(no subject)
I don't quite know what to think of this. Or this.
Here's the gallery's defense. PETA thinks she's mentally deranged.
I guess my animal rights activist, vegetarian self says "fuck no."
But the artist in me says it's amazing.
...
I think I had just about the worst timing in the world in taking my intro to poetry class this semester.
Maybe it'll help me compose my own. I could use that. I doubt it'll happen though.
I wish I had some artistic faculty whatsoever other than a critical eye. But I don't. So Conor can write for me.
The rain it started tappin'
On the window near my bed
There was a loophole in my dreamin'
So I got out of it
And to my surprise my eyes were wide and already open
Just my nightstand and my dresser
Where those nightmares had just been
So I dressed myself and left then
Out into the gray streets
But everything seemed different
And completely new to me
The sky the trees, houses, buildings, even my own body
And each person I encountered
I couldn't wait to meet
And I came upon a doctor
Who appeared in quite poor health
I said there's nothing that I can do for you you can't do for yourself
He said oh yes you can, just hold my hand, I think that that would help
So I sat with him awhile
Then I asked him how he felt
He said I think I'm cured
No, in fact, I'm sure of it
Thank you, stranger
For your therapeutic smile
So that's how I learned the lesson
That everyone's alone
And your eyes must do some raining
If you're ever gonna grow
And when crying don't help
You can't compose yourself
It's best to compose a poem
An honest verse of longing
Or a simple song of hope
That's why I'm singing baby don't worry
'Cause now I got your back
And every time you feel like crying
I'm gonna try and make you laugh
And if I can't
If it just hurts too bad
Then we'll wait for it to pass
And I will keep you company for those days so long and black
And we'll keep working on the problem
We know we'll never solve
Of love's uneven remainders
Our lives are fractions of a whole
But if the world could remain within a frame
Like a painting on a wall
Then I think we'd see the beauty then
We'd stand staring in awe
At our still lives posed
Like a bowl of oranges
Like a story told
By the fault-lines and the soil
Here's the gallery's defense. PETA thinks she's mentally deranged.
I guess my animal rights activist, vegetarian self says "fuck no."
But the artist in me says it's amazing.
...
I think I had just about the worst timing in the world in taking my intro to poetry class this semester.
Maybe it'll help me compose my own. I could use that. I doubt it'll happen though.
I wish I had some artistic faculty whatsoever other than a critical eye. But I don't. So Conor can write for me.
The rain it started tappin'
On the window near my bed
There was a loophole in my dreamin'
So I got out of it
And to my surprise my eyes were wide and already open
Just my nightstand and my dresser
Where those nightmares had just been
So I dressed myself and left then
Out into the gray streets
But everything seemed different
And completely new to me
The sky the trees, houses, buildings, even my own body
And each person I encountered
I couldn't wait to meet
And I came upon a doctor
Who appeared in quite poor health
I said there's nothing that I can do for you you can't do for yourself
He said oh yes you can, just hold my hand, I think that that would help
So I sat with him awhile
Then I asked him how he felt
He said I think I'm cured
No, in fact, I'm sure of it
Thank you, stranger
For your therapeutic smile
So that's how I learned the lesson
That everyone's alone
And your eyes must do some raining
If you're ever gonna grow
And when crying don't help
You can't compose yourself
It's best to compose a poem
An honest verse of longing
Or a simple song of hope
That's why I'm singing baby don't worry
'Cause now I got your back
And every time you feel like crying
I'm gonna try and make you laugh
And if I can't
If it just hurts too bad
Then we'll wait for it to pass
And I will keep you company for those days so long and black
And we'll keep working on the problem
We know we'll never solve
Of love's uneven remainders
Our lives are fractions of a whole
But if the world could remain within a frame
Like a painting on a wall
Then I think we'd see the beauty then
We'd stand staring in awe
At our still lives posed
Like a bowl of oranges
Like a story told
By the fault-lines and the soil