Lunatics and Princesses

In protest to the media's support of stick figures and the mostly unattainable size six, but more eloquent than the song "Baby Got Back."

...All this verbosity having been expended, you genteel ladies and distinguished gentlemen are now invited to read the poem inspired in Fernando Assis Pacheco by Adalgisa, Yansan of the Saddle, while the enchanted one possessed her at Jacira do Odô Oyá's caruru. More precisely, by Dadá's triumphant ass.

The Poem in Its
Original Form

ADALGISA'S RUMP

A rump revealed, one August in Bahia,
Round to the eyes, a magnificent orb,
A bottom like a bison, your buttocks, Adalgisa
Beguiled my walk through the market stalls

Of all the rhymed asses of ancient memory
Only yours has the compass of true poetry
A tail bound for glory, oh unrivaled iyawô
Rolling your hips, you take our breath away
Our lips, fair Adalgisa, long there to stray

So plump, so cleft, so high, it rivals
The white and leavened dough, cooked in the far off Bahias
Where oh how Adalgisa sings! tropical bird, Homeric siren
And I, a lost Ulysses, bow my head in this tavern
Longing for your broad pelvic perfection
Foundering in my sleep but not in affection.

FERNANDO ASSIS PACHECO
Bahia, stormy, on an August night


~ From the book The War of the Saints by Jorge Amado, which Rafa gave to me before he went back to Brazil, and which introduced me to Candomblé.

.

It's so cold that the ink won't run
and the words are frail shadows and grooves
of blue on the page.
We watch the snowflakes plummet to the ground
while the pipes burst in the back room,
an icy metaphorical knife
ripping a wound in frozen metal.
There's an inch of water on the floor now
and nothing to say.
Drinking coffee and eating sandwiches
won't make time go faster,
won't rip away the veil of winter to see
the glimmer of summer on a spring drenched horizon.
For now all we can do
is buy extra insulation and a new section of pipe,
take the laundry to the laundromat,
wait for the planet to fly to the other side
of the sun
and scatter the cold.
... This is going to wreck the boxes in the basement.

For instance, the other night Andy beat Kelsey at LOTR Trivial Pursuit.

I actually won (wow, big suprise.../sarcasm) but Kelsey and Andy decided to play it out all the way to the end. Poor Kelse. And she got all the stupid questions, too- "Who owns the magical mirror in Lothlorien? Where did Frodo wake up after the Ringwraith stabbed him?" and Andy still beat her. After he won she just sat there, staring at the board like she couldn't believe it.

This is actually pretty funny, because Kelsey is not only as big of a geek as I am, but she has a photographic memory, and thus has every line from every extended edition memorized. Andy couldn't remember Gollum's name at one point, and he kept getting questions that had to do with obscure Theoden quotes. Of course Mom and Dad made all kinds of cracks about writing this incident down on the calendar. Poor kid's still kind of in shock. I guess I'm mean even telling you guys about it, but I owe her one for the nickname incident. Payback is sweet. Heh.

.............

Dragged Mom to the store last night so I could make some Christmas gift exchanges. I got a new tiara, since the one Mom got originally was too tall. It's so sweet :) It's a Russian style tiara, which means that the top curves in a half circle as opposed to coming to a central point. It's the style most reminiscent of the kokoshnik, the traditional Russian headdress that the modern tiara is based on. And it's very comfortable and lightweight, which means that I can sit through an opera without getting a headache for once. SCORE!

Also traded in the Random Rap CD for U2's "How to Dismantle An Atomic Bomb." I've been listening to this album constantly since last night, and I just about love it to pieces. I agree with Karen about the GS-ish songs. A lot of them strike me as such, or as songs that would fit well in that ship. But then, I was thinking about that in the shower this morning, and decided that I'm the type of person who makes things into what they want them to be. If my current fandom obsession was still Dark Angel, you can bet that this album would strike me as totally Max/Logan. *ponders* Which, now that I think about it, it does.

............

I wrote a poem last night. This isn't that odd, since I'm constantly writing things like poems and stories in my head, but I actually got up and wrote this one down, so I didn't lose it, or most of it. It's odd what eyeliner and lipstick can inspire in you. Or rather, the lack of motiviation to wash it off once you've put it on, because you're too lazy.

Haven't decided whether or not to post it in here. Might. Might not.

...I love Jorja to death, but my new green necklace is way prettier than hers. Okay, she's not allowed to dress herself anymore, hmmm?

Rockin' Kill Bill all over the place this weekend, with frozenexeternia and jubei26. (Ran into hylianhero1803 too at one point.) Also rockin' Boondock Saints, Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels, Best Buy, Best Buy cashiers, Wegmans and stockboys various and sundry, jolt, twizzlers, rain, graveyards, swings, outdoor stages, the Punisher, the Punisher with his shirt off, the Punisher with his shirt on, the Punisher in the one part where he falls over, digital cameras, impossible pink skirts, graphic t's, pretzels, the news stand in the carousel mall, m&m's, iconage, pretending I can speak Japanese with the rest of 'em, Irish music, JC Chasez, JT, Darren Hayes, the Budwieser Factory, the ruins, swingsets at night, weirdos in parking lots, underground parking garages, angsty poetry, boy shorts, pillows, uncomfortable beds (mine), Sky, Cowboy Bebop, laptops, that anime with the cat episode whose name I can't remember, smirnoff twisted (twice), English accents, Irish accents, rosary beads, Keira/Rachel, role playing, little black dresses, cold stone creamery, deep intellectual conversation, Serenity and Endymion (UGH!!!), and Our Friend in the River.

Whew. I forget anything on that?

Oh yeah. My bottle of Sangreia blew up. Goddammit.

Here's a poem, written last night, after dinner, on the porch.

Bah, what happened to the wind?
Stupid miserable rain.
Lisa's territory, not mine-
seems like I've got my flying music on
for nothing.
Water pouring down in sheets
might as well be winding cloths
without a strong breeze
to lift it back out of the gutter

Dude. I'm starving. There's alot of soup downstairs but I want... I don't know, cookies or something.

Since it is my birthday, I've decided to take up space on your friends list and regale you all with one of my favorite poems of all time.

THE OWL AND THE PUSSYCAT

The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea
In a beautiful pea green boat.
They took some honey, and plenty of money,
Wrapped up in a five pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small guitar,
'O lovely Pussy! O Pussy my love,
What a beautiful Pussy you are,
You are,
You are! What a beautiful Pussy you are!'

Pussy said to the Owl, 'You elegant fowl!
How charmingly sweet you sing!
O let us be married! too long we have tarried:
But what shall we do for a ring?'
They sailed away, for a year and a day,
To the land where the Bong-tree grows
And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood
With a ring at the end of his nose,
His nose,
His nose,
With a ring at the end of his nose.


'Dear pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling
Your ring?' Said the Piggy, 'I will.'
So they took it away, and were married next day
By the Turkey who lives on the hill.
They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
Which they ate with a runcible spoon;
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
They danced by the light of the moon,
The moon,
The moon,
They danced by the light of the moon.

Also. I am seriously digging "Party to Damascus." It's got the perfect mix of rap, singing, and hooks in other languages to keep me happy. Word up, yo.

I wish it would warm the fuck up already. If it was summertime, I wouldn't be sick and stuck in the house. I could be on a motorcycle (admittedly, it would be Justin's, and I'd have to bug him to give me rides,) or fooling around in the garage with the heavy bag, or climbing trees, or running around with no shoes, or doing walkovers on the grass, or swinging.

But no, I'm stuck here with paperwork. Dad wants it done by close of business today. I don't care. I don't know what I'm doing- I have no clue how to do accounting, and no one's told me anything about it; so far I'm just adding up things on receipts by year and writing them in a ledger. Whatever. I'm not quite cut out for this, I think.

On the upshot I get to take classes later in the spring. One on creative writing, one on marketing on what you wrote, and one on book keeping. (Dad wants me to take that last one. I wanted to take Russian, but nooooo.)

Still working on my femslash story. It's a little bit too chatty at this point- I wanted more imagery, less dialouge, but any of you who've read my stuff know that it runs to alot of dialouge. Ech. I don't know.

I thought of a really great poem lying in bed last night. Unfortunately, I couldn't remember the words by the time I decided to write it down, which is sad cause it was REALLY good. Here's what I wrote down of it. (In the dark, in bed. Which means I needed my Little Orphan Annie Ring to decode it all.)

My sheets are swimming in your memory
and yet
you haven't touched them
now, then, ever

...

The way you would
pull me down from the walls
with gentle insistence
not smotheringly
is something I love about you
that,
and the way you smile
into my pillow
(yes, the one
that your head has never touched)

...

And it was such a beautiful poem
I can't remember it all now
I will have forgotten it
by morning
except for these
words,
hastily scribbled in the dark.
(The scratching of the pen
sounds wonderful
with my eyes closed-
thank you for that)

I think I want to be a forensic pathologist.

I have more space for icons, but I don't know what icons to make. Help me out, someone. Ideas?

I. Hate. Voicemail.
I. Intensely. Dislike. Stupid. People.

La la la la. Here is a poem I wrote. It's copyrighted, so don't think of stealing it, but if you did think of stealing it, I can read your mind, and I'm on my way to your house right now to kill you when you sleep with my great-grandmother's pineapple machete.

(Did that sound tough????)


( Read more... )

Have the day off as dad is coughing up his lungs. Not the cheeriest of images, but hell, it's sixty degrees out so what do I care? (Okay, I do care. But still. A day off is a day off.)

Here are some quizzes (I got them from Meli.)


What Ayumi Hamasaki song are you?
Quiz by Mika Tsukino

I'm not sure what this series is but it looks cool.

You're Aoki Seiichirou!
You are one of a dying breed... a true gentleman (or gentlewoman, as the case may be). You tend to be a little disorganized and scatterbrained, but your heart is always in the right place. While you aren’t always the one who gets the most attention, you are sweet, dependable, and extremely loyal to your loved ones. Your family and friends are very important to you, and you will go to any length to protect them.
Which Dragon of Heaven are you?
Quiz by Kerianne

Take the
Which Poet are You? Quiz - brought to you out of boredom and pretention!

Robert Frost is cool, but Sylvia Plath is better. Especially Mad Girl's Love Song.

Mad Girl's Love Song
"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"

That's one of my favorite poems EVER. That and the one by e.e. cummings that I can't remember the title of that ends with, "there's a hell of a universe next door, let's go."

Pity this busy monster manunkind, not
Progress is a comfortable disease...
something something hypermagical ultraomnipotence
blah blah blah.

darkshade and The Huntress are going to NY today. Dur. I wish I could go down but I don't have the time/money right now. I need to soon, but mom was saying something about Easter and why don't we go to Nana's... Mickey fickey. I don't know.

I'm in the process of writing another installment of the RPfic. Just so ya know.

And xxcelebornxx is letting me borrow his horse! I'm just thrilled. Will go over there later... and bring a carton of orange juice for Celeborn, seeing how he's sick and all.

To my beloved, feisty flint arrow~

Your eyes are as round and shiny as the button on my pants-
How do I love thee?
Let me count the ways…
One leaf two leaves three four…
FOUR LEAVES!!!!
I love you FOUR LEAVES!!!!
FOUR LEAVES, dammit!!!!!
Your eyes are like… the chair…
The chair of LOVE
I love your pretty hair
It’s not as pretty as mine, but there’s a reason
I’m a spokesmodel for Pantene Pro-V
So I don’t blame you for anything
Like my problems
And my inherent inability to rhyme
So do not feel slighted
And stuff
Cause this does not rhyme
After all I love you FOUR LEAVES
(I only loved my ex two and three quarters)

Love always,
Legolas Greenleaf
XOXOXOXOXOXO
(Try our extra conditioning line of shampoo today!)

PS
You are the pistil in the flower of my heart.

~O.G.
(Opera Ghost! Ha ha!)
(Because you know I have that kinky on-a-boat-in-a-sewer fetish)