pipistrellafelix: (come into my lab)
I am cleaning out / organizing my room, at the moment mostly my bookshelves, which are an unholy mess & entirely too small for the number of books I actually own. I ran across my journal from several summers ago, in which I journaled / scrapbooked / made to-do-lists (a lot of them) / took notes for Arcadia rehearsal--which made me horribly nostalgic to read--& wrote scraps of poetry.

This is one of the scraps. Standard disclaimer applies to first drafts, ie, I have no effing idea what this means or where it came from; but for some reason I really like the tone of the narrator, which I find funny. I am not sure what to do about the ending (which I don't like). Thoughts?


You don't deserve this
level of perfection.
When I tell you I am an angel
I want it understood
that I am not being metaphorical,
or meteoric, or any of that.
In fact my total honesty
is the best thing about me
which is why I'm telling you now,
that I realized, over tea
and a pot of sticky rice,
that you may no longer
breathe my kisses or
feel my angel wings.
pipistrellafelix: (find x)
Day two of spring quarter & things are going swimmingly. (Which is a funny term, "swimmingly," seeing as swimming usually takes a good deal of work if you're actually engaged in it, but never mind.)

I had two classes yesterday--Thistory II & Asian Religions, which both look good. (The drama majors are rowdy as usual, which is what makes this class fun; & we're keeping tabs on how many times Rosa tells Damian to shut up. Also AR looks good & interesting, & I'm in it with Natalie--it's nice to have someone I know.)

Also yesterday was rehearsal, & more rehearsal--first with Perez on our own & then Act 1 at OCT. We're finally getting somewhere with that damned Act 3--not that we weren't going anywhere before, but I feel like we're finding things that really are right, that stick, that make sense. Which is a good sort of accomplishment in this play, in which nothing much makes sense at all. But damn, there are few things more satisfying than really beginning to understand things in theater. I love it.

Today I have absolutely nothing scheduled (no work yet, & no design class till Thursday), which is bizarre, but I am reveling in it. I slept in & ate a late, large breakfast, & spent way too long doing my hair because I had the time to. & I came to campus & have been doing homework & being fairly productive & all. It's good. I am waiting to rehearse more (theater = my own sort of drug) & delaying finishing AR homework (I dislike reading questions!) & hanging about in the Fine Arts building, which for all the time I spent here last quarter I still can't seem to get out of. Oh well. It's where I belong, I suppose.

& for poetry month, the first day )
pipistrellafelix: (ah-ha!)
So Kayla filmed Patrick & me today, all the library pieces. It was amazingly fun, playing with cameras & books & two lovely, lovely people.

Also I am watching Jeopardy. Apparently this is now our (Erin & my) favorite show. We yell at the screen a lot.

Also, for dinner, I made a sandwich on the grill: chicken, avocado & mozzarella. God, but I adore good food. & I just took the first bite & it is hot hot hot but so tasty.

& after diner I'm going to really sit down with all my papers & books &, after I revise that paper I have to present this weekend, I'm going to plan my quarter. No, seriously. All this, it's gonna get planned, & I'm going to get on top of it & stay there.

Life really isn't that bad.


more edna! )
pipistrellafelix: (classroom)
I did too little homework this weekend. I was both indescribably happy & very unsettled. I slept too little but too much at the same time, & all at the wrong times.
I should have done it differently.


Overture to a Dance of Locomotives )

(& now I want to take a train...)
pipistrellafelix: (ah-ha!)
I had a dream yesterday morning that the SU drama group was putting on Romeo and Juliet, in a strange space that was something like a stadium & something like a warehouse & something like an airline hangar & only a little like a theater. I was cast as Juliet, & Casey was cast as Romeo (Cozy I blame you for casting us in Hamlet), though he never actually was in the dream & I was never actually onstage; for most of the dream we were playing with the fight scenes, Mercutio & Tybalt & the opening boys, people like Andy & Damian & Aaron. I'm pretty sure Cozy was there, though I don't know who she was. Bill Taylor was there--directing, I think. It was kind of fun. & made me miss Shakespeare.

Also I cleaned some yesterday. & did not do any homework. That's today. That, & some kind of party thing thrown by Stef? Perez & I are confused, though we think we've got it worked out. It helped that some people were drunk & spilled things...(words, not liquids).

Anyhow. I am going to be productive for a few hours, & leave my computer behind so it doesn't distract me. & I'll leave you with a poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay.

City Trees )
pipistrellafelix: (Default)
A song from John Donne-one of his cynical ones, but I like it. The first stanza was used in Diana Wynne Jones' Howl's Moving Castle, one of my favorite books.

Go and catch a falling star )

I am very very glad I am taking dance this quarter...it's keeping my brain from going crazy. Although I haven't collapsed into hatred of Margaret yet--I'm actually still really excited. The conference is going to be awesome...lots of hanging about in a fancy hotel wearing nice clothes & acting professional & swimming in nice hotel pools. Awesome.

Marginalia

Apr. 4th, 2007 12:16 pm
pipistrellafelix: (classroom)
Another poem for April: by Billy Collins, a former poet laureate, & one of my favorite contemporary poets. I like this one because it's true. (As is all good poetry, I suppose.)

Marginalia )

Now I'm off to lunch (reading Shauna's blog at work makes me loath to go eat at the cafeteria; I want to pull together fresh things) & then to read & write some marginalia of my own.
pipistrellafelix: (actress)
April is National Poetry Month! So to celebrate, here's one of my favorites:

Samuel Taylor Coleridge: Kubla Kahn )

I won't be putting one up every day as some people are (admirable, though, & I plan to read them all). Still, once in a while, & maybe even some Donne, given that I'm reading rather a lot of his.

I really should get back to searching for history. Or writing that application. Doing something useful. But it's so beautiful & sunny out, & even though it's not really warm enough, I'd rather just lie on the grass & squint at the sky & dream or think or play.
pipistrellafelix: (gryphon)
I will put Chaos into fourteen lines
And keep him there; and let him thence escape
If he be lucky; let him twist, and ape
Flood, fire, and demon --- his adroit designs
Will strain to nothing in the strict confines
Of this sweet order, where, in pious rape,
I hold his essence and amorphous shape,
Till he with Order mingles and combines.
Past are the hours, the years of our duress,
His arrogance, our awful servitude:
I have him. He is nothing more nor less
Than something simple not yet understood;
I shall not even force him to confess;
Or answer. I will only make him good.
-Edna St. Vincent Millay


I miss poetry. We're about to start reading Paradise Lost, & we're doing As You Like It & I still miss poetry (in my defense, AYLI is nearly entirely prose). I think what I miss is delving into beautiful language, savouring the way it tastes, & then drawing out fabulously deep, often pretentious, & sometimes useless interpretations. No time for that; I need to read more history...
pipistrellafelix: (river happy)
I was tagging various authors in my Norton while studying & I ran across this:

a martian sends a postcard home )
pipistrellafelix: (anya/dimitri)
the sonnet:

Once dreaming in my sleep I thought I saw
A glimpse of somewhere else, of different lands
A world where magic lives and nature’s law
Is called to serve great mages’ mighty hands;
Where ‘here be dragons’ on a map is true,
And stories of the unicorns no lie;
Where pirate ships roam tossing seas of blue,
And stranger things than airplanes seek the sky.
I knew ‘twas all a dream when I awoke
To plain white walls, to homework and to school:
No dragons here, no magic-wielding folk—
And none are spoke of, lest I seem a fool.
But I have a pen, and I can write:
And in my stories, magic’s still in sight.

(From, perhaps appropriately, last Valentine's day.)


the icon:

For [livejournal.com profile] countcomfect for "history." I'm rather fond of this one. Happy back-to-Harvard, Philip...

Image hosted by Photobucket.com

Anyone else want icons? They make me happy to make, so. The crazier the better, too. (Claire, I got the picture, yours is on the way.)



And I have a chocolate chip cookie. And it is good. (Mmm. Breaking news.)

....wow.

Aug. 29th, 2005 08:01 pm
pipistrellafelix: (tenniel (me))
I spent the day sitting on the floor of my room with a tea tray and a pile of papers to go through, listening to Carbon Leaf, alternately being moody and annoyed and thinking I should just go to bed to fix myself (although food did help, since I haven't slept; I don't think I ate dinner last night), and then feeling supremely silly looking through my old writing folders. Gawd, I wrote some truly terrible things, none of which should ever see the light of day, and all of which are hilarious--to me, anyway.

Then I came across a bunch of handouts from Shauna in 11th grade Humanities, during her poetry stint; and I found a xeroxed copy of Allen Ginsberg's Howl Parts I & II. I started reading Part I out loud, muttering to myself, because poetry is better read out loud, and then I just could not stop. I read the whole thing, and it was fucking amazing. I'd forgotten how compelling that poem is. I'm still not sure if I like it, actually; but I know that anything that has that persistent but broken rhythm that catches your voice and won't let you go is pretty damn awesome.


Go: Read the poem. In fact, print it out on paper, because the computer screen can't do it justice. Print it out and read it out loud. Listen to it. It's fucking brilliant.

on the impulse of winter midnight streetlight smalltown rain, / who lounged hungry and lonesome through Houston seeking jazz or sex or soup...

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