Return to Poetry

When I was a little younger, and a little more like a sailboat, I used to love poetry beyond words--all poetry--every poem I read. Now, I feel more like an ocean liner, and I look at poetry a little differently. What's the point of poetry if there's no real purpose in it? Otherwise it should just be called ranting or whining or empty expressionism. Call it something else, but not poetry. Now that I limit myself to poetry that has a true form, value, purpose--it's all the more beautiful in its rhythmic expression. Without being empty about it.

After considering pragmatism and realizing that everything on our planet revolves around this idea, I'm discovering how important it is, now more than ever, to name things and give things purposes and identities. Truth isn't relative to me, and neither are our purposes. I don't collect a personal truth out of practicality. I call something truth because of its nature. I know things in this world change, and that uncertainty exists, but certainty exists, too. My fear is that, someday, everything will be considered legitimate and impressive because everything is relative. Don't get me wrong, people have tastes and opinions, but we also have brains. Make them do work, people. You are so much brighter than you think you are. Name your purposes and don't waver from your absolutes. This applies to everything. For example, poetry.

Rainer Maria Rilke is a legit dude. He's the kind of person who produces longevity for himself and for us, through his poetry. If you read his poetry, you know it must be important in some way. You can see the effort and intelligence behind his words.

This is a picture of him with a violin virtuoso and her composer. Rilke grabbed for beautiful, legitimate things. He recognized them and used his genius to express them how he could.

It must be important to preserve the identity and purposes of things. Call things by name and regard your own identity and purpose. Give truth some credit. I think it matters right now more than it ever has.

THE to-do list.

Now that I'm going to be a "real grown-up," all graduated from college and seasoned and what not, I think it's appropriate to make a serious to-do list. I think it's also appropriate to begin this new little life stage with a celebratory collection of trips and events. Oh, and find a job.

First, I'm going to celebrate the fact that I may never have to write another paper in my life. The perks of being a Literature major. Papers are a lot of what I do. Now, I'd like to read and write out of pure pleasure for a while.

Next, I'm going to go find the aliens in Roswell. It bothers me to no end that no one is "allowed" to go into Area 51, so I'm just going to sneak in. I could get shot, but it could be worth it. For one glimpse of an alien.

Then, I'm going to go visit my lovely friend Jinx at the Cape. I miss her a whole lot.

Then, I'm going to finally go to ACL, because it's unacceptable that I have never ever been. And Jack White is going to be there, apparently. And he rules.

Then I'm going to take a nice, long look at my life and what could be made of it, and find some sort of job.

The after that I suppose I'll keep looking for new adventures.

END.

Catch Up

The reason I'm now posting events that happened not so recently is because I just discovered that I can print this blog out and make it into a book someday...which rules. In the past couple of months, Kyle and i have taken some fantastic adventures together.

AMTRAK ADVENTURE

Kyle decided that it would be a really romantic and way cool thing to take a train ride together for Valentine's Day. I, of course, agreed. Who wouldn't want to take a sweet train ride? Basically, it was somehow better than expected, and we had already assumed it would be amazing. I don't think either of us would now prefer a plane ride over a train ride. I seriously could be a representative for Amtrak. Here is my handsome train mate:

The best part about the day was the fact that we only rode from McGregor to Dallas, but saw places in Texas we had never seen before. It's also the way you see the land. Everything automatically feels older, and somehow more important. The walls of the McGregor train station are that old fashioned peachy color. I've only read about that color scheme in novels from 1850. I felt a new connection to American soil and decided that impatience and convenience are no longer good enough excuses to fly anywhere anymore. I mean, unless you just must must must. After all, not everyone has 5 hours to spare in the place of what would otherwise be an hour and a half long trip.

This is us enjoying coffee and cheesecake and looking out the window.

These are pictures of the train menu (adorable), my cheeseburger which was SO good (no joke people, this is no airplane food), and the bedroom instructions for our compartment. Hilarious.

Upon our arrival back to McGregor from Dallas, we of course had to put pennies onto the rails to smash for souvenirs.

SUCCESS!

Where St. Paul stood, too.

Ομορφιά

I've been missing Greece a lot lately. I think a few people from our trip have taken a trip or two back in the past three years. I'd like to go soon, too. I think about how weird it is to know someone so well for a few months, only to either lose contact with them, or realize that you live in different states instead of the apartments next door to each other. It was getting drunk and laying out on nude beaches with your friends in paradise for 4 months. But actually, I used to think about those things a whole lot more than I do now. Lately, it's just fleeting.

Because I've been realizing also that people are supposed to keep moving. I miss my friends and that beautiful interim home, of course, but I love that everybody from that trip is probably doing something pretty awesome. I like where I am right now, partly because I don't know what's about to happen, and partly because I'm about to finish something pretty huge. Yeah, the big C-O-L-L-E-G-E, folks. I'm proud of myself for just finishing. I didn't think I would honestly. I don't really care about the degree because who the hell cares 5 years from now.

But back to Greece. Look at these sweet cartoonies:

Oh so Grecian and wonderfully cartooned. Greece is a place, you could say, where everything began. It's weird that we always say that everything we have comes from Ancient Greece. Things begin/began there. Words, architecture, culture, politics. I thought I was going to go find myself there 3 years ago. In a way I started over, or "began" there, but I realize in hindsight that I didn't need finding. Regardless, it was a really great trip.

Longevity

I think that heroism can be put into action in only a few select ways.

Saving a damsel in distress from the terrible prison of an evil and perverted covetous king is the classic picture of what heroism is to most people.

But I guess the most heroic thing I can think of is doing something that is good and right when most surrounding people reject that hero and that deed. The reason it really is heroic is because most people would never call it heroic. Whatever the the rejected deed, it is probably something that most others can never accept or understand. It's heroic because it stands alone-it happens, in different ways, only every once in a while. It doesn't matter that it changes maybe a handful of people, it just matters that a change did happen.

I love that a hero can still be a hero even when they aren't alive anymore. If they leave behind something with substance, a mark that withstands the mockery and spurning of everyone against it, it is still understood by some. That's the part that matters. The longevity of the heroism.

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I always hear a lot of people say things like, "Life isn't always going to go your way."

But "Life" doesn't go anywhere. We go places.

And sometimes we mess up, and get frustrated with the time we waste, and wish that the "now" would actually be 5 years from now. Skipping ahead.

And sometimes I wish I could take the past 5 years and crumple them into a ball, like a damp newspaper, and throw it away, and start over.

Because most of the time I'm ignoring the beautiful things that are always, always happening to me. Because they're supposed to. I forget that while I was apparently "wasting" the last 5 years of my life in school, I fell in love. I began to write music. I made new friends. I lived so far away from home that Hercules couldn't get me back to Dallas for an emergency. That while I groaned about finding myself and hating life, the next day I loved it again, over and over and over. I dyed my hair who knows how many colors, and I worked at an Indian restaurant. I waited upon death with fear and grieved with hope for a friend. I saw the light at the end of the tunnel, and learned that, miraculously, I was going to actually graduate from college.

So in this time, God has stung my wounds, ripped me at the seams, and told me that I am exactly where I should be. My opportunities are endless. My life is rich and I have choices. I already know who I am, and I probably always have. Maybe it was that i wasn't happy with it yet.

And instead of the newspaper ball, these years can now be the front page of the Sunday paper, crisp, and thumbed through with my fingers. While I'm reading and absorbing every word-not skipping anything. And actually enjoying it.