Now to be a 'whoo girl'.

I'm writing a poem!


I had plenty of other things to blog about but now, gosh, I'm entirely too busy which is unfortunate for all my millions of readers because this post was going to be awesome, with pictures and everything...


What's a 'twitter' for anyways?


Also, why isn't 'ashen' a verb? It would have been awesome, absolutely perfect. Damn you dictionary.com and all of google for not agreeing with me!

Joy:

a little something like this. How fantastic! If I had a million dollars, I'd commision a little something to go with every animal poem...


I imagine myself excelling in my program come September, racing through every project and leaving myself time to meddle with metal. Fool some scraps into being something fantastical. I may need to add a workshop to the list of rooms my dream house must have.

On hobbies.

I took up crochet years ago, but only ever seem to whip out my hook and yarn around christmas. I like to make cute or odd things like sushi and dinosaurs, and envision myself someday having the skills to go about modifying patterns to make even odder creations... dinosaur sushi? But, like writing, this is an activity that can only be accomplished at home, alone.

I have to count my stitches. Out loud. Every single one. I just totally lose track of where I am in my pattern otherwise and I can't really see what's going on with my stitches so undoing a row and starting over... gosh, I can't ever even tell where one row ended and the other started! So no, I can't have anyone around messing me up. I might be a bit of a perfectionist.


I like making things. And giving them away. I'd do it more but a part of me is terrified by how very few people seem to share my view of the world. What is so odd about crocheted brainslugs? You can't find a use for these?


I love seeing what other people make. And other people make wonderful things out of fimo!
BoltsandBots
PetitPlat
Articulate Matter

I could make things out of fimo, too. Oh, but my perfectionist nature would forever cringe at the fingernail prints I'd no doubt leave embedded in every porno-styled dinosushi I dished out!

One step at a time.

Pick a subject. Make it small, tangible, concrete. Pick something you care very little about, or perhaps something that makes you vaguely uncomfortable, something icky maybe, or something you've never even heard of. Pick something around which you can craft a poem that avoids sentimentality. This will then become a poem that can attract a larger audience, one that needn't be familiar with you, your surroundings, your experiences. Pick something interesting.

Learn all that you can about your subject, recording anything and everything that is remotely fascinating. Try wikipedia. The knowledge you gather might not be factual, but it might be more inspired for it. No, scratch that last bit. It's the internet, once posted it becomes fact. Become a part of this phenomenon.

Write down in your file, page, notebook, spare bit of palm, the most interesting words you've found associated with your subject. Challenge yourself to think of synonyms for these words. Use a thesaurus when your mind has run dry as it can be your most helpful tool. Keep your eyes and ears open and be alert for similar sounds, spellings, structures. Explore this 'music'. Don't be afraid of puns at this point, and revel at those words found whose dual meanings you can sculpt. This is the point when a poems destination, narrative, crux, whole 'point', might be glimpsed, or forever altered.

Let all these ingredients stew for a time. Leave open your file, page, notebook, scrap of skin and jot down anything that comes to mind throughout the day/night, whether it be images, extended metaphors, whole lines, or random words. Any one of these might in time be the pinch of salt that rounds out your entire piece, or the poke that sends it in an entirely different direction. But of course, only time will tell, and at this point, your poem needs this time to marinate, ferment, rot a bit.

Have a cup of tea. Pair it with a chocolate chip hot cross bun. Marvel at the perfection that is a cup of tea and a chocolate chip hot cross bun.

It's the final countdown! Dodododoooo deetdodododooo!

"So this is the magic trick, huh?"

"Illusion, Michael. A 'trick' is something a whore does for money... or candy!"

Tadaa! My countdown. Well, maybe just a rough draft. I'm tempted to make a new one. With even more stickers.

Oh sweet September, why must you tempt me by being so far away? My deposit is paid, my benefits are being taken advantage of while I still have them, and contacts have finally been successfully shoved into my eyes (only took three 45 minute appointments...) I'm ready. Well, except for all that other stuff that I have to wait to do. Student loan applications don't start until May and I won't get any more class info like a supplies list or class start times (like in case I need to buy a car if the bus won't get me there in time) until July.

Turkey is only 1.5 months away, though. Shouldn't that hold me over? I haven't been able to get excited though. Gah!

What to do, what to do.

Ugh, why do pictures mess up the formating? I'm very particular about my line spacing... I don't even know if I can post this in such a state!

I've been so bored. Especially in the evenings.

"Don't you have any hobbies?"

"I like eating."

"Everyone does. It doesn't count as a hobbie."

"Boogers!"

So then he says I should go write something. But I can't write when he's around. He's very forgetful and will forget to be shutted up. I don't even listen to music when I write, let alone participate in (or ignore) a conversation.

I wish I had art/crafting supplies, and lots of room for them to be spread out. I'd like to make something with my hands to go with some poetry...

Maybe I'll work on a spiffier countdown. With more sparkles and stickers... or candy!

Eyeball beatings.

Dear eyeballs,
Suck it up! That's my finger, and it's coming at you whether you like it or not! Rawr rawr!
You and your stupid eyelids are not the boss of me, and I will poke at you until the end of time, so stop. being. difficult.

Blues beaters.

There's something about coming home to the smell of slowcooking that lifts the spirit. It smells warm, savoury, dependable, comfortable.


I'm this close to once again sending out submissions.

But I think I'll eat a scone, watch reruns of Project Runway, and then go to my appointment.


I'm not sure what sticking my fingers repeatedly into my eyes will do for my mood, though...

I peep on you, mailman!

I like to watch the mailman through the peephole. I race to the door when I hear him open the mail boxes and watch. I try to see if any mail is put into our box, but the silly peephole makes everything look tiny and far away. So... this accomplishes nothing. I'm just a creeper I guess.

I love the mailman.

Today he delivered some Dinosaur Porn. Gorgeous book! I flipped through and read some of the shorter pieces (of course). I love the cover, the paper, the eclectic work within, the unusual theme, the content warning at the beginning, the humour, and one poem in particular... ;)

The mailman also delivered an acceptance letter for the sheet metal foundations course! I guess that's what I'll take, as it beat the race against the electrical foundations acceptance letter that is no doubt on its way :D School starts in September, and donations* are welcome, nay, fully encouraged. I can find your excess monies a fine loving home, honest!

Dear mailman: please deliver my T4 and the letter I need in order to download benefits claim forms. Seriously. Don't fail me on this. I need all resulting cash. Now. No, yesterday. Or just soon.


Soon, all plans will be in motion.






*All donations will be accidentally spent on an all-inclusive to Mexico.

'An opera is an absurd thing'

"It's fruitless to try to seperate them. Words and music are fused into one... One art redeemed by the other!"

Cue orchestra! Oooooooh soooo laaaaaaaa miiiiiiiiiiaaaaaAAAAAAAA!!!!

Oh, my goodness. Went to the opera for the first time. I wasn't sure it would be something I would enjoy, I get bored during movies, especially car chases and shoot-em-up scenes, and lots of german singing seemed along those same lines...

Oh, but it was woooonderful. The music! The set! The humour! The singing! The small bit with the ballerina! Even ze german!

Over 2 hours, no intermission, and marvellous.

Capriccio by Strauss, wherein a woman, torn between the love of a poet and a composer commissions an opera to help her decide.

I must do this again. I want to attend more cultural events, see more of the world of art and beauty. Ballets, operas, galleries. Maybe then I can connect again with my own art...

"...can you advise me, can you help me find the ending, the ending for their opera? Is there one that is not trivial?"

No :( Only :)

BSO= no go.

Oh well. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Which totally makes me crave chinese food. Again! Mmmm, fortune cookies. Chowmein. Soya sauce on everything.

So. Perhaps the simplicity of situation that arises from this news will set my pen (er, fingers on keyboard, just the pointer ones though, no fancy spider-hands-typing here :P) to twitching, though I won't be surprised if that waits a teensy bit longer. I need to hear if I've been accepted to either of the trades programs I've applied to, get that load off my mind too. And then!

And then! With only that single probably-september day to look forward to, and everything else set in motion, I can write and mail and receive and file and write some more.


I will write of tonsil stones.