Addictions.

Icons are my brand of heroin. :)

I think that I could eat them instead of burgers (which is what I shall eat in a few moments. Hooray for bovines!).

I took a Blogthings quiz.

It tells me that my mode of transportation is a rocket--I'm so weird, I'm practically out of this world! Woot!

Alrighty then. I am off to eat.

The Making of a Poet

Hello, my lovely world. How beautiful and varied is your wardrobe.

I understand more things than last time I posted. Take nothing but pictures, leave nothing but footprints is a clear vision in my head. You have deposited a tick onto my skin and it's taken some of me down the toilet.

It is sad, how we've ruined your garments. A (blood-or-oil)stain here, a (mine-or-grave)tear there.

This is always a difficult time for me, the season between spring-and-summer. Everything is growing, blooming, awakening around me, but it is a sort of unwilling tradition that I regress into a depressed mood.

Ha! I laugh at my incoherent, meaningless thoughts. Pah. I laugh in the face of my procrastination and weaknesses. Let them lay there, like a DOG.

Some days, like this one, I wonder if there isn't something wrong with me. However dramatic and utterly cliched this is sounding, it persists in my mind.

In fact, I am growing surer of it every week.

I want to go see a psychologist and hear their thoughts, but I worry what my family will say to me. I...

Oh! I just want someone to understand, just a little bit. I know that most people do, or whatever, and I don't care really what they think or even what they do eventually say, but someone who understands is priceless.

Perfectionism is a terrible drought.

My thoughts don't make much sense, do they? It's alright, I believe, in the end.

We went to see Angels and Demons, and the beauty of it made my eyes water. I don't care. I don't care that Catholics aren't born again or WHATEVER. They are beautiful people.

It is a sad state of affairs, but I love a quote.

"Science tells me God must exist. My mind tells me I will never understand God. And my heart tells me I am not meant to."

My father is scolding us, because he has just found out, after we went to see it, that it was written by Dan Brown. We should not support him, he says.

I think differently.

I am not exactly certain how to express my different thoughts, but they are there.

It is funny, how life goes on and each day teaches us lessons.

Another funny thing, what I've recently been thinking. Maybe marriage isn't all its cracked up to be, for me. The Fish and I had this conversation the other day, about how maybe marriage wasn't for her, and I've been thinking and watching people, and maybe, just maybe..

It's not for everyone.

Oh, I hate arguing. I abhor it. Maybe that is also why. Friendship, carefully tended, can be argument-free. Marriage is...different.

Bleh.

I must go type a report on Angels & Demons now, for my aggravating, needs-to-prove-a-point father.

With all of the reports that I need to type, I need to type another one. This report, though, will be tough to type, because it will take all of me. All my beliefs, all my opinions, and all my soul-bearing.

I hate soul-bearing.

Unless no one will read it.

Oh. We went to Barnes&Noble after the movie and I flipped through a National Geographic book of photography. People are terribly beautiful.

Truly, terribly beautiful, and horribly aggravating.

I hate them. I love them. I cannot stand them and I daren't think about being apart from them.

My sanity depends on them, and I fear insanity because of them.

What a conflict my life is, in every way.

Socially, thoughtfully, sorrowfully conflicting.

There. There is my disease: in my indecision, confusion, and unshakable melancholy.

Poets are made from stuff like this.

Frequently Asked Questions

I am still alive (and semi-lovely). I birthed a retarded and deformed brainchild this past week, then stored in the scraps bin. A story for Fine Arts was born, lived, and quietly passed in the space of seven days.

I went back to the original story.

Need to write a speech. Need to say it in front of actual people.

Sure about writing the speech, unsure of being able to remember it when it is time to recite it.

Maybe I can say it in Russian. No one there knows Russian, so my accent will go unnoticed and maybe I will impress someone.

Oh. Have I mentioned that I must needs speak in front of people? I do not think I shall be as nervous as I believe, but it is fun to be dramatic at times.

Someday I will write a surreal realistic piece and title it Ice Cream.

Um. I also have issues (but thank God, He saves us). Yesh, fish, I know.

But I also know that I am . . . a lot of things.

If you haven't seen A River Runs Through It, you have not lived. It is serene and full of undercurrents and a river does run through it. Plus, Michael Cudlitz plays Chub. :P

Have I told you lately that I love you?

Sorry. I've been inserting lyrics into my mental contemplations lately. It is calming and it is fun.

May I mention that this is promising to be a lengthy post? Because I am in the mood to frustrate.

I have discovered that ... Oh, I've discovered plenty.

I have continued NaPoWriMo successfully, and interweb people seem to like my story.

I, I, I.

Tristan Lucas, my Chief Muse, has come back. He is secretly in love with Penelope Ink, a new Muse. There is a brooding, lurking, shadowy Muse that refuses to tell me his name but full of dark tales and moods and poems.

Have I explained my hierarchy of Muses yet?

I shall explain now.


The Chief Muse

This Muse (always, ALWAYS male. No exceptions) is in charge of editing, rewriting, and polishing. He is deeply philosophical and profoundly wise. He is also fun to tease. This is the highest possible role of Muses and can only be abdicated by death, which, in this case, is impossible.
Tristan Lucas, the current Chief Muse, is a stately, solid elf. Being an elf, he is immortal and therefore holds the position of Chief Muse for as long as we both shall live. He denies any soft feelings for the Sunshine Muse.

The Sunshine Muse

This Muse (generally female, although some males have been known to exist) loves planting sappy story seeds and sun-shining them to growth. She relies heavily on the water the Chief Muse (happily) provides, though, when the seeds are slow in growth. This Muse status lasts as long as the Muse remains cheerful which depends on the character of the Muse.
The Sunshine Muse is Penelope Ink, a funky, purple-hatted and polka-dot-dressed redhead fond of lollipops and sunshine (as befitting her status). She is happily oblivious to the denials (or verifications, if there ever are any) of a certain Chief Muse.

The Occasional Muse

This is a very temporary (and temperamental) Muse. Both genders flit through this role, bringing specific stories or characters to life, then forever passing from the author's mind. Currently, this role is played by a shadowy Muse of dark dimensions who refuses to reveal his name.

FAQ's

Q: How many Muses can co-exist in the same head?
A: As long as the Author keeps them supplied with comfy condos, the number is only limited to the imagination of said architect/author.

Q: Are Muses capable of marriage?
A: And procreation! *wink wink, nudge nudge, say no mo-ar!* :P

Q: My Muse refuses to cooperate! He says my demands were not in the contract. Help!
A: Ignore him. The only contract he ever signed was the birth certificate the day he arrived. As to how to make him cooperate, most Muses have a weak spot. For some, it may be a lollipop, for others, a kiss from the Sunshine Muse. We've found bribing to be effective, as well.

Q: My love-struck Muse gives me nothing but sentimental sap nowadays. What do I do?
A: If you are willing to lose the Muse's object of affection, then that is always an option. However, such separations can be painful for the lovestruck Muse and cause him to spew out emo, moody, cut-me-and-I-bleed-unrequited-love crap. The best thing to do in such situations is to buy the Muse a puppy.

Q: My main Muses feel left out with the stream of Temporary Muses rushing about the place. Is there any way to stop the flow of random inspiration?
A: Unfortunately, no. You are on your own. However, hiring a Thug Muse is always an option; just be careful to keep the Sunshine Muse away from him. A glitch in one of their inspiration rays causes them to fall for whatever Thug Muse happens to be within a fifteen-mile radius.

Q: MY MUSES ARE ADD. I CAN'T WRITE WORTH TOOTHPICKS.
A: That is not our fault. Muses are people, after all, and some people are special. Contact your doctor before trying any home remedies (Gypsy Zigana recommends a mixture of simmering garlic, snow peas, water directly from the reservoir, and one shaving from the tip--the exact tip--of a new number two pencil).

Q: Do specific Muses stick to specific ideas?
A: Not necessarily. Some Muses like a change of scenery, while others prefer to stick to the same genres. Again, it depends on your Muse. If a specific Muse jumps around genres like a rodeo bull, then you might have an ADD Muse on your hands. Otherwise, you should not be concerned, although a new picture in his condo might help his restlessness. Better yet, a vacation to another section of your mind.

Q: My Chief Muse died from inspirationitis. The other Muses adhere to a strict period of mourning and refuse to write anything with the word happy or its synonyms. I am in a creative bind.
A: Inspirationitis is a severe and contagious inflammation. Your other Muses may have caught it--quick! quarantine them in separate bubbles! quarantine yourself! THE WORLD IS A MELON!! Resign yourself to a dry spell for the mourning period, but take care not to push your Muses like a slave driver after this time, or you will have a Muse-ical mutiny on your hands.

Q: One of my Temporary Muses inspired the construction of a condo for one of his characters, killed off the character, and settled into the condo. He's even put in new carpeting! What should I do?
A: Determine the resilience of the Muse, then decided if you don't mind him sticking around. As this is a monarchy, not a democracy, you need not concern yourself with the other Muses' opinions. They will get used to him and eventually welcome him into their circle. If he is the loner type, then all the better.

Q: A recently-acquired Muse has luxurious tastes and demands more than he inspires. I am finding it hard to keep him satisfied, and he in turn is finding it hard to output ideas.
A: Buy a little more imagination from eBay. Everyone wins.

Q: A female Temporary Muse is obsessed with anything Phantom of the Opera-related and continually shoves Mary Sues into my head! I can't take it anymore! The Thug's fallen in love with her, and the Chief Muse is no better! Even the shadowy Temporary Muse stalks the corners in her vicinity! Nothing is being done, and I spend my free time defending myself from the violet-cornflower-rainbow-sparkle eyes of her Sue-minions. PLEASE. HELP. ME.
A: *exasperated sigh* Does no one read the instruction manual anymore? There is an entire CHAPTER dedicated to the removal and rebuttal of Sues and their Muses. Most Sues abhor the taste of garlic. Under a guise of friendship and leniency, offer her a smoothie (no one can refuse a smoothie), but lace the drink with garlic. Throw in some poison for good measure.

Q: One of my Muses is quite loquacious and is continually spouting thoughts. I am tired of my computer screen, and I am out of words. Tell me what to do, please!
A: There is such a thing as sleep, and in extreme cases, duct tape. The Thug Muse is also very useful.


I hope that was informing and I intended it to be comprehensive. Granted, there is also the Movie Muse (those favorite movie characters *temporarily* abducted and made to serve your diabolical creative purposes), the Music Muse (the one who strikes every time a stirring lyric flows over the air), and the Momentary Muse (a poet's favorite Muse who picks moments in Time and makes something great out of them), but they are a category within themselves.

The Muses mentioned in this post are the ones who stick around, the ones that spring from the character, personality, and style of the author.

I admit I had fun with that.

It was modeled after the numerous Maintenance Manuals littered about FF.net that are so entertaining>>Glorfindel Maintenance Guide? Hilarious.

Alright. It is late and I am sleepy. I leave you with saucy poem.

Shadows on the wall
Noises down the hall
Life doesn't frighten me at all

Big dogs barking loud
Big ghosts in a cloud
Life doesn't frighten me at all

Mean old Mother Goose
Lions on the loose
Life doesn't frighten me at all

Dragons breathing flame
On my counterpane
Life doesn't frighten me at all

I go boo
Make them shoo
I make fun
Way they run
I won't cry
So they fly
I just smile
They go wild

Life doesn't frighten me at all.

Tough guys fights
All alone at night
Life doesn't frighten me at all.

Panthers in the dark
Strangers in the dark
No, they don't frighten me at all.

That new classroom where
Boys pull all my hair
(Kissy little girls
With their hair in guns)
They don't frighten me at all.

Don't show me frogs and snakes
And listen for my scream,
If I'm afraid at all
It's only in my dream.

I've got a magic charm
That I keep up my sleeve
I can walk the ocean floor
And never have to breathe.

Life doesn't frighten me at all.
Not at all.
Not at all.

Life doesn't frighten me at all.

--Maya Angelou

Change Is the Only Constant

Oh. And I've been educated in the art of the haiku.

I love learning. You have no idea how much I revel in knowing new things.

That said, I am going to go change my profile picture.

Apples and Zen Help in the Solving of Crime

I have seen the light and it is JUICY.

As in, I've finally watched the pilot episode of Life. Funny how it's all connected, the random clips and icons I've browsed through in the past months; they all connected.

I have a hankering for a mango.

They were raised in Guatemala, now they are here.

You don't have to understand here to be here.

I think I might delve into Zen after watching Life.

(I know--I've ranted on Life before.)

(Get used to it. I'll probably rant after every episode of Life I breathe.)

Do you know what is really sad?

I tried to write this Eleven Challenge thing, where you say eleven things to eleven different people, and I gave up on number six.

It is very sad how I don't have much to say to anyone.

But maybe that is how it should be and maybe this is good.

Oh. I have been faithfully continuing the NaPoWriMo's... and it is all good.

People seem to like my poetry. I don't know.

Maybe it is good. Maybe I am headed for great things in the future.

But there is no future. There is only now.

And now.

Now, too.

And now.

....

Reese?

Go. Do it. Go to projectfreetv, look up Life, watch the pilot episode. It will be the beginning of a televisional love affair the likes of which you've never dreamed was possible.

I do not exaggerate.

Anyway.

I should be doing so many other things right now.

School projects, Fine Arts writing... all major, major pursuits.

But my fingertips ADAMANTLY REFUSE to type or write or THINK anything besides the inconsequential.

You know, I've actually considered dropping out. Yepp.. the big D.

But then I remembered some things and gained some perspective.

Gaining perspective is painful, sometimes.

5.06
(Disappointment)

Lofty ideals are only as real
As the people who leap at ‘em;
otherwise, the bars that were raised
memorialize into the Milky Way—
distant dimensions of vanished convictions.

That was all me. :)

Surrender

5.01
NaPoWriMo

(Surrender)

Maybe I should carry a notebook
wherever I go.
Six poems appeared in my head,
seven times I wished para la pluma
y el papel.

And I had none.

So I wrote an
inconsequential,
independent
poem
(not about northeastern rain
or fishing
or my purpose in life
or my grandmother’s hands
or my grandfather’s different socks
or Jews.) but

about how I need more notebooks than
the thirty-six
I already own.

That was my first Official poem for Poetry Appreciation Month. I'm thinking of doing this not only for the month of May (Happy First of May, by the way! Labor Day in Ukraine.), but for the rest of my life.

It's amazing what your mind does with that Must-Write-A-Poem-A-Day mentality.

I love it. Poetry oppurtunities are opening up all around me.

What can I say?

I know what I can say. And I think I can say it best with this haiku.

I am a poet.
I am allowed to be as
obscure as I like.

--Mara de la Mugre