Lumberjack

You are ringed
like a tree.
I don't want to cut you down,
 don't make me have to cut you down,
to find out
to see your heart
to dig up your roots
and discover you're not a tree
and I've lost you.

She cut him down
to prove he was a tree.
She broke his heart in two,
to show it was there,
beating,
for all to see.
She pulled back the bark
to display the lack of bite.
Snapping branches as she went,
she pulled off all his limbs.
To say he made no sound
would not be true at all,
for though no one was around,
you could hear his pride fall.
Nettles scattered to the wind,
love notes gone for good.
Sticky sap stuck to pine,
kicked against the wood.

Life Condensed... A year's worth of poetry written by me.

I couldn't sleep, so I decided to go through my files and was looking at my poetry I had written in the past year. It's weird looking through and seeing what I had come up with at different times in my life, and reading these poems are like reading diary entries. Anyway, now that I've put them here maybe I can fall asleep. There aren't any titles, I tend not to title my poems, and they're separated by a ~ squiggle.

During the day

The dust bunnies play

At her feet

As she makes the place neat

For him

For their every whim

For when

He can begin

So slowly

To put her gently

On the bed

When the sky is red

They will awake

To see their true love makes

A morning song

~

Remember the days of our youth?

The days of warm summers,

Of finding beauty,

And speaking truth?

Remember the nights so clear and bright,

The moon gave us blessings,

Walking on curbs

Dancing in the night?

Laying in grass till the bugs owned our hair,

Feeling the earth

So silent and still,

Not knowing how not to care.

Days of speaking true thoughts,

Never hiding our hearts,

Walking in lines and

Making our own minds.

When candy was gold

And gold was treasure

and wealth was measured

by how happy you felt

and how happy you felt

was made true by how much love

your mother gave you

and love was between you and the world

and everything was bright and green and big

Rainbows were magic

faeries did exist

Clap clap clap

To reassure them all.

~

Whoever he is, he has no idea what she

Has in store for him

Sweet melodies she has only sung

In her head

Anxiously waiting to burst into song

On the tip of her tongue

To show him how

To remark at her body

To grasp a hand firmly,

But gently

To teach him how

But let him learn

Himself

Together

He has no idea

The grass she has planted

To grow

So they will have a soft place to lay

When she finds him

Whoever he is

He has no idea

How her heart will stop, then

Beat so much faster

When she realizes that he

Was made for her and she

Crafted for him

He has no idea

And she,

She does not know

The extremity of the dark blue

That the sky will be when

She shows him to the place

She has prepared for him

She knows the stars will shine

But she does not know how the light

Will reflect off her eyes

As she looks into his

And they will whisper

“I had no idea.”

~

My darling, my starling,

My sparrow and my dove.

My sweetheart, my yearning,

My desire and my love.

De mortuis nil misi bonum.

Say nothing but good of the dead.

 You’re gone and I miss

Everything.

Because of you, I miss everything

In every day.

I miss my bus,

I miss lunch,

I miss parties

And movies, friends,

And I mess up rhymes.

I’m late,

The minute hand saunters past before I recognize it exists,

you don’t, not anymore. And I miss

You.

~

I would say I am waiting for this day,
this particular day I have created in my head,
but really I should stop waiting and create it.

I should just go out and carpe and diem,
all in one. I don't know what I'm waiting for,
except that is easier said than done.

This day is shared with someone, but I don't
know who just yet, anyway. I do know some
particulars, that I have seen in my daydreams.

It's overcast and threatening to rain,
in a field of wheat, or green green grass,
above the sea or beside mountains, it always changes.

I am with them, that person, and I am happy,
we lay in the grass, we run through the field,
we trace our names in the sand and chase the waves.

We ride in his car down an old dirt road,
explore old houses, creaking and shadowed in the past,
we take pictures and steal kisses, and watch the sun rise.

We stand in the kitchen, on the pale blue tiles,
covered in flour and icing, kissing and not caring
sitting on the porch, counting all the red cars that go by.

We hike up forgotten trails, and spot hawks and catch lizards,
taking stories with us wherever we go,
making the time our own, for us and us alone.

The sky can turn purple, blue, gold, or black,
we stare and stare at it and wonder all the things
about the stars and the sun and how they're all for us.

I'll walk by him, and he will catch my hand, I'll turn
and look. He smiles and I turn my head,
he gives a kiss and we go to heaven and back.

One day, one day, one day. But why not tomorrow?
Until then, I can still dream, and make them real
in my mind, the field and the kiss, and all the rest.

It will come some day. I know it. I can feel it and see
it all there in my mind, so why should it not come true?
I know he is out there, dreaming these things as well.

Until that day, until all those days rolled into one
of just love and happiness, I will make my own adventures
I will have my own happiness, to prepare for him.

~

Your heart
It was so tiny
(I never realized how small hearts are)
And I must have dropped it
it slipped!
And, well, it went under the dresser
bounced into the corner
and while I was groping for it
reaching
I pulled and accidentally,
well,
it snapped.
I broke it.
I'm sorry.
It was so fragile.
I didn't mean to,
it just happened.
Here.
Here are all the pieces I could find.
I think I may have some glue.
Or tape.
Somewhere...

~

I did some laundry today
The dryer was done
I unloaded the machine
and piled it on my bed.
Standing back to admire the mess
I paused,
and then
buried myself!
Piling the warm folds on top of me
I laid there all afternoon,
I slept at some point,
in all the warmth.
I slept until it all turned cold.
It was a pleasant way

to pass the time.

~

You are not my
knight in shining
armor,
Mounted atop a
pure white
steed.
But, like Sleeping
Beauty's pricked
finger,
It's my heart
that you make

bleed.

~

 The ball flew

high into the air.
It landed in the trees,
somewhere.
Naturally, he went in after it,
and she, having sent it flying,
chased after him.
A minute passed, and, on a whim,
I went back into the house
to take more time, of course,
to let them find the ball,
(if they were looking for it at all).

~

 He sits

puffing his cigar,
midday all around him
the smoke is snatched by the wind.
Hunched and arms crossed,
legs jittering against each other.
Bringing up his hand to take the cigar
now and then.
His head itches.
Scratch scratch.
Puff puff.
Waiting for the bus.
What kind of man smokes
a cigar
while waiting for the bus?
The kind of man who
gets on my bus.
We're on the same road,
but going on different journeys,
with different destinations.
I wonder who his mother is,
or was,
and if she loved him.
Or did he grow up alone?
Did he have a girl, once,
who hated his habit?
Oh, he's gone.
It was his stop.

Look at that old woman...

~

It should be admired,
how long he sat,
sitting on the red wooden chair.
Smoking his cigarettes
about 3 for every hour,
turning the pages of his book,
(whatever he was reading, I couldn't tell),
occasionally sipping his coffee
as black as ink,
(but you could tell he would've preferred wine)
glancing now and then
at passerby
but only when he wished.
As immersed as he was
you could tell there was a melancholy
or a longing in his looks,
for when a person entered the warm shop
up his shoulders would hunch,
tighter would the scarf be pulled
to remind himself
he was out in the cold.
But that is the price one pays
for one's habits
that involve

tobacco.

~

I didn't want this specifically
whatever this is
but I did choose the path
that led to this
whatever this is
and I didn't think it would work
but it's here
whether it works or not
whatever this is
and even though I'm not certain
where this is going
I have no other choice
so I better accept it
whatever this is
I could fight it
or ignore it
I could burn it
or bleed it
I could loose it
or feed it
with my anger
but whatever this is
it's here for me
it's mine
so I might as well accept it
before things get out of hand
whatever that might be
for whatever this is
one thing's for sure
it's here to stay
and there's no two ways

about it.

~

Why am I getting so jealous?
A feeling I ne'er felt.
Is this that wayward journey,
you travel once upon?
Is this the life adventure that changes all the rest?
I'm not on the road less traveled,
many before
have come...
and gone...
and left...
Along the road
memories they really treasured,
but now there's dust,
where once were,
items of beauty and fairy mystical magic,
with life an uncertain tale with twists and turns
and loves,
and losses,
fear and fog.
With love the happy ending,
the palace at the end.
But what if I don't want the end just yet?
I want to turn,
I want to see,
to remember what was before.
Before this journey became.
Please oh trees,
stop blowing so harsh,
your branches are pushing,
the grass blades are biting,
I'm wanting to be in the comfort I once knew,
as child tears can fall,
as someone can clean your face,
someone who,
cannot embark on the journey as well,
why oh why I don't know.
But this path I hate,
please don't make me go.
please don't make me go.
please, let me turn around.
I know I must venture on to see what happens,
maybe I will go, but I don't want to just yet.
Let me return to the poor peasant house,
to the poor peasant life I lived.
Maybe all rag girls don't want a magic pumpkin
or slippers made fast of glass.
Maybe I'm content,
yes I'm sure I'm content with buckets of water
and broomsticks and plain.
Plainness I see in the mirror,
plainness in the water
I carried so far.
I'm desperate to be content.
Who cares if life could change?
Maybe it's meant to be the same.
I'd like it at least to stay the same just

a little while more.

~

 I am a pen

I am not a pencil
Whatever I do, I do
and I cannot undo it
I can forget it,
cross it out,
move on,
cast it aside.

But it remains
somewhere under the layers of my mind
the ink of my brain
I do not do, then erase,
and do again
I have no second chances
I do full throttle

I go for it
I write in the crossword
and cannot undo my words
Wherever I go, wherever I write
my actions are smeared
they dry in the sun
or under your breath,
but they remain

the good and the bad
they will remain
for I am a pen
and my ink flows from my hand,
and my heart
and you cannot erase me
for I am a pen.

~

 Mindless motion

weaving across the asphalt
onto the curb
their street shoes grip the board
as they float above the ground
flying down the slope
it is gray outside
and there is still rain
hanging on leaves
and soaking into the sidewalk
as they coast by their empire
for they are the kings
of the cul-de-sac.

~

 Forgive me, kind sir,

forgive me for not answering
your calls
but I am a coward

I realize I left you
on a thread
that I am pulling apart
gently, quietly
trying not to let you notice

I am firm in my belief
that you are not right for me
But you just treat me with
such lovely words
I know you've fallen hard for me

But that fall won't hurt nearly
as much
as when
I push you out of my life
down the front steps
onto the cold, hard
pavement
I see you lying there
palms on the ground
rocks on your skin
and dust in your eyes
forgive me, kind sir
you're just not the one for me.

~

 Everyone has at least a million challenges in their life,

Why oh why did my million and one have to affect my Dad's wife?
I understand that there are people out there,
With one billion challenges and hardships to bear.
But why oh why did we have to become,
One of those families with that disease that now affects 1.5 million and one?
I'm so gosh darn tired of frozen casserole
From families whose lives will never play this role,
of smiling and saying, "She's doing fine"
and all the while going through that tiring mime.
The movements are few, the words are short,
A smile, a nod, no mention of life, how long or how short.
NO frowning, NO tears,
Be thankful for every crumb, for the rest of your years.
Who cares that you already have 2 dozen beef pot pies,
Lying in the freezer, alongside 4 dozen more approaching demise?
Who can say no to all this kind charity?
Not one turned away, not even your neighbor's aunt's sister-in-law Felicity,
(who is only just doing this out of the kindness of her heart,
not just to tell you all about how who and who are now living apart,
Oh and that stew she brought won’t be very good,
It looks like it’s made from tin and old pieces of wood.)
The calls are just as many and as tiring as well,
When you get a break from the phone there’s the doorbell.
But the calls are mostly endless,
No time to take a shower or get neatly dressed,
Answer the door! Answer the phone!
No one in this world has time to respond to a moan,
Even those with time so little,
Those who are shrinking, and their tongues feeling brittle,
Those who wear wigs and never sleep through the night,
Those who aren’t comforted when you say it will be all right.
I pray every day, as hope falls from my eyes,
Someone will tell me it’s just a pack of lies,
There is no cancer, no chemo, no frozen food,
There is no sick mother, no insensitive people, not caring and rude.
There never was any tumor, no surgery, no blood clot, no lost time,
There is only a healthy life, a life smiling and fine.
A life that now breathes as though it isn’t the last,
A life that now gains weight, and doesn’t look right out of a fast.
A lovely wife, mother, sister, woman exuding life.
There is no more pain, depression, misery or strife,
No more visits, no more hospital gowns,
Lots more smiles, a lot less frowns.
Oh but I don’t really care about all that,
The dinners, the grief, the wool knit hats.
My only real worry, my only real concern,
Is that through all this experience my momma has yet to learn,
That she is still, even during the chemo, even during the sick,
The MOST BEAUTIFUL of all mommas,
Even if…even if I’m afraid this cancer she won’t lick.

~

I was in the house
looking out the glass
I saw you
there in the meadow
I stopped the washing,
I watched you pass
you held your hand
out to the grass
it's blades scraped
against your palm
I wondered did it wear
you down,
that weight you bear
or does it simply
make people stare
at how you carry
all the weight,
your soul
is it weary
could you rest it once
for me
lay your head in my hand
your brown brown hair
I'll smooth with my hand
the strands will brush
against my palm
I won't wear you down
stranger in the meadow
whom I watched through the glass
now you're gone
you've walked on

and time will still pass.

~

No longer mourn for me when I am dead
For my soul is at rest, in heaven's bed
Though my love for you will beat on so,
My death has melted away Cupid's arrow

Be sad I'm gone, but end your grief,
Even though I was taken from you, our time was so brief,
Treasure the memories, to be sure, and use them to your gain.
To measure up a love as sweet and fall into love's arms again.

For my true heart's wish, for your life,
Is to find yourself a wonderful, loving wife.
Do not regret or feel the pangs of guilt,
For by my side is heaven's love and this flower shall not wilt.

Do not worry so, about my jealous rage
My life is over, the act is done on earth's wide stage,
What good can come from a life half-lived?
When I am gone and have nothing for you to give?

I am gone, I am gone, that you must perceive
Make your heart open to another, her love you must receive.
While I'm glad you loved me, but I no longer care for
the earthly life I had, now I've climbed Jacob's stair.

What use am I to you, when all that remains of me
is a wish and dust, but nothing comes of these.
I am gone, I am gone, away in the night,
And you my love, must put out your love's light.

Go on, do not quite forget,
Dry your tears, I shall not see them wet,
And live, and love and never stay in the dark

too long, and be married well, by Cupid's fateful mark.

~

Narcissos, I think, had reason to be vain,
as his reflection has produced a flower that
gives delight
to all who view it, considering,
it's golden trumpets are

the heralds of spring.

~

 Rain, rain,

stay awhile
for I grow weary
of the sun's incessant
smile.

~

 Heaven

Above there is a beauty, oh so high,

Gently holding a gift from the above,

A curtain hanging: the stiff colored sky.

How could the angels part with this vast love?

Could there be an explanation for this?

That humans would receive this noble gift?

What deed was done to receive father’s kiss?

When came the fortunate paradigm shift?

How lucky we are, blessed, my brothers!

It must be costly, such a piece of work.

Gold, red, blue, black, every new day occurs

In this tinted sky no smudge or crack lurk.

But I wonder, behind the sky, what thing,

So costly must be hid by drape and string?

~

Children and Dirty Blankets

Oaks Park update. Today was the first day I was slightly upset I had to work, because today was BEAUTIFUL! I really wanted to go to the park with Renee, or run around by the waterfront. But, instead, I had to work. Which was still great, I mean, I love working at Oaks Park. Just a little less today.

So today Lillian (one of the foreman, or forewoman, I should say) went through the list of who was on what rides, and I didn't hear my name called. I went up to her and asked what ride I was on. She replied with, "I don't know, who are you?" Let me let you in on a little secret, Lillian is kind of always grumpy and gives off a vibe that she really would be ok if everyone died and it was just her left on earth, that way no one would bother her. It's ok though, I didn't mind because she's like that to everyone. I told her my name and she said, "You're on the Big Pink."

The Big Pink is a slide. A very long slide. A regular sized slide wouldn't really belong in an amusement park, now would it? Iit's a slide that is very long and you have to take a old, dirty piece of cloth all the way up all the stairs to the top of the slide, and then you sit on the cloth and slide down. Anyone can ride this ride, any size or age. It's really just a long slide. There's not much more to it. Except a few things.

FIRST: The pieces of cloth are dirty and gray and gross. It's my job to be at the top of the slide and help people get on. I have to grab every single piece of gross blanket and lay it on the slide, then help the people get on. There are three slots that people can sit in between, so 3 people can go down the slide at once. By the end of the day, my hands were very dirty, and my fingernails were horrid to look at. Ick.

SECOND: The slide is called "Big Pink" but it's not all pink. True, pink is the general color scheme, it has a pink slide slot, but it also has a yellow one and a green/blue one. People kept calling the green one blue, even though I think it looks green. Whatever. I guess they decided to call it the "Big Pink" because the "Big half of an odd looking rainbow" was too long for the sign.

THIRD: Some people have a normal intelligence. Some people are very stupid. Some of those people who are stupid are children. That is forgivable because they are children. But some of those stupid people are adults. That is not forgivable because they are raising said stupid children, which means said stupid children are going to remain stupid and raise stupid children of their own. You see the evil stupid cycle? A stupid child is a child that doesn't remember the dirty blanket they just carried all the way up the stairs is there for a reason, and they are supposed to ride it down the ride, not just give it to me like it's to pay for their fare. A stupid adult is an adult that puts the blanket down, then sets their infant child on the blanket, and then struggles to sit on the blanket without sitting on their child's head. How hard is it to realize you need to sit on the blanket, then put your child in front of you? A stupid person also tries to sit down on the blanket while keeping one foot on the bottom stair. They place their left foot two steps up in the air and on the blanket, while keeping the right foot on the bottom stair. They then try to sit down with one leg behind them. Then they try to Stretch Armstrong their back leg up and around their head to get it in front of them. Why not just step up, step on the slide, then sit down? Why? Because they are stupid.

FOURTH: Fine: Large children who ride by themselves. Not fine: large children that want to ride with their parents. Their parents sit on the blanket and ask me to lift their child up over the railing and set their child neatly in their lap. This is ok on my back if the child is two years old and weighs the same as a watermelon. This is not ok if their child is 2 years old and weighs as much as a three or four tires roped together. This hurts my back. Especially if the child kicks and screams, which brings me to...

FIFTH: Look at her. She is kicking and screaming. She is openly weeping tears that would make an over-dramatic actor embarrassed. She is clenching the bars so tight, her knuckles are white. I get the feeling she doesn't want to go on the slide. BUT because the "Big Pink" is at least three stories in the air, and the parent had to walk three flight's worth of stairs, the parent is not backing down. They didn't waste all that energy of walking those stairs for nothing. Their child will ride this ride. The child may not like it, but there is no way the parent is just going to let all that walking be forgotten. I wouldn't mind this so much if the parent wasn't beckoning to me to wrench the screaming child from the bars and place the child in the parent's lap. I don't want to force a child to do anything, and I certainly don't want to have to physically wrestle the child into doing anything she doesn't want to do. Please don't make me the bouncer for your child.

These were the only bad things about today. Some good things were:

A) I could see Renee on the Tilt-A-Whirl from where I was on the top of the slide, so we threw shakas at each other and danced for each other's enjoyment.

B) I was in the shade all day, and was high up above everyone, so I could just stand and sing whenever I felt like it. "Bye bye mein lieber herr, it was a sad affair but now it's OOooooverrrrr......"

C)The last 15 minutes of the day were made fun by the four little kids that kept riding my ride. They were one little kid and three siblings who were Russian. The 3 Russian kids would all run up and want to ride together, and the oldest boy was always concerned his sister and brother weren't going to go on the ready, set, go line. He would protest to them, "Russian russian russian READY SET GO russian russian." I thought it was funny he would say the ready set go in English. And the other little boy informed me that his mom told him he had to ride the slide 15 times before they could go home. He pointed to his mom, and I saw her sitting on a bench reading. The little boy would go down the slide, then come back up to me and ask how many times he had gone. "5 times!" "8 times!" "10 times! You're getting close!" The Russian kids soon grew bored and left, but the little kid was determined to finish out his duty to his mother. It was, after all, mother's day.

Happy Mother's Day!

First Puke and Tall People

Note: Let me say that, first and foremost, I am not Kristin Rowan. Sadly, I will never be Kristin Rowan, her coolness puts us all to shame. But let me also note that working at Oaks Park simply makes you want to document your experiences there. So, in doing so, it might seem like I am trying to be Kristin Rowan, but I am not because I know that that is dreaming the impossible dream. Thank you.

You were a young man/woman who had been having a pretty reasonably fun day that day at Oaks Park, until you got on my ride. You didn't realize that those curly fries you had eaten just moments before would soon be making a comeback. You were so young, so innocent, so full of food and prone to slight nausea. You would regret the day you messed with: The Screaming Eagle.

For those of you that don't know, the Screaming Eagle spins its occupants around, then swings back and forth while doing so. The occupants are suspended from their seats, and hold onto thick purple safety bars that come down over the victim, I mean rider, and hold them against their suspended seat.

Did I wake up that morning thinking today would be the day? Today I would lose my puke virginity at Oaks Park? I had gone almost a whole month of working there without having to deal with any vomit. The day you, fair rider, decided to ride my ride was a day that I will never forget.

One thing I don't understand is, why did you run away? Didn't you want to meet me? After I had clicked the gate open, once the ride was over, why didn't you stay and chat? Maybe ask me how my day was going, or even just point out which seat you had just lost your lunch in would have been a nice change of pace to the atmosphere. Instead, you ran away, thinking that a driveby barfing would be greeted better than if you had just kindly pointed out that you had just blown chunks, and where you had done said blowing of chunks would have been most appreciative. Instead, you left that little surprise to the next person who came along and sat in your filth.

As for the poor little 10 year old boy who sat in vomit: The seat is literally three feet in the air. It's practically at eye level for you. When you got in the seat and THEN told me there was vomit in it, I asked you why you had sat in it, and you insisted that you "Thought it was ok." Ok? Ok? How is vomit ever ok? And that fact that you were upset, well, for any normal person who would have just seen the mess and pointed it out to me, I would have understood their disgust. But you, oh no, you went one step further. You saw the vomit, justified it as "ok" and deemed it a perfect pool of puke for your bum to warm. Only after you sat in it did you realize that maybe barf doesn't make the best seat warmers, and then and only then did you decide to complain about your chosen seat. I'm sorry, but you forfeited any whining rights you had when you deemed it an "ok" seat to ride in. I see a sad future for you, little boy, if you even make it to your next birthday, which seems unlikely since you deem any sort of human liquid a good place to sit.

Part 2: "I'm Husky"

I'm sorry. I'm sorry whoever designed the ride only made it for people who are 5'5" and 140 lbs. I'm sorry you do not fit those requirements. I'm sorry that I have to come over and try to push the bar shut. I'm sorry that the seats are in a circle, so everyone can see who is too big for the ride. I'm sorry that you wanted to ride the ride with your daughter, and because of your build you can't. I'm sorry you have to hop out and walk out in front of everyone. I'm sorry about the young kids who giggle and point at you.
I'm sorry when I have to explain to you why we can't just let you ride because it "feels locked." It's not, and if I let the ride go, all the bars would go up and everyone would fall out, 30 feet in the air. I'm sorry the ride excludes anyone too tall, to big, or too broad shouldered. It's embarrassing, and it's the worst part of my job, even worse than the vomit. I try to make it better by saying, "I'm sorry, you're just too TALL for the ride" when it's obvious that your height isn't the problem. There's nothing I can do about it. And thank you, that one guy who actually admitted that he was too big for the ride after the bars wouldn't lock. Thanks for making everyone laugh when you turned and yelled, "I'm husky, and don't ya'll forget it! My momma didn't raise no skinny sons!" with a smile on your face. Thanks.

Ramen Noodles

You've seen them. The girls, women even, who walk around in sweatpants, sweatpants with words written on the butt saying, "Princess" or things like that, and Ugg boots. Their hair is pulled back in a sloppy bun with a thin headband, and all their heavy makeup perfectly placed on their face. They have a Betsy Johnson bag in the crook of their arm, and a chai latte in one hand and their iPhone in the other. Why? Why go to so much effort to look like you don't care what you look like? I know it's comfortable, but leggings and a jersey knit dress are also comfortable! A knit sweater, with knee high socks,a t-shirt and jeans can even be comfortable! And if all you cared about was comfort, you wouldn't be wearing a matching sweatpant/sweatshirt combo. I just don't understand my sex sometimes....

Working on a show right now, I'm Costume Designer. Fancy, right? I feel very undeserving the title, mainly because this is my first show as THE costume designer, and I haven't had as much experience as I should. Oh well.

I'd really like a job so I can actually have some cash with which to try and start to even pay off my student loans. Oh well.

Kristin and I gave an awesome presentation today in my Modern Theater 2 class. We used puppets. Everyone enjoyed the break from the humdrum presentations from the other students, at least, I like to think everyone enjoyed the break from the other presentations.

On Thursday I get to drive out to Mt. Hood Community College and see what it's like to be a real librarian! I get to shadow my friend Matt's girlfriend Anna, who works at the library at Mt. Hood, and see if it's something I want to do with my life. I really hope I like it. Otherwise, all I have going for me is stage managing and costume design, something I LOVE, but also something that doesn't make money all the time. Even though I love it, my parents are worried I will end up a little homeless thespian, with my masks and tie line to keep me company in the gutter. Or the guttah, as Audrey would say.

Got to go make some costumes now. And maybe some dinner later.

Endorsing Vampire Librarian blog because Matt told me about her, and I love her. Cheers!

The Librarian

A book thuds
to the floor
Slid and pushed
from its place
above her glass's
rims she glances,
views the casualty
of the new stock-boy,
who scrambles to snatch
it up into his trembling hands
and quietly place it gently back
before her glare burns a hole in it.

English Class

Looks like I will be taking a lot of "notes" in my English class, and by notes I mean, writing things to myself while the class talks about how everything is a sexual metaphor understating how the author was really in love with his mother. Yeah, English majors are a cheery group. Anyway, here's some writings from today.
~
"It may be realistic, but that doesn't mean it's good writing." -English Prof.
~
Nodding our
heads along in
agreement, with
agreement, with the
beat of how we feel,
bobble heads all in a row
of pale opinions
making such a sad motion.
~
No form to this class
we have the free will
to speak whenever
and however
we choose.
Who cares
whether or not
we actually
SAY anything.
~
I will not write for you
unless you ask me
for a poem
but if you do
it does not mean it will be good,
but I assure you
it will be true.
I promise you
it will be true.
~
Born from my mother's belly,
taken from warmth
the precious comfort
and fragile safety,
placed in a bright world,
still fragile,
(but not as safe),
still gripping to the preciousness
of life.
~~~~~~~~

Thing of the day: Nutella. 'Nuff said.