It's all too familiar, the shades of grey. The staying away from people around me. The "I don't want to eat" because my anxiety eats my hunger. The (self)doubt of all my friendships.
I thought it would be different.
It's not.
Friday, September 9, 2011
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
scene change
[same character. different setting.]
Good morning, moon.
We have another few hours here, together,
as the chill of the weather
outside the window panes bites
my heart as if it were sitting,
out in the biting wind,
exposed.
It is true, you know, the part
about my heart
being exposed;
I can feel a certain
prick, prick
like a woodpecker
peck, pecking on the organs
inside my ribs.
I guess the bird isn't all that's trapped in a cage.
Nothing has changed, has it, moon?
I am still floundering I am still groping I am still slipping I am still waiting I am all but
still.
[the window may now be a mirror, though it may not be, as the gentle drops of water fall either from a source outside or from a source within the room's four walls]
Your light moves me
lures me
intoxicates me
Your light forces me to confront what I bury during your absence.
You create a lesion in me,
toppling me over the edge of my
mind as it
c r a c k s
and I feel
e ve ry
th r e ad
f r a y i n g.
Insert stage directions here:
[Dim the lights slowly to black out]
Sunday, August 21, 2011
"Tell the ones that need to know, we are headed north."
Music has a funny way of saying things I've been trying to formulate in my head. As I head off to Pittsburgh to begin life as a university student, the Avett Brothers' song "I and Love and You" pops into my head. In fact, the title of this post is a line of lyrics from that very song. The lulling, evocative beauty in the chord strains and vocals in tandem with the compelling lyrics capture the excitement, yet nervousness, of moving away. Of starting a new life. Of finding new people and new places that will be the recipients of your time and energy, tears and laughter, stress and care.
Shining with all his might:
He did his very best to make
The billows smooth and bright--
And this was odd, because it was
The middle of the night.
The moon was shining sulkily,
Because she thought the sun
Had got no business to be there
After the day was done--
"It's very rude of him," she said,
"To come and spoil the fun!"
The sea was wet as wet could be,
The sands were dry as dry.
You could not see a cloud, because
No cloud was in the sky:
No birds were flying overhead--
There were no birds to fly.
The Walrus and the Carpenter
Were walking close at hand;
They wept like anything to see
Such quantities of sand:
"If this were only cleared away,"
They said, "it would be grand!"
"If seven maids with seven mops
Swept it for half a year.
Do you suppose," the Walrus said,
"That they could get it clear?"
"I doubt it," said the Carpenter,
And shed a bitter tear.
"O Oysters, come and walk with us!"
The Walrus did beseech.
"A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,
Along the briny beach:
We cannot do with more than four,
To give a hand to each."
The eldest Oyster looked at him,
But never a word he said:
The eldest Oyster winked his eye,
And shook his heavy head--
Meaning to say he did not choose
To leave the oyster-bed.
But four young Oysters hurried up,
All eager for the treat:
Their coats were brushed, their faces washed,
Their shoes were clean and neat--
And this was odd, because, you know,
They hadn't any feet.
Four other Oysters followed them,
And yet another four;
And thick and fast they came at last,
And more, and more, and more--
All hopping through the frothy waves,
And scrambling to the shore.
The Walrus and the Carpenter
Walked on a mile or so,
And then they rested on a rock
Conveniently low:
And all the little Oysters stood
And waited in a row.
"The time has come," the Walrus said,
"To talk of many things:
Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--
Of cabbages--and kings--
And why the sea is boiling hot--
And whether pigs have wings."
"But wait a bit," the Oysters cried,
"Before we have our chat;
For some of us are out of breath,
And all of us are fat!"
"No hurry!" said the Carpenter.
They thanked him much for that.
"A loaf of bread," the Walrus said,
"Is what we chiefly need:
Pepper and vinegar besides
Are very good indeed--
Now if you're ready, Oysters dear,
We can begin to feed."
"But not on us!" the Oysters cried,
Turning a little blue.
"After such kindness, that would be
A dismal thing to do!"
"The night is fine," the Walrus said.
"Do you admire the view?
"It was so kind of you to come!
And you are very nice!"
The Carpenter said nothing but
"Cut us another slice:
I wish you were not quite so deaf--
I've had to ask you twice!"
"It seems a shame," the Walrus said,
"To play them such a trick,
After we've brought them out so far,
And made them trot so quick!"
The Carpenter said nothing but
"The butter's spread too thick!"
"I weep for you," the Walrus said:
"I deeply sympathize."
With sobs and tears he sorted out
Those of the largest size,
Holding his pocket-handkerchief
Before his streaming eyes.
"O Oysters," said the Carpenter,
"You've had a pleasant run!
Shall we be trotting home again?'
But answer came there none--
And this was scarcely odd, because
They'd eaten every one.
It didn't hit me until today that I was actually leaving.
Tomorrow.
Er... today, technically, since it's now past midnight (I should probably get to sleep).
As I strolled aimlessly around the second story of my house after locking my suitcases (completely packed, at last!), a poem popped into my head. "The Walrus and The Carpenter" is one of Lewis Carroll's most well known pieces, revered by children and adults, alike. I feel that its popularity has something to do with how versatile the story is (similar to the versatility of my favorite story of all time, Peter Pan. But I digress...). The tale of the Walrus and the Carpenter can be a silly children's piece, purely for entertainment. It can also be something much more, though. The poem can be a metaphor for life, and leaving one life to start a new one, and finding that there are lots of bumps and humps and gligglyglumps in this new life that you're trying to set for yourself. It is a warning to not be too naive. It is a reminder to not take things for granted. It is a bundle of many more things I could think of if I weren't so tired.
And so, as I shut down the computer for the night, here is Lewis Carroll's The Walrus and The Carpenter:
The Walrus and The Carpenter
Lewis Carroll
(from Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There, 1872)Shining with all his might:
He did his very best to make
The billows smooth and bright--
And this was odd, because it was
The middle of the night.
The moon was shining sulkily,
Because she thought the sun
Had got no business to be there
After the day was done--
"It's very rude of him," she said,
"To come and spoil the fun!"
The sea was wet as wet could be,
The sands were dry as dry.
You could not see a cloud, because
No cloud was in the sky:
No birds were flying overhead--
There were no birds to fly.
The Walrus and the Carpenter
Were walking close at hand;
They wept like anything to see
Such quantities of sand:
"If this were only cleared away,"
They said, "it would be grand!"
"If seven maids with seven mops
Swept it for half a year.
Do you suppose," the Walrus said,
"That they could get it clear?"
"I doubt it," said the Carpenter,
And shed a bitter tear.
"O Oysters, come and walk with us!"
The Walrus did beseech.
"A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,
Along the briny beach:
We cannot do with more than four,
To give a hand to each."
The eldest Oyster looked at him,
But never a word he said:
The eldest Oyster winked his eye,
And shook his heavy head--
Meaning to say he did not choose
To leave the oyster-bed.
But four young Oysters hurried up,
All eager for the treat:
Their coats were brushed, their faces washed,
Their shoes were clean and neat--
And this was odd, because, you know,
They hadn't any feet.
Four other Oysters followed them,
And yet another four;
And thick and fast they came at last,
And more, and more, and more--
All hopping through the frothy waves,
And scrambling to the shore.
The Walrus and the Carpenter
Walked on a mile or so,
And then they rested on a rock
Conveniently low:
And all the little Oysters stood
And waited in a row.
"The time has come," the Walrus said,
"To talk of many things:
Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--
Of cabbages--and kings--
And why the sea is boiling hot--
And whether pigs have wings."
"But wait a bit," the Oysters cried,
"Before we have our chat;
For some of us are out of breath,
And all of us are fat!"
"No hurry!" said the Carpenter.
They thanked him much for that.
"A loaf of bread," the Walrus said,
"Is what we chiefly need:
Pepper and vinegar besides
Are very good indeed--
Now if you're ready, Oysters dear,
We can begin to feed."
"But not on us!" the Oysters cried,
Turning a little blue.
"After such kindness, that would be
A dismal thing to do!"
"The night is fine," the Walrus said.
"Do you admire the view?
"It was so kind of you to come!
And you are very nice!"
The Carpenter said nothing but
"Cut us another slice:
I wish you were not quite so deaf--
I've had to ask you twice!"
"It seems a shame," the Walrus said,
"To play them such a trick,
After we've brought them out so far,
And made them trot so quick!"
The Carpenter said nothing but
"The butter's spread too thick!"
"I weep for you," the Walrus said:
"I deeply sympathize."
With sobs and tears he sorted out
Those of the largest size,
Holding his pocket-handkerchief
Before his streaming eyes.
"O Oysters," said the Carpenter,
"You've had a pleasant run!
Shall we be trotting home again?'
But answer came there none--
And this was scarcely odd, because
They'd eaten every one.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Another Angel in Heaven
As I try to process how fleeting life can be, only a few feeble lyrics dribble out of me. Perhaps, some day, the song will be complete. But for now, there are only scratches on a page.
I pray the Lord my soul to keep
because He took you before you could wake.
I don't understand why I'm still living,
even after you stopped breathing.
How does He decide which ones to take?
They say the best die young.
I'll just keep living the best I can each day.
They say the best die young,
so young.
MDW
daughter, sister, friend, classmate
Be strong, be blessed
8/17/11
8/17/11
We will always remember you, beautiful girl.
Friday, July 22, 2011
scratch that.
The thing is
I always regret
blog posts
(that are positive)
/period/
The thing is
I regret
blog posts
(where I write about
faith in love being renewed)
/period/
I just do
/period/
I do not know
how to shake that
/period/
I regret
blog posts
/period/
-eleanor
I always regret
blog posts
(that are positive)
/period/
The thing is
I regret
blog posts
(where I write about
faith in love being renewed)
/period/
I just do
/period/
I do not know
how to shake that
/period/
I regret
/period/
-eleanor
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
pritty is me calld, no?
Some girls are born pretty.
Some girls become pretty.
Some girls lose their prettiness.
Others are just confused.
Perhaps being "pretty," though, has nothing to do with it, and perhaps I should not have used that word at all.
Maybe the correct word is Pretty.
I'm tempted to say that attractiveness is not a state of being, but a state of being in the right place at the right time. Humans, in this respect, are akin to items sold in stores.
The doll, loose brown curls and faded blue eyes, found in the antique store is ignored by the curly haired, ribbon-wearing four-year-old because it is old. It is not shiny. It is not what everyone else has or wants.
The most recent Barbie or Bratz doll, however, is feverishly stripped from the Toys R Us shelving unit because the little girl with the curly blond hair and tiny, pink-polished fingers knows that this is what she should find attractive. This is what she should find pretty.
Qualification: She does not know this is what is going on in her head. It's a subconscious processes, one we've all succumbed to without our consent at least once in our lives. Becoming programmed to think a certain way because of image overload. Why else do we shop at popular stores? Listen to Top40 radio? See box office hits at movie theaters?
External influence, that's why.
Likewise, the big Something that influences each person's tastes also has an influence in Pretty, just as it did on the little girl with the dolls.
A girl is mingling at a party with her girlfriends and sees a boy she finds attractive. She devises a way to start a conversation.
A boy is walking around campus and sees a girl who he finds to be attractive across the quad. He oh so naturally makes he way toward her to get her name and phone number.
Why do this boy and this girl find their respective targets attractive?
Experience has taught me that the answer is usually this: They fit today's definition of "hot."
Whatever that is.
I think it has something to do with wearing lots of making and looking kind of rude, or wearing an outfit that suggests, "I'm a jerk/easy," and having a personality to go along with your style.
But I could be wrong.
The fact of the matter is that I am not a girl who guys flock to. I am not a girl who is "hot." I am not a girl who gets hit on and flirted with on a regular basis by guys she hardly knows. Scratch that, I am never hit on or flirted with by guys I hardly know.
I am the old doll with the loose brown curls and the faded blue eyes sitting in the antique shop.
Until last week.
I had come to terms with not being pretty.
I had come to terms with always being the friend, not the girl.
Then, in a matter of four days, I've had a guy ask me to dinner the day after we met, and another allude to a movie date, two days after meeting each other.
Suddenly, my entire view of attractiveness and prettiness has altered, and I'm faced with the question, "What is Pretty? What is Attractive?"
Thus my conclusion that attractive is less a state of being and more a state of being in the right place at the right time.
I do not believe that cutting 9 inches off of my hair spurred this sudden interest in me,
nor do I believe that I suddenly woke up a more physically appealing person.
Especially not the latter. Oh dear, no.
I just happened to be at the movies and at the theater (respectively) when two certain guys (one at the former, the other at the latter) happened to be there at the same time as myself, and the timing was just right so as to open the door to just the right conversation that would then lead to further communication and ultimately result in talk of going somewhere.
The "going somewhere" topic brought up by him.
Not by me.
That's a first!
Now, I'm not saying I'm planning on getting involved in a relationship with either of these young men (because I'm not). I'm not saying I'm particularly interested in either of them, either (because I don't believe I am).
But perhaps I was at the right place at the right time
to restore hope in the search for a person to love.
The "pretty" factor turned into the Pretty factor. The external influence that drove the boy to the girl across the quad, and the girl to the boy at the party, and the little girl to the Barbie doll... it suddenly disappeared.
The boy suddenly switched his attention to the girl sitting alone on the floor in the bookstore. And a tottering child noticed the beauty of the faded doll.
Suddenly, Maturity awoke and punched "attractive," that sucker of an essence, in the face.
Some girls are born pretty.
Some girls become pretty.
Some girls lose their prettiness.
I am just confused.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Common Sense Killed the Internet Star
It's a vicious cycle, technology. To quote the possibly only hit by The Buggles, "Video killed the radio star." Before that, it was radio killed the telegraph star. It really goes all the way back to language killed the art of grunting and using hand motions to maybe convey something.
Fast forward to recent times: Internet killed... well... a lot. That's not to say it didn't bring life to a lot of things, because it did. Actually, yeah, let's play with "bringing to life." It brought to life the art of online dating, bringing people together in an alternate fashion. It brought to life an almost immediate way to communicate with people far away from you; at the click of a button, the month-long wait to get a message from Oklahoma to Lichtenstein is removed. It brought to life many business ventures, while expanding already established businesses into the trade of online sale.
However, the internet also brought to life the age of synthetic communication, the age of cyber bullying, the age of I Can Say Whatever Comes to Mind Because I'm Not Talking to This Person Face to Face. It brought to life the age of computer-screen hobbies trumping outdoor and creative hobbies.
With the internet, a slew of social networking sites came into existence, helping and hindering my generation at the same time. Sometimes I wonder what my life would be like without it. But this post is not for my musings on an alternate universe. This post is for reflections on an event the currently came to pass, hopefully working as a commentary for American culture today.
As with most universities, my school has a Facebook page for my incoming freshman class. As with many freshmen pages, people start talking and becoming unsettlingly buddy-buddy with each other. Maybe my class is special, but people are ALWAYS talking. ALWAYS. Every hour of every day. I consistently have new notifications about so-and-so doing such-and-such. That's great that they're having such a hunky-dory time bonding via computer screen. More power to 'em. Let's see how many stay friends once school actually starts.
The other day, though, the idea arose for the girls to make a secret group to talk about all the cute guys.
Consequently, the guys decided, "Oh, we need to do the same thing! But for guys to talk about cute girls!"
-Pause-
First: These are 17-18 year olds, remember.
Second: These are students going to an institution of higher learning that has reputable academics.
Third: Did I mention these are 18 year olds?
-Resume play-
Needless to say, the result is two petty groups based solely on connections over the internet. Quite frankly, the only connection you really have with a person over the internet is your fingers hitting a keyboard. Last time I checked, humans don't feel like plastic squares.
People seem to disregard this falseness, however, and get overly excited about posts, comments, and individuals. So much time seems to be absorbed by talking to strangers who you might not be reading correctly. Maybe I'm old-fashioned, but I'm waiting until I get to college actually forge friendships.
Except for the three people I've talked with to a great extent for the past two to three months. That's it for my computer-originated friendships.
Peace,
-eleanor
Fast forward to recent times: Internet killed... well... a lot. That's not to say it didn't bring life to a lot of things, because it did. Actually, yeah, let's play with "bringing to life." It brought to life the art of online dating, bringing people together in an alternate fashion. It brought to life an almost immediate way to communicate with people far away from you; at the click of a button, the month-long wait to get a message from Oklahoma to Lichtenstein is removed. It brought to life many business ventures, while expanding already established businesses into the trade of online sale.
However, the internet also brought to life the age of synthetic communication, the age of cyber bullying, the age of I Can Say Whatever Comes to Mind Because I'm Not Talking to This Person Face to Face. It brought to life the age of computer-screen hobbies trumping outdoor and creative hobbies.
With the internet, a slew of social networking sites came into existence, helping and hindering my generation at the same time. Sometimes I wonder what my life would be like without it. But this post is not for my musings on an alternate universe. This post is for reflections on an event the currently came to pass, hopefully working as a commentary for American culture today.
As with most universities, my school has a Facebook page for my incoming freshman class. As with many freshmen pages, people start talking and becoming unsettlingly buddy-buddy with each other. Maybe my class is special, but people are ALWAYS talking. ALWAYS. Every hour of every day. I consistently have new notifications about so-and-so doing such-and-such. That's great that they're having such a hunky-dory time bonding via computer screen. More power to 'em. Let's see how many stay friends once school actually starts.
The other day, though, the idea arose for the girls to make a secret group to talk about all the cute guys.
Consequently, the guys decided, "Oh, we need to do the same thing! But for guys to talk about cute girls!"
-Pause-
First: These are 17-18 year olds, remember.
Second: These are students going to an institution of higher learning that has reputable academics.
Third: Did I mention these are 18 year olds?
-Resume play-
Needless to say, the result is two petty groups based solely on connections over the internet. Quite frankly, the only connection you really have with a person over the internet is your fingers hitting a keyboard. Last time I checked, humans don't feel like plastic squares.
People seem to disregard this falseness, however, and get overly excited about posts, comments, and individuals. So much time seems to be absorbed by talking to strangers who you might not be reading correctly. Maybe I'm old-fashioned, but I'm waiting until I get to college actually forge friendships.
Except for the three people I've talked with to a great extent for the past two to three months. That's it for my computer-originated friendships.
Peace,
-eleanor
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