Tonight I did something I've never done before: I went knowingly to a place that is haunted, for the express reason that it is haunted. I've been to haunted places before, among them the Tower of London, but never thinking, "this place is haunted, and that's why I am going there." The reason for this lies firmly in the realm of the nebulously goofy. I've always believed in ghosts, but I've got no reason to do so (and therefore also no reason to doubt their existence)...but have always suspected
For a long time now I seem to use this blog as a space to tap around in when I am not sure what I want to do. It's a kind of lost space, a space I'd describe with a word I can't find at the moment...liminal. There, I found it. That's why I come here, I suppose. To find things that aren't really anywhere.
It's a Friday night, it's been a tightly-wound week, and I'm not sure what I want to do. So here I am again.
I wonder what I'll find. I found liminal, which by nature is a weird thing to fi
A recent article, or several I suppose, have addressed the topic of a link between left-handedness and what is persistently referred to as 'mental illnesses', although scientists are hard-pressed to give much conclusive proof of such a link. Just, it seems left-handed people tend also to be different health-wise, especially where paranoia and dyslexia, and I am sure we'll hear other things as well, are concerned.
And...well I can't help noticing that almost inevitably these articles begin wit
I'm sitting here "safe" at home in Brisbane tonight but two weeks ago I had to cancel a trip to the UK due to a number of problems...at the time I really wanted to go and was disappointed I had to postpone the trip... but on the other hand I wasn't, as I realised I would skip being in London on July 7...I was there two years ago on my way out of the UK when the bombs went off...I went through the very stations that were bombed only hours afterwards, as did lots of other people... As I flew half
It's been a few weeks since I listened to Kate's music because recently my son's music has overtaken the house...Good Charlotte, Fergie, Maroon 5 (wrong spelling maybe) Silverchair...not that I mind... he has a developing love for all kinds of music and to be honest, the music these players produce is okay...he listens to Fred's 70's collection in the car and can sing along happily to Bob Dylan...this has been an exercise tolerating diversity for me as I'm not a Dylan fan at all, but if my son c
Work was so busy today. I hurt all over. Soooo many heavy boxes of fruit lifted. o_O
It's almost gotten to the point where I want to sort of discourage customers from buying at our market, so I don't have to work quite so unbearably hard.
... That's not a particularly good thing, is it? Uh oh. Oh well. I'll just have to hang in there, I guess.
Crannberry Juice is F***ing nasty.
I've tried to like it for so many years. Don't ask me why, because I couldn't tell you. It just feels like something I OUGHT to like.
But I don't. It makes me suck my own cheeks into my throat. Not good. I'm giving up, and am off to drink a delicious glass of apple juice.
All artsy academic bally docks left aside. I just felt like coasting idly through my mind and writing whatever I crash into.
I've given my blog 5 stars, so that's good. It's a positive response, so I'm optimistic.
For a while I considered having a honest-to-goodness reflective blog with a catchy title, and the subtitle "A Midwestern Girl near La-La Land" and then I jettisoned the idea because I was too busy to notice much about being near LaLaLand apart from the same five or six though
The letter Y is simply medieval. By this I do not mean that it barbarically assaults you with blunt and fearsome weaponry, and of course it isn't illiterate [well, or literate]. I mean rather, it is, perhaps besides the þ or ð, both still in use in modern Icelandic although long since dropped from English, the most medieval letter in existence. It has the unique property of being a hermaphrodite, mostly a consonant (masculine) but sometimes a vowel (feminine)--name me another letter that can
So... what's a Blog do anyway?
thought I'D check 'em out,
everyone I visit....
there's poetry flying about!
Ill have a crack at this,
It's probably a piece of p***.
I know some words,
and I can write,
does it have to rhyme?
...I am actually not certain what this project is, or will become. Just this title came to me, and it seemed so certain that it would be a title. I feel it is my task to follow it where it leads, until I've met the title whereever it originated.
What is invisible? What are the ways of being invisible? Is one always invisible to onesself? Is virtuality invisibility or are these different things?
For now, it seems to have some link to an idea like this one:
When I saw a be
Another poem I wrote a fews years ago. It was the final poem for a while...
I feel like a phoenix risen
From the ashes of my solitude
Which ignited it self
While my self
Against the emptiness holding
High into the night
Long into the day
A pyre i pushed
Me around in
My eyes it sparked
While i broke
The wind of anger
Or pity blew some
New skin wet with tears
From the pain, and mourning
I think this is my favorite poem I ever wrote. It would make a nice song, I think.
While you paint the fence
I see you looking back at me from my mirror
And while i imagine you seeing me
I try to guess what
I am thinking
While you paint the fence
When you come to me
And say, what is wrong with you
Who have you become
--which you don’t—
i am in here somewhere
and please just be patient
while you paint the fence
I already wrote about my vampire dream. I think I will make that into a story...in a short story collection involving the following things, nightmarish and funny.
They discovered the marble tomb of St. Paul the other day. Paulus's tomb had holes, so that in the middle ages, pilgrims could reach in and touch his skull or some other artifact. In the story, someone as part of a group goes to put his or her hand in the hole, and Paulus suddenly comes to and bites the person. It escalates to
When I awoke this morning, I came across strange things. As I glid silenty and slowly through that place in which I dwell, I became aware of certain things going on that would only happen if my presence was not suspected; indeed, the surity that I could not be present, and at all, was the foundation thereof. I stood stock still in my place, not intending to come across anything, and things were unaware of me. It was not any wanting to see, I didn't mean to be; as if when I had said goodnight
So I ended up writing a poem today. I just kind of sat down and it all came out. I was a bit angry about Global Warming at the time, and that's what its about. It was going to be a song lyric but I think it works much better as a poem. I can't decide whether it's really good or really bad. Maybe both (?). Anways I shall post it here and if you could write feedback i'd be grateful. It doesn't have a name, so here we go:
Little beaver make your damn
Don’t come knocking when the rains come
"this is J. Evans-Pritchard as rewritten by the man who played the sublimely obtuse General Melchett in the “Blackadder” series" (--David Orr)
We can have armies of academics marching forth, measuring poetry. Certainly. But whosoever thinks one can measure the greatness of a poem through a ratio of form and meter to the appropriateness of topic is marching forth under a banner that above all seems to dip sideways, like blinders on a horse. I suppose having poetry explained by Lord/Genera
In honor of my 1 year anniversary on the forum, I am 'immortalizing' the text of the trick-or-treat aria I love so much.
Don't mind me
standing here by your tree
I am not a normal woman
my eyeballs are white
I am deceased...
aaaaaaand yet I'm waaaaaalking waaaaaaaalking around
I'm a zomby!
Dead, but living--
and that's why my hair's a fright!
yes, my skin is falling off
and my dress is stained with blood!
The food of poetics and the poetics of food, and not particularly in the grotesque sense but I suppose so, excepting I am less interested in expulsion of said elements and much more concentrated on the ingestion, since words can be like food that is digested but not processed or released, it seems to me, and so the grotesque, so much about the 'ex'-factor, seems to me to play less of a role where one is incapable of removing words from the system by force or otherwise--for even when we repeat th
So incase any of you have wondered where I've been for the past two weeks, I've been away rehersing for Hampshire Youth Theatre's production of Homer's 'The Odyssesy'. It was a residential project and the rehersals were 12 hours a day so now I'm knackered. It's not over yet though! Still got production week to get through. We're performing from 7-9 of September. Should be great!
After that, I begin college on monday 11th. How exciting!!! I'm going to be a full-time student. I'm going to H
When there's so much signal so fast
that it's white noise to the ear-
not like the babble of a crowd
but like a trillion bits per eyeblink-
white noise, one voice drowned by a torrent of data...
like beyond planck's constant
where so much message decays
by bees and a supermarket
Three minutes I can brush my teeth in three minutes alright so go and I'm brushing my teeth 3, 4 I think 1.5 minutes bottom and 1.5 minutes top and that makes three even with my bizarre sense of numbers I'm late I said not by me of course by you who else you silly dunderhead I wasn't hurt I wonder is that always the first reaction not that I want it any more worst timing ever worst timing ever ruin everyone's life no one would want me I'd be all alone really ALL al