This is my favorite commercial. Cracks me up everytime.

So the semester is finally over. All that’s left for me to do is turn in my creative writing portfolio and I’m done! Here’s a finals wrap-up:

Italian presentation went well. I continuously pronounce “cena” as you would in Latin which is annoying, but yeah. The oral final went well…I was a lot more relaxed and since it was about the movie L’ultimo Bacio, which I had already seen before watching it in class, it was easier. (And can I just say that all of the men in that movie are, as a classmate said, “ridiculously good-looking”…it’s not even funny). The actual exam I think I did okay…at least a B.

Language, Thought, and Culture was a fun presentation to work on…graffiti subculture. I was all over that one with my limited, but adequate graffiti art knowledge. We all thought our professor would love it, but not so much. He had similar reactions to everyone else’s, so I don’t feel too bad. A prompt for the presentation would have helped. The essay I wrote was pretty good, I think. But who knows what he’ll think. We never got a prompt or a rubric for that so I dunno.

My media criticism presentation and essay was the worst thing I had to deal with. I ended up doing postmodernism. It was a little hard to grasp and a little hard to apply to the movie Manic…especially since I connected every postmodern theory to Magritte’s “This is not a pipe.” in order to understand them. In the end, though I finally understood it after re-reading all of the articles we had on po-mo (I didn’t know it was called that until my boss used the term), looked it up on Wikipedia, and read a bunch of articles off of J-Stor (my favorite research database ever!). Hopefully, my professor will like the essay…he’s like, a po-mo pro. The presentation was okay, I guess. Everyone seemed to understand what I was saying, but I couldn’t read my professor’s reaction. And then it was a day late since one of our group members didn’t show the first time. And then a different group member didn’t show so we had to ad-lib his part, which I could not remember and I kind of froze mid-sentence thinking, “Damn it, what did his outline say?” But yeah. Whoops. We’ll see…

And I was pretty happy with my final submission workshop in Creative Writing. Overall, I got a lot of positive feedback, which was awesome. My professor said that my use of form and diction were finally coming together. I guess you’d have to know my writing to understand what that really means. Which reminds me, I totally need to update the Writing section of the site….gotta take down all that angsty teenage crap and replace it with my awesomeness. Haha, just kidding. But yeah, revision is hard. I thought it would be easy since I know what I want to do. But as I’ve found out, the hard part is actually putting what I want to do into words that fit into the piece. I hate having to go back and try and remember the mindset I was in, what my rhyme scheme was, what meter was I using, etc, etc. If it’s one thing this class really looked for, it’s a strict meter, punctuation, and titles– Things that I don’t always like to use. Anyway, I still have 2 poems and a short story to revise. The two poems, I have no idea what I’m doing and as for the short story, it’s just a matter of sitting down and doing it. So I guess I better get to it.

David Bowie. Oh man. His awesomeness is never-ending. Have you ever listened to his greatest hits collection, Best of Bowie? I never tire of that CD. It’s solid gold, man. And so are his tight pants in the Labyrinth. Aahahhaha, j/k! That was way too much David Bowie for me considering I was like, 5 when I saw that movie.

is awesome. I totally got their CD and it’s cool. You should get it.

Silversun Pickups. Check them out. I really like “Lazy Eye” and “Kissing Families.” They remind me of indie meets 90s grunge a la Smashing Pumpkins.

Gwen Stefani’s new CD is coming out. I’m excited.

seduce me.
write me a poem.
tell me about the scent of musk at the nape of my neck,
that you dream of spending sultry summer days between my breasts,
that if you could taste me,
it would be mangoes and tropical breezes on your tongue
keeping you up at 2am
for weeks,
staring at black ceilings,
legs entwined in sheets,
wiping your brow,
wondering when the next will be.

seduce me.
write me a poem.
drop those weak pick up lines,
and overwhelm me with quotes from Neruda’s 100 love sonnets.
tell me I walk in beauty like the night.
trace the lines in the palm of my left hand.
decipher,
then read and whisper their meaning
to me.
tell me my life line crosses your destiny.
imprint your words on me like overnight scratchmarks.
leave butterflies in my stomach
with honeysuckle syllables
that remind me of first kisses
and holding hands at recess.

seduce me.
write me a poem
that prays my name
and preaches our passion.
chant a litany of our lovemaking to come
under your breath
with the faith of withered hands holding rosaries in cathedrals
until images of us entwined in each other
burn themselves inside our minds,
like incense at mass.

seduce me.
write me a poem
with your eyes.
lock glances for a moment
across a crowded room,
soft smirk on full lips
and a slow deliberate blink followed by a flutter of eyelashes
that says,
“damn, I wish…”

seduce me.
write me a poem
with your body.
approach me with the certainty of the tide,
move to me without doubt or question,
make me your origin
and your destination.
let music be the catalyst that lets our bodies meet.
spin me in and out of Conga rhythms.
lead me into a Coltrane wail,
grind me into the bassline
of between the sheets…
then pull me close enough
to feel our hearts beat together
when we dance.

seduce me.
write me a poem
that
that speaks of our timelessness.
remind me it was you I loved in a past life
on some faraway continent.
tell me I carry you in my genes,
that I can’t forget you if I tried,
that our memories are engraved into eternity,
that time is just a theory to us.

seduce me.
write me a poem
that needs no words.
compose a silent sonnet on soft bare skin,
where your caress on exposed back
speaks the syllable I need to hear you,
a poem
where melding bodies become
the book
where shallow breathing becomes prose,
where
you
seduce me
and
inspire me to write you the poem
that shows you how to love me.

“Fucking ignore the system, use it when it suits you.”

-Johnny Rotten

“Undermine their pompous authority, reject their moral standards, make anarchy and disorder your trademarks. Cause as much chaos and disruption as possible but don’t let them take you ALIVE.”

-Sid Vicious

“The Fight: What does it mean and where does it come from? An Essay: Homosapien. A man. He is alone in the universe. A punker. Still a man. He is alone in the universe, but he connects. How? They hit each other. No clearer way to evaluate whether or not you’re alive. Now. Complications. A reason to fight. Somebody different. Difference creates dispute. Dispute is a reason to fight. Now, to fight is a reason to feel pain. Life is pain. So to fight with reason is to be alive with reason. Final analysis: To fight, a reason to live. Problems and Contradictions: I am an anarchist. I believe that there should be no rules, only chaos. Fighting appears to be chaos. And when we slam in the pit a show it is. But when we fight for a reason, like rednecks, there’s a system, we fight for what we stand for, chaos. Fighting is a structure, fighting is to establish power, power is government and government is not anarchy. Government is war and war is fighting. The circle goes like this: our redneck skirmishes are cheap perversions of conventional warfare. War implies extreme government because wars are fought to enforce rules or ideals, even freedom. But other people ideals forced on someone else, even if it is something like freedom, is still a rule; not anarchy. This contradiction was becoming clear to me in the fall of ‘85. Even as early as my first party, “Why did I love to fight?” I framed it, but still, I don’t understand it. It goes against my beliefs as a true anarchist. But there it was. Competition, fighting, capitalism, government, THE SYSTEM. That’s what we did. It’s what we always did. Rednecks kicked the shit out of punks, punks kicked the shit out of mods, mods kicked the shit out of skinheads, skinheads took out the heavy metal guys, and the heavy metal guys beat the living shit out of new wavers and the new wavers did nothing. What was the point? Final summation? None.”

-Stevo, SLC Punk