(no subject)
I'm recklessly hogging a computer in the Chifley labs just to update lj. It's half-past the hour and people are still hovering like studious vultures. Hopefully typing will make me look sufficiently busy or I might lose something vital. (It's only the second week of semester, people! Go get drunk like normal students.)
Supposedly, I logged on to hunt down some of Ted Hughes' poetry--we had a sad tattered 'Collected Poems' at work that I picked up while dying of sitting on my arse doing nothing, and I quite liked a lot of it, to my surprise (I may or may not admit to refusing to read much of his stuff out of misplaced--and quite stupidly melodramatic, really--solidarity for Sylvia Plath. Too many Ted-blaming biographies, I guess).
We had to hand in our first poem for my CW class on Monday. I enjoyed the process more than all my bitching and moaning would have suggested (see, this is why I never update--it's my service to the internet. Not that would comfort poor Dendro much--I subjected her to endless whining and then made her read a first draft. Someone people are too saintly for their own good.) Before starting I buried into the hard-drive and found the stuff I wrote at 15 before I gave up on poetry. That was horrific. They may, however, have some sort of military application, if I could just figure out how to safe-guard the non-hostiles. Ear-muffs would probably not be sufficient.
And completely apropos of nothing (as all my paragraphs aspire to be, I suppose)--I just read Anton Chekhov's The Lady with the Dog for my speculative fictions class. As least, I assume it was for speculative fictions, being in the SF bricks and all--the story itself isn't at all SF, apart from its interest in the secret lives/worlds people create. I suspect the lecturer of simply making a point in regards to Kathryn Hume's ideas of SF as challenges to consensus reality (eg how do we come to a consensus anyway when we're all lying like skunks, and all), but I spent the entire story waiting for Anna to reveal her dastardly vampiric nature or some such, and yeah, not so much.
And now I'm really going to find that book. Absolutely.
Supposedly, I logged on to hunt down some of Ted Hughes' poetry--we had a sad tattered 'Collected Poems' at work that I picked up while dying of sitting on my arse doing nothing, and I quite liked a lot of it, to my surprise (I may or may not admit to refusing to read much of his stuff out of misplaced--and quite stupidly melodramatic, really--solidarity for Sylvia Plath. Too many Ted-blaming biographies, I guess).
We had to hand in our first poem for my CW class on Monday. I enjoyed the process more than all my bitching and moaning would have suggested (see, this is why I never update--it's my service to the internet. Not that would comfort poor Dendro much--I subjected her to endless whining and then made her read a first draft. Someone people are too saintly for their own good.) Before starting I buried into the hard-drive and found the stuff I wrote at 15 before I gave up on poetry. That was horrific. They may, however, have some sort of military application, if I could just figure out how to safe-guard the non-hostiles. Ear-muffs would probably not be sufficient.
And completely apropos of nothing (as all my paragraphs aspire to be, I suppose)--I just read Anton Chekhov's The Lady with the Dog for my speculative fictions class. As least, I assume it was for speculative fictions, being in the SF bricks and all--the story itself isn't at all SF, apart from its interest in the secret lives/worlds people create. I suspect the lecturer of simply making a point in regards to Kathryn Hume's ideas of SF as challenges to consensus reality (eg how do we come to a consensus anyway when we're all lying like skunks, and all), but I spent the entire story waiting for Anna to reveal her dastardly vampiric nature or some such, and yeah, not so much.
And now I'm really going to find that book. Absolutely.