Life.

Hello. Here is Mara again, ranting again.

This time about Life (again).

And how, in addition to its previously listed qualities, there is yet ANOTHER genius thing about it:

Its soundtrack. Its gorgeous, killer soundtrack.

I mean, every song is a manifestation of the character of Life, Charlie Crews, Dani Reese, Tidwell, Ted, Bobby... Deepa. :D

NOTE TO THE FISH
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You need to watch this show. Life is not complete without Life (of the NBC persuasion).
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A POST-SCRIPT TO THE FISH
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Then again, life is not complete without Band of Brothers, either.
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Oh! And please to click on this link.

It is a work-in-progress playlist of the tunes I especially like from my various television shows.

Or videos associated with them.

Do you know, I always meant to write an essay on how influential and essential music is, but then I gave it up. It is an undertaking too great for my SOUL.

Would you believe it? There are no good (popular) pictures for "soul" on deviantArt.

Well... maybe I can believe it.

Every soul is different, therefore evey interpretation of soul must be different.

All right. I understand some more now.

That's one thing I can do, I've noticed. Really do: understand.

It's weird. I understand to the point where I can not tell the difference between their understanding and mine.

Then I retreat and I realize some things.

I read the story of Hulk Hogan today. It is a sad story.

Do you know what? Life is a sad story.

There was a quote I read once:

Life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating.

by O. Henry.

Late4Ever.

Of course. April is National Poetry Month and I don't find out until April 30th. -.-

And every self-respecting poet has been busily at work, writing one poem every day, and here I am, JUST FINDING OUT ABOUT IT.

Do you know what? MAY will be MY National Poetry Month, and I'll write MY OWN NaPoWriMo's, one for every day, and post them HERE.

That's what.

The Pretty

Holy crap. A month ago I was excited about post number fifty, and here I am at number sixty.

It's times like these that I need the Pretty (my new name for Matthew Settle).

Not so much I need it as it gives me comfort, in a strange sort of way.

So this is a post chalk full of links. Links to favourite deviations on dA.. and other miscellaneous thingers.

Like this, a tutorial by the amazing `alexds1. Srlsy (lol). Check out her other tutorials (except for the ones rated above PG. I tend to stay away from those).

No. I changed my mind. I am done linking here and am off to spam the Fish's inbox instead.

Hooray for pictures of NOTHING. <3

Repetition

Hello my imaginary audience. I need your support this night.

Because The Pretty is not enough (it never is).

And because sometimes I feel incapable and completely useless. It's hateful when one feels like that more than once in a day, in two different situations.

Like the incident with the Jordanian the the Fish.

And being left in charge of my siblings but it's hard to be in charge when you yourself don't live up to your ideals and even if you did, there is a niggling sense that they won't take that example but remember and reuse the old one.

Siblings are great recyclers.

And I feel that our friendship is strong enough to withstand this (stupid, completely avoidably) storm, but I can't help but feel like the Titanic in its pre-iceberg moments.

You understand.

And maybe a poet can't be a poet unless there are enormous amounts of misery in his life.

So here I am, on my way to poetry.

the path to poetry is cruel
laced with lies of no
small size like
willow trees:believable
but capable of other.. things

like pain.
and maybe i am masochistic
and maybe sadism is attracted
but i am

green today, a chirp of joy like a cricket song

but the cricket is a passenger
on this great titanic
and i operate the radio
that leads us to our doom.

but there's always room
for improvement.

Hey. Maybe I am headed for great things. But maybe great things are like icebergs. And maybe I am stuck on the Titanic theme. But maybe the Titanic was great.

And maybe my heart aches.

Oh. And my brother and I might owe $2,000 dollars to some lady because of an accident that was our fault. Oops.

And thus my brother falls from (his own)grace and breaks my mother's heart with his calloused words and I sit here before a screen and am helpless, completely clueless, to help.

And my father is still fishing at ten o'clock at night.

Misery brings out poetry. I feel another poem coming on.

And my heart ache has transferred to my head. That pounding again, those pounding needles.

Hah. And maybe this is a typical teenage blog, just a little more poetic.

All right. Good night.

Maybe joy will come with the morning, but the night is grieving.

It's strange, how I love both equally.

All right. Good night.

Anger

AJDKO$&#)*A$#*($&@)#*@(+U*(UJREOWJR#AU*(A!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Stupid Blogger. Stupid slow internet. STUPID STUPIDITY.

I tried fixing the whole double-space issue in the previous post, but after five tries on a slow computer, I've given up. (The green tea I spilled the other day might have something to do with it...)

Maybe I'll try to fix it some other day when I have patience.

Dear the Fish:
Do you think I should post my blog as one of my websites on Facebook so any random people from youth group (like that one you and I were talking about behind the building that one Sunday) can read it and make conclusions about my character?

Valuing(?) your opinion and desperately needing a head smack,
Mara de la Mugre