Thursday, October 4, 2012

Ah School...

Back in the grind, autumn in full glorious last stages of leftover summer before the cool winds and rustling leaves come blowing by reminding of how life moves on never stays the same.

Run on sentences feel so good, stream of consciousness, alive and loving it in the face of the hideous oppression of structured writing to meet the dry expectations of grad student TA's whose only desire is the professors approving eye, a beer or ten, and a new crop of young women/girls to prey on.

Yea I'd fuck for a grade if I had to, but I don't, even though there are a couple of guys I wish would ask, as if guys ask instead of passive aggessivly maneuver and scheme, just ask guys, have some balls and say it, "I want your ass".

I'd have more respect if it was done direct and left alone if rejected, but then where's the fun in that? Too simple.

I need to write 4000 cogent words on mid seventeenth century literatures beginings, lots of poets, not too much in the way of what we now think of as literature, the novel and all.

What dire offence from am'rous causes springs, 
What mighty contests rise from trivial things, 
I sing — This verse to Caryl, Muse! is due: 
This, ev'n Belinda may vouchsafe to view: 
Slight is the subject, but not so the praise,
If She inspire, and He approve my lays. 

Yea right, its work to read, maybe my attitude needs adjustment, a few beers would do the trick, but spend months on my hips too, wine perhaps in baccannal spirit, or harlots gin, and strip naked at Dr Andy's poetry night and read "Rape of the Lock" with my most drunken slur!

Wa dir oofeens frum amrus cusses srpoings...

And fall down to the applause, a performance piece macabre. ?? should I?  I probably won't, but sit mouse quiet in the back row and fantasize about having the courage to walk up front and do anything at all! Men are not the only ones living lives of quiet desparation, internal fantasy the only love known, unseen, not recognized for who you are, but just a blob of flesh, not even acceptably shaped.

Ah well. I have not lost hope. There IS joy in me, and things wanting to get out. This was some of it.

Luv ya.

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