such, and I'm a big fan of that emo isolation (Hamlet is like my favorite thing ever) so.
It really just speaks to that very human feeling of being alone, like Superman brooding in his Fortress of Solitude. That's something we can all relate to. How are we going to connect with other people? Claw at the locked door with stubby cockroach legs and fumble with the key in our jaws, bust out the red and blues to go flying around trying to save the world, or do we just shoot at each other?
Ain't the video games a great escape?
But digression is in order.
I have to write an outline for my Ethics mid-term paper today. I was going to start it yesterday but... Yeah... That happened. It sucks because I've been so good with that stuff you know? I've been balancing work and school and playtime so well and then yesterday whoops there goes three hours on my friend's xbox that I'll never get back.
Aaaaaaand digression.
I got Kafka's Metamorphosis from the library. I read the first little chapter and I'm totally digging it. It's weird and odd and oddly serious and seriously weird. It's great though. Very lonely and such, and I'm a big fan of that emo isolation (Hamlet is like my favorite thing ever) so.
It really just speaks to that very human feeling of being alone, like Superman brooding in his Fortress of Solitude. That's something we can all relate to. How are we going to connect with other people? Claw at the locked door with stubby cockroach legs and fumble with the key in our jaws, bust out the red and blues to go flying around trying to save the world, or do we just shoot at each other?
Ain't the video games a great escape?
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Something tastes different.
Da da dum. Da da dum. Da da dum. Da dum.
Apparently there's a musical based on Paradise Lost. I think about Milton whenever I consider how my light is spent. When I have fears that I may cease to be I think of John Keats.
I woke up yesterday morning with my thoughts the same shade of gray as the sky. Whoa. I keep thinking about how I want to fight this one kid. It's a silly reason. Maybe.
Fergalicious just came on my shuffle. Hey Stacy.
Anyways. I feel as though I can't be mad or whatever because of reasons, and I don't actually want to challenge him to a duel. It's just that this kid sucks. I really don't have to do anything to prove my superiority- I'm like ten times more awesome than this boy with his feathery flips- But that's just the thing: I AM better than this kid. That's the very reason these clouds are heavy on me.
Now it's Slug's turn to serenade me. Got a thing for the women that don't love themselves. Hey Lucy.
In the end though, it's all just petty. I got one reason to be upset and more reasons to not than there are flavors of Jelly Bellies. If I could say rhymes like Sean I'd bust out with such sweet flows about words that rhyme with Jelly Belly. I'm going to have to just settle for stealing romanticisms from on high, watching Love and Fame sink to nothingness or whatever.
Apparently there's a musical based on Paradise Lost. I think about Milton whenever I consider how my light is spent. When I have fears that I may cease to be I think of John Keats.
I woke up yesterday morning with my thoughts the same shade of gray as the sky. Whoa. I keep thinking about how I want to fight this one kid. It's a silly reason. Maybe.
Fergalicious just came on my shuffle. Hey Stacy.
Anyways. I feel as though I can't be mad or whatever because of reasons, and I don't actually want to challenge him to a duel. It's just that this kid sucks. I really don't have to do anything to prove my superiority- I'm like ten times more awesome than this boy with his feathery flips- But that's just the thing: I AM better than this kid. That's the very reason these clouds are heavy on me.
Now it's Slug's turn to serenade me. Got a thing for the women that don't love themselves. Hey Lucy.
In the end though, it's all just petty. I got one reason to be upset and more reasons to not than there are flavors of Jelly Bellies. If I could say rhymes like Sean I'd bust out with such sweet flows about words that rhyme with Jelly Belly. I'm going to have to just settle for stealing romanticisms from on high, watching Love and Fame sink to nothingness or whatever.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
I Am Up Late Tonight
Because a certain somebody won’t let me sleep until I write something.
About the river. About the ghosts. About the pitter and the patter of the rain like the footsteps of fairies. I’ll fall asleep in your car you fall asleep in my arms. I’ve never been this buzzed before, (even laying by the lake) the way I love your lips and my arm slung around your hips, musically the poetry you’re kissing this and that of me and GOOD GOD the way the fresh air fills my lungs like cigarette smoke (This addiction to the universe) and your hair smells like the morning.
Now it's bedtime and I'll stay up longer looking up at the ceiling with thoughts.
About the river. About the ghosts. About the pitter and the patter of the rain like the footsteps of fairies. I’ll fall asleep in your car you fall asleep in my arms. I’ve never been this buzzed before, (even laying by the lake) the way I love your lips and my arm slung around your hips, musically the poetry you’re kissing this and that of me and GOOD GOD the way the fresh air fills my lungs like cigarette smoke (This addiction to the universe) and your hair smells like the morning.
Now it's bedtime and I'll stay up longer looking up at the ceiling with thoughts.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
I feel like an old man sometimes.
Being in college has gotten me thinking about a lot of stuff. Like being an adult. What that responsibility means. I like to think of myself as like Peter Pan. Not in a creepy Michael Jackson way. I’m just saying: I don’t wanna grow up.
But you know the sad truth, I’m not even sure I know what that means. Is it when you’re done growing? When you’re out of high school? When you’re at college? When you’ve had sex? When you have hair in places you didn’t have hair before? Maybe it’s dealing with sadness. The maturity that comes with grief. When somebody close to you dies. When you’ve had your heart broken.
And the thing that scares me about that- if it’s the heart breaking makes you older- I must be so grown up.
I remember the first time I felt my heart breaking, like actually felt physical sadness. I can’t remember exactly how old I was, but it was when my mother told me that Santa Claus wasn’t real. I mean, I’d kinda figured for a while now but actually hearing the words from her mouth, it was so definite and cold. As if each word she uttered stripped the world of a little more magic.
Cue the preteen angstery.
I felt so grown up feeling so betrayed. This must be what being grown up is like. Realizing that the adults don’t have the answer, there is no magic in the world, Simple Plan is the best band ever, you know.
Turns out there’s a difference between being grown up and growing up.
There was a day. I was in love with this girl, but the day was bad. Can’t remember exactly what it was but I was driven to the point of tears. I doubted the world, and the whole heart breaking Santa truth came flooding back. I told my father about how the beauty and the magic of the world was ruined when we grow up or something silly like that. And he said to me the wisest thing.
“Paris,” he said, “When you look at [That girl you love], you feel something, right? Now, I could tell you the chemistry of it. I could explain to you all the details of your eyes taking in light and flipping the image and sending information to your brain and your brain sending signals and releasing hormones to the rest of your body. Now does that make what you’re feeling any less real? Or beautiful?”
And I said shoo.
He was right. And I’ve come to realize, being grown up isn’t realizing magic isn’t real, it’s believing in it anyways. And let me tell you, a lot of these adults aren’t so growed up.
So maybe it won’t be so bad after all. I can vote. I can buy cigarettes and pornography. I can’t get into Neverland anymore. Can’t find the portal into Narnia.
But yeah. I believe in Santa Claus.
But you know the sad truth, I’m not even sure I know what that means. Is it when you’re done growing? When you’re out of high school? When you’re at college? When you’ve had sex? When you have hair in places you didn’t have hair before? Maybe it’s dealing with sadness. The maturity that comes with grief. When somebody close to you dies. When you’ve had your heart broken.
And the thing that scares me about that- if it’s the heart breaking makes you older- I must be so grown up.
I remember the first time I felt my heart breaking, like actually felt physical sadness. I can’t remember exactly how old I was, but it was when my mother told me that Santa Claus wasn’t real. I mean, I’d kinda figured for a while now but actually hearing the words from her mouth, it was so definite and cold. As if each word she uttered stripped the world of a little more magic.
Cue the preteen angstery.
I felt so grown up feeling so betrayed. This must be what being grown up is like. Realizing that the adults don’t have the answer, there is no magic in the world, Simple Plan is the best band ever, you know.
Turns out there’s a difference between being grown up and growing up.
There was a day. I was in love with this girl, but the day was bad. Can’t remember exactly what it was but I was driven to the point of tears. I doubted the world, and the whole heart breaking Santa truth came flooding back. I told my father about how the beauty and the magic of the world was ruined when we grow up or something silly like that. And he said to me the wisest thing.
“Paris,” he said, “When you look at [That girl you love], you feel something, right? Now, I could tell you the chemistry of it. I could explain to you all the details of your eyes taking in light and flipping the image and sending information to your brain and your brain sending signals and releasing hormones to the rest of your body. Now does that make what you’re feeling any less real? Or beautiful?”
And I said shoo.
He was right. And I’ve come to realize, being grown up isn’t realizing magic isn’t real, it’s believing in it anyways. And let me tell you, a lot of these adults aren’t so growed up.
So maybe it won’t be so bad after all. I can vote. I can buy cigarettes and pornography. I can’t get into Neverland anymore. Can’t find the portal into Narnia.
But yeah. I believe in Santa Claus.
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