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Hallelujah!

Dec. 22nd, 2012 02:34 am
malapropian: (Default)
I'm finally (mostly) better.

Tomorrow I'm headed out for my week-long Christmas stuff. For people who don't celebrate the holiday we really do plan a lot.

Where did all my time go?

/thud

Dec. 13th, 2012 07:24 pm
malapropian: from Wonder Falls (cow of pain)
I am in the middle of a cold/flu/plague thing. It's pretty terrible. Every time this happens I wish that I'd had my tonsils removed - they always swell up like painful balloons.


Isn't this always the way? I had such plans for December. SUCH PLANS.
Tags:

(no subject)

Dec. 6th, 2012 11:04 pm
malapropian: (anatomyheartu)
This weekend looks like it'll be a little busy with errands and my partner's birthday (the big 3-6) and attempting to make the house less hoarders-ish. (It's not nearly as bad as the houses in the show, but there's a lot of clutter. I think the unfolded laundry on my loveseat has gained sentience and formed a government by now).

I have so much holiday baking to do, and I don't even celebrate Christmas! *shrugs* At least, I like cookies and gingerbread and fruit cake.

Writing anything is on the back burner, but I made a good start on in a few days ago. Unfortunately, I keep having ideas. My next project might be a series of tiny moments based on Richard Siken's poems.

WIP

Dec. 3rd, 2012 10:03 am
malapropian: from Wonder Falls (cow of pain)
It probably says something about me that if I took out all the desperation sex in the apocalypse story, I'd lose about 30% of the existing and planned content.

Rawr!

Dude. I don't even know what I'm doing awake right now. I was too wired to sleep last night (my insomnia is mightier than the sword). Tomorrow I will look at my files and wonder what the fuck I thought I was writing.

But that is tomorrow!

Fear it.

Dec. 2nd, 2012 06:34 pm
malapropian: (Default)
I spent a few hours writing today. My experiment has given me pathetically few words for all the time I spent.

Honestly, I think it's pretty terrible because I'm doing something that I don't really think counts as a good example of any kind of writing except for gratuitous fanservice angst. There is so much angst that it might have toxic levels.

I don't even know... I feel like I should apologize for Sakura and Kakashi. A lot. Maybe if I mutilate their characterisations again, I'll do something happy. With sexing. (Please stop me while I'm marginally ahead).

Still, it feels nice to write something (anything). Even if it's probably not actually good.
If you ask me where November went, then I have NO ANSWER.

Really, I have no idea how it is already December. Magic. Obviously, magic.

I managed to not participate in Nanowrimo, have a cold through most of November and participate in a semi-traditional American Thanksgiving... all through a haze of Nyquil and other drugs. If I did anything else of note (video games don't count except for with my little group), then I certainly can't remember. Oh! I watched all of the available Sword Art Online in two days. Yeah, still not very noteworthy or valuable. :/

My mostly non-existent immune system sucks. Maybe I should start taking a multi-vitamin again.

This month... this month I will write something! Anything. Well. Anything that's not an email or a review or a list or a blog entry?


Oh my. I just realized that I missed National Poetry Month. I love National Poetry Month. It is a wonderful excuse to spam people with poems I love or have just found or think are interesting...

So. Have a poem.


Objects Contain the Possibility of All Situations

I may kill. You should know this about me.
A razor in the night, without warning.
Objects contain the possibility
Of all situations. States of being
Embrace all imaginable events.
Any one life, or pair of lives, harbors
Every death. The succession of presents
Comprehends all foreseeable futures.
I have it in me to be a galaxy
Or one leaf on the frond of a fern.
I may become light in a sanctuary
Kindled by a rose window, or a cairn
Older than the woods it renders holy.
I may become water or earth. I may burn.

~H.L. Hix

Hm.

Oct. 23rd, 2012 06:30 pm
malapropian: (cthulhu)
I seem to spend a lot of time keeling over lately... like for the past couple of months lately. It kind of sucks.

Basically, other than random illnesses popping up, I need dental surgery. That terrifies me. A lot. I also can't quite find the money for all that surgery which is less terrifying, but it's definitely not comforting.

I have a lot of pain and I spend too much of my time not being productive. :/

After this week, I will take steps to be more productive and useful because as nice as it sometimes is to be a video game playing blob... I really need to get back into the world and not fail at life.

/keels over

Oct. 19th, 2012 03:38 am
malapropian: from Wonder Falls (cow of pain)
My stomach fucking hates me. Everything I eat lately seems to rebel against being in me, so I've been playing too much Guild Wars and staying up late because I can't stand the thought of laying down when I feel this way.

:/

Grr. Argh.

Sep. 19th, 2012 07:17 pm
malapropian: from Ouran High School Host Club (comfort food)
I promise that I am not dead.

I just really feel that way sometimes.

Bleh. /keels over
Piano
by D.H. Lawrence

Softly, in the dusk, a woman is singing to me;
Taking me back down the vista of years, till I see
A child sitting under the piano, in the boom of the tingling strings
And pressing the small, poised feet of a mother who smiles as she sings.

In spite of myself, the insidious mastery of song
Betrays me back, till the heart of me weeps to belong
To the old Sunday evenings at home, with winter outside
And hymns in the cosy parlour, the tinkling piano our guide.

So now it is vain for the singer to burst into clamour
With the great black piano appassionato. The glamour
Of childish days is upon me, my manhood is cast
Down in the flood of rememberance, I weep like a child for the past.
"The Hardness Scale"
by Joyce Peseroff

Diamonds are forever so I gave you quartz
which is #7 on the hardness scale
and it’s hard enough to get to know anybody these days
if only to scratch the surface
and quartz will scratch six other mineral surfaces:
it will scratch glass
it will scratch gold
it will even
scratch your eyes out one morning—you can’t be
too careful.
Diamonds are industrial so I bought
a ring of topaz
which is #8 on the hardness scale.
I wear it on my right hand, the way it was
supposed to be, right? No tears and fewer regrets
for reasons smooth and clear as glass. Topaz will scratch glass,
it will scratch your quartz,
and all your radio crystals. You’ll have to be silent
the rest of your days
not to mention your nights. Not to mention
the night you ran away very drunk very
very drunk and you tried to cross the border
but couldn’t make it across the lake.
Stirring up geysers with the oars you drove the red canoe
in circles, tried to pole it but
your left hand didn’t know
what the right hand was doing.
You fell asleep
and let everyone know it when you woke up.
In a gin-soaked morning (hair of the dog) you went
hunting for geese,
shot three lake trout in violation of the game laws,
told me to clean them and that
my eyes were bright as sapphires
which is #9 on the hardness scale.
A sapphire will cut a pearl
it will cut stainless steel
it will cut vinyl and mylar and will probably
cut a record this fall
to be released on an obscure label known only to aficionados.
I will buy a copy.
I may buy you a copy
depending on how your tastes have changed.
I will buy copies for my friends
we’ll get a new needle,
a diamond needle,
which is #10 on the hardness scale
and will cut anything.
It will cut wood and mortar,
plaster and iron,
it will cut the sapphires in my eyes and I will bleed
blind as 4 A.M. in the subways when even degenerates
are dreaming, blind as the time
you shot up the room with a new hunting rifle
blind drunk
as you were.
You were #11 on the hardness scale
later that night
apologetic as
you worked your way up
slowly from the knees
and you worked your way down
from the open-throated blouse.
Diamonds are forever so I give you softer things.

- - -

I had a mixed reaction to this poem. On the one hand, it definitely resonated with me. On the other hand... I don't like it. Maybe I'm confusing my feelings on the poem with feelings on the narrator? There doesn't seem to be much to like about the narrator or the significant other. On further reflection, it must mean I love this poem because I'm almost incapable of liking poetry or stories about happy people with functional relationships.
Lately, all my free time has been devoted to reading fic about Darcy Lewis. Who is that? Oh no one really. She was just a secondary character in Thor (the movie) and didn't even get a mention in The Avengers. She's not even in the comics.

Why do I love her so?

I can't even begin to tell you the reasons, just know that I do. SO MANY FEELS.

(no subject)

Jun. 20th, 2012 07:23 am
malapropian: from The Sandman - Endless Nights (delirium fish)
I've been in the mood to read The Sandman again, but I don't have the entire collection. :(

Sometimes I'm amazed at how Neil Gaiman found such an appropriate poem for Dream.

The Bridge of Fire
by James Elroy Flecker


Between the Pedestals of Night and Morning
Between red death and radiant desire
With not one sound of triumph or of warning
Stands the great sentry on the Bridge of Fire.
O transient soul, thy thought with dreams adorning,
... Cast down the laurel, and unstring the lyre:
the wheels of Time are turning, turning, turning,
The slow stream channels deep and doth not tire.
Gods on their bridge above
Whispering lies and love
Shall mock your passage down the sunless river
Which, rolling all it streams,
shall take you, king of dreams,
-Unthroned and unapproachable for ever-
To where the kings who dreamed of old
Whiten in habitations monumental cold.

Oh fandom

Jun. 18th, 2012 04:59 am
malapropian: (Default)
How do people start bingo communities? Or big prompt-y places?

I wish I knew. I wish I knew this because I desperately want people to write Naruto stories based on/inspired by poetry.

It's only that I was reading Pablo Neruda again last night and Naruto-verse is always in my head now... so everything was about various characters or interesting premises. I'd just... like to share that inspiration with people and see what poem X made them think of instead.

But how? I'm such a lurker what lurks at midnight. Lately, I haven't had the time or energy to talk to my friends as much as I should.

I have many fandom wishes (I'd say goals but I lack the will to carry them out). I doubt that they'll be accomplished, but that's still okay.


From Twenty Love Poems
by Pablo Neruda
translated by W.S. Merwin

XIII

Your breast is enough for my heart,
and my wings for your freedom.
What was sleeping above your soul will rise
out of my mouth to heaven.

In you is the illusion of each day.
You arrive like the dew to the cupped flowers.
You undermine the horizon with your absence.
Eternally in flight like the wave.

I have said that you sang in the wind
like the pines and like the masts.
Like them you are sad, all at once, like a voyage.

You gather things to you like an old road.
You are peopled with echoes and nostalgic voices.
I awoke and at times birds fled and migrated
that had been sleeping in your soul.

(no subject)

Jun. 7th, 2012 04:27 am
malapropian: from The Sandman - Endless Nights (delirium fish)
Humbug!

I've been contemplating doing some noodling about with a drabble series. I just... really... I have no idea what fandom I want to write about. I just know that I want to write something about "I tell you miserable things after you are asleep" because I listen to The National too often. Hm. I had a vague thought of writing about visiting a stranger in a coma just to talk about private things which obviously (for me) led to Sakura talking to coma patients late at night about her troubles because the unconscious can't judge her.

I think that I need to start dealing with the fact that I'm afraid to write again. I stopped for a very long time because I had no extra emotional energy to deal with anything except trying to eke out an existence. Maybe things have changed enough?

Ugh

May. 26th, 2012 07:29 pm
malapropian: from Ouran High School Host Club (comfort food)
Life is kicking me all over my ass.

Also, alcohol =/= medication, but powerade is delicious.
I'm in the middle of reading Fifty Shades of Grey. You might wonder why I'm reading it, but I'm not sure if I have an answer... at least not a good answer.

I heard about some erotic romance sweeping the nation. I heard about some Twific getting a publishing deal. I didn't know that they were one and the same.

That pissed me off, but it was a sort of mild anger. The kind of anger when someone cuts you off on the highway. Just a moment of RAWR, and then it's over. You don't need to think about it anymore.

It all changed after I started reading it. I got curious because... well. I love fanfiction. I love romances. I hate Twilight. I thought that the ideas and themes that made Twilight possible were dangerous and ugly. Also, SM's prose wasn't the most inspired.

Now I'm just full of righteous hate and rage. I'm halfway through the first book, and I really don't want to finish it (I will). One of my friends is reading Fifty Shades so that she can properly mock it, but that's just not enough for me. I admit that I want to spread my vitriol all over the place. I had a stupidly long and incoherent rant about Fifty Shades while I was making casserole today. My partner wisely ignored most of it.

So. About that rant. Do I want to? Is it worth getting it all out of my system? I think it might be worth it. Just like it was worth it for Avocado/White Serpent to write up the Cassandra Claire plagiarism debacle five years after the fact. (Okay, I have less of a personal stake, but it's still worth it for my peace of mind).

I have a plan!
1. Finish Fifty Shades of Grey
2. Rant about it and get it all out of my system.
3. Possibly finish the trilogy just to find out if it gets better.
4. Probably write that reaction for all the internet.


This would be so much easier if I had other friends who cared about this topic. I'm pretty sure that one of the hot buttons of rage on this whole issue is directly profiting from fanfiction. What can I say? It's a thing that really fills me with the fury of a thousand suns.
Wow. Life has been pretty busy. I'm glad that the semester is almost over, and that my club adviser responsibilities will be mostly over until August.

*throws a party*

Have a poem that I desperately wish I'd written. It has so many things that I've thought that I had vague thoughts the writer had been stalking me... just kidding?


Mon Semblable
by Stephen Dunn

I like things my way
every chance I get.
A limit doesn’t exist

when it comes to that.
But please, don’t confuse
what I say with honesty.

Isn’t honesty the open yawn
the unimaginable love
more than truth?

Anonymous among strangers
I look for those
with hidden wings,

and for scars
that those who once had wings
can’t hide.

Though I know it’s unfair,
I reveal myself
one mask at a time.

Does this appeal to you,
such slow disclosures,
a lifetime perhaps

of almost knowing one another?
I would hope you, too,
would hold something back,

and that you’d always want
whatever unequal share
you had style enough to get.

Altruism is for those
who can’t endure their desires.
There’s a world

as ambiguous as a moan,
a pleasure moan
our earnest neighbors

might think a crime.
It’s where we could live.
I’ll say I love you,

which will lead, of course,
to disappointment,
but those words unsaid

poison every next moment.
I will try to disappoint you
better than anyone ever has.
I know that I'm not going on a trip until Friday, but it feels like I have no time left to pack and prepare road-snacks. Maybe it's because tomorrow will be a busy day with half of it spent out in the world.

Bah.

Have a poem. Have two poems!


Matins

Unreachable father, when we were first
exiled from heaven, you made
a replica, a place in one sense
different from heaven, being
designed to teach a lesson: otherwise
the same—beauty on either side, beauty
without alternative—Except
we didn’t know what was the lesson. Left alone,
we exhausted each other. Years
of darkness followed; we took turns
working the garden, the first tears
filling our eyes as earth
misted with petals, some
dark red, some flesh colored—
We never thought of you
whom we were learning to worship.
We merely knew it wasn’t human nature to love
only what returns love.

~ Louise Gluck


Beyond the 45th Parallel

I want alchemy from this ocean,
not these metaphors of endlessness.
I have driven two hundred miles in a rented car
for alchemy. Past the Burnt Woods
and the Chitwood Bridge. Over
the 45th Parallel marked by a small sign.
They are all small signs, he'd say--
but he'd mean something literal
about the footlong oblong, the green
behind white lettering. While I
imagine grass limp in the equatorial sun,
snow adrift at the pole--equidistance
compressed to a metal slate.

Like alchemy endlessness is a fiction.
We are always halfway to somewhere.
I want more than transmutation:
I want the god I pray to to be real.

-Geri Doran, from Resin
This poem is full of uncomfortable topics, and I love it for that.



Reading All the Ads in the Back of Magazines

You fold two loads of laundry.
Your hands, once split by heat,
are now calloused, invincible.

You sit at your kitchen table,
masturbate next to a half-eaten bowl of cereal-
swollen clouds floating in pink sugar milk.

You stand in your living room
turn off the television, glare at the
reflection of your thickened hips,
wipe your hand across the screen
tearing through static.

A garbage truck roars outside your window.
You watch the barrels spit out the unwanted-
exhausted light bulbs and soggy cabbage,
a doll’s torso bruised by crayons.

You press your hand against the glass, shock
at how the morning’s cold presses back,
how even calluses do not deny
this pointed chill.

It is in this moment that you see yourself.
First, spot your left arm, pale blue stiff
and reaching. It tumbles with empty milk cartons
and a dead hamster zipped in plastic.

You see your heart waddle
like a damaged plum as it drops against
your breasts now sticky with syrup.
You watch your blood crumble and fall
like day-old rice, your face,
thin and jagged, slides from
the barrel like an oiled mask.

You turn away, once you recognize
the sound of your legs slamming
against the truck like twin corpses.
This.

This is when you realize –
you should have kept his number,
should have stayed after he kissed you
so hard it split your lip

when he chewed your nipple through
your sweater and you nearly fainted
by the shock white charge of it,

when he ripped your stockings
grabbing your thighs, when you felt
his fingers move inside you
as if searching a coat pocket.

This is why the price tag still swings
from your wedding dress, why you cannot
fuck your husband with eyes open,
why you dunk your child’s head too long
while rinsing his hair.

This is why permanence terrifies,
why your spine threatens to tear out
and run, why you do not own pets
but keep cages

this is how you haunt your own house,
why your hands coil in hunger
and why the sound of screaming tires
burning away in the night
is the only song
that ever puts you to sleep.

~Rachel McKibbens


I actually needed to be doing other things like finishing my club adviser plans and taking a shower. Some days are harder than others to find motivation. True story.