I have Paul Bareabu Stuck in My head and I've Spelled His Name Wrong

So I've just started summer classes, which clearly were a plan made for disaster.
I'm relatively certain that I'm going to need another job to pay my bills
and
my head kind of really hurts right now bc without realizing it until a few moment ago, my body has totally tricked me into not having caffeine for the past 3 days...
also
I'm kind of sick and tired (sorta) of going to school for, well, basically for the rest of my life. I'd like to not be waiting another two years to graduate, just to be awakened from this bliss by my debtors with their lazer guns and stoney eyes. (This is my own imagining of course)
Bugger, I wish I was British, they're all about just searching and destroying. Well, perhaps not necessarily successfully but they keep teh faith.
Well, I'm only worsening my rambling here...I should go back and start reading the 300 page book that is due for the end of the week on the man who triggered the start of the civil war...physically anyway...
I'll have to try very hard not to play Earthbound...like, really hard. hmm
I never feel like I have anything of interest to say here, but if rambling is permissible then I'm your gal.

This message will self destruct in...

listening

Band of Horses calms me down when i don't know who out there understands.

Can someone have me know they understand?

biscuits

I think I'm secretly a self deprecating socialist. Good. Night.

Post- Romantic: Paisley Rekdal

Came across this poem today. This is just a snippit, the full version is rather long. Something about it made it both sharp, lively, losing, and bitter. The lines come with such a great power, very lovely.  Hope you enjoy :)

"I love you. Can I even say that? In this story,

I want to spend the rest of my life growing quietly bored with you,

locking away loom and spindle, sweeping out the piles

of rose petals and ash. For once, I plan to triumph

over smug experience. I marry you. Don’t hit me.

Please, just come in from the stars awhile, sit here

in this sitting room, let me find you another section of the paper

to argue over. The doctors said I get to wear a suit.

They said I’ll be released next Thursday. Listen:

even now, the junipers are whispering their dark good-byes,

thin limbs smocked in white. A riderless horse has appeared

on the horizon. And somewhere, out in the meretricious night,

somebody’s life is quietly changing."

Edit

Here's the version of the last post's poem (whoa, that was kind of hard to say...) that I ended on. I feel it a hell of a lot better personally, but that's why I have a blog...so, thoughts?

The Woman I Will Be

What I want is

to dance with my children,

                                    barefooted

in our living room,

to love a father --

.                                               some kind of activist--

and write

words that are trifled

by misapprehension

words you will love,

unlike mother’s

who are not

            the woman I will be.

 

 Late summer hearts, swollen

            from sun and seed, never make it past

            shallow lawn chair basins

or spots behind glasses of ice

perspiring, drowning themselves.

                        Everyone has stopped watching.       

                                   

Soon, wild black eyed ladies will blossom

from the scalp of earth

                        where beautiful things are

            rotting. 

This is as good as my triadic line poem is getting. I'm honestly not even fucking able to offer any legitimacy to the structured clauses, let alone the fucking format. aha.  But I'll offer it up to you, oh blog gods, to do with it what you will. 

In other news...

             

It's been a while...

You know, I was thinking that I really don't ever use my blog enough ever. For shame. Well, it's never too late.

I feel so separated from everything that otherwise I am a part of, as if I'm dissimilar in some way. I feel like I'm being forced out, but all I want to do is stay. It's the difference that's forcing me to make a choice: change or leave. Then again, I've always kind of different. Maybe I'm meant to be on the sides, never really understood. Am I understood? It's a scary question because really, can you ever know? Its this understanding that I need validated on days where all I can feel are the words on a page, and nothing else. We all need that person, those people who get us, who can say just one thing, one word, or perhaps just a smile or a look, and we know that out vantage point has been theirs. And you can't fight it, you can never fight it. Just like time, the change operates of its own accord, having little to do with what is controllable by humans. Like a decayed structure, it is meant to fall. But who's falling the world around you, or you?