A week or two ago I decided that Valentine’s day would be an excellent day to post whiney emo poetry on the Q&A blog, because I could, and I spent the better part of my homework time trying to craft some sort of superexcellent vignette out of this Sappho poem I really liked. Also, I might have possibly gotten some saucy comment from one of you readers. Anyway. I carefully primed an adequately witty introduction (which you all can still enjoy) and I selected a moment that I wanted to move through carefully and perfectly, and thought about the narrative flow about it all. And then I got to the actual writing process.
(This is where it all went to crap).
I quickly realized that, after generating 4 pages of tripe on a super sekrit super locked LJ post that nobody will ever ever see, I have no poetic sensibilities. The music (you know, the kind all poets are supposed to hear in their heads when they write a poem?) that sort of bounces around in me sounds like that hobo on the corner of Channing and Telegraph. It’s insistent, and sort of horrible. Oh, and on that note I also saw some hobo puke into a garbage can. It looked like he was pushing his gag reflex and it was pretty eew.
That was an aside, by the way. I think my point was that I’m a hopeless dreamer, but I’m totally bad at it. I think that makes me a hapless doof. But, it’s not like I don’t try. For this last failure I totally consulted my favorite love letter, these other things that totally aren’t pornographic at all and my english professor (he told me I had to keep feeding my idea celery in order to make it work—‘poems are constructed from words, not ideas, you cocktart’) in order to try and pick at/find moving ways to tell you what I actually wanted to say. But my brain was all, like, ‘NO. I refuse to let you scribe vignettes on command. Instead I shall tangle you in mixed metaphors even though you try to avoid metaphors like the plague’ Anyway, nothing profound and wonderful for you lot, here’s the introduction I was planning to post. It has no literary value. (P.S. I wrote the preceding wall of text a day in advance, too, in anticipation of my failure)
'In honor of Valentine's day, I decided that it is OK for me to be a hormonal teenager online and that public venting is my God-given right and that anyone that deprives me of it can go do naughty things to themselves (YOU PROBABLY ARE ALREADY, AREN'T YOU).'
Oh, and I’d like to declare this now before I forget.
I vow to not be a crazy cat person when I grow up.
It is now 8 o’clock and I am going to go to bed.