This is just to say-- · 7:40am Jan 28th, 2015
I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox
. . . no, wait. That's William Carlos Williams. No, THIS is just to say that I am much better. I don't really understand a lot of what the hell is going on in my life right now, but at least I'm quoting William Carlos Williams and not something really bleak by Emily Dickinson.
I've been busy writing a paper that isn't all that great and doing a bunch of other stuff, and I'm going to bed soon, but I've begun tinkering with the next review chapter because it is fun. 'Cause 'nothin' says romance like getting drunk, hosing down the sidewalk, and waking up in a strange bed wearing a large My Little Pony t shirt.
AH. I see I've intrigued you. Laters, toots.
Also, yes, there will be more stories coming. I'm not putting any pressure on myself about what comes next.
Also, Bookish Delight read Goodbye Boneless and liked my CheesePie, which is frigging AWESOME.
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Good, I'm glad!
Hope things continue to get better!
I'm glad you're feeling better. Not having any idea what's going on in your life isn't always a bad thing, either.
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--arcum42
Iunno, I found that poem rather bleak anyway.
It may have something to do with the fact that my brain instantly constructed a scenario that the plums had been in there far too long, and the writer ended up on a psychedelic journey into their abusive past, while wandering lost in the desert, hallucinating.
Which, as it turns out, sounds sort of like your chapter there.
As a result, I can conclude that we both seriously need some help.
If you're feeling really bleak, remember: Most of Emily Dickinson's work can be sung to the tune of "The Yellow Rose of Texas."
Also, glad to hear your mood has been upgraded on the Poet Scale. And that you have a Poet Scale for your moods, which is several kinds of fantastic.
2753178
Could be worse, since the poem that popped into my own head was "There Will Come Soft Rains", by Sara Teasdale. That's more due to a love of Ray Bradbury's stories than anything, though.
--arcum42
2753517
Uwah!
Seriously, that makes me want to go to a poetry class and hand out antidepressants. What is it about nihilism that makes one want to write about it in verse?
2753178 Actually, I had no clue what that poem was about. I specialize in much earlier stuff and it was more or less gibberish to me. Then a professor I was working for said "it's a love poem," and suddenly I saw it. It's intimate: a note on a kitchen table by someone who lives there or at least stays there a lot. The person he left the note for might well be still in bed ("and which you were probably saving for your breakfast.") And then there's the implication of "I'm sorry, but they were just so juicy I couldn't help myself," and that the writer will be back later on.
Not that nihilistic!
2753260 "Because I could not stop for Death/He kindly stopped for me" can also be sung to "I'd Like To Teach The World To Sing" and "One Singular Sensation" from A Chorus Line, which is my personal favorite.
2754154
I meant the poem arcum was talking about.
There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;
And frogs in the pools singing at night,
And wild plum trees in tremulous white,
Robins will wear their feathery fire
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;
And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done.
Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree
If mankind perished utterly;
And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn,
Would scarcely know that we were gone.
And other such bang-whimper type poetry.
I have no special issues with plums being eaten. From the icebox or not.
And it certainly is cute as a love poem.
Golly.
2754083
Well, given the author died in 1922, I'm not even sure what would have been possible as far as anti-depressants, though she certainly could have used them. Ray Bradbury based a story with the same name off of it, and the poem's inclusion in his story was pretty powerful, which is why I remember it.
Though, come to think of it, I can think of non-depressing poetry I like:
Twas brillig', and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe.
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe...
Of course, now a Henry Kuttner story comes to mind...
--arcum42