![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Jan. 21st, 2009
True story: the Maltesers MaltEaster Bunny thing that has just come out? TOTALLY DELISH.
--
Other things that are also true: despite having paid absolutely NO attention to the Democratic Convention 2008, I still have most of DemCon04 on tape. I say most. Tonight I went looking for the tape which had Obama's speech on it and couldn't find it. Seriously. What the fuck. I have speeches by random delegates, Al Gore, John Kerry and Joe Biden but not Obama, Clinton or Heinz or anyone that I actually properly cared about this time around. I did my Eng. Lang coursework on speeches, though, so I think it's possible that I gave my tape of Obama's speech to someone else. What?
Yeah. The guy took office yesterday, and I'm here talking about a speech he gave four years ago.
--
Today I went into the community centre and worked my usual morning shift. I came home after midday and apparently lost all track of time because suddenly it was time to leave for the late shift. It's much quieter on Wednesday nights, but that allowed me to answer some calls, print off some leaflets, and have some one-to-one time with the newer/basics students. All in all, pretty great.
--
Oh gosh, guys, I totally need to book a train ticket to Cambridge tomorrow. Stab me until it's done, please.
--
Embarrassing: covered the death shift at the store on Monday night and ended up talking to a friend of mine from primary school. I was hit with a brickload of shame, guys, which I promptly bitchslapped myself for if only because: what. the. fuck. I should know better.
--
And so, yes, I'm so tired, waking up too early on days I need to be out of the house, and massively overcompensating/oversleeping on the days I have off. On the plus side: I have two Donna Tartt novels to read (arms of yay here, yes thanks) and it turns out that I'm still in love with Big Love. Like. Massively. Completely. In love. I love it. I LOVE IT.
--
So, I got a snooty comment and a defriending over poetry. Which. Whatever. Friend/de-friend, this booty is a burden to none but me etc. etc. BUT. Like. Seriously? This is a problem? Poetry? I guess if you signed up to read about the badassery of Ziva David or how much I want to stab Charlie Eppes in the face with a fork then the poetry comes as a bit of a surprise. But. SERIOUSLY. THIS IS THE ISSUE?
Maybe I'm being a bitch, but shit: get a bite of culture. What the fuck?
All of this is longhand for what I said yesterday, really: I'm not reducing the poetry posts, and I'm not filtering them, and that's what the scroll bar is for, guys. If it bothers you, then filter me out, or de-friend. And I'm sure there are some of you who, if you do cut me from your lists it's going to bother/upset me. On the other hand, the secondary instinct will be one of epic eye-rolling. Seriously? SERIOUSLY? THE POETRY? My mind boggles kind of ridiculously about this. What. the. shit.
--
Whoop, whoop; new Lost! New Criminal Minds! HURRAH HURRAH!
As Courage, to Camus
by Mikael de Lara Co
Because I cannot be held, let me
tell you that I am a rock, mythical
and heavy and unyielding to wind
and time and all things that speak
of erosion. I am the midsummer heat
saying, Look, Albert, that bird has faded
into song, the song has faded into memory,
memory has faded into you and you
have faded into memory, mine.
And we will fade as the bird has.
What need for me, then, a word
hollow as the warm barrel of a gun?
My brothers call to me from their graves,
saying mean, because there is no other way
to live. What does it matter?
Look, Albert, that star has died
lifetimes ago and yet it burns still.
Look, Albert, another bird
is streaking across the sky, another sky
unmindful of the many words for sky
that have died. Look. Let me stay
here some more, dear stranger
that I am, under this vast gray waiting.
Let me keep my eyes open.
I mean, let me mean
myself for a while.
