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I'll meet your eyes in this pool of blood... *~   
04:24pm 26/05/2004
 
mood: lethargic




You're Pale Fire!

by Vladimir Nabokov

You're really into poetry and the interpretation thereof. Along the
road of life, you have had several identity crises which make it very unclear who you
are, let alone how to interpret poetry. You probably came from a foreign country, but
then again you seem foreign to everyone in ways unrelated to immigration. Most people
think you're quite funny, but maybe you're just sick. Talking to you ends up being much
like playing a round of the popular board game Clue.



Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.





I should read that.
And in better news...


Sorrow sleeps where the bones were.
Pardon your sick war,
I’m dying.

Drink enough to keep the feeling latent.
Drink enough to turn your life into a blur
of car lights—
Bright red and white celestial smiling from taillights,
painting a Dali space of melting stars, your melting time.
Your Saturn iris slows under the influence.
I’m stolen from the background
to collide with your sky.

Peel back your skin; draw the cancer to the surface.
All we find is nose-twisting whiskey.
Months upon months of it,
eating away your better judgment.
Father, you’re losing your sick war.
I’m dying.

Scratch at your missing chunk of liver.
Soon, they will slice at your neck.
Smash up pills and family ties.
Shoot your fire black holy water.
Father, pardon your sick war.

Hear, I’m dying
The smell is chasing off all my friends
I sleep all alone in my bed when
your rasping drunken yell pounds my brain.
I can hear your cold demise creak crawl under my door.
I can feel your weakness chill through your sleep.
Father, hum in tones of death.
You stopped trying.

Pardon your sick war,
next time you close your chill eyes,
don’t bother to open them.
I’ll stand at the edge,
heart a crystal within a coal.

I wont forgive your surrender;
your stern fist falling limp under the glass.
I wont forgive your whines, or
your drunk anger crimes.
I wont pardon your sick war.

Your semi-automatic abuse fired at random,
I learned to sleep with life vest on.
Is your end your beginning? Here,
I question existence.
Your bones resting securely at six feet,
would you even be safe from my scorn?
 
     
4 meowed|who are you?
 
So, I fell for the promise of life with a purpose, but I know that's impossible now... *~   
02:56pm 03/05/2004
 
mood: thankful
Well, I'm here in the library after my glorious AP English test, and I plan on updating the wonderful journal of public opinion in a second. I wanted to spout off, free style, in a sense. I was just looking at this guy over yonder...

All these interesting men,
shining women, small framed--
All I have room to want is
this interesting view,
short chair, sombre sky.

I'll move along quietly.
I never wanted to be Woman,
but when I started the life,
I started liking the title.
I started living the name.
 
     
who are you?
 
bow chicka bow nowwwwwwww... *~   
08:13pm 25/04/2004
 
mood: calm
Ok, so I have been working on the afore posted poem...
It is here again, renewed in a few ways...

~*~*~*~

Untitled--(still, yes)

Sober up! This is war between you and yourself,
and you are losing.
White days beg smiles.
Tears creep from cracked eyes.
Winning is not the goal of the game—
If you claim victory, you also admit defeat.

Still, wit raises arms against feeling.
Quivering wisdom is set and aimed,
Knowing just where to strike for the kill.
Emotion coats itself in pitch and sets sail
For high tides of despair, waves of desperation,
Undertows of depression, and drifts on.

The battleground is littered life.
Anchor sunk, marched ashore.
Emotion names Love vanguard,
Love cowers behind Pride.
Pride issues command to Fear,
‘Stand firm!’
Fear scampers, Anger advances
and seeks out Revenge.
They cannot control their ranks.

Knowledge approaches with stealth,
Years of training lend him respect.
He strangles Love with scrutiny,
Blood to dampen the soil.
He cuts down Pride with challenge and dispute.
Fear is not to be found, yet
Anger is hung with a rope of humbling reality.
Heart’s remains fertilize the terrain.

The battleground is littered life.
Innocence sighs on the air.
Always, your fields will be stained past feeling.
You will agree to thinking things through.
Everyday, you make wise decisions.
Security passes on Love.

With harvest comes the wide, yawning moon.
Seeds had slept dormant, lunar light lures growth.
Previously slain emotion rises up, radiates peace.
Surely, Death always leaves seeds for the future.
Surely, Death is just the prelude to hope.

We live in circles—
Sprouts in spring to
Waste in winter,
Rise to sprout again.

We live in circles—
Reborn in countless deaths,
We change.
We repent and recycle life.

Rise up! This is war between you and yourself
and you cannot lose.
Corner your own truth.
Death offers the only security.
Peace soothes unsure smiles.
Winning is not the goal of the game—
Only if you seek victory will you suffer defeat.


From the two who have found me...
Any comments are appreciated. Mucho love.

<3<3<3
 
     
who are you?
 
Don't forget, I'll hold your head and watch the night sky fade to red... *~   
07:51pm 22/04/2004
 
mood: aggravated
A little something by myself... For myself...

~*~ .:. ~*~ .:. ~*~ .:. ~*~

Untitled--(For Now)

Sober up!
This is a war between you and yourself,
And you are losing.
White blossoms beg smiles,
Tears are drawn from cracked eyes.
Winning is not the goal of the game—
If you claim victory, you also admit defeat.

Still, wit raises arms against emotion.
Quivering wisdom is set and aimed,
Knowing just where to strike for the kill.
Feeling coats itself in pitch and sets sail
For high tides of despair, waves of desperation,
Undertows of depression, and drifts on.

The battleground is littered life.
Anchor sunk, marched ashore.
Emotion names Love vanguard,
Love cowers behind Pride.
Pride issues command to Diffidence,
‘Stand firm!’
Diffidence scampers, Anger advances
and seeks out Revenge.
They cannot control their ranks.

Knowledge approaches with stealth,
Years of training lend him respect.
He strangles Love with scrutiny,
Blood to dampen the soil.
He cuts down Pride with challenge and dispute.
Yet where Diffidence is not to be found,
Anger is hung with a rope of humbling truth.
Heart’s remains fertilize the terrain.

The battleground is littered life.
Innocence sighs on the air.
Always, your fields will be stained past feeling.
You will agree to thinking things through.
Everyday, you make wise decisions.
Security passes on Love.

With harvest comes the wide, yawning moon.
Seeds had slept dormant, lunar light lures growth.
Previously slain emotion rises up, radiates peace.
Surely, Death always leaves seeds for the future.
Surely, Death is just the prelude to hope.
 
     
who are you?
 
Bye, bye beautiful... Don't bother to write. *~   
09:57pm 14/04/2004
 
mood: awake
Well, I created myself another LJ for the purposes of holding all writing, both mine and of others, because the other LJ only serves the purpose of being my diary. Where I can go blah blah blah I hate my life blah blah. The End.

To start us off on the right foot, I'm giving you John Berryman. This is the one thing I can't stop reading over and over recently. It's even in my AIM profile.

Dreamsong 22

I am the little man who smokes & smokes.
I am the girl who does know better but.
I am the king of the pool.
I am so wise I had my mouth sewn shut.
I am a government official & a goddamned fool.
I am a lady who takes jokes.

I am the enemy of the mind.
I am the auto salesman and love you.
I am a teenage cancer, with a plan.
I am the blackt-out man.
I am the woman powerful as a zoo.
I am two eyes screwed to my set, whose blind--

It is the Fourth of July.
Collect: while the dying man,
forgone by you creator, who forgives,
is gasping 'Thomas Jefferson still lives'
in vain, in vain, in vain.
I am Henry Pussy-cat! My whiskers fly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ .:::.

And I have asked my own Captain, Wojo, to help me interpret it's apparent insanity, which delights me so much... I hope he delivers me the wisdom soon.

Fin.
 
     
2 meowed|who are you?