Half-Poet

I know why you drink and write,
you poets of depressed night.
You feel empowered, which I'm sure
will not linger in the morn.
The word will flow in ceaseless praise,
to your fingers on the page,
and everyone will doubt no more
the reverence that you implore.

I know why you drink - to die,
because your poems of death are nigh,
Emily's gone, and Sylvia too,
so what now will we do with you?
We too are in the human race,
given you your time and space,
all the classes you could take
to keep at bay your real-life wake.

I know why you drink and time
your syllables to match with mine,
and though the company you keep -
Butler, Yeats, Cummings E.E.
will hardly make you one of these,
prestigious though it is indeed.
If you must practice what you preach,
then hope to God it's within reach
of Man's affluent companies
in this hopeless economy.

Hello, please edit. Thank you.

Labels for this post: leave, a, comment (please)

Myspace

After many frustrating arguments with my father over winter break, I decided to allow him to purify my computer and conceded to working with my personal account, aptly titled 'Jennifer', instead of the administrator's account. Generally, it's a good idea, except that it sort-of reminds me of training wheels.
Anyway, the real point is that I have seldom used my Jennifer account since my freshman year of college for any substantial work, so all my bookmarks remained, no matter how outdated (Tiffany's? Seriously?). Another one of these unexpected twists was my Myspace page. It was outdated, and in a bad way. At the very least, it was a picture of me and a former boyfriend, and I couldn't remember my password for the past, I don't know, 3 years? So I couldn't change anything.

Gah.

It is way more surreal to find a photo than a note. Your brain registers a thousand words at a glance, allegedly.
Thanks to my account switch, I've been able to successfully eliminate the photo.

Thanks, Dad. I guess parents really do know what's up, sometimes.

Labels for this post: dusty, tattered, page

Wall

I realized today in one of my classes that I don't think I'm going to be able to write a memoir-like piece for my nonfiction class. It is nonfiction, but I'm not sure that I'm going to be able to research the topic. Maybe I'll write about hair and female sexuality. Hmmm.

Lately I've been randomly writing poems. They don't really mean something veiled and significant, but I have discovered that writing poetry comes more easily to me than other things. I like to write silly poems, and typically they rhyme. I think having a strong musical background helps. Sometimes I forget that I love poetry, so it's nice to remember.

I am so happy with the weather right now. I'm not sure we could have asked for a more beautiful day, unless it was a day on which I didn't have gym, and could have worn a dress.

My recital is in about a week and a half, and I predict much neglecting of attention in other classes immediately following it. I also predict cake.

Labels for this post: oh hey March what's up?

Crushes

I feel as though this title needs a disclaimer, but I also think that life needs a disclaimer, or maybe a few.

"Life is not responsible for whatever happens to you," or "Employees must wash hands."

That sums it up pretty well.

Anyway, one of my beautiful girl friends always brings up how handsome or how beautiful she finds someone. She openly admits to having crushes - on everybody. Naturally, she would rather bring home Eli Roth than myself, but therein lies the difference between a crush and a crush. I have lots of girl-crushes, and usually crushes stem from an attraction based on someone else's humor or intelligence or something else I admire. The ones that have been sexual have been boyfriends or something like it.
I don't believe you should feel guilty about 'extracurricular' attraction if you're in a relationship, because it's really just part of your genetic makeup as a human bean. Similarly, you shouldn't rail on someone else for it unless it's actually a problem. You also shouldn't act on it unless you're unhappy in your relationship. I'm not advocating cheating or even an open relationship. Just honesty.

Speaking of honesty and crushes (even pre-pubescent Twilight ones) did anyone else hear about what Robert Pattinson said regarding his photo shoot in Details magazine? If not, look it up. I'm refusing to repeat what he said, but I will offer this as my reply.

Dearest Edward,

I would call you a cunt, but you possess neither the depth nor the warmth.

Labels for this post: crush, fiery, life

Bakery or therapy

For some reason, some of my most favorite people are the adjunct professors of the music department. Few of them are or were ever my professors, but they all seem to enjoy my company, which makes me feel like we're friends.
I really like being friends.

Anyway, one of my very favorite not-personally-my-own professors and I occasionally run into each other at the Bakery. Last week, she remarked, "The Bakery, or therapy." I said it was less expensive. We're both like, totally right.

It's interesting to see the way food reflects people. I personally can't stand picky eaters, because for some reason I keep thinking they're afraid of everything. Holy shit, don't eat that cake, it's totally poisonous! See what I mean?

My friend is right. I would so much rather have a sandwich than a session.

Labels for this post: Bakery, picky, friends

Absent

This morning, one of my professors told me that I was going to have to stop being late to their class. I asked if they had marked me absent again, and they said they had, to which I responded that I was actually there.
I can't really tell you how much this bothers me, mostly because I never miss anything of substance in class. I was about 8 minutes late this morning, and we didn't even begin to discuss anything of importance until probably quarter after. It was immensely frustrating - I'm just a naturally late person and I accept that, but I am not absent in mind or in person.

If you're going to count me absent, give me the option of leaving.

I am also unhappy because the windchill is 24 degrees, and I'm expected to power walk in it. I already have a cold, and it's difficult to sing, and my hearing is NEXT WEEK, and I haven't heard back from my cellist.

I think the world is probably against me today.

I also think that later, I am going to get my work done and watch a movie.

Gahhhhhhhhhh.

Labels for this post: discouraged, cold, sniffly

Watch

For some reason, I can't stand being watched or scrutinized. I suppose the only difference there is that scrutiny implies judgment. I don't really care, because it still bothers me. Maybe I'm just crazy.

Nah.

I've discovered that I'm an okay cook, but I'm a pretty baller baker. It could be that I'm just not that good at improvising, so baking is ideal. Either way, I really enjoy it. Thanks to my wonderful boyfriend, I now have a copy of Mastering the Art of French Cooking and I read through recipes pretty often. The next thing I want to cook is an artichoke, and the next thing I want to bake is a strawberry tart, which requires a pastry crust and a spring-form pan. It'll be the first time I've attempted to make a pastry crust, but I can always call my mom. She knows, man.

I'm not going to cook my way through that cookbook like Julie Powell. I admire her writing, for sure, and I can't wait to try some recipes, but I am absolutely certain that I would utterly lose any patience I possess trying to clean the food processor or something.

However.

I am seriously considering taking a few culinary arts classes, and I have a vague lifetime goal of owning a small shop selling local products/bakery. Seriously. If you don't believe me, you should try my apple crisp.

Labels for this post: Julie Powell, watch, bake