haven 4x08

Nov. 2nd, 2013 07:30 pm
dahlia_moon: (Default)
Overall, I thought this was a much better ep than "Lay Me Down", although that's not saying much because I still think everyone has been so wildly out of character so far this season. But I guess I should let it go because it is a new season and things have changed, and I can't expect them to remain the same characters. I acknowledge that, but I could still do without the stupidity that's been plaguing some of the characters.

The trouble of the week was very cool, though. Terrifying, but cool. And I love that Audrey/Nathan have consummated their relationship. Yayyy! After three long seasons of UST, it's about damn time. And 'm so happy about Duke/Jennifer too.

Still sad about Jordan being gone. Vince and Dave continue to be the best thing about Haven, imho. I wish we could find out if they're Troubled or not.

I'm behind on Elementary and Castle, and might not get caught up until next week. The last two weeks have just been essays, essays, essays, midterm, and one more essay due this Tuesday so that's all my head could handle.


I was the only younger looking person at the Q&A at the O'Brien Poetry Event Friday featuring Charles Simic. It made me feel extremely self-conscious, but I got through it.

The bad news is I left before I got an autograph, but it's okay. It was just great seeing him speak and read. I brought a new book of his poetry at Longfellows, which is what screwed me from buying a pre-autographed book they had at the event. I guess I'll just chalk this up to a learning experience, and not berate myself.

a poem )
dahlia_moon: (sheriff graham)

Charles Simic, the 2007 poet laureate (and one of my all-time favorite poets) will be at the O'Brien Poetry Event my university holds every year.

And this year it falls on a Friday (next Friday), technically my free day were it not for my part time job.

But that's okay, I'll just come into work early and be out before the event starts--my shift is only for three hours on Fridays.

Now, the more pertinent question: what books of his should I buy?

And will I get the courage to get the book signed by him??

(I'd like his autograph, but that'd have to involve me actually interacting with him. And I am not made for such things.)

But I am so excited!!! And I almost passed out from excitement when I saw the flyer.
dahlia_moon: (liz x max - snowing!)
"Astrophil and Stella 1"
Sir Philip Sidney

Loving in truth, and fain in verse my love to show,
That she, dear she, might take some pleasure of my pain,
Pleasure might cause her read, reading might make her know,
Knowledge might pity win, and pity grace obtain,—
I sought fit words to paint the blackest face of woe;
Studying inventions fine, her wits to entertain,
Oft turning others' leaves to see if thence would flow
Some fresh and fruitful showers upon my sun-burned brain.
But words came halting forth, wanting invention's stay;
Invention, nature's child, fled step-dame Study's blows,
And others' feet still seemed but strangers in my way.
Thus, great with child to speak, and helpless in my throes,
Biting my truant pen, beating myself for spite,
Fool, said my muse to me, look in thy heart and write.


It's this journal's seventh anniversary, today, btw. Wow. I can't believe I've been on Livejournal since '05. It seems so far away.  
dahlia_moon: (Default)
"What Kind of Times Are These"
Adrienne Rich
There's a place between two stands of trees where the grass grows uphill
and the old revolutionary road breaks off into shadows
near a meeting-house abandoned by the persecuted
who disappeared into those shadows.
I've walked there picking mushrooms at the edge of dread, but don't be fooled
this isn't a Russian poem, this is not somewhere else but here,
our country moving closer to its own truth and dread,
its own ways of making people disappear.
I won't tell you where the place is, the dark mesh of the woods
meeting the unmarked strip of light—
ghost-ridden crossroads, leafmold paradise:
I know already who wants to buy it, sell it, make it disappear.
And I won't tell you where it is, so why do I tell you
anything? Because you still listen, because in times like these
to have you listen at all, it's necessary
to talk about trees. 
dahlia_moon: (batgirl!steph)
"The Truth the Dead Know"
Anne Sexton

For my Mother, born March 1902, died March 1959
and my Father, born February 1900, died June 1959

Gone, I say and walk from church,
refusing the stiff procession to the grave,
letting the dead ride alone in the hearse.
It is June. I am tired of being brave.

We drive to the Cape. I cultivate
myself where the sun gutters from the sky,
where the sea swings in like an iron gate
and we touch. In another country people die.

My darling, the wind falls in like stones
from the whitehearted water and when we touch
we enter touch entirely. No one's alone.
Men kill for this, or for as much.

And what of the dead? They lie without shoes
in the stone boats. They are more like stone
than the sea would be if it stopped. They refuse
to be blessed, throat, eye and knucklebone.
dahlia_moon: (teddy bear)
"The Madness Vase" 
Andrea Gibson

The nutritionist said I should eat root vegetables.
Said if I could get down thirteen turnips a day
I would be grounded, rooted.
Said my head would not keep flying away
to where the darkness lives.

The psychic told me my heart carries too much weight.
Said for twenty dollars she’d tell me what to do.
I handed her the twenty. She said, “Stop worrying, darling.
You will find a good man soon.”

The first psycho therapist told me to spend
three hours each day sitting in a dark closet
with my eyes closed and ears plugged.
I tried it once but couldn’t stop thinking
about how gay it was to be sitting in the closet.

The yogi told me to stretch everything but the truth.
Said to focus on the out breath. Said everyone finds happiness
when they care more about what they give
than what they get.

The pharmacist said, “Lexapro, Lamicatl, Lithium, Xanax.”

The doctor said an anti-psychotic might help me
forget what the trauma said.

The trauma said, “Don’t write these poems.
Nobody wants to hear you cry
about the grief inside your bones.”

But my bones said, “Tyler Clementi jumped
from the George Washington Bridge
into the Hudson River convinced
he was entirely alone.”

My bones said, “Write the poems.”


Welp...that's it. Rejected for the second time for the Nursing program. What the hell is wrong with me? Why won't they accept me?


Mar. 28th, 2012 02:28 pm
dahlia_moon: (Sirius from HP- I'm Sorry I Can't Hear Y)
Get ready guys: April is coming and I'm gonna try to post a poem every day in celebration of National Poetry Month. It's a very exciting time around here.

It's gonna come a little sooner than previous years. So to start off NPM, here have a poem:

Politeness by A. A. Milne

If people ask me,
I always tell them:
"Quite well, thank you, I'm very glad to say."
If people ask me,
I always answer,
"Quite well, thank you, how are you to-day?"
I always answer,
I always tell them,
If they ask me

I wish

That they wouldn't.

- from When We Were Very Young, 1924

(Also, lost my draft review of Fables on here that I was working on. Ah well. I have scribbled down the gist of it in my notebook when I wasn't paying attention in class so I have something to start from again, but man does this suck. Fables is a new comic that has me obsessed and staying up until all hours of the night/day reading it.)
dahlia_moon: (Default)
For some days now I had a hankering to eat eggs for breakfast. The thing is I avoid eggs as much as possible so that was definitely weird and out of the blue. I'm not allergic to eggs but once when I was really, really young I got a cold and someone told my mother that she should feed me raw eggs to starve it off. Well, there is my mother, young and naive, who heeds this advice and puts in raw eggs in my bottle. Well, I took just one sip and promptly threw up. And ever since then I couldn't look at eggs without feeling like I was going to vomit.

That's apparently over. Mom showed me how to make an omelette and I had some good eggs for breakfast today. I think I love omelettes the best because there's no yolk (or whatever the yellow part is called when you hard-boil an egg and there's the white part and the yellow part, as opposed to an omelette - which is all yellow), which I hate because I tried to eat it before to get over my aversion to eggs...and it didn't work.

I just fried it in some oil and put sour cream on top after it was done and it was very delicious.

So now the plan is to spruce it up and have it in different ways from now on. This handy link for cooking different omelettes looks interesting.

So, yeah, if anyone of you have awesome ways to eat an omelette other than just break egg, cook it, and throw it on a plate, I'm all ears.


"Love Poem"
Vicki Feaver

Sharing one umbrella,
We have to hold each other,
Round the waist to keep together,
You ask me why I'm smiling-
It's because I'm thinking,
I want it to rain forever.
dahlia_moon: (Default)
Pat Mora

My Spanish isn't enough.
I remember how I'd smile
listening to my little ones,
understanding every word they'd say,
their jokes, their songs, their plots.
Vamos a pedirle dulces a mama. Vamos.
But that was in Mexico.
Now my children go to American high schools.
They speak English. At night they sit around
the kitchen table, laugh with one another.
I stand by the stove and feel dumb, alone.
I bought a book to learn English.
My husband frowned, drank more beer.
My oldest said, "Mama, he doesn't want you
to be smarter than he is." I'm forty,
embarrassed at mispronouncing words,
embarrassed at the laughter of my children,
the grocer, the mailman. Sometimes I take
my English book and lock myself in the bathroom,
say the thick words softly,
for if I stop trying, I will be deaf
when my children need my help.
dahlia_moon: (Default)
Anis Mojgani

let us take a sack of spray paint and spray paint over the paintings
let us dance through Paris
kiss in the shadow of the Louvre
crawl inside its windows
scrawl manifestos over the canvases
write Morse code on the sculptures
roll a sleeping bag on the floor to sleep inside of
tell one another a story by flashlight
unearth everything from before
bury each other inside the other
feed grapes to the ants
light fireworks in the fists of sleeping kings
kill a monarch
break back outside, find a world to do all these same things to, up, and upon, against break the bricks
climb over them
and when the sirens scream, laugh loud

hold my hand
and run fast

run through these streets with me with a bunch of bottles
a bucket of gasoline, a mouthful of matches
a pocketful of paintings and a fresh-faced batch of policemen to chase the fires we're lighting
laugh on a shoulder of gold

and I thought that the museums were cemeteries where the dead pay the walls to hold what we have
so we can walk through what we once were
where children take their skulls to turn into gardens
to pluck for forefathers and farther stars
that on some nights resemble an armless mother praying for her arms to return

every tooth we tear from our jaw
to fling at the black-gloved riot soldiers as another shadow we are trying to lose
so every giggle is filled with lust
let us laugh this night away and I will fuck you like you were a prayer
I could save me by having my mouth around you
and I will hold you afterwards like
you were the pulpit and I was the sky
and this love that danced between that hardness
was a telephone line of holiness that those two things spoke through

take me into your heart like I was a saint
and you were a face of forgiveness
blooming in a valley destined to sink further

be a river with me
be the storm
the bend in the path
the front porch
the heat in the South
be a boot full of banjo strings
a fistful of written songs
a mouthful of chocolate dust
when they come to take us, stab them between the eyes
do not take your hand from around mine
make a fist with the other and punch spines like guilt
spit, sweat, kiss them like a grandmother
howl open-mouthed, terror love-filled
and when they come to cut our hair
and ask to hear penance come from inside of us
say with me loud and trembling but loud and clear

I have already emptied myself
I kissed regret goodbye
took the hands of another backwards angel and rode backwards into the rain
when the hangman of morrow comes to hang the sun in its daily execution
say this with me:

Sarah, we are apples
our love is an arrow
I'm unbuttoning my shirt
painting the circle over my heart
please, just shoot straight

And here is the author performing the poem. His voice is *so* enchanting.


And found this HP meme while journal-hopping.

[ ] You've never done illegal drugs
[ ] You have a lot of friends
[ ] You get along with everyone
[x] You haven't made fun of someone for at least two months
[ ] You love soccer
[ ] You love baseball
[x] You're into writing and art
[ ] Favourite music genre is pop rock
[x] You believe in "innocent until proven guilty" theory
[ ] One of your favourite colours is red or gold
[x] You get good grades at school
[ ] One of the worst things you can do is lie
[ ] You plan on going to college/university
Total: 4

Read more... )

RESULT: Ravenclaw
dahlia_moon: (Default)
"Luck in Sarajevo"
Izet Sarajlić

In Sarajevo
in the spring of 1992,
everything is possible:

you go to stand in a bread line
and end up in an emergency room
with your leg amputated.

Afterwards, you still maintain
that you were very lucky.

translated from Serbo-Croat by Charles Simic
dahlia_moon: (Katara - Hearts)
Happy April Fool's Day! And National Poetry Month!

If you've hung around here for more than a year, you already probably know I like to (try) to post one poem a day for the entire month of April. (I say try because I've never actually posted a poem for EACH day - more like the majority of them.) And it looks like this year, I won't reach that milestone either because I'm totally not prepared for April or for posting one poem every day. (I'm never prepared for anything, really...)

So this year, you'll get a poem a day when I remember/stumble upon a poem by chance (or find some of those other poems I stumbled on and never posted for the prior National Poetry months). It's really the most I can offer at this point. :D

"The Planned Child"
Sharon Olds

I hated the fact that they had planned me, she had taken
a cardboard out of his shirt from the laundry
as if sliding the backbone up out of his body,
and made a chart of the month and put
her temperature on it, rising and falling,
to know the day to make me - I would have
liked to have been conceived in heat,
in haste, by mistake, in love, in sex,
not on cardboard, the little x on the
rising line that did not fall again.

But when a friend was pouring wine
and said that I seem to have been a child who had been wanted,
I took the wine against my lips
as if my mouth were moving along
that valved wall in my mother's body, she was
bearing down, and then breathing from the mask, and then
bearing down, pressing me out into
the world that was not enough for her without me in it,
not the moon, the sun, Orion
cartwheeling across the dark, not
the earth, the sea - none of it
was enough, for her, without me.
dahlia_moon: (Helga/Arnold)

Life in a Jar

Nothing is clear to a firefly stuck in a jar,
nothing is clear to a human stuck on the earth
with no wings to fly or explore. 

So, the firefly flutters about the jar,
and the humans flutter about the earth,
with their weird unintentional lies
and theories,
and paranoid explanations,
for everything right and wrong.

Science is a beautiful thing,
for the firefly to get out of that jar,
but be forewarned to not suffocate art and imagination;
just like holes in the jar sustain the firefly,
so do the holes sustain the human race.


dahlia_moon: (Default)
It's very hot over here- ninety degrees. I hate hot.


words come out of your mouth,
what do they say?
I have no clue. 

all I can do is gaze
at the depths of your eyes
and the smirking curves of your lips

you seem happy
and I seem giddy
is it because of one another
that we're happy?

seems strange
that you can make me feel this way
and that I have the same effect on you

feelings, like words,
are fleeting
they flutter from one heart to another

makes a person so unsure of them
it's frightening to experience
but then you stop talking
do you know my thoughts? 

and you gaze longingly at me,
and your eyes, which have words of their own
tell me to trust
and not be afraid

they have a silent language
and are unlike words
shoving and obtrusive 

they're sincere and genuine
and trustworthy to the brim
and come from the heart

the heart and the eyes have a language
all their own
and genuine

they touch your heart
gently and shyly
and bring you into paradise


dahlia_moon: (Sailor Moon)

The World

your fingers touch the cold snow
chills sweep into them

and make you shiver

the moon shines brightly above

but, oh, it looks so far away

the light from it does not reach you

the stars hang, twinkling
as if minding their own business

and you wonder, briefly, what it'd be like to hang next to them

but you abandon such silly thoughts
for fantasies like these

make you seem as lonely as the stars

the loneliness creeps up into you like the cold snow
you hate the coldness of the snow

of the loneliness

and makes you wonder,

how do the stars keep each other warm

on such cold nights?


 And here's a petition in case some people want the Inuyasha anime to come back: Online petition - Inuyasha Anime Continuation
dahlia_moon: (Satoshi)

If I were to touch the moon,
My lips would be filled with golden magic
And the kiss they'd place upon you
Would fill you with magic
So, you'd be able to touch the stars and universe with me
And we'd create a little paradise
of our own
from the dust of the black soot
that fills infinity
and cloaks you and me

our paradise would be in the skies
and would fill the whole universe
from corner to corner
but we'd be hidden in the protecting arms of heaven and earth
so no one could see us and persuade us
we'd make our own paradise
way up in the clouds
and, boy, I'd stay happy
with you
tucked away in the farthest corners of the universe
looking in, but never getting gazed at back


dahlia_moon: (King Touya + Priest Yukito)
It's all right
I'm alive again
No reason to feel guilt
No reason to carry on this sorrow

I'll be all right from now on
I'll survive
So, please move on from this pain
Don't worry about me

Time will heal all
I'll feel my heart again
I'll get through the storm
I'll learn to fly

The sun will rise
But the anguish I feel will subside
I'll learn to love again
I'll feel 

Don't worry
Move on and forget about me
Forgive for the stupid things our hearts do
Lead on as if it never happened

But don't forget about me
Don't forget what your heart wants to desperately bury
Satisify yourself with the future
Don't look back at the past

Learn to let go
And move on
Live for you
And live for me
dahlia_moon: (Van and Hitomi)
I don't know the meaning of 'I'm sorry,' anymore
I don't know how to repent for my sins
My mind keeps running in circles
Around and around
The same concept of you forgiving and me screwing

I feel guilt
And I promise to abolish my wrong doings
But there always happens to be a next time
And I'm never afraid of what might happen,
If one day, you aren't there to forgive

It would be my fault, I would know
But I would be angry at you
Because you should know,
That the things I do
Are never gonna be perfect
And I need you there
Because you're as perfect as an angel

And, somehow, I keep thinking
With you around,
I might get to Heaven

dahlia_moon: (Default)
Shock waves

electricity runs through me
my human body tingles with anticipation
every nerve and muscle wants to burst

i've never felt like this before
it's all so new
and excruciatingly frightening

i've seen the dark side of the moon
and the bright side of you
but i've never felt like this before

i'm falling for you
but you're a black chasm
and i  keep falling

i keep falling
for you...
for you...


dahlia_moon: (Default)

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