Part of the Playlist – “Optimist”

Plugging away still, but I’ve switched over to classical music. Getting down to business.

This is Zoe Keating performing at TEDxSF. She’s featured every so often at Radiolab. Which EVERYONE should listen to.

Cello and a looping pedal and whatever awesomeness and passion that’s possessing her? How can you not love this?

By the way, you can download a copy of the song for free here.

Enjoy.

Part of the Playlist – “This Woman’s Work”

Two songs: the original and a cover. I really need to listen to more Kate Bush.

Both versions move me. It’s just a beautiful song.  And it’s wonderful how different the song seems when a man sings it. Especially Greg Laswell.

I’m working on a paper due Monday. Too bad this song stimulates way more creativity than research. There are other things I’d rather be writing than a paper on King Lear. Well, not entirely true. I’d actually enjoy writing a paper on King Lear (because the play is incredible), but not under these particular circumstances. C’est la vie. Que sera sera.

It will get done.

Back to work.

Enjoy.

—-

 

Pray God you can cope.
I stand outside this woman’s work,
This woman’s world.
Ooh, it’s hard on the man,
Now his part is over.
Now starts the craft of the father.

I know you have a little life in you yet.
I know you have a lot of strength left.
I know you have a little life in you yet.
I know you have a lot of strength left.

I should be crying, but I just can’t let it show.
I should be hoping, but I can’t stop thinking

Of all the things I should’ve said,
That I never said.
All the things we should’ve done,
That we never did.
All the things I should’ve given,
But I didn’t.

Oh, darling, make it go,
Make it go away.

Give me these moments back.
Give them back to me.
Give me that little kiss.
Give me your hand.

(I know you have a little life in you yet.
I know you have a lot of strength left.
I know you have a little life in you yet.
I know you have a lot of strength left.)

I should be crying, but I just can’t let it show.
I should be hoping, but I can’t stop thinking

Of all the things we should’ve said,
That were never said.
All the things we should’ve done,
That we never did.
All the things that you needed from me.
All the things that you wanted for me.
All the things that I should’ve given,
But I didn’t.

Oh, darling, make it go away.
Just make it go away now.

Don’t Look for Content Here

This combination is primo. My favorite is the one about the fur pillows. The bike stores one is pretty great, too.

***

In other news, the semester is almost over. I really hope this isn’t news to you. I’ve only announced it somewhat consistently this past week. Finals start Saturday. They end Tuesday.

In yet other news, I’m slowly coming to terms with some hard truths in my life. I wish my heart didn’t have to break.

It’s A Conspiracy

Everything is due December 8. Papers in all my English classes. I turned in some French assignments early today to get them out of the way.

Yes, of course all the professors got together and agreed to torture the student body the last two weeks of school instead of ending the semester at Thanksgiving like any humanitarian would.

Yes, I’m taking a little time to post a little more often here. I’m more content when I can see the words that represent the thoughts and feelings I’m trying to sort through.

Yes, as crazy as things will be, I agreed to a date on Saturday.

Yet, as crazy as things will be, you may have to wait until after finals for details.

Conspiracy, indeed.

I’m Putting off Writing for Some Reason

Yes, the photo is noisy, but that’s okay. Click the photo for a few more around Provo.

I’m exhausted, people. The semester’s over, and I’m glad. I’m also a little sad. I’ve had incredible instructors and some really great opportunities. But maybe I just need some time away from writing. At least at a computer. Typing and typing and typing and hoping I make sense, when all I really want to do is write for fun. Not that what I’ve turned in this semester wasn’t rewarding, because it was. And I love putting ideas together and having them make sense. And the feedback? Nothing like it.

Well, except for the papers I didn’t like writing. But I don’t care about those papers as much.

So, maybe I’m wrung a little dry.

It’s time for some recuperation.

I Must Still Need A Break, As This Is Not A Sunday Thought

Quote of the day:

“May, we are grown women. We do not need to be living with teenagers.”

Let me just say, when I stay out late, I have the good sense to stay out all night, or at least not to make any noise when I get home, or not to bring home someone to be crying at 4 am to her boyfriend and sleep on the not-your couch for her to smear her makeup or drool on (remember my drool issues?). And, also? at least I keep my mess confined to my half of the room. Yes, she’s sweet and nice and fun to talk to, and I can understand adolescent drama, but seriously. Remember the episode of Friends where Ross dates a model and she’s a complete slob? And they go to her place and Ross gets scared? And they start making out on the couch and something is moving inside an old bag of chips and Ross hits the bag repeatedly with a shoe? Or is it a bat? I don’t remember. And then they discover it’s actually her missing gerbil or hamster or similar rodent? Well, at least I don’t have to worry about that. My rabbits have some pretty good sense, too.

My mind is still a bit jumbly-wumbly from the trip. Still sorting through stuffs.

New York, I’ve missed you.

Introduction to the Rest of the Week

If you are reading this, it’s not because I’m back (even though I am). It’s because I’ve quite enjoyed not writing for a week, and I think it would be nice not writing for a little while longer.

If you are reading this, it’s not because I haven’t thought ahead (because I have).

You see, I have these friends who are pretty awesome writers. Their words are full of power and punch and are appropriately saccharine. That’s a good thing, because I really need to cut down on my sugar intake. Maybe the caffeine, too. Well … maybe not.

So, these pretty awesome writers who are my friends, I’ve asked them to take over my blog the rest of the week. They’re guest blogging! And this is the first time I’ve done this sort of thing, but this sort of thing is the sort of thing I’ve always wanted to do, and these friends, who are pretty awesome writers as well as pretty awesome friends, have agreed to appear on my blog.

Appear, like magic? I hesitate to say no. And yes just isn’t strong enough.

Wait until you get a load of this.

Wednesday, my friend, Becky, whom you all should know and love, will dazzle and entertain. And you’re going to want more. She can crank out just about anything about anything at any time. Her post will prove that; her post will chase doubt’s shadow away; her post is like high noon.

Thursday, my friend, Andrea, will captivate you with honest legerdemain. Her voice is so distinct and rife with her personality, you can’t help but feel you know her like she’s your best friend. I have the privilege of feeling this way all the time. How you read her is what she’s like in real life. No lie.

Friday, my friend, Alicia, will finish off the week with some signature Alicia. Her writing is otherworldly; I like where I go when I read her. Her style is commanding and raw, yet polished, and it effortlessly comes from a place I could only wish to reach in my wildest dreams. How does she do it?

Lest you think these claims are specious, read for yourself. Check out their blogs and peruse their archives. Then you’ll discover that these friends can write; they can write circles around me. They often do. Their friendship feeds their writing, as well as mine; you’ll understand why it’s impossible for us not to be friends. You’ll see what these friends can do is so much better, bigger, and bolder than magic.

Carvings

IMG_7547 by you.

I imagine myself with a great public,
Mother of a white Nike and several bald-eyed Apollos.
Instead, the dead injure me with attentions, and nothing
                 can happen.
The moon lays a hand on my forehead,
Blank-faced and mum as a nurse.

-From Small Hours, Sylvia Plath

Small Hours is one of Sylvia Plath’s transitional poems. Her imagery is typically her, her diction, her voice. Her personality, her essence really start to emerge in these poems, and the darkness and nuance that mark her poetry so distinctly show definite progress. It’s truly compelling. Also, you can sense she’s leaving one place – emotionally, psychologically – and heading to another. It’s hard to turn our heads away from this other place.

Photosynthesis

I’m going to be out of town for a while, and I’m not sure what kind of internet access I’ll have. The next seven posts over the next seven days will be photographs and some short thoughts. I’m pretty sure when I get back I’ll have a lot on my mind. I know lately I’ve been saying this quite frequently, and I think the break and isolation and time with my family will work wonders on my soul.

IMG_7434 by you.

Sunshine crawls through the boughs
Shadows fall
Beams strike leaves
Chlorophyll activates
ATP to ADP and all that
And then we have glucose
For food.
Nourishment.
Nursing.
Rockabye, baby