So, aside from working on Beowulf!Project (a class dealy where I'm going to blog as Beowulf, which is awesome) I've written some poems.
...Stop laughing at me. *Eyeroll*
They're a tad mature.
I was rather tired that morning and some strange vein of inspiration came up and was all, 'Yo, lets write some verse' and I did.
Perhaps it was the potassium. I had had a banana for breakfast. Even though I hate bananas. I was just hungry.
Anyway.
"Thawing"
Beneath sheets of ice
Sunlight spots the errant bulb
and whispers through.
Golden fingers brush under the ice,
bringing the petals to part
Any sound of former cold
Lost in red-pink hues of flower flesh'd
pushed tight against the earth now,
burrowing to seed.
"Storm at a Thousand Years Peak."
We had held together
our ten hundred years in snow
in rain, in shine, in gray.
Now?
Each asleep
in the crook of each others arms,
breath bringing dew.
Betide us, some force
forgave our hazy minds in slumber
no outward rot branding us from the world,
feted in our illusion,
nor did inward we ring as though oaks-
but like dawn, we crept, careful in pale shades of light.
No change brushed our skin-
only our eyes, mouths- corners upturned
laughing little birds.
We were filled, unstrangers to one another then
For the snow veils of our day held long
but melted quickly, wilting
with all the flowers I had held
thus, slept, slumbered we smiling.
We woke in some strange crux of summer
tongues foreign in our mouths from no use
languages drifting through our ears like strange songs.
Our hair was longer
but our nails were kept,
through natures like clawing
where in sleep- or like to sleep- hands roamed.
We murmured goodmornings in soft noise
lost to throat, ear, or poet then
found in upturned dog's ears and dark, deep nights.
our tongues rested in the pits of our mouths
but found comfort quickly.
We moved together, to bade off the cold
to slake thirsts like beasts in nature
vocals redoubling that ideal.
We paced like thunder in harsh storms
your were enough to catch every bolt of lightning
every quake of clouds, at length.
Floods came duly.
The storm caught us at tails end trembling
Unused to such noise,
such commotion.
We fell to one another like boulders in a pit
breath harsh, tinged by penetrating sunlight
eyes cast, finally now-seeing surroundings
but alighting only
where he breathed o'er me
an utmost shelter from our tempest.
September 22, 2010
June 29, 2010
Update from Beyond the Grave. Also, Quesadillas.
Howdy all. :'D I figured I'd step back into using this now-dinosaur since I need something to occupy my time.
I've had some goals for the summer to conquer, thought I should share:
-Learn to Cook (Done! Deliciously, too.)
--Through which I've made many desserts and foodstuffs. I'm ever sharing a 'recipe' (eh, more of a throw-together) for Quesadillas my mom and I are obsessed with. They will make you fat.
-Learn to Sew (Innnn the works.)
--Working on learning to make a catsuit. Because I like to start big and with things I don't fully understand.
-Learn to Drive, Goddamnit (Also in the works)
--Er. Uhm. Nothing to see in this subheader.
Anyway, onto the quesdillas.
Required stuff:
•Deep frying pan or skillet (for bacon and quesadillas)
•Colander/strainer; For bacon draining of grease
•Knives for cutting bacon, spreading beans, cutting quesadillas.
Food Schtuffs
•Tortillas, any size, flour or corn- Whatever you like. Two for each quesadilla, duh.
•Bacon. Lots of bacon. We generally use a whole pack for a couple quesadillas.
•Sour cream! Optional!
•Cheeses! Whatever cheese you like on quesadillas, I guess. But if you don't know, I suggest cheddar or a 'Mexican' mix of cheeses in a bag. Yep. It's cheap cooking.
• Butter. To fry them in. If you don't use butter you are a communist without tastebuds or a soul. D: One stick will do, you probably won't use all of it.
•Refried beans, black or brown. One can.
•Green onions! Those spriggy little bastards! I love them. Few springs, chopped.
Alright, now you've got the ingredients, here's the work.
How-To
• Cut up bacon and fry it on medium.
I like mine chewy, my mom likes it crunchy.
Have a colander on hand to drain it when it's done. Clean off your frying pan or skillet.
•Prepare quesadillas seprately, now. This is how I go:
Tortilla -> Beans -> Bacon -> Cheese-> More bacon -> Green onions
•Butter up the frying pan. Let it melt over it all evenly.
•Chuck in your quesadilla!
•Flip quesadilla when brown or golden.
•Remove when other side is browned or golden...ed.
•Add sour cream if desired.
•CONSUME.
Thats about it. :'D
I've had some goals for the summer to conquer, thought I should share:
-Learn to Cook (Done! Deliciously, too.)
--Through which I've made many desserts and foodstuffs. I'm ever sharing a 'recipe' (eh, more of a throw-together) for Quesadillas my mom and I are obsessed with. They will make you fat.
-Learn to Sew (Innnn the works.)
--Working on learning to make a catsuit. Because I like to start big and with things I don't fully understand.
-Learn to Drive, Goddamnit (Also in the works)
--Er. Uhm. Nothing to see in this subheader.
Anyway, onto the quesdillas.
Required stuff:
•Deep frying pan or skillet (for bacon and quesadillas)
•Colander/strainer; For bacon draining of grease
•Knives for cutting bacon, spreading beans, cutting quesadillas.
Food Schtuffs
•Tortillas, any size, flour or corn- Whatever you like. Two for each quesadilla, duh.
•Bacon. Lots of bacon. We generally use a whole pack for a couple quesadillas.
•Sour cream! Optional!
•Cheeses! Whatever cheese you like on quesadillas, I guess. But if you don't know, I suggest cheddar or a 'Mexican' mix of cheeses in a bag. Yep. It's cheap cooking.
• Butter. To fry them in. If you don't use butter you are a communist without tastebuds or a soul. D: One stick will do, you probably won't use all of it.
•Refried beans, black or brown. One can.
•Green onions! Those spriggy little bastards! I love them. Few springs, chopped.
Alright, now you've got the ingredients, here's the work.
How-To
• Cut up bacon and fry it on medium.
I like mine chewy, my mom likes it crunchy.
Have a colander on hand to drain it when it's done. Clean off your frying pan or skillet.
•Prepare quesadillas seprately, now. This is how I go:
Tortilla -> Beans -> Bacon -> Cheese-> More bacon -> Green onions
•Butter up the frying pan. Let it melt over it all evenly.
•Chuck in your quesadilla!
•Flip quesadilla when brown or golden.
•Remove when other side is browned or golden...ed.
•Add sour cream if desired.
•CONSUME.
Thats about it. :'D
May 14, 2010
Run
"You ever hear a rabbit scream?"
He shook his head. The larger man grinned.
"It's no Frith they're callin' 'fer-" He licked his lips thoughtfully, "They want that darkness. The darkness, y'know, they remember. The red, red, warm darkness.."
The weight of this interlude was uneasy; the smaller man shifted. The bigger man grinned.
"They kin recall the womb."
The jest of this was lost on the smaller man, for he did not know of rabbits well, nor their ways.
"I reckon," said the bigger man, leaning back heavily into the brick wall, exhaling a pungent cigar stench into the night air, smoke curling upwards in thick, snake motions to the bitter winter skies,
"We're all lookin' 'fer that darkness."
He shook his head. The larger man grinned.
"It's no Frith they're callin' 'fer-" He licked his lips thoughtfully, "They want that darkness. The darkness, y'know, they remember. The red, red, warm darkness.."
The weight of this interlude was uneasy; the smaller man shifted. The bigger man grinned.
"They kin recall the womb."
The jest of this was lost on the smaller man, for he did not know of rabbits well, nor their ways.
"I reckon," said the bigger man, leaning back heavily into the brick wall, exhaling a pungent cigar stench into the night air, smoke curling upwards in thick, snake motions to the bitter winter skies,
"We're all lookin' 'fer that darkness."
March 16, 2010
Old Sestina
Written for a class.
--
Over the crested hills rose the sun,
The golden rings stretched long before
The countryside peasants had time to wake.
Across their land, traveled night
Who, into the horizon gracious fell,
And his tendrils of blue escaped to the sea.
Those who traveled sought
To tend their land, impoverished sons
Who in their landless debt fell
Upon the feet of kings to be, for
They lamented the long lost nights,
Their sorrows kept them long awake.
The kings would rise, hearts awake
And through their royal haze did see
The coming of the colder nights.
And on their horizon, stood the sun
The answer which lie before,
And to their feet the king fell.
The lamentations the people felt!
The sorrow that tormented their wakes
The strain to be, for
Each kingdom that sought
Each sweet, rising son
Knew nothing of their valiant knights.
The tired, restless knights
Who were made, no, fell into
The trappings of the son.
The knights, awake
Who forever sought
The kindred childhoods before.
And such long roads, before!
The gallant knights
Who with tired eyes sought
And with weary feet, fell to
Each stumbling mire, a wake.
Each desperate man, a son.
The knight roamed and sought onwards,
A wake which fell to its knees—
Before the son would rise again.
--
Over the crested hills rose the sun,
The golden rings stretched long before
The countryside peasants had time to wake.
Across their land, traveled night
Who, into the horizon gracious fell,
And his tendrils of blue escaped to the sea.
Those who traveled sought
To tend their land, impoverished sons
Who in their landless debt fell
Upon the feet of kings to be, for
They lamented the long lost nights,
Their sorrows kept them long awake.
The kings would rise, hearts awake
And through their royal haze did see
The coming of the colder nights.
And on their horizon, stood the sun
The answer which lie before,
And to their feet the king fell.
The lamentations the people felt!
The sorrow that tormented their wakes
The strain to be, for
Each kingdom that sought
Each sweet, rising son
Knew nothing of their valiant knights.
The tired, restless knights
Who were made, no, fell into
The trappings of the son.
The knights, awake
Who forever sought
The kindred childhoods before.
And such long roads, before!
The gallant knights
Who with tired eyes sought
And with weary feet, fell to
Each stumbling mire, a wake.
Each desperate man, a son.
The knight roamed and sought onwards,
A wake which fell to its knees—
Before the son would rise again.
March 14, 2010
Gotta Write More
Or not. You see, schools been stupidly busy, so I haven't been writing a whole not. Not creatively, anyway.
I have a long collection of bits and pieces reflecting on literature I've been reading for classes but honestly, no one here wants to read what I thought about Cameron's Verbal Hygiene book. Not even me. And I wrote the notes.
But, beyond that, being and English major is filled with...Er. Some excitement. There's a lot to be read and analyzed and a lot of challenges I've never faced before, but doing the best you can, you know- Always a good thing.
Anyway, here's what I hope is a creepy thing to make up for reading my personal bullshit. Written on-the-spot, so I don't think it's too amazing. :/ OH WELL.
---
I probably should have left earlier. I'd forgotten about Daylight Saving's time- I'd lost an hour, and everything was dark outside now, at only seven. My, how time flies; it seemed like only a week before I was trudging through feet of snow and cold and bright, dismal, fluorescent feeling sunlight fighting through grey clouds.
It was around then I'd started to notice the footprints. We'd always had squirrels on campus, and they were always active, but these were a little bigger, like some strange dog's. The back left print always dragged. It was almost a continuous line between each set, when they hadn't been plowed over. They were never in the grass.
Now at Spring's start, there was no sign of the strange anomaly. The birds chirped earlier, and any rumor of beasts had been quelled by the quickening nights. Everyone was getting lazier, less cautious.
I know I was. That's why I was regretting leaving before dark. It's a small campus, to be sure, but it still had all it's dark pockets. My suspicious nature crept up behind me and was set to follow me home. It's only a few blocks, I rationalized, and there are plenty of people around to witness.
But they aren't the only witnesses tonight.
There's a scraping noise on the sidewalk.
Like something metal, dragging slowly. I can see sparks from the corners of my eyes. Sparks and ...And what looks like hair.
It smells damp. Moldy. Sick. I'm afraid to turn around now. I hear breathing.
Perhaps it's just a kid with a ball bat or something. God knows they don't shower enough up here. I walk faster. I'm under a pool of light. There are buildings here. It'll leave me alone.
The smell gets stronger.
The buildings are dark.
It's not going to leave.
I quicken my pace---
And it follows suit.
I can hear it now, I'm nearly at my door and the key's sticking- I need to get inside before something happens. I can feel it's breath on my neck.
It's warm and putrid.
The key rattles- I turn the handle--
There's a click! I can get in, I can get in and be okay and safe and-
Its breath is much closer now.
The door isn't opening in time.
--
Ehhh. If I had more time to expand on the idea I'd love too, but I don't, so I'm not sure what to do from there. I should have drawn out the walking scene some, but consider it a work in progress. A template. A jumping off point.
I'll probably not get back to it, but one can hope.
I have a long collection of bits and pieces reflecting on literature I've been reading for classes but honestly, no one here wants to read what I thought about Cameron's Verbal Hygiene book. Not even me. And I wrote the notes.
But, beyond that, being and English major is filled with...Er. Some excitement. There's a lot to be read and analyzed and a lot of challenges I've never faced before, but doing the best you can, you know- Always a good thing.
Anyway, here's what I hope is a creepy thing to make up for reading my personal bullshit. Written on-the-spot, so I don't think it's too amazing. :/ OH WELL.
---
I probably should have left earlier. I'd forgotten about Daylight Saving's time- I'd lost an hour, and everything was dark outside now, at only seven. My, how time flies; it seemed like only a week before I was trudging through feet of snow and cold and bright, dismal, fluorescent feeling sunlight fighting through grey clouds.
It was around then I'd started to notice the footprints. We'd always had squirrels on campus, and they were always active, but these were a little bigger, like some strange dog's. The back left print always dragged. It was almost a continuous line between each set, when they hadn't been plowed over. They were never in the grass.
Now at Spring's start, there was no sign of the strange anomaly. The birds chirped earlier, and any rumor of beasts had been quelled by the quickening nights. Everyone was getting lazier, less cautious.
I know I was. That's why I was regretting leaving before dark. It's a small campus, to be sure, but it still had all it's dark pockets. My suspicious nature crept up behind me and was set to follow me home. It's only a few blocks, I rationalized, and there are plenty of people around to witness.
But they aren't the only witnesses tonight.
There's a scraping noise on the sidewalk.
Like something metal, dragging slowly. I can see sparks from the corners of my eyes. Sparks and ...And what looks like hair.
It smells damp. Moldy. Sick. I'm afraid to turn around now. I hear breathing.
Perhaps it's just a kid with a ball bat or something. God knows they don't shower enough up here. I walk faster. I'm under a pool of light. There are buildings here. It'll leave me alone.
The smell gets stronger.
The buildings are dark.
It's not going to leave.
I quicken my pace---
And it follows suit.
I can hear it now, I'm nearly at my door and the key's sticking- I need to get inside before something happens. I can feel it's breath on my neck.
It's warm and putrid.
The key rattles- I turn the handle--
There's a click! I can get in, I can get in and be okay and safe and-
Its breath is much closer now.
The door isn't opening in time.
--
Ehhh. If I had more time to expand on the idea I'd love too, but I don't, so I'm not sure what to do from there. I should have drawn out the walking scene some, but consider it a work in progress. A template. A jumping off point.
I'll probably not get back to it, but one can hope.
October 21, 2009
I'm hunrgy for some...
Creepy Pasta!
---
Take care in crowded places.
You never know quite what's lurking there...
It's early in the evening and your friend should be back from the concert soon. You're waiting for him to get back so you can go over that chemistry work that's been giving you such trouble- But he's sent you a text saying he may be late.
To your delight, however, he's surprised you by showing up early, moments after you received the text. You proceed to let him in, willingly, and to start discussing the assignment. What started as a serious study turns quite quickly into folly, and you two are laughing and talking like you've always done, well into the evening.
As you talk to him, you notice he seems lighter. He's happier to see you, moves more. His smile is broader, and he's eager to hear all about your day.
While your conversation is on-going, and you're starting to notice these things, your phone beeps.
A text message is on the screen, from the friend sitting across from you, the time stamp only minutes ago. It reads:
'I'm downstairs.'
You look up, about to comment about the weird glitch, and notice that his smile is far, far wider than it usually is, and his teeth are much, much sharper...
----========================----
Like mirrors, your shadows are reflections of another plane of reality, holding back unfathomable truths that are inconsiderable by most humans.
Where those beings- not quite your reflection, not quite yourself- in mirrors require voluntary devotion and ceremony to be released or stirred into wakening, your shadows, on the other hand, only need be seen at the wrong time.
When your shadow's shadow is visible, with it's long fingers, skinny stance and flickering habits, the best you can hope for is that you don't look at it directly.
If you do, well... All your old tricks? The lights and covering?
No added light will help you here. It will only make things much, much worse-
And if you add shadows to shadow, well, you only get something far darker.
---
Take care in crowded places.
You never know quite what's lurking there...
It's early in the evening and your friend should be back from the concert soon. You're waiting for him to get back so you can go over that chemistry work that's been giving you such trouble- But he's sent you a text saying he may be late.
To your delight, however, he's surprised you by showing up early, moments after you received the text. You proceed to let him in, willingly, and to start discussing the assignment. What started as a serious study turns quite quickly into folly, and you two are laughing and talking like you've always done, well into the evening.
As you talk to him, you notice he seems lighter. He's happier to see you, moves more. His smile is broader, and he's eager to hear all about your day.
While your conversation is on-going, and you're starting to notice these things, your phone beeps.
A text message is on the screen, from the friend sitting across from you, the time stamp only minutes ago. It reads:
'I'm downstairs.'
You look up, about to comment about the weird glitch, and notice that his smile is far, far wider than it usually is, and his teeth are much, much sharper...
----========================----
Like mirrors, your shadows are reflections of another plane of reality, holding back unfathomable truths that are inconsiderable by most humans.
Where those beings- not quite your reflection, not quite yourself- in mirrors require voluntary devotion and ceremony to be released or stirred into wakening, your shadows, on the other hand, only need be seen at the wrong time.
When your shadow's shadow is visible, with it's long fingers, skinny stance and flickering habits, the best you can hope for is that you don't look at it directly.
If you do, well... All your old tricks? The lights and covering?
No added light will help you here. It will only make things much, much worse-
And if you add shadows to shadow, well, you only get something far darker.
October 19, 2009
Another for To-Night; Untitled 2
I am a ghost in tennis shoes.
A marauder, masquerading with sweet, sick vigilance
A heroine left on the docks
Encased in salt from the seaspray
Staring out to the storms
A statue carved in waiting.
A statue supporting a falling man who is
a flickering lantern, flinching, now
only guiding fireflies
as opposed to battleships.
There is warmth in these vice gripping arms
That heart beat
Coming through this salted stone around me-
The voices, they are so thorough!
I pray they not whisper..
My own are dubious, certain, but to think--
I pray, I pray, I pray
I cannot move from the salt-tomb.
I cannot love this Hyde, clawing me.
It is with horror I find those dreams!
That sleep addled voice I fear is his-
I don't, don't, don't want to have overlooked--
A man falling
Is a different man.
A statue resolute, turns her head towards him.
This smile cannot wither
Or?
He will drown.
I cannot ease him from his worries.
Words flutter, flurry through fog
Like pretty, inarticulate, useless moths
My motions and gasps.
Quiet sighs and mumbles
Fumbling moans and arching--
He is vacant beside.
I resign to wrap around him.
A sign of life!
This frankenstein's folly, he smiles now!
There must be-- Am I too much?
Am I a weight? I feel heavy on him.
His shoulders ache enough, surely.
All these things and woes!
He is Hunchback'd, my darling
From a lord of lightning to a peasant of squalor, I've found him.
And try as i might, i cannot find him the heavens if he will not gaze starwards.
it is something I cannot part him from.
This frightens me.
Again, like tides!
I will it to banish itself
To let him straighten his spine
To awaken to senses
Touch, hearing, sight!
Oh, I am a selfish wanting thing, now.
So, we are still, it seems
While I pray for this storm to pass.
A marauder, masquerading with sweet, sick vigilance
A heroine left on the docks
Encased in salt from the seaspray
Staring out to the storms
A statue carved in waiting.
A statue supporting a falling man who is
a flickering lantern, flinching, now
only guiding fireflies
as opposed to battleships.
There is warmth in these vice gripping arms
That heart beat
Coming through this salted stone around me-
The voices, they are so thorough!
I pray they not whisper..
My own are dubious, certain, but to think--
I pray, I pray, I pray
I cannot move from the salt-tomb.
I cannot love this Hyde, clawing me.
It is with horror I find those dreams!
That sleep addled voice I fear is his-
I don't, don't, don't want to have overlooked--
A man falling
Is a different man.
A statue resolute, turns her head towards him.
This smile cannot wither
Or?
He will drown.
I cannot ease him from his worries.
Words flutter, flurry through fog
Like pretty, inarticulate, useless moths
My motions and gasps.
Quiet sighs and mumbles
Fumbling moans and arching--
He is vacant beside.
I resign to wrap around him.
A sign of life!
This frankenstein's folly, he smiles now!
There must be-- Am I too much?
Am I a weight? I feel heavy on him.
His shoulders ache enough, surely.
All these things and woes!
He is Hunchback'd, my darling
From a lord of lightning to a peasant of squalor, I've found him.
And try as i might, i cannot find him the heavens if he will not gaze starwards.
it is something I cannot part him from.
This frightens me.
Again, like tides!
I will it to banish itself
To let him straighten his spine
To awaken to senses
Touch, hearing, sight!
Oh, I am a selfish wanting thing, now.
So, we are still, it seems
While I pray for this storm to pass.
Opening Day
Just starting the whole shenanigan. Opening with a poem (that;s a lie, these are just unstructured words.) scrawled in my notebook; using this as a place to put up writing and such scrawls anyway.
--
The night storm pressed--
Not only into my ears, but
into my flesh
and muscle
and sleep
Like heavy, cold fingertips leaving
Sweet, lithe, purple-blue, light prints
Gentle as a lover's palm-
Striking with iron.
The marks seep;
I find myself in disarray
Running from constant wind and motion
Your voice a buoy in this sea of distorted hallucination
That poets call dreams
There is a chaos in that rising wave!
We rest, suddenly
thrown at the shoreline.
You're like kelp to my legs,
Clinging, breathless, terrified.
I brush salt from my eyelashes
and we lay beached and baking.
Very quietly, alone, we're in unity.
Still, unmoving while we wait to drown in tide.
Our muscles ache from the swim,
Burdened by half-drowned fears
But we lie non-the-less
Still
Yes, yet still
Happy.
--
Hm. Not much a fan of the end.
That's all for this post.
--
The night storm pressed--
Not only into my ears, but
into my flesh
and muscle
and sleep
Like heavy, cold fingertips leaving
Sweet, lithe, purple-blue, light prints
Gentle as a lover's palm-
Striking with iron.
The marks seep;
I find myself in disarray
Running from constant wind and motion
Your voice a buoy in this sea of distorted hallucination
That poets call dreams
There is a chaos in that rising wave!
We rest, suddenly
thrown at the shoreline.
You're like kelp to my legs,
Clinging, breathless, terrified.
I brush salt from my eyelashes
and we lay beached and baking.
Very quietly, alone, we're in unity.
Still, unmoving while we wait to drown in tide.
Our muscles ache from the swim,
Burdened by half-drowned fears
But we lie non-the-less
Still
Yes, yet still
Happy.
--
Hm. Not much a fan of the end.
That's all for this post.
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