My respect for pantheistic gods (gods that rule over some aspect of life or nature) doesn't stop at Greek gods, though. Generally I find the idea more interesting than some omnipotent singular entity that sees everything you do and knows everything you think.
While I was sure, before starting this project, that I was the only (or one of the few) that thought this way I've since learned that I am in a rather large minority. And, like anime fans, this minority is fucking annoying.
So she took this test and pasted it in wrong (hint: LiveJournal doesn't support HTML. Try PHP) declaring that she was like the goddess Isis. I'm not sure that's something I'd be parading around proudly because, as Wikipedia can well attest, Isis was fucking nuts.
Then she mentions her muses, which I'm sure I've yelled at people about before.
Also, have three days to write a pantoum and a prose poem. And all my muses want to do is play with my fanfiction. Why only when I don't have time?!
The muse of fanfiction, huh? That has to be the most useless muse of all time. That's the muse all the other muses make fun of for having no talent and generally being an antisocial douche.
I've been a litfag all my life practically, and I have no idea what a pantoum is.
Just got back from my midterm -- you know, that test that I've been studying my butt off for the past week for? Yep. Save for the take-home essay, the majority of the test was passage identification, which can be very difficult if you're good with concepts, but not so much specific wording, like...oh, say, me.
That sounds like the excuse of someone who didn't study, thought she could rely on her natural talent, only to be rudely reminded midway through the test that oh, that's right, I don't have any natural talent.
If I can identify passages of poems I haven't read, you can identify passages you have read. I find your excuses weak and deeply unconvincing.
I think I got most of them. But there was one... It just sounded so much like Wordsworth, and I'd read "Lines above Tinturn Abby" so many times.... But I still wasn't sure about it, so I looked it up when I got home.
I rag on poetry a lot, but Wordsworth has a fairly distinctive tone. I can't imagine confusing him with anyone else.
To make a long story short, here's what you should never do on a test:
So I wrote approximately half a page explaining and discussing the wrong thing entirely.
Ho ho ho big mistake.
And didn't you know that freaking out makes things okay? It's not freaking out that guarantees disaster. (or was it the other way around? /tongue in cheek)
Feh.
*hates the government and all its red tape and is about to cross over to the anarchists camp just for the stress relief*
I think the asterisks are to denote an action and not a mode of thinking, but in the grown up world we just start sentences with "I" instead of all this emotive nonsense.
In other news of a lovely nature: I CAN HAS WRITE POETRY!!!
Holy shit I'm raging like motherfucking Fist of the North Star right now goddamn.
I can't believe it, but I actually managed to write a poem. Hereness, take a gander if you care, skip over it if you don't.
Fuck yes you are the worst blog ever.
Here it is:
Haunt
A childish game, lost within betrayal:
To what do I owe this charming visit?
A severed trust, a secret too long held
in silence. Allow me: to look, to stroke.
I'll slice them off, those awful fingers that
did dare to snatch this, my sweetness, my joy.
That which was none but my own to treasure.
Yet why? What reason spurs, what purpose thrills
to greedy hands? To clammy palms against
uneasy skin, confused and trembling thoughts?
Unwanted comes, and I am damaged, spoiled
beyond repair. A scar, unknown, unseen;
a scream, to fling my tears against the wall
unmoved. Forever burdened, this endure.
And what is strength, if not continuing
on? What is hope, if not to conquer pain?
Laughter survives. Innocence heals. That thing
the nightmare I can never forget.
So that was horrible.
O.o Iambic Pentameter? Whuts that? o.O Enjambment? Never heard of it.
No I guess you haven't. You do have some aborted attempts at enjambment after reading over it again, but your lines are not arranged in iambic pentameter. Your best bet would be to say it's Dactyllic Hexameter if you translate it into the original Greek, but I doubt anyone would fall for it.
Iambic pentameter, for those of you who are ignorant to the favored mode of poetry for hacks one and all, is a line of five syllables (pentameter) arranged in iambs, which is a form of feet consisting of a stressed and an unstressed syllable. Her poem fails in both regards. Most of her lines contain more than five feet, and most aren't stressed followed by unstressed.
Enjambment, to use her poem as an example, is this:
Yet why? What reason spurs, what purpose thrills
to greedy hands?
See how the actual sentence spills over into the next line? Usually it's done to connect two sentences closely or to keep with a certain rhythm, but since her poem has neither coherence nor rhythm it's probably easier just to call her a hack and move on.
Stats for British Literature:
Must be to the end of Volume II of Frankenstein by six tonight.
Currently: halfway through Volume I
*blinks* What? I had other reading, too!
Lunch is done, back to work. Toodles, darlings!
*skips off*
That's like fifty pages. Good work doing your homework, you.
Oh, oh shit. Gross. My eyes almost rolled out of my head when I saw this.
Her current mood:
Disturbingly good
Well at least you have the disturbing part right.
* They had a grand total of ( I swear to you, I counted as I packed every one) six boxes of nothing but hangers. So I wrote cute-clever little one-liners on the boxes expressing my amazement at having so pack to many, only to realize far too late that I'd spelled them all "hangars".
*facepalm*
News at eleven: English major commits suicide over word misspelled in red ink.
Oh, if only. Maybe you're sharper with the one liners than I am, but the only "cute" one liner that I could come up with is "abortion factory".
And then, of course, when I finally found my classroom (in between the eight and ten of rooms starting with thirty-three when all the rooms on the second floor are supposed to start with twenty-two. SRSLY--huh?!), my professor was right in the middle of going over the lateness policy part of her syllabus. Fantastic. *facepalm* And then we played an introduction game where we had to introduce ourselves with a metaphor and then repeat them as we went around the room.
SRSLY guys, SRSLY.
I get the feeling everyone had the whole pointy porcupine thing in their minds rather than the pen, like I did. Oh well.
... I have no clue what that means.
Next I'm going to analyze these two sentences, and let's see if we can find the break with reality:
And I'm relieved that everyone in Poetry seems to have such fun, down-to-earth attitudes.
Her class is down to earth, all right.
(Seriously, one of the guys used the metaphor SPARTA! for himself, and another used a ficus. One of the girls used My Little Pony. I'm not kidding. It was fun. I hope it stays that way. *hopeshopes*)
There it was. Down to earth, comparing yourself to a ficus or Sparta (I'd love to hear that metaphor. I'm like Sparta because I, too, have sex with young boys).
Oh, and then I volunteered to work for someone else tonight. On my day off. On the first day of classes. This is why I will probably never procreate.
Thank you evolution.
We saw Journey to the Center of the Earth (Brendan Frasier is always entertaining)
If you had asked me earlier today what I believed I'd never hear articulated into a thought, this would be near the top of my list.
OMG *squeesheartssparklystars* !!!!!
That's it. Entry fucking over.
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