(no subject)
The great thing about having multiple internet blogs is that you always have somewhere else to post while you're waiting for people to respond. Also known as I'm not working on the paper I'm writing about Wilde's deconstruction of upper-middle class society during the late 19th century. Hmm. And now you why. :)
Last night I went out for dessert,(two s's because you always want more than one), and a walk with an engaging, intelligent, funny, woman, who is my age and who doesn't live in San Francisco. I had an incredible time. More than anything else, it's reassuring to know that women like that exist who have a similar opinion of me. Aka: I rule and I'm enjoying being single.
For those of you who I haven't yet talked your ear off about this: I'm making efforts to get my poetry* to the point where it's publishable. Well, maybe that's a stretch. How about this: I would like to be proud enough of my finished product that I want other people to see it and read it and dissect it and criticize it.
*I have always felt weird about the word poem. It's similar to the way I feel about the word pussy. Their colloquial definitions have come to mean something that runs so entirely away from their truth. Both words have been dismantled and left with associations that are weak, pliable, fickle, overtly sentimental, and dumb. To be honest, the first impression I get when I think about the word poem is of a scribble and scrawl of some crush in a diary. I'm here to incite a revolution. I want my words back and I want them made of teeth. They deserve to be known as the biting, fierce, poignant, masterpieces that they are. Word.
In entirely other news, my birthday is one week from tomorrow.
Last night I went out for dessert,(two s's because you always want more than one), and a walk with an engaging, intelligent, funny, woman, who is my age and who doesn't live in San Francisco. I had an incredible time. More than anything else, it's reassuring to know that women like that exist who have a similar opinion of me. Aka: I rule and I'm enjoying being single.
For those of you who I haven't yet talked your ear off about this: I'm making efforts to get my poetry* to the point where it's publishable. Well, maybe that's a stretch. How about this: I would like to be proud enough of my finished product that I want other people to see it and read it and dissect it and criticize it.
*I have always felt weird about the word poem. It's similar to the way I feel about the word pussy. Their colloquial definitions have come to mean something that runs so entirely away from their truth. Both words have been dismantled and left with associations that are weak, pliable, fickle, overtly sentimental, and dumb. To be honest, the first impression I get when I think about the word poem is of a scribble and scrawl of some crush in a diary. I'm here to incite a revolution. I want my words back and I want them made of teeth. They deserve to be known as the biting, fierce, poignant, masterpieces that they are. Word.
In entirely other news, my birthday is one week from tomorrow.