Ben cut his hair. He had to for "Anything Goes", and Zac will have to as well as soon as Beth finishes filming her movie. but I loved his hair. I even wrote a poem about it. The formatting probably won't show up, but here it is. It makes a lot of allusions to songs and plays, so it's a bit weird. I wonder what Ms. Sommer will think when I turn it in.
When Ben Cut his Hair
A Reactionary Poem
Stream of Consciousness
This title has three commas in it
It is just way ahead of its time
Highway 5
Wide expanse of blooming trees abound
We move so quickly,
And yet
We never get anywhere
The sweet smell of shampoo
Radiating from it,
His gray sweatshirt, is my pillow
I don’t like like him
I never did
Never think I did
So vanquish all doubt of that
My heart is ossified
For ever and ever
Oh, my iPod
The soul of the teenager, my life
You are dead.
There will be no reprieve
There will be no music to comfort
AllusionElisionConfusionCollusion
The music will not comfort
It shall haunt me forever
My heart, forevermore hold still
For ever and ever
What I loved has turned against me
He said himself they are of the same mold
Yin and yang
They are complete
Opposite
Take your mind off it
Think of something someone else
His better half?
Perhaps
I have a memory
It cleanses my misgivings
A reverie
I see his smiling face i
Float like seraphim
The sun whose rays are all ablaze
With everlasting glory
Does not deny his majesty…
But see his face before me
– Stop it
That’s PoeticPatheticPeripatetic
Quiet
I dust my shoulder of you!
You icy dame
That hammering there between the eyes
No, Woyzeck, no! Slow down!
hush___________________
Box little box
Containing four white points four small corners
I love him, but only on my own
Little bird, little bird please fly
Please go
Little bird, little bird and
Tell him so
Little bird, little box
Little box
Small box happy box calm box
Small box happy box calm box
Square bi Chinese symbol for earth
No box wrong box bad box
Small box happy box calm box
Four numbers in a box Cramer’s rule
Dizi
No box no flute no globs
Small box happy box calm box
Small box happy box calm box….
Where am I?
Yes. Here.
You are here still
I still believe
I know as long as I can keep believing,
I live
I live, love cannot die
For ever and ever
Though beards are shaved and hair
It is cut
You are still
I am left with your memory
It’s something-esque
So that's my poem.
I saw Mr. Sinaiko in Woyzeck a few days ago. I told him if he played a bad guy it would give me nightmares, but I haven't had any yet, thank goodness. It is kind of scarring to see someone you really respect play such an IMMORAL character. Immoral's probably not the correct word, but those of you who have seen the play would know that the Captain sees himself as a very virtuous person, but he really isn't.
Some people make great Fiyeros. Belgium would have. And now Francis Serpa would have. He was George Gibbs in Our Town by RVP.
I understood "The Impossible Dream" from Man of la Mancha. It's a really good song, but my version has a lot of skips in it.
That's it. ttyl!
4 comments:
I hope Ben never reads that poem. I'm sorry you have ipod withdrawals. I don't understand why you like the Pillowman so much if it is so disturbing. Oh well.
I'm sorry about saying you were weird. You're not weird. But you're right about everyone needing something to live for.
I posted on one of your old blogs. It's okay if you don't read it. I just was reading some of them and I wanted to get something out. I'm sorry if you feel like I've been pushing you toward Christianity. I'm always jumping ahead of God and I apologize. Gosh, you're right it's really easy to say personal stuff on this. Now you probably are convinced I'm trying to convert you. Well, I'm not. I'm just here to answer questions. All decisions, choices, beliefs are up to you.
It's okay, K. I was being overdramatic and I know you're not trying to convert me. You're making me aware of one path I can take to find sanctity. Sorry, you can tell I'm reading "Siddhartha." And I get an email everytime someone comments on my blog, so I did read it.
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