Tuesday, September 27, 2005
Free-verse Poetry is a Bored Writer's Refuge
This is my mood swing.
I like swinging on it, but no matter what I do it is always unpredictable.
Sometimes swinging on it makes me happy, sometimes it makes me sad, and sometimes it makes me want to kill myself.
As I listen to it's rusty chain squeak with each swing, I wonder: what will I feel this time?
One thing I never do with my swing, however, is let others push me. I always use my feet, I don't care if I don't reach that high.
And besides, I do, sometimes.
Sometimes my swing takes me high up into the heavens, where I look and see the faces of all the celestial beings, and I smile at them, because they make me happy.
There are other times, though, when I remain grounded, my stomping feet creating clouds of dust that mix with my spittle and tears of frustration and the curses I hurl at myself for not having the strength nor the patience to kick myself up as high as I want to.
But no matter what I do or do don't do with my swing, one thing is always be constant: my swing is always unpredictable. Everytime I sit on it, it will take me somewhere, even if that somewhere is still only the ground I stand on.
I love my swing.
Sunday, September 11, 2005
...
...| You Are a Chick Rocker! |
 You're living proof that chicks can rock You're inspired by Joan Jett and the Donnas And when you rock, you rock hard (Plus, you get all the cute guy groupies you want!) |
Sadness...
I've been depressed the whole week. So depressed, in fact, that I spent literally all my time with friends (breakfast, lunch, dinner, snacks, DotA, drinking, hanging out at the Humanities building, you name it), thinking that it would cheer me up, but to no avail.What the hell is it with writing and depression? Is there something about pouring one's soul into a piece of paper or computer screen that seems to drain one's happiness and enthusiasm for life? Or is it in the fact that writers, unless continuously inspired, will inevitably run out of things to talk about?
