lotesse: (Default)
I have such an odd relationship to the internet during the summer. Being displaced from my One True Laptop ends nearly all writing and most reading, because I no longer have access to my bookmarks. And, I dunno, everything is just different. I feel less articulate in the summer, less grown-up. I haven't changed anything in my bedroom here since I was a tiny little girl, and it's all just the same as it was.

I'm reading De Beauvoir and working on Blake--a few weeks ago my brain woke up and said to me, "Lo," it said, "you haven't read anything hard for weeks. Go read something hard!" So I went to the library, and De Beauvoir. It's a bit dense, but intensely interesting.

The Boy and I bought a fabulous Jack Sparrow poster that is Teh Sechs, and it is in our bedroom. We are working on pirate costumes, which promise to be fabulous. I obtained a corset yesterday, and though it is alas not made of spiral steel it is certainly better than nothing.

We went to see Devil Wears Prada yesterday, because lo it was very hot out, and I think that this film proves that good acting is everything. Fluffiest story/premise ever, but brilliant performances all around. Must have been very fun to do.

It amuses me intensely that presidential running mates are listed with a virgule. Yes, I'd vote for Gore/Obama. That's hott.

I want Gore to run. Michael Moore is running his film at the film fest next month, and I'm psyched.

Technically, wouldn' the correct translation of "psyched" be "souled"? I'm so souled, omg.
lotesse: (Default)
When I was little, I was the sort of girl who would keep sitting in the mud puddle that I'd fallen into until my mum noticed me. I've been trying very hard for a long time to separate myself from this kind of melodrama, and have been fairly successful. But one of the outcomes of this is that my tolerance thresholds for drama are very, very low. I can't stand the stuff.

As a kid, the Romantic poets were my favorites. Keats, Tennyson, Browning, Rossetti--long narratives about fair maids and fairies and ruined castles. But with the drama-meter as sensitive as it has been, I abandoned them completely and eloped with modern poetry.

The love affair with the modern continues, but I've felt a bit bad about running out on the Romantics as I did. So I took a class in Romantic Literature for this term. I had no idea.

My god, people. I ended up crying in class today. We were working on Blake and the Book of Thel, and I felt like I was going to burst. I went off-the-wall transcendent right there in my bloody little desk-chair-thingy. The openness and the explosion of normality and the wonderful layers of distorted allusion and image and irony and contradiction and storytelling. I don't even know how to put in to words what it did to me.

I had forgotten that poetry could be like this.

daughter of the sea, oregano's first cousin

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