I seriously cried while I was writing my analysis of this poem in my 17-page paper on W.B. Yeats WHICH I JUST FINISHED YEEEEE

This is my favorite poem. I want someone to read it at my funeral, for serious. It's so beautiful and hopeful and magical and gahh. everything good.

"Lapis Lazuli" I have heard that hysterical women say They are sick of the palette and fiddle-bow, Of poets that are always gay, For everybody knows or else should know That if nothing drastic is done Aeroplane and Zeppelin will come out, Pitch like King Billy bomb-balls in Until the town lie beaten flat. All perform their tragic play, There struts Hamlet, there is Lear, That's Ophelia, that Cordelia; Yet they, should the last scene be there, The great stage curtain about to drop, If worthy their prominent part in the play, Do not break up their lines to weep. They know that Hamlet and Lear are gay; Gaiety transfiguring all that dread. All men have aimed at, found and lost; Black out; Heaven blazing into the head: Tragedy wrought to its uttermost. Though Hamlet rambles and Lear rages, And all the drop-scenes drop at once Upon a hundred thousand stages, It cannot grow by an inch or an ounce. On their own feet they came, or on shipboard, Camel-back, horseback, ass-back, mule-back, Old civilisations put to the sword. Then they and their wisdom went to rack: No handiwork of Callimachus, Who handled marble as if it were bronze, Made draperies that seemed to rise When sea-wind swept the corner, stands; His long lamp-chimney shaped like the stem Of a slender palm, stood but a day; All things fall and are built again, And those that build them again are gay. Two Chinamen, behind them a third, Are carved in lapis lazuli, Over them flies a long-legged bird, A symbol of longevity; The third, doubtless a serving-man, Carries a musical instmment. Every discolouration of the stone, Every accidental crack or dent, Seems a water-course or an avalanche, Or lofty slope where it still snows Though doubtless plum or cherry-branch Sweetens the little half-way house Those Chinamen climb towards, and I Delight to imagine them seated there; There, on the mountain and the sky, On all the tragic scene they stare. One asks for mournful melodies; Accomplished fingers begin to play. Their eyes mid many wrinkles, their eyes, Their ancient, glittering eyes, are gay.

Gah! My life will be so different in about a month! It's scary.

I usually check out PostSecret every Sunday morning as a habit I developed in high school. I used to be really into it back then, but now I find it terribly corny and/or pointless. Yet, like the Dirty (ugh), I keep up with it now and then out of boredom and slight curiosity. I should stop looking at these pieces of shit websites. The Dirty, for obvious reasons, should not exist. But the more I look at PostSecret, the more I realize what crap it is. This week there are four anti-choice secrets in a row, and an email message calling the site out on its biased, misogynist bullshit. Despite the email message, however, there isn't one secret to balance out the obvious bias and ideology that's going on here. FUCK THAT.

I don't have much to say, as usual, but I thought I'd mention that for the first time in a while I feel particularly good. I've been more receptive to stepping outside of my comfort zone, having a good time, and spending time with people, all without conscious effort. On the level of consciousness, I've been trying not to bitch everyone out and tolerate them instead. I'm nowhere near perfect (as exhibited in my outburst on Niles), but I'm trying. Also, did you know that I'm on schizo/bi-polar drugs? Yeah, it's fucking weird.  

(whisk maracas)

just ragin'

God, I suck at posting. Lately I can't write decently. 

I've been on a rage streak since school started (aka today). Everything pisses me off to no end. I filled out my census this morning and it was ridiculous how mad it made me. Today Andy forgot to lower my bike seat and I'm too frail to do it myself so I was late for my test. During my test the girl that always has to take her shoes off to reveal her janky toes DID and I was furious. In my last class everyone talked shit about Lady Gaga and Alexander McQueen but of course my social anxiety was inflamed by my anger so all I could think was FUUUCCKKK. Then I walked outside in shorts and sandals to cold rain. What the fuck? Oh and I'm trying to sell shit on Craigslist because I'm broke and all I'm getting is South Africans who want to scam me or robots. AND I fucked up my sewing machine and it costs $80 dollars to repair (although when they told me that I said that I'm on a budget and have boobs, well I didn't say that because it's obvious, and they said they'd try to lower the price).  ANWAY everything is bullshit. But not in that depressing, I might as well die way, but in that ironic WHOOP-DEE-DOO way, you know?  

Let's see, what else is new...I have some hash but I don't know where it came from. Like I looked at my stash of shitty weed and it was there and I was like...what? Also, Oscar Zeta Acosta (aka Dr. Gonzo) is the shit. That's all i got guys. 

PS Whenever I feel down I look at this picture: 

I think it's because I imagine myself as red shirt dude.

Bahh Telephone is out guys:

I'll write more about it later when I get the chance. All I gotta say is Beyonce with bangs is A+, I don't want to see her any other way. I also love Gaga's yellow hair, but she's looking a little skeletal. It frightens me. But those ciggy glasses....

I almost forgot how much I adore Beyonce. I like this:

I should (fingers crossed) start getting the internet at my house tomorrow, and is it not surprising that I have an entire to-do list of youtube videos, blogs, and wikipedia entries (not to mention lostpedia...) to catch up with? No, not at all. Without the internet, I watch eight episodes in a row of It's Always Sunny and get pretty fucking close to catching up with all my reading for ENGL 496...we're doing Invisible Man and the autobiography of Malcolm X this week...that's 1200 pages or something. What's wrong with me? No one should ever be completely caught up in a class like that.

This post is an IOU...an I owe myself...who knows. Without the inspiration to write something of importance I have resorted to journal entries lately...is that good or bad? Well, I think it could be worse, because you don't even know what's in my sleepingpill/antidepressant/whatever the fuck else I'm on/addicted to brain right now. Seriously guys, it's weird, weird shit. I've been pulling a Hamlet nearly on the daily but no one else seems to think it's nearly as funny as I do. Am I going insane? Well, yes, I think I am, and perhaps my life isn't nearly as amusing as I think it is, but who cares?