| theatre snob |
[Sep. 29th, 2007|02:45 am] |
I was woken up that morning by the goddamned cows mooing. Don’t get me wrong, I thought it was totally awesome to them out my window - just not at 6:00AM. B-J should have warned me, I thought, but I figured it just hadn’t crossed his mind. Cows mooing was a common occurrence in his little Dutch village. So awkwardly I sat in the tiny guest room for the next two hours trying to fall back to sleep, but the bovines would have none of it. Eventually I gave in and just read some Oscar Wilde.
Around 10:00AM, I heard the house began to stir. I peered out from behind my door and Mr. and Mrs. Halewijn in the kitchen preparing brunch. Being a good guest, I offered to help, which they were more than happy to accept as none of their four sons had even left their bedrooms yet. Mrs. Halewijn gave me a pile of oranges and taught me how to use the juicer. As I squeezed the citrus, Mr. Halewijn tuned to me. It was the first time we’d spoken since I’d been there.
“Did Bert tell you we are coming to New York in October?” he asked.
“Yes. He told me you guys have tickets to see the Lion King.” I replied. He smiled.
“Yes. He also told us that when he told you that, you called us ‘fucking tourists.’”
I was speechless. How could I possibly respond?
“It’s OK,” Mr. Halewijn laughed, “we are fucking tourists.” |
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| creative writing final |
[May. 3rd, 2007|01:15 am] |
for our final, we were told to pick a painting by edward hopper and write a "collage piece" that was inspired by it. by collage piece, he means a piece of writing that features a few different forms of writing (our choice) from lists, to movie reviews, to memoir, to poetry....anything. so, here is mine so far, i'd really like some honest, intelligent feedback before i hand it in. thank you!
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| a wednesday in late august, 2004 |
[Apr. 30th, 2007|05:36 pm] |
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The sky is pink on our last night together. Sitting on the beach; two Americans, a German, an Aussie and a Brit. We’re either the League of Nations or a great set up for a rather insulting joke. Thick accents mingle in the air as we watch the slowest falling star sink behind Connecticut and realize it’s the end. Conversation slows; the air is still and the sky is now indigo. “Think you’ll miss it?” I ask. No one answers. |
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| aftermath of a lesser known significance |
[Apr. 30th, 2007|05:10 pm] |
when the towers fell
and the whole world crashed
it took about a year
but my Father lost his job
they announced it one day
but he left it months later
i’d say to him, Daddy,
why still go to that place?
They said I could work
till the money runs out.
and he did
and the money
ran out out the next June
and my Mother and i
sat and watched
he’d slump in his chair
and click for the jobs
that he wished, but knew
wouldn’t come
we never were poor
but things got quite tight
and i wept for the future
because i’d be starting school soon
and they said not to worry
so I never asked for money
i lost weight
i didn’t want to eat
i once watched the child
of a rather rich man
who asked me What is it like?
How does your life differ from mine?
Is it less renting movies?
Is it less eating out?
Is that how one lives when the money’s run out?
i just nodded and smiled
but never said yes
for had my mouth opened
it would have said things
i know that i now would regret
i watched him, my eyes
would tear at the sight
of a man who was broken and torn
but the anger would come
and it came from both sides
and i wanted to scream the most terrible things
tell him i’m not to blame
and rip him to shreds
curse at his failure
and make him feel small
but I never could hurt him that way
afterall
he did it enough to himself |
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| in new york, a thing of beauty is a joy for exactly six months |
[Apr. 30th, 2007|05:08 pm] |
i wanted you in winter
when the world is white
and virginal
the frost clinging to
the noses we’d rub together
and we’d sit in the den sipping
hot chocolate dreams of chestnuts roasting
on our open passion
the snow would fall; and so would i
but i did not have you in winter
i first had you in spring-time
when the world was fresh
and in bloom
for the first time you saw me and
we blossomed with the trees; innocent
hands picking the flowers
the grass grew around us as we
threw ourselves into something new
when i first had you in spring-time
again i had you in summer
when the fireflies float
in the night
the distance meant nothing as you
wrapped me in your arms
your eyes matched the water we
watched from the shore; held hands
in the sand; watched the sun set
stars dotted the sky
when again i had you in summer
i had you the last time in autumn
when the crisp air shocks
and breaks you
the leaves changed, and so did we
from a fiery red to a dull and dead brown
but still it was good; you and i had some power
that nobody else ever needed to see
and no one did see when you
took me aside and told me
it was the last time in autumn
but,
oh lord!,
i had wanted you in winter |
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| six foot six |
[Apr. 30th, 2007|05:04 pm] |
i wanted to immortalize him in
words eternal
for he was a giant
and he loved me like one
he held me and
engulfed me and
swallowed me whole
his face was stern
as it was his culture
he stood like a lighthouse
arms crossed, ever watching
impossible to miss
on the wide, open sea
when we’d sit together all
alone (even when
others were present)
he’d make me laugh
and I would, him
a grin would erupt from
the deep disposition
face would convulse
neither painful, nor sexual
and the noise he would make
(not loud as expected,
but still rather hearty)
was as if he
were a young boy
appreciating the joke, but,
afraid to get caught by
the man at the head of the class
his eyes when he laughed were
what enthralled me the most
like diamonds hit by the sun
trapped in a squint; shining
as brightly as they could
in their happy captivity
someday i’ll travel far and wide
find him again
for he was a giant
and he loved me like one
he held me and
engulfed me and
swallowed me whole
and never will
i be the same |
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| 28 improper ways to respond to the words "I love you." |
[Apr. 30th, 2007|05:03 pm] |
Oh.
Thanks.
That’s nice.
You’re so sweet.
Feelings mutual.
Great.
Cool.
Could you give me a minute? I got another call.
I’m sorry.
Oh no.
You what?
Um, yeah…
Huh?
Me too.
You’re kidding!
That’s funny.
You would.
Shut up.
So, how ‘bout them Mets?
Shh…shh…static! You’re breaking up!
Hmm.
I don’t blame you.
I’m pregnant.
Wow.
How embarrassing.
I hate you.
There’s another man.
::click:: |
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| a sonnet on the acceptance of mortality |
[Apr. 30th, 2007|01:35 pm] |
because i worry how this life will end
and let it keep me up on long, cold nights
i feel it better not to share with friends
my darkest fears and after midnight frights
yet still it clouds my mind each night and day
i wonder if i will have done enough
will i have searched and fin’ly found my way?
will i find love and is success that tough?
but why indulge in such immortal fears?
the sea and sky surround me so instead
i’ll celebrate my fate upon this earth
my eyes, my mouth, my nose, my hands and ears
(who do not know that one day they’ll be dead)
will show me this world’s beauty and it’s worth |
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| the best possible way to spend a wednesday night |
[Apr. 30th, 2007|01:32 pm] |
dressed up for Wal-Mart and China Buffet
remember how they used to laugh at us, Dorothy?
we’d put on mascara
we’d straighten our hair
we were so desperate to look pretty
after slumming all week
but the girls, they didn’t get it
they’d ask where we were going
To a club? To a bar?
Do you have a hot date? Is it with that Dutch guy?
we’d smile and boast
no, we’re going to Wal-Mart
or maybe Target
oo! fancy tonight
then the twelve year olds would tell us
we didn’t know how to live
but they just can’t see the beauty of Wal-Mart
there’s clothing and movies
and sunscreen and batteries
add it all up, it’s only two bucks
and don’t tell me about child labor
or their employee conditions
bottom line is
they have AC, we don’t
so when we check out
we’re not even sweating
for the first time that week
we all still smelled good
then we’d head on next door to
The China Buffet
eating plate after plate
and placing our bets
The big guy will eat six plates,
But I could do seven!
then the big guy’d show us all
with eight and a half
so we’d laugh and we’d eat
and we’d vent and we’d laugh
fill our cones up with ice cream
and wait for the van
finally it would get us
and we’d go home to Camp
talking all the while about
how great the night had been
ah, those were the days, weren’t they Dorothy?
it wasn’t about the booze
and it wasn’t about the drugs
it was about fun without the need
to go to the beach after
with a bottle of tequila
or a hard packed bowl
it was about us
not as people, not as countries
not as classes, not as cliques
but as us
a bunch of misfits with
cheap clothing on our backs
and bad food in our stomachs
celebrating life and
getting dressed up
for something as simple as Wal-mart
and getting hyped for MSG at the China Buffet |
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| as of yet untitled villanelle |
[Apr. 30th, 2007|04:02 am] |
flowers in a golden field
open space in which to roll
and she denied her right to yield
a sunny spot on which she kneeled
felt warming rays that made her whole
flowers in a golden field
supple fruit she gently peeled
with juice that dripped into her soul
and she denied the right to yield
her thoughts, she felt, were well concealed
in her quiet, private knoll
flowers in a golden field
then suddenly, in he wheeled
with pigmented eyes of charcoal
and she denied her right to yield
with his kiss her fate was sealed
and she could see no darker toll
flowers in a golden field
and she denied her right to yield |
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