Les poesies

I don't think I slept at all. According to my research this morning (4:58 am), I experienced a WILD. A "wake-initiated lucid dream"... this occurs "when the dreamer goes from a normal waking state directly into a dream state with no apparent consciousness." I feel as though I have not slept, but I did. My consciousness did not shift, however. Instead of feeling poorly...whining, drinking lots of coffee, und so weiter, I decided to engage my emotions and I wrote a little poem. After writing one little poem I wrote another (that has no proper rhythm). Please ignore the absence of accents, for some reason the blogger won't allow me to copy and paste symbols. Yes, they are in French again! 

Le corps derive avec les sons du soir,

je voyage dehors.

Les jambes marchent a l'origine de toutes,

Je marcherai loin.

La pluie tombe au ciel,

Je n'ai pas besoin d'un impermeable

Les feuille me servent au

Parapluie, et pour memoire de toi. 

C'est pas parfait, mais j'aime ecrire les petites poesies. 

Et une autre...

"Je suis un immigre en terre etrangere" 

Je ne sais pas que le monde est gris

J'espere que les couleurs fondent 

enchaine des larmes.

Je ne comprends pas les mots que j'entends 

Je souhaite que je peux. 

Je me sens comme un immigre

Je n'appartiens pas

Je me sens comme un immigre

Je n'appartiens jamais. 

Elles sont tristes, je pense. Cependant je les aime. 

are you a speculator?

The hour is before midnight and I am lost in the cobbled streets of Paris. The Amelie soundtrack has transported me there. Last night, I fell asleep to the timid eddies of strings and the diving, pulsing ripples of the accordion. Tonight, I will fall asleep to the timid eddies of strings and the diving, pulsing ripples of the accordion. 

I ought to read for my classes tomorrow, but I cannot stay focused. I feel like resting and listening and speculating and drifting. 

A friend left me a note today on the Facebook; on my Wall (of all places), she stated that she is going to reevaluate our friendship. I am not ruffled if she is serious, I am not ruffled if she is joking. She and I are not the friends we were in elementary, middle, and high school. We are different. I am different than I was when I wrote this sentence. I think the inconsistencies of the self are beautiful. We are ever-changing beings. How can anyone be exactly the same all the time? I have migrated (literally and figuratively, I guess). I believe that some people grow in parallel lines and others become perpendicular. There is one solid commonality... but everything else has changed, whether it be positive or negative (that's for all you math nerds out there). 

I like the process of whittling down. There are a few individuals who I care deeply for, as comrades, as kin. Their ages span decades. Some individuals I have known for many years, some I have known for one, and some I have met in August. Fancy that. These people know me better than others who have known me since... who knows when. I love that they know me. I love that I exude who I am so strongly that they cannot not know. I love that they exude who they are so strongly that I cannot not know them. 

Some people are really special. 

Epic Walks

The hour is before midnight and I am in Ireland. I am walking for hours without intention and direction. I am thinking about my predecessors, the Romantics. The men and women who set out for Europe and walked in order to experience nature and the depths of their imaginations. I would like to abandon responsibility, and set forth. 

I am re-experiencing a memory of running around the Aran Islands, thinking that I hadn't been this happy in months, that this is true happiness, that there was so beauty I felt like crying. I felt childlike, which is perhaps the most wondrous feeling existent. 

I wish I could share these thoughts with him now. I laid in bed day-dreaming not too long ago, listening to Heima...I envisioned smiling with and walking alongside Andrew... setting off into the verdant ocean of leaves, trees, and shrubbery. The greens overwhelmingly green, the odors were fresh and pungent. It was such a soft descent into another world. A world that does exist. I do not want to live where my surroundings are gray. Sometimes I wonder if one day we (the collective human) will awaken to find a world without color and vibrance... all that exists will be smoke, fog, sidewalks and cellphones (I believe that most people like to stare at these items while walking)... There is so much more. There is so much more! Bruce Springsteen once (maybe more than once) said in concert, "IS ANYBODY ALIVE OUT THERE?!" Well, is there? 

Oh, you.

I am envious of Goethe. I am envious of John Keats. Their contributions to world literature astound me. I feel as though both men could have never felt stagnant, or lethargic, or bleh... they were prolific writers who we talk about after death. after their death. What I like about Goethe, especially... is that he calls for others to act. He acknowledges that "yes, you too may possess a poetic eye, however it is no good if you solely ponder the universe and your surroundings. Get up and DO SOMETHING!" He is concerned with the process of becoming, opposed to the individuals who "are," as in they no longer become. And here I am, type-typing away on the blog. Oh well. 

Bundle Bunny

We dance together, we dance together. I look remarkably like a flapper. Andrew looks remarkably like a man who swings. Ja, brosie. 

Sometimes in the middle of the night I awake from my slumbers and run my fingers through the raspberry kamikaze-coloured hair of a swinger. Sometimes in the middle of the night I arise from my bedchamber and drift down the sleepy hallway into the dark front room. I step down into the moon room and find myself reading and writing. Reading and writing. 

An article in the New Yorker discussed a new book packed with six-word phrases describing a persons' life story. I have not tried to shorten my life into the width of a mere phrase... I believe mine is much more than that. Some of the phrases seem incredibly banal. One famous chef said something along the lines of "Brings to a Boil Often" (I am missing a word, I know). Cute. "Je me sens toutes choses" Peut-etre. 

I am going to try to write poems in the French language. Bonne nuit. 

Happy President's Day

As I emptied some sweet, sticky sugar into my coffee this afternoon, I overheard a male student loudly profess his love of President's Day. According to himself, he believes that he is the number one Patriot. I turned around and asked him smartly who the 23nd president was. He didn't know. His friends were laughing and gave me high fives. Benjamin Harrison... in case you were curious. I was curious, too! Teehee. 

compassion

there is something wrong with the majority of the students at the university of miami. there is something wrong with the majority of students. there is something wrong with people, in general. 

i signed onto facebook this evening in search of an animal rights group to join. instead, i find:

1. "i love animals... with gravy" for "those of you out there who love to eat meat or just hate those vegan nazis. i may have to share this planet with animals, but i'm doing my damn best to eat every last one of them." 

hey buddy, you are an animal. this group has 59 members at the university of miami and has postings that read "great group" "hehe" "UM grilling society." 

2. PETA, "People Eating Tasty Animals." According to these sympathetic individuals, "every animals has a place in this world. for most of them, that place is right next to my mashed potatoes." 

ok, lady... "every animals?" every animals. evvverry animalS. 

3. "vegetarians should die"

note: people BELONG to these groups

the ignorance and self-centered nature of all of these "ideas" sickens me. how could these people find "WRONGNESS" in vegetarianism? 

this is not the sole problem i have with the students (i am speaking about the masses) of individuals at the university of miami. i am simply expressing my disgust toward those who lack compassion and awareness of other organisms.