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EATIN_ME_LOTUS_FLOWER
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Name: Erin
Birthday: 5/6/1900
Gender: Female
Interests: this lonely planet...and joe mamma;-)
Expertise: procrastinating---
and if you subscribe to me, i'm good at suscribing to you back... eventually..... if you leave a comment, i might go over to your site and tag you back... let's play a game of XANGA TAG!!:-D
Occupation: Student
Industry: Paperclip Manufacturing
Message: message me
Website: visit my website
AIM:  monkeytreehugger
Member Since:
2/18/2004
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| In 2004, I wrote something about writing (and creating in general, materializing thoughts and inner-workings of our hearts), although I don't think that anyone understood what it was about at the time. Probably all the bride and groom stuff, but I wasn't trying to be literal.
"Platonic bride" in the more direct, writing sense was actually supposed to be some non-tangible idea, the potential of a sheet of paper. I described the groom as "inky" because it was, in fact, a pen -- the means by which the idea, the potential, could be realized.
But now, I realize that my descriptions of the "platonic bride" might also apply to something tangible... cOmo yo?
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Platonic bride is crumpled in
Some dismal corner of the room,
Burdened with unproven trust,
Unsaid disgust,
Awaiting all unwritten lust
From a shaky, fickle groom.
-
Her inky groom betrayed us all!
She hoped for what just never came
What a shame
What a shame
She was ready, too.
Infinite love for infinite words,
But words and love would never meet.
Infinite words in infinite time,
But time would leave us incomplete.
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I crumpled up my own desires,
Isolated groom from bride.
All I needed to express,
Was all I had intent to hide.
Afraid to record and afraid to reveal
All which I might fear to feel
And remember
Whatever
Scrap, crap, worthless scrap
But perhaps they had some worth
And they were never pursued
Great power at my flesh
Power to bind desire to words
In holiest of matrimonies!
But I never let the march proceed.
My damned flesh!
Human flesh the only limiting factor,
And I chose to leave her
Starving for a kind embrace.
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Jaded in that dismal corner,
Faded in her crumpled grace,
There she passed away unlearned,
Mind discerned,
Dreaming that her groom returned
To unveil her lonely face.
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Too late, too late, the deed is done.
And she dissolves into the corner
With the quiet, crumpled paper blank.
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It's just weird/neat how you can return to your old thoughts and discover new meanings.
And then you think sometimes, Man, why didn't I just listen to myself back then?!
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| Last night I dreamt that Hermione and Malfoy (from 'Arry Pottuh of course) fell in love. And if you've ever read the books or watched the movies, then you'd know that this pairing doesn't make much sense, but whatever.
In my dream, they were talking sweet nothings and just repainting their days for each other, when Malfoy accidentally slipped that the Slytherin house was planning on killing all the non-Slytherins. After realizing what he had said, he added afterwards that he'd make sure that the Slitherins spare Hermione.
By the end of the dream, the relationship didn't work out so well. Hermione helped to save the world by betraying her loved one in the process.
And then Hermione and her friends escaped in the Lennonmobile and tried to decide if they should use some coupon for ice cream now or save it for later.
And then I woke up. The End!
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| Final Friday, fetch me time:
Days, hours, minutes, ticks.
How dare you lounge there like the toad,
And leave the clock to play his tricks?
Final Friday, you've held your breath --
A lump counting months: three, two, one!
And now I step an inch from you,
And like the toad,
You've upped and gone.
Boo! Come back, summer! Anyhow, quE pasO este verano?
-purged my room, mainly underneath my bed
-went to Davis and Berkeley
-that's all...
-ooooh wait! And saw two or three otters, birds fighting over fish, and two jellyfish at the Boardwalk (w./ Vince and his parents)!
-went on many different walks with different people
-partied un poquito
-chillaxed a bit
-started writing again, more seriously
-and THAT'S all.
-made horrible youtube movies and began attempting various scholarships
-Oh, and cut Sara's hair!
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| In this place we proved them wrong
They said a hundred years ago*
That something must be done
And nobody would lift a finger
But we did our research.
So we shut down the factories
And planted flowers
And switched our homes to Efficient mode
We gathered followers of many types
To teach and learn and spread understanding
No longer a matter of politics and money, but a matter of life
We understood
And fell in love with the elements
Because we lived here.
And so in a twirl we converted our minds and our way of life
To reverse the damage done
And to provide a home for our children:
Life, liberty, and the pursuit of free, clean air!
(*=1908, Swedish chemist Svante Arrhenius had evidence and argued that increased fossil fuel burning would lead to global warming; actually, I think that Arrhenius thought that global warming would be a good thing, but I'm not sure  )
I  trees!
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| Why does the end attract me so?
Call me pompous, but I think I know.
With a few written exceptions,
I never finish. Anything.
I fear finding myself a little too content.
Too comfortable.
Reading front to back, almost not expecting the ending.
Never appreciating the significance of the journey.
Always wanting to grow and expand
Stretch my fingertips.
But I think I know.
It'd be selfish, if I allowed myself to grow forever.
Then nobody else would get their turn.
I'd block the light from the phototrophs
And crush the remaining competition
In their respected ways.
But anyway,
Something started, who knows when,
But it started in my brain.
A zygote or a cancer?
Or neither -
Who knows? But it grows and spreads
And takes the bulk of my time and energy these days.
If scientists could name and statisticians could quantify
This thing in my head, The point, the "it".
They might use a scale that reads B.S.
(That's a bachelor's in science, donchaknow)
If authors could analyze and historians could tell,
They might write me a paragraph in a government library.
Once in a while, I am
Curious to die, and to see what's left.
But the famous "What if" returns to molest.
If I can't see, if I'll never know,
If I'll be reduced to a negative existence.
Possibilities to wrap five times around the earth
And leave enough extra to floss the dirty teeth of the universe...
If I knew exactly, then I might want to look
At my charts, or read
My paragraph in some love forsaken book.
What if the end is just a word? A small, insignificant word.
And animism as sure as the modern weather channel?
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