Lateness

Lateness is a time for sharing wildly unimportant strains of thought. In the wider world, 10:30 PM is not late...It's even early in cities like New York and Chicago, Venice, and Paris. For college sophomores in the Midwest, it's late. Very late. When you fall asleep on the couch at 2:00 PM with your mouth gaping open, head flung back, bland history textbook sprawled out on your lap, you begin to realize that maybe planet earth isn't the only one suffering from an energy crisis. It was an attractive snoozing pose, I swear!
Week 2 of semester four is nearly through and I haven't experienced the urge to crawl into a dark corner and die...yet. There's always hope, right? A dramatic psychological lapse would make for some haunting pieces, wouldn't it? I'M KIDDING!
Briefest of brief updates, but I promised myself I would try *said with a whine* to blog almost (see how I cover my butt and eliminate guilt? Multitasking ROCKS!) everyday.
So, I'll leave with these oh-so-illuminating thoughts. Some real gems were mined tonight, eh?

Rock lab tomorrow.....doh!

Slainte,
Liadan

New Semester (Year?) Resolution

Writing. Love it, hate it. Can't live without and can't live with it. Such is the bane of the English major/ part-time philosopher. Yes, this all sounds cute and coy, like something a repressed, self-declared nerd would ponder over a cup of coffee in the back corner of a Starbucks. Not me. This is just the phenomenon I've heard from my English professor and read in angsty books about self-discovery. Unfortunately, it's also the conclusion of my own experiences with that morphine-like art we call writing.
In case you have not yet comprehended the see-saw that is writing, it goes something like this: it's both angel and devil, poison and cure, sorrow and joy, etc...yada yada yada, blah blah blah. And that sums up last semester as well. Nope, didn't meet an angel or a devil; wasn't poisoned or cured; I did feel sadness (I'm too happy a person for sorrow, at least on the outside) and joy (to a degree). Of course, all this happened in the metaphorical sense, not the literal...
And I learned the true meaning of what is now, to me, a semi-evil word: generate. Generate, generate, generate..."What is to be generated?" you ask. WORK. PIECES. POETRY. SELF-MOLDING CREATIVE EXERCISES THAT LEAVE YOU LESS MOLDED THAN WHEN YOU BEGAN AND POTENTIALLY BALD FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE! < Exaggeration, but an exaggeration that nips at the heels of truth. And I loved, and of course, hated every minute of all that generating. Word to the wise: Creative writing classes are a bit like boxing with your instincts and style with your peers coaching, barking tips that are either useful or hurtful. You come out a little bruised and bloody, but you're hardened and aware of your own weaknesses.
It is a well-known fact that nature abhors a vacuum. This semester I have no English or writing classes, virtually no papers. There is now a vacuum in my life. So, if you read my blog, I pity you. For the next semester, whenever I find time, I will be blogging in order to fill the void. Did you forget that magic phrase? Generate, generate, generate! Even if it's total crap, write it down. I'll be trying some different exercises, and I would greatly appreciate hearing some feedback from any and all readers! In addition, I will be trying to post a link for any new music/songs that I think are worthy of dancing in a gloriously humiliating fashion in front of your bathroom mirror to, as well as links for books that only increased my appetite for words, and hopefully will do the same for you.
For now, the textbooks are calling. Enjoy the links! Write! And as always, slainte!

~Liadan
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HqZI7lJEKIA
Okay, so it's a rather old song, but a beautiful interpretation/rendition all the same.

http://www.amazon.com/These-Ten-Bones-Clare-Dunkle/dp/0805074961/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1264566517&sr=1-1
Just read it!