z • a • k

Mon, 15 Sep 2008 04:20:02 GMT

I like this version way better.

vestigial theory

i dare question that charred ant pile,
maybe wrought by malice and octane---
or, maybe too
the clever work of a clever child
with a magnifying glass.

and how about those lipstick bespackled butts by the bench,
exiled and twisted into dirty constellations;
i wonder about those
little, umbral whispers of marlboro cowboys
or of other things.

and don't forget god's crisscrossed litter all over the sand,
crustaceous and paragon in its geometry
or the lost hermit shell that whispers and woes
under the star-matted currents and combs
both under
the moon and above
the songs
of cavernous midnight whales.

there's grandma's falsetto windchimes hanging above the hydrangeas
and bees slaloming over sunlit loams to aeolian voices
but how stale everything becomes
when the wind goes and those voices follow.
how angry are the spiders in that silence?

the silence in which a heron's wings shear
a placid lake into waratah scarves
a silence in which you can hear the sun
kissing the morning's frost.

i dare question these brusque chalkmarks,
because who does?
who can catch a dandelion's tear
before it is stolen by the breeze?

it's like opening your hands to the sky
to find that the butterfly has already escaped.

Thu, 11 Sep 2008 05:03:02 GMT

   Sorry I've been kind of M.I.A. -- I've been doing lots of work and trying to get into the swing of junior year. :] Anyway, I'm taking a verse writing class this semester, so I'll be writing a poem each week and posting here for all of you lovelies to give me feedback before I actually turn it in. All in all, things are moving pretty smoothly.

OH, and I'm going to Singapore this winter. :O  < -- pumpedpumped

       vestigial theory

       i dare question that charred ant pile,
       maybe wrought by malice and octane—
       or, maybe too
       the clever work of a clever child
       with a magnifying glass.

       and how about the lipstick bespackled butts by the bench,
       exiled and twisted into dirty constellations;
       i wonder about those
       little, umbral whispers of marlboro cowboys.
       or of other things.

       and don't forget the criscrossing circles in the sand
       with their crustacean and paragon geometry,
       or the lost hermit shell that murmurs
       under the glittering, star-matted combs
       both under
                the moon and above
                                  the songs
       of midnight whales.

       and those falsetto windchimes amidst hanging flowers,
       aeolian harps and minor pitches
       gone when the wind begone
       and stale and blue as winter;
       but somehow still ghostly and so beautiful.

       the cobwebs that spew in ancient puffs
       when an old book is opened or shut
       and the spiders that move angrily
       in the silence that follows—

       i never knew what ephemeral was;
       never heard a bride's train tickle the carpet
       or seen a heron's wings razor a placid lake.

       but i dare question them,
       i dare question the eidolons because:
       in them
       is the purity of a moment so grand,
       so unadulterated,
       that it must be a great artist's rendition
       of something much greater
       than my thoughts and my whims and my fancies.
       more than just
       a vestige.

rawr

Wed, 27 Aug 2008 09:16:56 GMT

         So I'm a little delirious and a lot sick. I think the fact that I've been out partying every night for the last month and a half—not even joking—has finally caught up to my immune system and my general well being. :: whines. ::

         I'm not really sure what to write this morning. I'm presently up because my room overlooks a busy epicenter of collegetown (i.e., there's lots of morning delivery trucks and generally loud-assed individuals); it's a nice place, but it could be a little bigger and a lot less noisy. Classes start up again on Thursday: should be interesting, although I'm not really looking forward to having to do work again. I had such a wonderful summer, but I guess it's officially over. Boooo.

         </Emo>

the great resurrection

Thu, 21 Aug 2008 08:31:34 GMT

Two years into college—into the entwining grip of semi-real life—and here I am, smoking a bowl and scrolling through old livejournal posts: posts from years ago, when I was a completely different person. I look back on all of that now and in retrospect all I can say, honestly, is holy-fuckin'-shit.

I think it's rather fitting that my last post ended with me going off to college, because a whole new chapter opened for me when I left home for Cornell. I explored my sexuality more, I learned amazing things, I have met truly incredible and indescribable people, I've drank myself to oblivion more times than China has won gold medals, I've had sex, I've done drugs, I've failed exams, I've passed exams, I've felt love and hate and everything in between—I've really been around the block and back again (and don't get sassy with that one, please). This livejournal has been like some weird gravitational time capsule, because somehow it always manages to slip into my life and force me back to the (relatively) dark depths of my adolescence and development as a teenager. In a way, I feel like that's what journals are meant for.

I'm going to start posting here more regularly, because journals—while self-proclaimed as time capsules—are also very mitigating and are nice outlets of expression. Ideally I'd be spending lots and lots of time ranting about all of these noticeably different changes in myself, but that's just not me and probably not very interesting. If you are interested, though, let me know and we can chat elsewhere. =)

I guess it's sufficiently safe to say that I'm back.

Mon, 16 Aug 2004 08:00:11 GMT

Ask if you dare.