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Lyn

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[20 Feb 2006|04:51pm]
LIMITED by Carl Sandburg

I AM riding on a limited express, one of the crack trains
of the nation.
Hurtling across the prairie into blue haze and dark air
go fifteen all-steel coaches holding a thousand people.
(All the coaches shall be scrap and rust and all the men
and women laughing in the diners and sleepers shall
pass to ashes.)
I ask a man in the smoker where he is going and he
answers: "Omaha."
1 in the heavens| totus mundus agit histrionem

[18 Feb 2006|05:08pm]
Neutral Tones by Thomas Hardy

We stood by a pond that winter day,
And the sun was white, as though chidden of God,
And a few leaves lay on the starving sod;
--They had fallen from an ash, and were gray.

Your eyes on me were as eyes that rove
Over tedious riddles of years ago;
And some words played between us to and fro
On which lost the more by our love.

The smile on your mouth was the deadest thing
Alive enough to have strength to die;
And a grin of bitterness swept thereby
Like an ominous bird a-wing. . . .

Since then, keen lessons that love deceives,
And wrings with wrong, have shaped to me
Your face, and the God-curst sun, and a tree,
And a pond edged with grayish leaves.
totus mundus agit histrionem

[11 Dec 2005|11:43am]
[ mood | good ]

First sentences from first entries:

January

We mortals, men and women, devour many a disappointment between breakfast and dinner-time; keep back the tears and look a little pale about the lips, and in an answer to inquiries say, "Oh nothing!"


February

I, I love the colorful clothes she wears

March

I just wrote one of those poems that never stops wanting to be read.


April

"What do I get out of it?"


May

I'm looking into a bridge class and maybe ballroom dancing this summer.


June

You put yourself in stupid places


July

I hate wisdom teeth.


August

September


October

words of the day: immure, afflatus, capitulate, effulgence (today's), quorum, banal, officious, gimcrack, tender, waffle, abstentious, laconic, gewgaw, palpable, sinecure, aberrant, abjure, bistro, leal, venereal disease, inconoclast, panoply, I can't remember anymore...


November

In Tagalong
Isangmahol means one love


December

panache \puh-NASH; -NAHSH\, noun:
1. Dash or flamboyance in manner or style.

totus mundus agit histrionem

[05 Dec 2005|01:53pm]
panache \puh-NASH; -NAHSH\, noun:
1. Dash or flamboyance in manner or style.
2. A plume or bunch of feathers, esp. such a bunch worn on the helmet; any military plume, or ornamental group of feathers.
totus mundus agit histrionem

[29 Nov 2005|10:59am]
billet-doux \bil-ay-DOO\, noun;
plural billets-doux \bil-ay-DOO(Z)\:
A love letter or note.

Perhaps she just looked first into the bouquet, to see whether there was a billet-doux hidden among the flowers; but there was no letter.
--William Makepeace Thackeray, Vanity Fair
2 in the heavens| totus mundus agit histrionem

i think this is my new favorite word [14 Nov 2005|10:18am]
[ mood | peaceful ]

aplomb \uh-PLOM\, noun:
Assurance of manner or of action; self-possession; confidence; coolness.

Then, unexpectedly, she picked up a microphone and began to sing. She sang several songs, handling herself with the aplomb of a professional entertainer.
--"Rediscovering Japanese Life at a Bike's Pace," New York Times, April 24, 1988

3 in the heavens| totus mundus agit histrionem

http://beausiapage.tripod.com/id1.html [13 Nov 2005|05:10pm]
[ mood | possibility ]

Not much is known about Beau Sia's upbringing except that he was raised in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. He has said that being a Chinese-American living in Oklahoma and strictly attending Fillipino-American functions created identity issues that he could not vent through being on the swim team, so he turned to writing.

Age: He turned 29 in 2005
Birthplace: Oklahoma City, Oklahoma
Education: Has a degree in Dramatic Writing from NYU's Tisch School of The Arts

During high school he began attending open mic events in Oklahoma and two years later he applied and was accepted into NYU's Tisch School of The Arts - Dramatic Writing program. While in New York he began performing his poetry at the world-renowned Nuyorican Poet's Café.

the color of scarves
by beau sia

your lyrics make it hard
to hear folk songs.

I am haunted by
what I remember of your hugs.

my hand misses
the bottom of your back,
where your ass begins.

who breaks up
with their soulmate?

we are in a movie.

we see the same moon
from different cities.

our emails are a tragedy-
they reveal our pride too well.

I can't escape
avoiding the places
you disapprove of.

I'm as lost as that last line.

you infect my poetry readings.
no one is allowed to have a crush on me.

I want to let go of you,
but the problems is
I already have.


bukowsky's widow
by beau sia

I'm certain
that if he had
only lived
for another
year
I would have
met him.

every time
an
influential writer dies
in america,
I get thoughts.

how will the body
of my work
be viewed
in the eyes
of the public
once I am dead?

how many books
will they publish
out of
the poems I couldn't stand?

1 in the heavens| totus mundus agit histrionem

[11 Nov 2005|11:05am]
"I would take a little light in my bed," Bukowski says in a High Times interview of 1982, "put it under the covers and read, and it would get suffocating under there and hot, but it made each page I turned all the more glorious, like I was taking dope: Sinclair Lewis, Dos Passos, these are my friends under the covers" (98).
totus mundus agit histrionem

[08 Nov 2005|01:01pm]
Isangmahol

by Kristyn Brown

In Tagalong
Isangmahol means one love
One word
To express one thing
Where the English language
Imposes separation.

How could one not mean love?
And how could love not mean one?

I know I'm being simple
But I don't have time
For complicated line breaks
Or confusing word structures.
Basically,
I don't have time for bullshit.

Love may leave me soon.
So I must embrace it
While I've got it.
And you've got to flaunt what you've got
'cuz
if there's one thing I've learned
from the immigrant experience
it's that a silenced heart
is one that never loves.

The quiet of a hardship never shared
In songs or hugs
Is death.

And the sins of the father unresolved
Fall onto the sun.
And so I yell from stage to stage
On page
And in person.
"I love you."
And mean it.
And back it up.

And have two fists and two fast fucking kung-fu kicking legs to take down
Anyone
Who says otherwise of me.
'cuz I will not doubt love
in a rough skinned world
of helpless angels clipped
because they feel isolated.

Beautiful creatures broken by
Systems and cultures and wars
Who leave homelands searching
Instead of reaching out for home in others
Through shared experience.

You'll be amazed at what a common childhood will do
For two who have always felt alone.
And what holding that person will be like
For the rest of your life on.

I must live love always.

I don't write these words
To make it easy.

I write them to remind myself
How much work I have left,
How many layers I must melt,
How many more people
I have to quit excluding.

I'm not noble.
My anger and hate occupy spaces
Only love should.
But I'd rather acknowledge something
That I can work on
Than deny something
That will later consume me.

That's right.
I'm talking about you.
I'm calling you out.
All uncomfortable people
At this point are marked.

Be warned.
Shape up.
Or else you'll be loved
When you least expect it.
You want to be loved, now don't you?

But don't think love is just
A hug and a smile,
A good fuck and duty,
A phase and a poem.
Love
is none of these things solely
but all of these things plus.

Plus I got your back when tears exhaust.
Plus I got your back when they come for us.
Plus
I got you
So I'll check ego
In return for us.

This is a call to arms.
A first step in a revolution long overdue.

This is a war, people.

Do you want to die with regret?
Do you want to die holding back?
Do you want to die alone?

Live love always
And I will love you
As long as I live.

Isangmahol.
Isangmahol.
Isangmahol.
4 in the heavens| totus mundus agit histrionem

Stone Reader [30 Apr 2005|12:03pm]
[ mood | complacent ]

It's like food. You know, there are pleasures that simply never run out, and books are one of them. In every way, from simply diverting yourself from life, you enter worlds that you couldn't possibly enter in any other way. You feel the pressure of another human soul on the other side of the book and that makes you feel less alone, and less trapt in your body, and less isolated. You feel that you are the brother of the author and the two of you are working together. It's a very profound and moving experience. It's almost spiritual. - Frank Conroy

http://www.cnn.com/2005/SHOWBIZ/books/04/07/obit.conroy.ap/

totus mundus agit histrionem

Happy is Midland. [19 Apr 2005|10:26am]
[ mood | quixotic ]

Happy is Midland! I could be content
To see no other verdure than its own;
To feel no other breezes than are blown
Through its tall woods with high romances blent;
Yet do I sometimes feel a languishment
For skies Italian, and an inward groan
To sit upon an Alp as on a throne,
And half forget what world or worldling meant.
Happy is Midland, sweet her artless daughters;
Enough their simple loveliness for me,
Enough their whitest arms in silence clinging:
Yet do I often warmly burn to see
Beauties of a deeper glance, and hear their singing
And float with them about the summer waters.


- my adaptation of John Keats' Happy is England
2 in the heavens| totus mundus agit histrionem

Work in Progress a.k.a. Healing [20 Mar 2005|06:39am]
[ mood | good ]

That I would be good even if I did nothing
That I would be good even if I got the thumbs down
That I would be good if I got and stayed sick
That I would be good even if I gained ten pounds

That I would be fine even if I went bankrupt
That I would be good if I lost my hair and my youth
That I would be great if I was no longer queen
That I would be grand if I was not all-knowing

That I would be loved even when I numb myself
That I would be good even when I am overwhelmed
That I would be loved even when I was fuming
That I would be good even if I was clingy

That I would be good even if I lost sanity
That I would be good whether with or without you

totus mundus agit histrionem

for another spontaneous title- this year's supposed to be a good one. [01 Jan 2005|01:41pm]
[ mood | here ]

We mortals, men and women, devour many a disappointment between breakfast and dinner-time; keep back the tears and look a little pale about the lips, and in an answer to inquiries say, "Oh nothing!" Pride helps us; and pride is not a bad thing when it only urges us to hide our own hurts- not to hurt others.

1 in the heavens| totus mundus agit histrionem

For Esmé- With Love and Squalor excerpt [04 Dec 2004|04:12pm]
[ mood | nauseated ]

"Hey, I was just tellin' that new son of a bitch, Bernstein, downstairs. Remember that time I and you drove into Valognes, and we got shelled for about two goddam hours, and that goddam cat I shot jumped up on the hood of the jeep when we were laying in that hole? Remember?"

"Yes-- don't start that business with the cat again, Clay, God damn it. I don't want to hear about it."

"No, all I mean is I wrote Loretta about it. She and the whole psychology class discussed it. In class and all. The goddam professor and everybody."

"That's fine. I don't want to hear about it, Clay."

"No, you know the reason I took a pot shot at it, Loretta says? She says I was temporarily insane. No kidding. From the shelling and all. "

X threaded his fingers, once, through his dirty hair, then shielded his eyes against the light again. "You weren't insane. You were simply doing your duty. You killed that pussycat in as manly a way as anybody could've under the circumstances."

Clay looked at him suspiciously. "What the hell are you talkin' about?"

"That cat was a spy. You had to take a pot shot at it. It was a very clever German midget dressed up in a cheap fur coat. So there was absolutely nothing brutal, or cruel, or dirty, or even--"

"God damn it!" Clay said, his lips thinned. "Can't you ever be sincere?"

X suddenly felt sick, and he swung around in his chair and grabbed the wastebasket-- just in time.

6 in the heavens| totus mundus agit histrionem

RILKE [16 Nov 2004|09:16pm]
[ mood | anxious ]

Lange mußt du leiden, kennend nicht was,
bis plötzlich aus gehassig erbrissener Frucht
deines leidens Geschmack eintritt in dir.
Und da liebst du schon fast das Gekostete.
Keiner redet dirs wieder aus




THE PLACES YOU HAVE COME TO FEAR THE MOST

Buried deep as you can dig inside yourself
And covered with a perfect shell
Such a charming beautiful exterior.
Laced with brilliant smiles and shining eyes, perfect posture
But you're barely scraping by, but you're barely scraping by.

Well this is one time, this is one time
That you can't fake it hard enough to please everyone
Or anyone at all, or anyone at all.
And the grave that you refuse to leave
The refuge that you've built to flee
The places that you've come to fear the most
Is the place that you have come to fear the most.

Buried deep as you can dig inside yourself
And hidden in the public eye
Such a stellar monument to loneliness.
Laced with brilliant smiles and shining eyes, perfect makeup
But you're barely scraping by, but you're barely scraping by.

Well this is one time, this is one time
That you can't fake it hard enough to please everyone
Or anyone at all, or anyone at all.
And the grave that you refuse to leave
The refuge that you've built to flee
The places that you've come to fear the most
Is the place that you have come to fear the most.

That you can't fake it hard enough to please everyone
Or anyone at all, or anyone at all.
And the grave that you refuse to leave
The refuge that you've built to flee
The places that you've come to fear the most
Is the place that you have come to fear the most.
Is the place that you have come to fear the most.



Long you must suffer, knowing not what,
until suddenly out of spitefully chewed fruit
your suffering's taste comes forth in you.
Then you will love almost instantly what's tasted.
No one will ever talk you out of it
4 in the heavens| totus mundus agit histrionem

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