“I’ve known rivers ancient as the world and older than the flow of human blood in human veins. My soul has grown deep like the rivers.”
from The Negro Speaks of Rivers, Langston Hughes
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Ha! You think just because I start my blog with a potentially pretentious quote from a free-verse poem that I’m going to get all deep and meaningful on you? Puh-lease. This is ME we’re talking about. But I do like that bit about blood/veins. It’s cool. Very Pocahontas, like: “As the river cuts his path/Though the river's proud and strong/He will choose the smoothest course/That's why rivers live so long.”
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Holy macaroni. I wonder if Macaroni could be holy, anyway? Like, the pasta. I'm pretty sure there would be some kind of religious law preventing it. I mean, otherwise they could have crazy priests and saints all over the place trying to make stuff holy. Holy nachos. Holy play dough. Holy filing cabinets.
And then there’d just be utter confusion. Anarchy, and the like. There’s be holy stuff all over the place, and people probably wouldn’t be allowed to desecrate public spaces as much. I mean, everyone knows it’s totally okay to graffiti on a bus interchange. But what if it’s a HOLY bus interchange? Is it still okay then? Or would that bring the wrath of the potential-God-like-being down onto the earth, with the fire and the brimstone and all.
Ethical problem of the day. Think it over.
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I was just sitting at the computer, just then, looking at pictures of peacock feathers, when I suddenly had the urge to wear clothing made out of a hessian bag. I know, how weird is that? And not in a I’m-so-alternative-weird-I-wear-environmentally-friendly-clothing-weird, but just regular weird. I was surprised at myself. Who really wants to wear hessian? It’s itchy and gross and a horrible colour, and sometimes it’s kind of see through (because it has all those tiny holes).
And I couldn’t even figure out why I had started thinking about wearing hessian bags. It was just suddenly like – pow! – thought in my brain, and I couldn’t do anything to get rid of it. And now, even though I KNOW I don’t really like hessian, I’m going, ‘Man, I could make the most awesome, shapeless sack-like dress out of hessian. I could like a poor person from biblical times. Yay.’
But speaking of peacock feathers – have you ever really looked at them? And I mean REALLY looked at them? Looked at them until all the shiny, iridescent luminescence has disappeared, and you can see all the scratchy brown bits and fibres that look really spiky to touch. Because it’s kind of cool. It reminds me of the hairs on my arm, or my eyelashes in a microscope… It’s like trees for little people, yanno?
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I am totally in love with reading poetry and the 1998 modern movie adaptation of ‘Great Expectations.’ Poetry because it’s fun, and the movie because it has an awesome green colour scheme and the paintings in the movie are awesome. (You should go look up this artist guy: Francesco Clemente. He rocks my world.)
Anyway, I was reading this ‘500 greatest poems of all time’ kind of thing and I found a whole bunch of sonnets and severely free-verse poems that I love. I also discovered that I hate E.E. Cummings, because I can’t fricken understand what he’s talking about. I’m just intolerant like that. And I love poets who write about other poets, especially when it’s about following super-famous, super-dead poets down supermarket isles.
Anyway, my point is: poetry + green = green poetry. Oh, wait. I mean love.
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Man, I swear, if Joss Whedon/Joss Whedon’s child doesn’t make more Buffyverse stuff, I’m just going to become a multi-millionaire and make it myself. (There could be even more teenage werewolves.)
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Word of the day: queue Colour of the day: green Feeling of the day: that itch you get when your ear burns
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“Though shalt not kill; but need’st not strive Officiously to keep alive.”