| | I have a Spice Girls song stuck in my head. It's quite... hard to
do AP English homework.... (Tell me what you want, what you really
really want!) I wonder what Thoreau would think of Spice
Girls. *Giggle*
I'm definitely rather giddy. I don't know. Even if Andre doesn't like me, he makes me happy. Meep.
I got a pamphlet from a college in... Minesota I think?
Advertising their SUMMER WRITING PROGRAM in huge block letters.
They hooked me, I tell you. And then I read about the classes and
it said they do very little creative writing, just essays and
stuff. Basically AP English compacted into three weeks for three
college credits. Ha. No.
Drumheller told me today I won a gold key for my art submission.
Sweeeet. I don't know when they decided that, but it made me feel
kind of weird, asking for a pass to leave class Friday.
O_o;; Wonder how it'll do at nationals.
Oh my. Lunch conversations... are beginning to scare me.
(Ashton, you're killing me. Every time I see Randy now... I think... "he's
saying no and screaming YES!" Dear god.) I don't want to
think about how long it will take for someone to die if you're drilling
through their head with a corkscrew....
I need some time to write. Maaaaan, and I won't get that for... a very, very long time.
OH and Ash: February 20th (Tuesday), 7PM, Crocodile Rock Cafe in Allentown. We should go. Oh maaaan.
-Adrienne
[edit!] This is the
better of the two poems I've been working on lately. Neither of
them have titles, but the other is about Inca, vaguely, and this one
is... well... see what you make of it.
Pieces of the yawning daybreak waft
through cracked bottles on the windowsill,
these comforts emptied solemnly;
amber intoxication sketches pulsating splinters
on your carpet, outlining your dystopic paradise
in shambled willpower.
Dawn illuminates etched Roman numerals;
the seconds enunciate to the beat of war drums,
clapping sounds of chaos before the dust
steams and settles at your feet.
Outside is too bright:
you shield your eyes against the storm.
The cigarette scars in the playground,
surrounded by rusting chain-link fences,
are signs of your passing
I never would have noticed
had you never gone away.
[It obviously still needs work, and I think there might be a misplaced
modifier in there (those make me giggle. There was one on the SAT
and I almost bust out laughing in the test room.), but I'm not
sure. Comment with thoughts and suggestions, por favor.]
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| | Posted 1/30/2007 3:56 PM - 2 views - 1 comments
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