Mohawk On Display

Hey.  It’s 4:30 am, and I’ve gotta get some sleep in before Creative Writing Workshop tomorrow.  But I felt like updating the blog anyway, so here’s what’s been happening in my oh-so-interesting life!

Creative writing on Tuesday was great.  I wrote the three poems and the essay below.  The first poem (Train Companions) I wrote on the way to class.  The other two were in class, and they each follow a certain poetic structure.  A sestina has six verses (plus one tidbit at the end that has some special name I forgot) and what’s cool about it is that each line ends in one of the same six words, just rearranged in each verse.

Next, Terza Rima is a poem with three-line verses, where the middle line of one verse rhymes with the outer lines of the next verse.  When the poem is finished, if you map out the whole thing, it creates a cool interlocking effect of three rhyming lines.

The essay is my attempt at explaining an idea I have about how morality and the afterlife work.  Let me know if you don’t understand what I’m trying to say, and I’ll revise it to be clearer.

Last night was…interesting.  I had a really great time with some friends.  But then I was dumped by my sort-of girlfriend.  It’s very upsetting, but c’est la vie. 

Right now, I’m very happy, because I had lots of fun late-night conversations, which are one of my passions, and I’m listening to Pink Floyd’s album The Wall, which is pure genius!  Any now I’ve gotta go to bed.  Please read the stuff I posted below, and hopefully I’ll have some more poetry to put up after tomorrow’s class!

Goodnight, and if you’re reading this, whoever you are, know that as a fellow human being, I love you.  No matter who you are or why you’re here, I love you.  I think everyone should be told that once in a while.

Night night!

Before birth, each person is given a new soul, devoid of any bias. During life, the soul grows, develops, and learns about the world. It develops its own views on good and evil. Everyone’s soul will have a different opinion of what is “correct” behavior, but every soul will be able to judge whether it approves of its body’s actions, based on its own definition of “good.”

After death, the soul is separated from the body, and is shown an objective view of its past life in the physical world.

After this event, I’m not sure where the soul goes, if it goes anywhere, but that does not matter.  What matters is that the soul, with its ability to judge morality, will either be pleased with the life it facilitated, or will be disgusted by it, and punish itself for failing to convince the body to abide by its own rules, creating its own personal hell.

In summary, the soul has limited interaction with the body.  It can view the world through the body’s point of view, develop views on morality, and then try to nudge the body to do what it considers “right.”  Whether it does a good enough job convincing the body is what determines whether it is satisfied in the afterlife (heaven) or punishes itself (hell).

A terza rima I cannot write:

The rhyming is far too complex.

It was clearly invented out of spite!

–

Why can’t the structure be more lax?

Didn’t the creator realize rhyme

Is a burden poets carry on their backs?

–

This is a class assignment, and my poem’s running out of time!

Do you have Shakespeare’s number?  Or Robert Frost?

I think I may have to drop them a dime.

–

At this point I know I’m completely lost.

I can’t even figure out how to begin!

And look at the wasted paper it has caused!

–

Wait a minute… I finished!  I win!

At last I an turn my poem in.

I lie here tonight within my grave.

The air around me hangs heavy and silent.

The inside of my house is dark.

Around me not even the worms dare whisper.

Everything down here is dead.

For now I am, at last, alone.

–

Above, my friends stand alone,

Disjointed by my filling grave.

They try in earnest to recall the dead,

But, of course, their minds are silent.

To one another they can’t even whisper:

It seems this night has grown too dark.

–

I lie here tonight within the dark.

My soul, it seems, is quite alone.

To God I cannot even whisper:

His presence does not grace the grave.

Now I know what it means to be silent:

Now I know what it means to be dead.

–

Above, my friends stand like the dead.

(You couldn’t tell, not in the dark.)

Just like my soul, they’re perfectly silent.

(Are all our souls, in fact, alone?)

They cannot sense, above my grave,

Even the slightest, slightest, whisper.

–

I lie here tonight within the whisper,

For that is what it means to be dead:

Locked away within a grave,

Thoughts dampened in the dark,

For once, completely and utterly alone,

All noises fade and become silent.

–

Above, my friends stand completely silent,

Wishing they could utter a whisper,,

Anything to pretend they’re not alone,

Anything to pretend they’re not dead.

But still they stand, in the dark,

Dying right above my grave.

–

They are all dead.

They’ve found the dark.

The world is their grave.

People who sit beside you on a train,

And make you wonder (quite in vain)

Who they are, where they’ve been.

Why they’re here and what they’ve seen,

–

Don’t they take a part of you?

(Yes, I know, it’s sadly true.)

For when they stand and turn to leave,

They take a chance you’ll never retrieve

–

To ask them who, and where, and why,

And what was it that made them sigh,

And do they know they’re making you

Unable to your crossword do?

–

For when they stand (I know, it’s sad)

They take the train of thought you had

And leave you with one wishing that

You’d opened up your yap!

A moth landed on my hand.  It was truly beautiful, but perfectly still.  After a minute, I wasn’t sure if it was enjoying my company, or had simply died on my hand.  I brushed it with my finger, and it took off.  It had been enjoying my company.  But did I make the right choice?

I haven’t done any origami in a long time, so I decided to make sure I haven’t lost the touch.  Meet my new friend, Pegasus:

Isn’t she cute?

It’s been too long without any updates:

Click on image to view poem larger

And in the end

All the little old men
And wrinkly grandmas

And middle-aged type-As
Who worked themselves too hard

And teens who couldn’t deal
With an artificial life
Created by their parents
And fostered by their teachers

And babies who rolled over
And stopped breathing
Of no ones fault

Will devolve
And get oh so tiny
With unblemished skin
Soft as velvet

To return to the womb
From whence they came

And bone will dissolve
Turn to cartilage and dust
And genitals will disappear
Leaving in their wake
Perfect, smooth androgyny

And eventually all will be gone
Save the original soul
Unmarked by sin and sorrow
Ready at last to return
To the garden of bliss
From whence they came

So, tonight’s my high school’s prom.  Am I going?  Nah.  Got no date, and most of my friends aren’t going.  Those who are, well, they’re doing their own thing with dates and all, so good for them.  As for me, I’ll be sitting at home, cause I don’t have a car.  Here’s hoping years from now I don’t regret being so socially awkward…

Currently listening to Treason by Velvet Chain.  The singer just said, “You only live your life one time.”  I’m sure that means something, but I don’t know what to do with that right now.

I’ll be leaving for California in a few days - hopefully I’ll enjoy that, and get a short reprieve from being asked to play DND every single day.  It’s a fun game, but I just can’t take it when it’s so concentrated!

Hmm.  Velvet Chain says “Depression is a sin.”  Guess I’m screwed here and in the afterlife.  Some bloody luck I’ve got.

Don’t be surprised if I post again today.  Not much else to do, anyway.  Couple of friends invited me to pre- and post- prom activities, but really I don’t think that’s the best thing for my psyche right now.  Best to just wait for the whole prom thing to blow over.

I’m gonna go watch some L Word, I think.  Glimpse all the lovely people who only exist in fantasy and/or distant social circles…