No, I haven't read Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.
The past three weeks have been sort of a tumult for me, though I haven't really explained it because I've done Fringe Reviews and Trivialities instead. And as for my blog, I've been trying to do some changes, and unfortunately some comments may have been deleted. (I'm sorry.)
So, here's a short recap of my life since returning to school.
Primo, I was accepted for publication in Creative Communication's Spring Anthology for poetry.
Secundo, I was in Hamlet twice, as a wheedling Italian bartender. Oh yeah - it was Hamlet: The Italian Zombie Slayer of New York. I watched the final two hours of Fringe. I studied for a week on hybridization, molecular geometry, light physics, polynomial functions, symbolism, and much else.
Tertio, I spent my Sunday at an all-day church retreat which was interesting. Then I went through finals.
Oh, finals. You've gotta love them. Especially my cynical Chemistry teacher, Mr. Watanuki.
"I'd tell you all good luck, but luck's not gonna help you."
And then my Lit teacher who gave us a 200 question test and less than 2 hours to finish it. I'm proud to say that I finished it first. 'Twas simple.
And so on and so on and then yesterday, I attended a poetry discussion in my school club yesterday. We all discussed interesting poets. I did Stephen Crane, and then we discussed Faustus by Marlowe.
"Was this the face that launch'd a thousand ships?" I love that quote.
As the excellent Jim Loy quips on his website, "Her hips alone could probably launch a hundred."
But I digress. Now, I'd like to show you a special poem: an octave from The Anubis Gates by the fictional "Colin Lepovre", who is really the fantastic author, Tim Powers. Credit goes to him, as always, and his brilliant pen.
These cold and tangled streets that once were gay
With light and drink, now echo to my tread
As I pass by alone. Night breezes thread
Through dusty rooms their solitary way
And carry out, through broken windowpanes
Into the street, old thoughts and memories.
The lad is far away who cherished these,
And nothing of his spirit now remains.
Amazing, isn't it? And on the subject of poetry, here's one of my own stanzas from one of my own poems.
The haze of the future is ever uncertain
Like seeing your face in a frosted glass
We rarely know our rights and bounds
Our limits to the future - as solid as brass.
To the next.
(Also a quick note to anyone who clicks on the music of the week box: That piece I first heard on Fringe, the very early episodes. At least the first 5. Back when everything was confusing. I was barely 10 at the time. Watching the early Fringe cases scared me to death, but I stuck with it. But that piece represents the unknown to me, the mysterious, the imagination that's out there that may be scary but now, years later, is benign and cool. So there's my music shibboleth.)