Sleeepy

I'm sleepy but can't sleep. It's a dilemma. Anyway, I am very excited about today's xkcd so you guys should read it. And The Princess Bride sucks. Anyway...
How do I change my display name thing?
I am also practicing for my graded blog. We have to embed links and stuff.
And do pictures so that's what that is. Yay for my skills!

Warrior

Flutter of lids ceases.
The ring of light ‘round wax tower
Unveils a single parchment piece,
Quill and inkwell beside.

Quill raised, dipped black,
Hesitant hovers, uncertain.
One black drop falls,
Impatient.

Slight wind ripples,
But no window found open,
Only towering walls
Of bark and bough.

A leaf falls beside parchment,
Whispers of being watched,
Then vanishes, moving on
To its ground level home.

Snapping twig echoes warning.
Slow turn to see behind.
Looking back from beneath the largest tree,
The centaur warrior.

Neither moves, held transfixed.
The wind whispers unheard.
Locked eyes do not wander,
Cannot break away.

Words must have been spoken,
By the trees perhaps,
For the warrior looks sharply away,
Himself being warned.

The bond broken,
The quill may now call.
It begs to flow,
To write what eyes see.

But it is denied.
The warrior cannot, must not,
Be caged by written word.
Shall not be captured.

Movement again, he glances back,
Then swift steps away
And vanishes into dreamy woods.
Crying quill is set aside.

Why did I not write?
Many dream of holding magic in hand.
Long I have sought such wonder,
Hunted for that perfect sight.

But I could not.
I lingered too long and am glad.
For words would never do justice,
And cages kill dreams.

Apples to Apples.

One day we were playing Apples to Apples and a revelation came upon us. The green card was elitist and the winning red card was chameleons. Because, let's face it, what is more elitist than a chameleon? It's very existence seems to scream "I'm better than you. I can change color. Can you change color? I think not."

The Verbosity of Spring

Spring is the verbiest of seasons. It is that time in which all the world is a verb. Springtime things are not content to settle. They have to grow, to change, to flower. They find a way to make being what they are the most exciting of actions. Trees that have slept all winter start greening and sapping and leafing and living and treeing, and it never fails to leave me bursting with excitement. Springtime happys me. It warms, it swells, it lives. Springtime doesn't just change silently. It sings, it flies, it runs, it smells. It smells like life and sunshine. Birds come back, and they wake and they fly and they sing and the treetops bird with joyfulness. It isn't spring yet. Not by a long shot. But it is springing outside, and that's the most exciting thing of all. Can you feel it yet, see it, smell it, taste it on the wind? 'Cause I'm starting to be able to. Just a little.

Really Freakin Tired

I'm really tired right now. And I still have lots of homework to do, children to care for, etc. I also feel crappy. Yay. I hate Valentine's Day.
GRR
Xkcd hasn't updated since Friday. :( I'm dying inside. I miss my love!!!
Also I'm tired...a lot. And I should probably sleep but I'm confuzzled and wired right now. And weird...
I hate everything.
Anyway, instead of being productive or sleeping, I'm going to post some poems with no titles. Screw titles. I hate titles. I spit on titles.
So there.
Like them or die.
Umm...so I read these again and feel I should warn you guys they are kind of weird...so maybe don't read them if you are easily weirded out. Poetry is my outlet when I'm really upset...Plus they suck so...

1. (and by the way I hate you you effing bastard)
I
have been kissed by the dying sun
you
on a day in late October
when
the leaves, still breathing green
barely stirred inside the sky
we
when the air was thin and tearing
held
with eyes locked on the world
wrapped
in the blissful calm surrender
small
all the rapture-spin of
life

2. After (I lied some of them have titles)

After
there comes a feeling
of falling too quickly
a st
ep before you are ready

Jarring
you look up, but,
you can't go back

And it's all over
before it had even begun

3.
I can't stop thinking about you
You are on every inhale
that gasp of breath
it brings me back to life
And
I feel like
maybe
I died while you were gone
because
You are like my air
and without you
I drown in the sameness of life

4. Sliding in and Out of Reality

He said that one poet
is poison to another
(and Robert Frost is just ridiculous)
and I agree.
So I started wondering
if we are much alike
(though I seem to think that far too often nowadays).
Would we get along?
We could run away together.
Live around the world
on no short supply of toast and alcohol.
And I would be happy
I think.
If only I had been born
70 years ago
or even nine days later
Somewhere else
near to you.

But either way, you are there.

I hate you
for introducing us,
But then you couldn't know
what would happen.
And then it's one reason
I love you so much.
But the thing is,
I should really leave both of you.

I'm tired of speeding up
to slow back down
to catch you.

Being close is like this
sickening torture.
I twist in impossible acrobatics
just to stay stable.
But it's not working.
I love you
and
hate you
and
need you
and need to keep you away.

A needle slides under my skin.

Pupils flash white.

Face a study of grey and red.

A shock runs through me
every time I see you.
An icy hand on my wrist
spinning me around.

And here's the hard part:
filling a page with thoughts of you
is far too easy
and you don't care.

So I can't support myself.
I collapse
and clutch
at any breath of attention I can get
and drive it farther away.

As if that weren't enough,
you've broken me further
It's me
and you
and him
and her
and her
and all of us
are poured and spun and blended
in my thoughts.

Lucky for you I'm the only one who feels it.

And now I'm clinging to him
since I can't have you.
Which is ironic,
isn't it?
And even if I want to leave him,
I'll hold on now.
Because of you.

In some weird mirrored world,
we three dance.

And I am (always) the loser.

5. yeah he turned out to be a damn waste of space

6.
Bruises
are an interesting contraption
of all the angry, soft, and sad colors
bleeding into one embittered spot
A scar
a badge of pride and fear
with that greasy line of shame
running through the middle

7.
What you did to me
I endured it
I called myself brave
with the oxygen of that word
keeping me breathing
but now I know
that it was a lie
an opium to the masses
too weak to shoulder this burden.

She caught it too
and held it better
I
am merely a weaker acolyte
realizing for the first time
that this ordeal
was nothing to be proud of.

8. Don't Speak

Silence
All ye dogs of men
All ye hounds of hell
cease the noise
that fills this fragmenting day

Quiet
All you crawling birds
And you flying beasts
leave in peace
Your worrying of the earth

Deaden
All these bastards of flame
You children of water
boil the sea
to sand and salt and air

Sharpen
All daughters of men
All sons of women
Snap to heel
the end is coming soon

That's the end of them. These are mostly raw, I haven't done much editing even down to line breaks on some of them. So they're still alive and changing I suppose. Anyway, basically those are over the past two years...older ones are at home. Also cheerier? Yeah, no. I don't really write happy poems. Catharsis and all that. Yay.
I do actually feel better.
So much so that I'm posting the most depressing of the lot!
Joy?
Don't read it if you feel happy right now.
Flee.
Flee to the happiness!
Shoo! Shoo!
Happy people gone?
Okay.

Eh I lied.
It's long and I'm tired.

Swing Set Poem, As Promised

So, fun disclaimer time, this is a work in progress. But anyway, here goes.

Ode to a Swing Set on a Winter's Night

Oh, for a swing set in a golden glade,
On a moonlit mountain in a starlit shade,
Silver chains to a plastic seat,
Where heart and soul and emotion meet,
Where the world is soaring beneath my feet,
May your memory never fade.

Oh, for the straight-jacket soul unbound,
Life in the motion and the wind is found,
One soars, one swings, one spins, one flies,
Stars turn to stripes, streaks, flashes in the eyes,
And the heart goes high, stretches up to the skies,
And the wind softly rushes into sound.

Oh, for the laugh and the smile of the moon,
As the stream lightly giggles, and laughs like a loon,
The treetops twinkle and the forests hum,
And the stars sing laughter 'til the dancers come,
And the wind swirls softly 'til my fingers numb,
And the sun says it's coming soon.

Oh, for the daybreak and the glorious light,
Orange, pink, black, purple, blue all fight,
To be the color we see the most,
And the seagulls scream, winging toward the coast,
While the swing set sings like the Heaven's host,
And the world is all lovely and bright.

Realization.

So I totally just realized something. I know why I'm a business major. It's because I grew up on Henson Studios. Now wait a minute, fellow lovers of the Muppet Show and Fraggle Rock will say, Jim Henson stood for goodness in the world. Not big business. Well, think about this:

Fraggle Rock talked about inter-cultural differences. In the background of this fun-loving show were very different worlds: the world of the Fraggles (arguably the world of Henson himself, a world of play), the world of the Doozers (who love to work building, excepting, of course, their architects), the world of the Gorgs (who live in their own world where they're important), and Outer Space (where we, being humans, live). And, of course, the world of the All-Knowing, All-Seeing Trash Heap (who, apparently, sees all and knows all).

So, why am I an international business major? Because I want to go to freakin' Outer Space. Yeah.

Woa, wait a minute. Maybe the logic isn't as clear as I thought it was. . . .

Maybe this blog is named the Elitist Chameleons because we all manage to blend into this 'College Life' without anyone suspecting that we're really crazy. . . . Well, now they'll know. If they read the blog, that is. . . .

My New Archenemy

Summer Glau.

She must die.

Also, we are having a Firefly marathon at some point.

Evil girl was gone from Spanish, but so was hot guy. Sadness.

Metaphysical Delirium in Order to Test a Blog

Despite the fact that I don't really exist, I have been very ill today (nonexistently), and my fever is making me a little... loopy.

So earlier, to an empty bathroom, I shouted, "Why is toilet paper so confusing?!" That's what happens when I go to the bathroom with no glasses on while fever-delirious and try to roll off toilet paper.

The sign in my room that Rachel was kind enough to give me for Christmas last year: "Don't start with me! You won't win!"

Tonight I was explaining to Kathleen how I never lose an argument. If you make any statement, I will come up with a rebuttal. If I have no good rebuttal, I will delve into the realm of metaphysics, which I pretend I know more about than I actually do. It works every time.

Kathleen demonstrating this fact after I told her about it:
"I have to pee."
"Me too."
"No you don't. You don't exist, and neither does your pee."

*in the stalls in the bathroom*
"Kathleen, why did toilet paper confuse me so much earlier?"
"Because you don't exist. Toilet paper is the only thing that exists, so it's allowed to be confusing."
"So there's giant piles of toilet paper floating around in space somewhere?"
"Pretty much. And nothing can destroy them."
"Like cockroaches. Not even nuclear bombs can destroy them. Probably because nuclear bombs don't exist."
"So toilet paper and cockroaches are the only things that really exist... that's just depressing."

The way I get when I'm really really ill is just one of many reasons I don't drink. I never have before, but I would be a really weird drunk. I'm just glad I'm not overtly flirty when I'm sick. Because I probably would be as a drunk. I would totally flirt with that nonexistent, confusing toilet paper if I were to get drunk.

This note has no order. But I'm sharing it with random friends anyway. Loverly.

*nonexistent sneeze*