amand_r: (VSTROYER OF WORLDS)
1.



Yeah.

2. My kid has dual ear infections. I like to think of this like deulling banjos. But with ear infections. And less ass pain and more ear pain.

ALSO: My kid has asthma. OTOH, her nebuliser is this cute little yellow thing with "Huffinpuff the Asthma Dragon" on it. When I saw it, I thought it said "Hufflepuff" because it's yellow/gold, and I wanted to ask them for a Ravenclaw one, but then I squashed my inner-nerd and reread it.

Every four hours. EVERY FOUR HOURS. AND PREDNISONE. AND OMNICEF.

I TOLD KID THAT SHE WAS DEFECTIVE AND THAT MAYBE I SHOULD RETURN HER, BUT THEN I REALISED THAT I'D BE RETURNING HER TO MY UTERUS, AND I THINK UNBIRTHING IS SQUICKY.

The mask is shaped like a fish face.

I SHALL CALL HER DARTH VIVI.

3. Watched Sherlock in its entirety (all three eps, I know, the strain). Don't get excited kiddies. It was okay, but yeah. That's about it. I think Moriarty is dumb, but I liked the "consulting criminal" excuse. Finally, something other than, "I'm baaaaaad!"

4. Made gluten free cookies, more than I thought I would. Fun fun fun. They're going on sale tomorrow. And good thing too, because I cannot keep myself from eating the peanut butter ones.

But I found a recipe for complicated cookies that you dip in powdered jello (they look like peaches!), and also I found a recipe that IMITATES OREO COOKIES. DON'T TELL ME THAT WON'T BE AWESOME. I also want to make balls of cake dipped in chocolate. SO MUCH TO TRY TO BAKE, SO LITTLE TIME.

5. Forward, backward, inward, outward, come and join the chase! Nothing could be drier Than a jolly caucus race! Backward, forward, outward, inward, bottom to the top! Never a beginning; there can never be a stop. To skipping, hopping, tripping fancy free and gay, started it tomorrow, but will finish yesterday!

6. Also, was thinking of what awesome poetry Supremes lyrics would make. In the style of cummings:

Baby.
baby.

baby don't leave me
please don't leave me

all by

my
self

i've got this yearning (burning) yearning

feelin' inside (me)
deep inside( me)

& it hurts so bad



See? Tomorrow I shall sing you "All Along the Watchtower" in the style of Ethel Merman.
amand_r: (obligatory serious icon)
I did it for the children. I did it for the money.
I did it for the depression of spirit and the cessation of hope.
I did it because I could, because it was there.
I’d do it again. Oops, I did it again.

What have I done? What have I done
to deserve this? What have I done with my keys,
my youth? What am I going to do
while you're at tennis camp? What are we going to do

with the body? I don't do smack. I don't do
toilets. I don't do well at school. I could do
with a bath. Unto others, I do
injurious, praiseworthy, parroted acts.

Let’s just do Chinese. Just do as I say. Just do me.
That does it. Easy does it. That’ll do.

--Ben Lerner, The Lichtenberg Figures
amand_r: (Default)
THE TWO TREES

William Butler Yeats

BELOVED, gaze in thine own heart,
The holy tree is growing there;
From joy the holy branches start,
And all the trembling flowers they bear.
The changing colours of its fruit
Have dowered the stars with merry light;
The surety of its hidden root
Has planted quiet in the night;
The shaking of its leafy head
Has given the waves their melody,
And made my lips and music wed,
Murmuring a wizard song for thee.
There the Loves a circle go,
The flaming circle of our days,
Gyring, spiring to and fro
In those great ignorant leafy ways;
Remembering all that shaken hair
And how the wingèd sandals dart,
Thine eyes grow full of tender care:
Beloved, gaze in thine own heart.

Gaze no more in the bitter glass
The demons, with their subtle guile,
Lift up before us when they pass,
Or only gaze a little while;
For there a fatal image grows
That the stormy night receives,
Roots half hidden under snows,
Broken boughs and blackened leaves.
For all things turn to barrenness
In the dim glass the demons hold,
The glass of outer weariness,
Made when God slept in times of old.
There, through the broken branches, go
The ravens of unresting thought;
Flying, crying, to and fro,
Cruel claw and hungry throat,
Or else they stand and sniff the wind,
And shake their ragged wings; alas!
Thy tender eyes grow all unkind:
Gaze no more in the bitter glass.
amand_r: (tw/tosh isn't taking your bullshit)
1. OH HAI ALL YOU PEOPLES, IT WAS GREAT HAVING YOU ABOOT FOR THE RPF CARNIVALE. WE ALL HAD A CHUPACABRA OF A GOOD TIME AND SOME GREAT SHIT CAME OUT OF IT. Over thirty pieces of RPF and I think John Barrowman was in all but one. WHAT. THE. FUCK. LAWL. The entry has a master list under the cut, if you want to peruse the titles for anything you might have missed.

Likewise, if you want to de-anon, drop me a note so I can change your name from "anon" to..uhm, your name. And if you end up posting the story elsewhere and would like me to link to that instead of your story on the thread, drop me a line at amandr at gmail dot com.

2. Being online all weekend has exhausted me. I'm typing this Saturday night so that I don't have to be online long Monday. I shall predict that in the future (now) we have hover cars and live off of a bagel byproduct.

3. And then, AND THEN--[livejournal.com profile] blue_fjords has asked me some questions. You know how I love me some questions. )

I feel as if I have accomplished much. I cannot ask questions of you people, because I simply have nothing! So in lack of that, I present that poem thing meme, but with something much more comprehensible:

Again the old dream came to me:
'Twas May; the world was vernal;
We sat beneath the linden tree
And pledged a faith eternal.

Great love and a deathless oath we swore.
And that I might ne'er forget it,
With a passionate kiss and a thousand more
You took my hand and bit it.

Oh sweetheart with the lips that cling,
With eyes so clear and merry,
The oath was quite the proper thing
The bite, unnecessary !

--Heinrich Heine, Book of Songs

LAWL. Imma go clean my hovercar.
amand_r: (paperclip/writing)
My writing meme is fucking boring, so I shall rely on someone else.

When you see this, post a poem on your journal.

from Ben Lerner's The Lichtenberg Figures

I place a terminal raceme of fragrant, funnel-shaped perianths
beside the mile marker where Orlando flipped his Honda.
I fuck his girlfriend and induce epistaxis in his homeboy.

You asked me to explain the peculiar power of continental literary criticism,
to clarify what I mean by "theory" in the sentence
"To clarify what I mean by theory in the sentence."

The impossibility of referring to the interruption immanent in the referential chain.
Snowfall in North Topeka.
The impossibility of not referring to the immanent interruption.
Real persons, living or dead, resembled coincidentally.

Orlando imbued my body with erotic significance
by beating it with a pistol. Nothing is as metaphysical
as the claim to break from metaphysics. At a party in his honor,
we throw our hands in the air. We wave them like we just don't care.

***

God, I love this man.
amand_r: (COFFEE)
This is just to say that

I like that whole, "Oh, do you only like heterosexual sex?" bit.
Oh, do you only like dill pickles?
Oh, do you only like Shakespeare's early work?
Oh, did you want the plums from the ice box?
I ate them.
Forgive me.
They were delicious.
So sweet.
And so gay.

ALSO: LONGDOG IS LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONG.
amand_r: (politics/crackerjacks)
Update in haiku:

the plow clears the road
oily mountains block my car
you son of a bitch

an old joke is new:
the loo roll is empty, woe--
the snow falls in droves

I got fried rice, peoples.

A brief WWI Jackobite article from Military History. )

Do you ever want to google a pic and find, well fuck, you can't google images? I was looking at a person in someone's icon today and I was like, "Who is that? I'll google it! No wait, what do I type? 'black and white photo, white male, old picture, finger on face'?" Durrrrrrr.

ETA: A werewolf falling in love with a baby. This is why Thomas Edison invented this shit in the first place. So we could see a werewolf fall in love with a baby.

Amen.
amand_r: (Default)
UNRELATED THOUGHTS:

1. I'm glad people seem to like the poly fic. Am really surprised that, except for a dubious delicious comment, I haven't heard a peep about the urine drinking.

2. Tired. So very tired.

3. What kind of celeb I am. Big effing surprise. )

4. I sprained my ankle twice in the UK—once on the first Friday whilst navigating Birmingham's New Street and trying to escape the street cleaning zamboni and then later in Cardiff on Wednesday whilst trying to dance on some paving stones that turned out to be grass filled holes. Crue LOLed both times because he is a heartless bastard. But in retrospect I walked on it even though it was swollen, walked on it a lot, and it doesn't hurt, but it's swollen in that hard way that means I did something to ligaments or something, and it was all blue a few days later the first time. But surprisingly no pain. I just laced my shoe around it, and was good to go. Now however, it feels waterlogged like after I had the kid and my ankles were so filled with fluid that I couldn’t bend my foot at the ankle. Le sigh. I need cyber feet. LISA! UPGRADE MY FEET! JUST THE FEET! WAIT, WAIT, WHAT ARE YOU DO---BRRRRRAZKPT!

5. I have many things to say about the UK, but I wrote everything out by hand. I have pics, but they are scattered. And they are of signs and stuff, not people or sites or anything. Instead I wrote poetry. So here you go, my landing in the UK:

Touchdown )

I don't know when I got so maudlin. I was listening to Mika. That's my excuse. DAMN YOU CRUE.

a haiku:

Jul. 16th, 2009 02:12 pm
amand_r: (Default)
up here in my head
a million little beavers
are building their dams


It's history, folks, for onc, LJ isn't responsible for karking my post. MY COMPUTER IS, THE SAUCY BITCH. )
amand_r: (obligatory serious icon)
Beauty cannot account for how the sparkplug works.
But if the sparkplug doesn't work, it is more beautiful.
If I display a sparkplug, it is a sculpture.
A sparkplug may be a real sparkplug,
but the sculpture refers to other sculptures, while the sparkplug refers
to an engine cylinder.
The word "sparkplug" is an altogether different matter.

Thus I return to the subject of the museum.
A woman is crying in the Surrealist wing.
Beauty cannot account for why the woman is crying.
But because the woman is crying, she is more beautiful.
Is the woman therefore a work of surrealist sculpture?
A sculpture of a woman may be a real woman,
but the sculpture refers to other sculptures, while the woman refers

(from The Lichtenberg Figures)
amand_r: (obligatory serious icon)
I have decided to start posting some of the poetry that I've been writing, and it will all be behind a cut if that's not your cuppa. I wrote a bunch for my class, and some of that I've refined and worked on since then. Anyway these are the Tianyu related ones that I have edited to something I feel rather finished with.

The first was a visual poem, more of an art piece. I was playing with texture of poetry and shape, what constituted poetry. And I also wanted to write about Tianyu's death, but I had a hard time doing so in ways that weren't overly emotional or sentimentally masturbatory (a classmate's comment about overly personal poetry, not mine, but I like the term.). The end result is behind the cut, both a scan of the original and a reproduction of it in typeset, since I'm still trying to transition it to a more "readable" form.

Wallpaper )

The second is one about the hurricane season we went through. It uh, well, yeah. Everything I've written actually foreshadows that thing, sadly. Hurricane )

The last is one that I wrote about our trip up North in the winter of 2005. A Slingshot Just Short of New Year's )
amand_r: (Default)
So it always starts with a poem. I swear to go, I try not to do it. Oh hell. And it's about Lucius Malfoy, of all people.

I should just finish that X fic for [livejournal.com profile] arsenic. I bet she'd like that. So would I.

a little sad untitled snapish musing )
amand_r: (Default)
I have to go back to work.

After three mind-bending months of self discovery, I have to teach again.

What the hell is that all about anyway? They expect me to work? Heh. Heh. I cannot pull a Sano and live in a little roach infested shack and wait for Saitou to come and rescue me...though he should, he really should.

Besides, have developed mad fondness for expensive habits, like cigarettes and three baths a day.

WHAT SHIT PUT COFFEE GROUNDS IN MY COFFEE?

Oh, that shit was me.

Been reading way too much poetry, and have developed taste for post Basho haiku. Just can't get enough. Esp. death haiku:

cherry blossoms fall
on a half eaten
dumpling
--Saruo

Or very early Nara period:

Is there no way to make the past the present,
To wind and unwind it like a ball of yarn?
Tales of Ise

Is all very blorry. Blorry. Want popcicle and orgasm now, not necessarily in that order.

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