I'll Riot Alone
I have been neglecting this thing for a while and for good reason! Nothing much happens much, school work, down time, read some books (everyone should read The Floating Opera by John Barth), comedy twice a week unless there is a show. There was a show and it was fun as heck, but because i am still technically a new kid i do not get big parts. I'll have my day though.
I have been feeling like a stranger everywhere. Even in the comedy group which is the core of my 'friends' here at Athens. I don't even want to talk about talking on the phone. I am very bad at that. It is good though, for people watching purposes, but if i catch the eye of someone I feel like a creep (I don't think anyone likes a people-watcher when they are the people watchee).Classes are pretty lax, I don't like the way the English class is set up because every story we read the teacher goes through in agonizing detail leaving very sparce space for personal interpretation, as well as no class discussions. My psychology teacher is grossly condenscending, but i guess you have to be when you are talking to 400 people.
Worst part of all is almost NO WRITING has been accomplished, and I am a damn English major. I do have a pretty solid stand-up routine though, but i don't get to go much, the seniority thing. I do have some things written though, mostly little blurbs, some morbid stuff but morbid stuff, mine anyway, is seldom good.
Crap:
It is scarcely dark when snow is on the ground.
When it snows, and settles, everyone can find anyone.
Simply retrace the steps, and look through light.
Though perhaps you can, instead, walk into a storm,
And gain obscurity in the tulmutuous static,
But when it settles everyone may find you.
This is a poem I made up taking random words and phrases I liked from a short story, sorta like stealing but if you saw the story it is not that similar:
We lifted invisible dry dust.
The violence of dust has faded,
delicate, silver, and pale.
For a fleshless grin in a heavy yellow
and moldy age had become inextricable
From the bed.
Already, none, no one waited.
Forty years, decently in the ground,
Still eyes in the face
The eye sockets want some poison,
making her look in colored church windows
(Pupils with boxes of color).
Kill to be seen!
We sat, they had been to the jewlers.
Insanity had really materialized;
The father was crazy then.
The backbone fell away and did not send pictures.
Young men left, and we had robbed her,
As people will;
no one waited.
I actually like that, if you think i am plagarizing, compare this to Faulkner's A Rose for Emily. I guess i feel like i am or i wouldn't have said that. oh well, go away
I have been feeling like a stranger everywhere. Even in the comedy group which is the core of my 'friends' here at Athens. I don't even want to talk about talking on the phone. I am very bad at that. It is good though, for people watching purposes, but if i catch the eye of someone I feel like a creep (I don't think anyone likes a people-watcher when they are the people watchee).Classes are pretty lax, I don't like the way the English class is set up because every story we read the teacher goes through in agonizing detail leaving very sparce space for personal interpretation, as well as no class discussions. My psychology teacher is grossly condenscending, but i guess you have to be when you are talking to 400 people.
Worst part of all is almost NO WRITING has been accomplished, and I am a damn English major. I do have a pretty solid stand-up routine though, but i don't get to go much, the seniority thing. I do have some things written though, mostly little blurbs, some morbid stuff but morbid stuff, mine anyway, is seldom good.
Crap:
It is scarcely dark when snow is on the ground.
When it snows, and settles, everyone can find anyone.
Simply retrace the steps, and look through light.
Though perhaps you can, instead, walk into a storm,
And gain obscurity in the tulmutuous static,
But when it settles everyone may find you.
This is a poem I made up taking random words and phrases I liked from a short story, sorta like stealing but if you saw the story it is not that similar:
We lifted invisible dry dust.
The violence of dust has faded,
delicate, silver, and pale.
For a fleshless grin in a heavy yellow
and moldy age had become inextricable
From the bed.
Already, none, no one waited.
Forty years, decently in the ground,
Still eyes in the face
The eye sockets want some poison,
making her look in colored church windows
(Pupils with boxes of color).
Kill to be seen!
We sat, they had been to the jewlers.
Insanity had really materialized;
The father was crazy then.
The backbone fell away and did not send pictures.
Young men left, and we had robbed her,
As people will;
no one waited.
I actually like that, if you think i am plagarizing, compare this to Faulkner's A Rose for Emily. I guess i feel like i am or i wouldn't have said that. oh well, go away