Thursday, January 19, 2006

A wise man once said, "Take my poor spelling you pisspots!"

It happens all the fucking time when I post. I start off trying to express a simple and straightforward idea, and it turns into an epic about growing up stupid and apathetic. Yeah, I was a recalcitrant little shit in my younger days and we all know it. So why talk about it?

I dropped my Gilded Age class with Dr. Ward. He called me a pussy, and I think he's right. If I'd give up some of the stuff I probably should, I could handle the load. But, honestly, I'm too damn lazy to put in the effort it takes to take a class as good as his and put in the effort it deserves. So, isn't realizing and admitting that fact just as mature a thing to do as changing my wicked ways? (What a poorly constructed question…) Yeah, you're right...I should be ashamed of myself. Oh well, too late now. As the fictional Will Barton would say, "Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke."

So, here I am at Stone Cup updating ol' Bloggy McBlogerson and not writing poetry, as I should be. I have to admit that I've learned far more about poetry in the last several hours than I ever have before. The thing about the art that nobody ever explained to me is that it is about the words and feelings and not the form. Realizing that does a lot to ease my concerns about Creative Writing. I like words, especially the way they sound when put together in interesting ways. "Bone holster" certainly ranks among my favorites, and it works on a poetic level with the long Os matching. Plus the imagery works in a ton of different ways, which is just gravy. Feelings though, I'm much better at covering those than really paying much attention to them. That's probably why the class browns my undies. It's going to be excruciating, making it work the way it should, and it's going to take a lot of time to do it right.

That's really why I dropped the history class. Fuck you if you can't handle it, Dr. Ward. I should have quit Shakespeare, but that's my relaxation class. Econ and Creative Writing are my fuckers. So, if I use this place as a sounding board for a verse or two unworthy of your affections...well fuck off. Just be sure to encourage me as you rip my shit to pieces.

Love ya. And take my piss-poor poetry, too.


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