"Nothing's gonna change, nothing's gonna change destiny." ~

As we discuss The Road

The man

Two twin girls roam through the floor

The kid

Identical faces without identical clothes

The fire

They play with colorful lighters

Hope

Because there are no other toys

Ritual

They are unable to actually make fire

Sacred

But are able to put them in their mouths

Future

~Avril Lavigne "Keep holding on"

"I feel it all." ~

As my pregnant coworker rubbed her belly, Abu’s green eyes shimmered behind her glasses. Her pale skin seemed translucent because of the lighting. She looked older yesterday, with her eyes being the only glimpse to her past, demonstrating youth behind them. They talked about how it feels to have something moving around the belly, kicking from time to time. My coworker says Sebastian likes to place himself as low as he can, which she doesn’t like. Abu mentions how when she was pregnant with twins, they would position themselves as high as they could, right below her rib cage. This comment hits a nerve with me; since I am pretty sure she has mentioned how she only has a daughter (who she celebrates Christmas with by inviting her over for lunch, gives her a Macy’s gift card and they each go on with their lives after two hours tops). Her eyes one again shimmer as she states how one of them died within the first year. How she didn’t grieve but rather walked around New York for ten years in a depression bubble, the zombie state associated with the disease. How one lady whom she gave a Spanish class to, invited her to dinner in the New York City Club (some fancy smancy place according to her) and was the one that helped her snap out of it. She never saw her again, but hearing the words “that happened to me too” was enough for her to remember that lady forever. When she finished her story I found myself looking back at her without knowing what to say. I’m pretty sure she saw my eyes shimmer behind my glasses. Later on at night when I found myself with two twin girls playing around the apartment while we had our last class with Accaria, the irony of the day was not lost within me.

~Feist "I Feel It All"

Lyrics for a Saturday.

A year ago this song meant one thing. Now it means another. It's a common thing though for me, for a song to have many changes in meaning. The lyrics are one thing, hearing it is another. One of the most beautiful songs that exist. Hands down.

"Swans" by Unkle Bob

By my side
You'll never be
By my side
You'll never be

Cause I'm fake at the seams
I'm lost in my dreams
And I
I want you to know that I can't let you go
And you're never coming home again
And you're never coming home again

By my side
You'll never be
By my side
You'll never be
You'll never be

I wanted to tell you I'd changed
I wanted to tell you that things would be different this time
I see you
You see me
Differently
I see you
You see me
Differently

You tell me that you love me but you never want to see me again
You tell me that you love me but you never want to see me again
You tell me that you love me but you never want to see me again

This helped me procrastinate even more.

Thanks to a facebook friend, I discovered lamebook.

"I want your love and I want your revenge. You and me could write a bad romance." ~

Last time I wrote here I was the wise one in a conversation concerning younger girls and love. This time I find myself repeating to a certain extent the last post. However, this time it concerns older girls. I prefer to call them girls as opposed to women since let's face it: we never grow up. And that is what I found myself thinking as these almost fifty-year old girls talked about their love life. They still don't understand men, even though they're so simple in my opinion. They still have hope, even though they have been through many disillusions in that department. And the big shocker: They're still looking for the damn love of their life. Meanwhile, me being decades younger, felt just as distanced from these older girls as I had with the younger girls last week. As I heard them, I couldn't help but think that this is what lies ahead for me. Always with the cyclical dilemmas concerning men apparently. Sure, their problems are different, they have adult issues that I haven't gone through yet (and they thankfully didn't bring up any sexual content in the mix), but it's pretty much the same thing. Girl likes guy. Guy doesn't like girl. Guy likes girl. Girl doesn't like guy. Rinse and repeat. Girl and guy like each other. Girl dates guy. Guy does stuff girl doesn't like. Girl fights with guy. They break up. Rinse and repeat. Girl feels lonely without guy. So girl gets new guy to like. Girl likes guy...remember to always rinse and repeat.

~Lady Gaga "Bad Romance" (Again, this time used accordingly to theme)

"Rah rah ah-ah-ah! Ro mah ro-mah-mah Gaga Ooh-la-la! Want your bad romance." ~

There are times when I compare myself to others and realize I didn't go through certain "normal" rites of passage during my formative years. I didn't do the whole "going out" thing during fifth to seventh grade, no spin the bottle, no dating whatsoever, so kissing whatsoever neither, etc. I'm guessing why today I felt so weird with the girls, much younger than me, yet I was apparently the one with wisdom. I realized, I might not have lived the conventional ways of growing up, but somehow I have gotten to certain conclusions on life. Talking to them made me realize I did grow up. I do have certain knowledge, that although I may have gathered later in life, are there. And if I really think about it, I probably don't regret my experiences being the way they are. They made me who I am and that's something I'm proud of. And if I ever doubt any of this, I can look back on today (a normal, average day, but with honest communication above all else) and gain that little boost. After all, it isn't everyday that one uses footnotes within a conversation.

~Lady Gaga "Bad Romance" (song to commemorate today)

Poetic Intervention

As I've mentioned here before, I'm no poetry aficionado. But for this week's modernism and post-modernism lit course, I have just read a lot of poetry. Lots of very good poetry. And this following one made me smile.

"What You Should Know to be a Poet" by Gary Snyder

all you can know about animals as persons.
the names of trees and flowers and weeds.
the names of stars and the movements of planets
and the moon.

your own six senses, with a watchful elegant mind.

at least one kind of traditional magic:
divination, astrology, the book of changes, the tarot;

dreams.
the illusory demons and the illusory shining gods;

kiss the ass of the devil and eat shit;
fuck his horny barbed cock,
fuck the hag,
and all the celestial angels
and maidens perfum’d and golden-

& then love the human: wives husbands and friends.

children’s games, comic books, bubble-gum,
the weirdness of television and advertising.

work long, dry hours of dull work swallowed and accepted
and lived with and finally lovd. exhaustion,
hunger, rest.

the wild freedom of the dance, extasy
silent solitary illumination, enstasy

real danger. gambles and the edge of death.