random

hm i was just thinking how anything that ever goes here is simply homework posts and stuff. so i'm now going to post something totally random and simply unrelated. no flames please.

lalala i want there to be a writing carnival in school for people to post their works and for others to review.

oh and very oddly and totally random, hans christian anderson is gay. as in it's kinda grotesque and sick to imagine a totally gay guy could write so many delicately exquisite faiytales. but they have a rather gruesome twist in the end for some of them so i guess it fits. still weird.

haha was reading this fairytale. about a little shepherdess doll and a chimney sweep who loved each other and who ran away into the outside world. and the gal was so scared of how awesome and big and unexplored the world was, that she ran right back inside again. lalala stupid. the world is big for a reason. if not everyhing would get utterly boring.

for a sense of utter goth and god reading. try sylvia plath. haha if i posted lady lazarus i bet some people would start thinking i was deranged. it's possible to love the dark. oh and sylvia plath committed suicide. by sticking her head into an oven. lalala still appreciate her morbid genius like a wry death-rictus.

Mirror
I am silver and exact.
I have no preconceptions.
Whatever I see, I swallow immediately.
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike
I am not cruel, only truthful –
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.

Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me.
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.