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Our power was out, I got bored. Here:

~

Paint the Watches, We're Diving Headfirst Into Nowhere

I want to be
transparent;
I don't want to think about
who I've been, who I'll become
who I am now
Give me stories,
stuff me with beauty
subtle lines on rice paper
one on top of the other
transparent as glass
as white petals
in the moonlighdt.

I don't want to stagger
under the weight of
butterflies, memories;
I want to let them go
not bear them, but become them
fly on gossamer wings
needing nothing, air like silk,
the kiss of sunlight.

I don't want to hear the epitaph
"Time fixes all"
I want to be outside of time
Waving its ship goodbye
from the stolen liferaft
I want to be sunlight on the water
the clouds sailing by every morn.
Is a person like the sun,
the moon, the stars?
A cycle--east to west
crescent, half, full, half, crescent,
begin anew
changing from birth to death, burning up
to emerge like the phoenix from the wreckage?

How can we, the bewildered,
the beleaguered,
the human
ever begin to understand each other
if we keep changing
if we never know who we are?
Let's never change
be eternal, not autumnal
Instead of gritting our teeth through the storm
Let's sway, ben with the wind like the trees
Let it all pass
It'll be all right
We'll live another day to catch the fallen petals
and glitter like uncut gems.

~

Inspired when I figured out that I can't write Ametris anymore because I, myself, have changed. Doesn't mean I won't try, though. Stories are malleable.
Symbolism: Lines on rice paper, one on top of the other, is from White Oleander--put them all together and the pieces make sense. Butterflies are also from White Oleander, Astrid keeps the little memories of her deceased foster mother Claire, as well as Claire's stories of her now-dead past, with her, but feels overwhelmed, describing the memories as pale butterflies that can flit away easily if she lets them. Butterflies therefore symbolize small memories for her, like Claire's perfume, her tiny teeth, her irrational fears, her grandmother's pearls. Etc. The phoenix is also stolen from White Oleander. You guys should read that ASAP.

~

The Hypocrisy of Stolen Words but Never Stolen Thoughts

Buy a magazine subscription, Contemporary Literature
Fill the front room with books, make a library
Join book clubs, chat about King and Shakespeare
Dress like an artist, reading glasses,
"They're fake."
Pore over the pages, highlight mistakes
Criticize, aren't you so clever,
Pin words to more words, memos held by thumbtacks stabbed through pages, in a New York Times review
Write poem after poem, stuff it full of words
Words and more words
You LOVE them, simply LOVE them
These days, words mean nothing
what is love?
A word?
A feeling?
You LOVE the words,
the books,
the stories,
But did you ever lose yourself between the lines
Did you ever sleep with the battered dog-eared paperback
under your pillow
held to your chest
Did you ever pack it in the suitcase
"Grab in case of fire"
Did you ever hear the music between the pages
Did you ever see the world through a haze
ink on rice paper?
No;
you read them all,
but you never understood.

~

Rantish. If this describes you in any way, please burst into tears and leave the room. Kthnx.
Symbolism: "They're fake." is from FLCL, Ep. 3, where Ninamori makes a huge deal about no one but Takkun seeing her in her glasses, and at the end she wears them to school, looks at Takkun's confused look and says, "They're fake." That's FLCL for ya.... It's short, 6 eps, if you haven't watched it you should, you'll get a fresh supply of awesome drilled into your brain.

Anyway, here are the Eduardo Blackout Poems for you guys. Here's hoping I stop writing right after reading White Oleander. cheese_whine

Hey! I am Takkun. ^^

I found a typo.



You forgot the 'd' in bend.


I am sad. The second one made me so.

I believe, I like the second one better. It seemed more together.. I am at a loss of words really..

But I do like the titles, very much so.

The first one seemed the most Remy-esque.

Never stop writing. And White Oleander is brilliant, beautiful. The best book I've ever read. The titles made me think of song titles. I loved them, Kirby-chan. They're a bit unlike your other Tak-esque poems, but I can't put my finger on why. Maybe 'cause I'm so tired. heart They're good now. I'll come read them again when I'm not tired, and they'll still be brilliant.

People seem to be misinterpreting the second one a lot O.o it's reserved for people that say JKRowling can't write, Chris Paolini's a cultural revolutionary, Shakespeare's the best and forget the rest, etc. NOt that Shakespeare isn't awesome, jsut that they never read anyone else from that era. Cliches like that is what I was ranting at. People that don't appreciate the stories, just the mistakes.

And thank you, and thank you. And you're right, Voxxx, it does seem kinda different. Hopefully I'm emerging from the shadow of Rem's writing and into my own style...mine have been like hers a bunch lately. Oh well. White Oleander 4evr.

.....that's not...waht it meant.

I was ranting at stupid peopel who don't know anything. No one here counts. ):

Oh, so that's why you're always ranting at me. scream


I liked the second one. FLCL was messed up. blaugh