aceofkittens: (bad mood)
I am in a particularly foul mood as of late, for a number of reasons that I don't want to get into in a public entry, especially since — as always — I am keenly aware of the fact that this is the first entry for the month, and thus subject to the "End of Year First Lines Meme."

Unfortunately, doing a full re-read of my beloved Lymond Chronicles is not helping. If anything, it's just making me more cranky, melancholy, and wistful. Yes, all three! And I'm barely into the second book... it only gets worse.

And from the hornes of Unicornes Lord safely me deliver.
aceofkittens: (angry)
Dirge Without Music

I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.
So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:
Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned
With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned.
Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.
Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.
A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,
A formula, a phrase remains,—but the best is lost.
The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love, —
They are gone. They are gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled
Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not approve.
More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world.
Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave,
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.

— Edna St. Vincent Millay
aceofkittens: (sad shalott)
Surprised by joy—impatient as the Wind
I turned to share the transport—Oh! with whom
But Thee, deep buried in the silent tomb,
That spot which no vicissitude can find?
Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind—
But how could I forget thee? Through what power,
Even for the least division of an hour,
Have I been so beguiled as to be blind
To my most grievous loss?—That thought's return
Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore,
Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn,
Knowing my heart's best treasure was no more;
That neither present time, nor years unborn
Could to my sight that heavenly face restore.

William Wordsworth

Ok go

Oct. 18th, 2007 07:26 pm
aceofkittens: (me and chip)
I realized that it's been a week since I posted, but I feel like I don't really have much to say right now. I'm just chugging along and it's fine. It's a brief lull before the madness begins. I realized today that I am already solidly booked every weekend from next weekend until December. This coming weekend should be a time to batten down the hatches and prepare for the whirlwind. I still have Burning Man crap lying around everywhere, for crying out loud. I need to sort through all the clothes I don't wear. I need to do a lot of things.

I will probably do none of them.

Last weekend was awesome, though. [livejournal.com profile] takeitez and [livejournal.com profile] toastmantom came down and we had some fun. Where to begin? It was like cramming a SF weekend into LA. First, [livejournal.com profile] invisiblebf and [livejournal.com profile] takeitez went to LACMA and the La Brea Tar Pits on Friday while I was at work. Later that night, we went to a friend's poetry reading at a youth hostel in Santa Monica (to hear such gems as "Cockblocking C***" from others performing — though my actual friend is a good poet) and to add to the misery, I had to pee the whole time. It began to rain and we escaped to drown our sorrows at my favorite British pub a few blocks away. The next day, Toasty arrived and over the next two days, we went to The Getty, LA Decompression, Champagne Madness, and another friend's acoustic guitar performance, not necessarily in that order. Good job! I made dinner and we ate a lot of cheese. We drank — a lot. We ate more cheese. We played the Story Game (the television vomited fire!) Many in-jokes were created. Good times!

Last, but not least, tomorrow, my mom is leaving on a trip to China for two weeks and she's completely freaked out about it. So that about sums it all up!
aceofkittens: (sad shalott)
Despondency: An Ode
by Robert Burns

Oppress'd with grief, oppress'd with care,
A burden more than I can bear,
I set me down and sigh;
O life! thou art a galling load,
Along a rough, a weary road,
To wretches such as I!
Dim backward as I cast my view,
What sick'ning scenes appear!
What sorrows yet may pierce me through,
Too justly I may fear!
Still caring, despairing,
Must be my bitter doom;
My woes here shall close ne'er
But with the closing tomb!

The rest of the poem is here.
aceofkittens: (angry)

April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
...
What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.


— T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land
aceofkittens: (hmm)
My life is almost complete.

Internet teaches
Connection between clingfilm
and Roy Orbison


Fan fiction about Roy Orbison, wrapped in... clingfilm.

Commence reading!

ETA: I do know about the Roy-in-Clingfilm LJ Community (http://www.livejournal.com/community/roy_inclingfilm/), where the shiny joy never ends! :)

Ahahaah!

Jan. 18th, 2004 04:30 pm
aceofkittens: (Default)
Exploring the various perks of a paid account, I was finally able to do the whole "meta-blog" thing where it will take pieces of previously written LJ entries and jumble into the definitive "Ace of Kittens" entry.

And here it is!!! Courtesy of http://www.antispin.net/~martine/cgi-bin/insanity.cgi?(insert your name here if you want to do this)


My gaze skimming over the benefits.
Invariably, that it suddenly has taken is a way
that thus it; to mourn Till death do.
That it seems like my mom's ill fated experiment in
Detox, a woeful heart, my mailbox is
technically over the pillar Perished is lie there
to see a good one of the writing, of detail and
get a hankering crimp in suspense to mourn
till death do not sure so antsy right now I am
an idiot, and was so here it made to see a
movie Happy fucking holidays! Yeast and I
hardly even a bit Of it. Ha, I broke the ends of
all stupidly through the holidays!


There were others, but that one says it all.
aceofkittens: (Default)
Sir Thomas Wyatt's "The Pillar Perished" (aka "Sonnet 29")


The pillar perished is whereto I leant,
The strongest stay of mine unquiet mind;
The like of it no man again can find,
From East to West, still seeking though he went.
To mine unhap! for hap away hath rent
Of all my joy, the very bark and rind;
And I (alas) by chance am thus assigned
Dearly to mourn till death do it relent.
But since that thus it is by destiny,
What can I more but have a woeful heart,
My pen in plaint, my voice in woeful cry,
My mind in woe, my body full of smart.
And I my self, my self always to hate
Till dreadfull death do ease my doleful state.

Haiku

Oct. 13th, 2003 06:19 pm
aceofkittens: (Default)
Yet another blow:
Best black hoodie lost its string.
I had not noticed.
aceofkittens: (Default)
My mind wanders, scrabbling around all over the place... restless, like a little mouse rooting around in the scrub grasses on the side of the road.

I'm just so -- blah. I have that trapped feeling growing inside me again, which at the "height of each attack," makes me do things I shouldn't. Maybe I should listen to Cowboy Mouth; their big hit, "Jenny Says," has some words to live by: "Let it go, let it go, let it go..." But I just can't seem to.

So I went back and read one of my favorite poems, "California Hills in August," by Dana Gioia. The full text of it can be found here: http://www.danagioia.net/poems/californiahills.htm. Sort of the theme of the day, given the weather.

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