Oh-so-emo
Poke-poke-poke.
The world hurts when it pokes you.
It's pretty big to be poking. With what does the world poke? I do not know!! This is starting to remind me of the pome by Blake...
"Tyger! Tyger! burning bright,
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire in thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder, and what art?
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand, and what dread feet?
What the hammer? What the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb, make thee?
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright,
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?"
Why is my life framed by poetry? Poseur-ishness abounds, yes yes....
On a final note, being loved is so much different from loving. Not mashed potatoes or a favourite book or even your pet doggie, but you know, a person. Not just some old high school friend you say you love but really mean that you have had a lot of shared experiences with....although shared experiences can definitely either (a) lead to love or (b) cloud your chemicals into thinking you're in love. As my wise and ever-lovely mother told me, a lot of people spend their lives jumping into fresh relationships again and again, getting high on the new-ness without even realizing it. I was always afraid that's what I'd become: some creepy old playgirl who still dyes her hair bright red and shows too much cleavage.
Don't we all want some answers, eh eh....
The world hurts when it pokes you.
It's pretty big to be poking. With what does the world poke? I do not know!! This is starting to remind me of the pome by Blake...
"Tyger! Tyger! burning bright,
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire in thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder, and what art?
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand, and what dread feet?
What the hammer? What the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb, make thee?
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright,
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?"
Why is my life framed by poetry? Poseur-ishness abounds, yes yes....
On a final note, being loved is so much different from loving. Not mashed potatoes or a favourite book or even your pet doggie, but you know, a person. Not just some old high school friend you say you love but really mean that you have had a lot of shared experiences with....although shared experiences can definitely either (a) lead to love or (b) cloud your chemicals into thinking you're in love. As my wise and ever-lovely mother told me, a lot of people spend their lives jumping into fresh relationships again and again, getting high on the new-ness without even realizing it. I was always afraid that's what I'd become: some creepy old playgirl who still dyes her hair bright red and shows too much cleavage.
Don't we all want some answers, eh eh....