Polter-Cow (spectralbovine) wrote,

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I Think That I Shall Never See

Wire fans! You really need to watch 100 Greatest Wire Quotes in 10 Minutes. It doesn't hit every moment I would, but, holy shit, it makes me want to rewatch the whole series RIGHT NOW. It really is a fantastic show. I'm sorry, but I've become one of Those People. You really need to watch The Wire, you guys. But don't watch that video if you haven't, obvs. Full of spoilers!

Instead, you can watch the Galactica get repossessed. It's pretty hilarious.

You want to hear something weird? I got a roll of quarters from the bank.

One of the quarters...was a franc.

A 1972 French franc.

What the hell.

This post is inspired by musesfool's love of poetry. I thought that I would share my Bad High School Poetry. Which led to Bad College Poetry. It is pretty terrible, you guys. Even though some of it was published in my high school literary magazine. And there are some good lines here and there. I find them a little endearing now, since they're the only poems I've ever written. But overall, they're pretty awful poems. Enjoy. For the lulz.

I think this was the first poem I ever wrote because it was for a contest, and I rarely wrote anything unless it was for a contest. I wrote some fantasy stories for some contests that I wish I could find but are probably lost forever. One of them had a plot twist that someone was not a master wizard but a master warlock. Zounds! Anyway, the theme for the "Reflections" Cultural Arts contest was "It Could Happen." I don't know why I wrote this poem. Possibly because I was sitting on a sidewalk and saw a caterpillar and had a lot of Deep Thoughts. I was a sophomore, according to my records (man, I am glad I have records), and I cranked this out in three hours. As you will see, I had probably just discovered the Microsoft Word Thesaurus feature.


I sit on the sidewalk.
I see the caterpillar
     inching its way along the sidewalk.
The diminutive grub, it
     sheds its skin, it
     is splotched with color, it
Is smashed!
Oh, how so easily smashed!
A great shoe comes from
     nowhere and extinguishes the
     ugly creature.
This ugly creature, this
     anomaly that could have
     changed its ways if given
It would spin a cocoon,
     a covering to envelop
     its Hideousness.
The cocoon possesses
     magical properties.
Why, yes, it does!
Enters the cocoon does
     the caterpillar,
And it changes,
Ugly fades away
     to reveal inner
The fly of butter,
     no stranger to the rainbow,
Gone is the homely
Gone is the
     writhing whelp, the
     molting mutation, the
     open oddity.
In its place, the
The colorful creature, it
     flies swiftly, it
     visits the flowers gracefully, it
Is adored!
Oh, how so easily adored!
The butterfly flutters,
     spreading joy
     wherever it goes.
I sit on the sidewalk.
And think.
If a being of Ugliness can
     become a being of
Might not the Evil inside
     men become
The Evil being the
Sheds its skin, for
     Evil has many forms.
Splotched, for
     how ugly is Evil!
True Evil, the epitome of
The human body, the
     everlasting cocoon.
The cocoon in life
     cannot hold Evil inside.
It shines through,
Oh, so Dark!
But, I wonder,
     can the cocoon
     contain the Evil?
Can it?
And serve the same
     purpose as the
Can the Evil
Become Good?
Inside the caterpillar there
     was a tiny bit of
The cocoon extracted
Inside each human soul there
     is bound to be
Can the human body extract
Can it cleanse the
I sit on the sidewalk.
A butterfly flutters past
     my nose
While a caterpillar slithers past
     my feet.
I look.
How different, these
     two beings, yet
     so alike.
Two in one,
     one as two.
Beauty from Ugliness.
Grace from Gaucheness.
Flight from Footlessness.
A being created from
     its opposite.
If Nature can do that,
     can perform such a
Might not Evil
     become Good?
I sit on the sidewalk.
And think
     It could happen.

This poem is just silly. And it is pretty clearly inspired by my first day at junior high. But it's only semi-autobiographical. Wow, according to my records, I am totally wrong. I wrote this poem junior year, and it was about the addition of freshmen to our campus. And it should be noted that the seniors wore shirts with the Superman S on them. When I submitted it to our literary magazine—which judged pieces anonymously—this girl I had a huge crush on commented, "I have a lot of respect for whoever wrote this poem." And I was sitting right by her.

First Day

bell rings
walk walk walk walk walk walk walk walk
theres my locker
9-12-41 no thats not it
12-41-9 yeah thats it
walk walk walk walk walk walk walk walk
first period room 230 where is that
whoa this school is big
walk walk walk walk walk walk walk walk
hey is that bill
hey bill
ow the wall hurts my nose
no bill im fine
walk walk walk walk walk walk walk walk
oh look theres a big tall guy in a superman shirt
he can tell me where to go
where is room 230 i ask
oh he says its right over there
and points but i dont see the grin on his face
thanks i say and walk walk walk but i dont see him laughing
276 274 272 theres no 230 here
and why is that bell ringing again
where is everyone
oh ill never find room 230
wait theres a lady over there
she doesnt have a superman shirt
but she has a tag that says teacher
uh excuse me where is 230
its right over there she says
and i see a grin but its not like the superman grin
thanks i say and she doesnt do a superman laugh
i go where she points
walk walk walk walk walk walk walk walk
gosh this school is big
walk walk walk walk walk walk walk walk
yup it says 230
and i go in

oh gosh theres that bell again
and now where is room 2026
walk walk walk walk walk walk walk walk
oh look its superman again
where is room 2026 i ask
oh he says its right
but he doesnt finish
because i punch him in the stomach
and it feels good to be mad
but i think superman is mad too
run run run run run run run run

This poem came from one of my most memorable writing experiences. It was senior year (I guess I could only write one poem a year?). I was lying in bed around midnight, and I was hit with INSPIRATION, and I ran downstairs to get a pen and a Thorazine notepad, and then I ran back upstairs and went into the bathroom to write on the counter. The words just poured out. I must have thought I was being really clever with all those rhymes...


say nothing
for you have nothing to say
neither do I
say nothing
say I
stare into my eyes
'tis the choice wise
you must realize
the world must stand still
yes it will yes it will
the sound it must kill
let us stand here in peace
let the tumult decrease
let all things cease
the downfall of nations
keen machinations
hush I say
'tis the end of the day
emotions you see
in reality you do not
see them cloaked in the words
deep within are submerged
without sound they have surged
in my face in your face
in the angle of your grin
depict this depict that
depict the world therein
useless is the voice
holy are the mute
live by the proverb
which none can refute

I didn't write another poem until January 29, 2001, my sophomore year at Rice. It was shortly after I started my first online diary, and I was walking back from biochemistry class, and I was hit with INSPIRATION, and I had a place to put my words. Yes, I posted bad poetry in my online diary. I was such a cliché.

Head in the Clouds

sometimes i look up at the clouds and think
what's up there?
white clouds against the blue background
sheeps among the herd
blueness punctuated by white
a landscape, a cloudscape if you will
that can be breathtaking if seen from a window seat
it's like Lando Calrissian and his cloud city
or a sheet to cover the city as it sleeps
but it's all white up there
and blue

but with all the white there's something else
a blinding ball of light
traditionally yellow but usually seeming white
much whiter than the rest
it shines
like a giant light bulb in the sky
a perpetual idea, an ode to invention
you have to cover your eyes, it's so bright
there all the clouds and all that blue
white fluffs, ephemeral
that can dissipate at the drop of a hat or a lightning bolt
and that blue ocean in which they sail without sails
but there's that sun up there
lighting their way
it's a beautiful day outside with those clouds
but when you look up, what do you see?
that blinding ball of light, my friend
what do you remember?
you had to shield your eyes from its brilliance
among those clouds, it stands out, and let me tell you:

i want to be that sun

On March 13, 2001, I had another flash of INSPIRATION, this time during my Generation X in Literature and Culture class. I had been reading a lot about Columbine and school shootings. Also, I'd been reading a lot of Blake.

Sons of the Apocalypse

I am a limitless, impermeable being
My shape and form are of no consequence to you
Nor is my color
My age, meaningless
Honor me
Look upon what you have wrought
See the lives that you have bought
What you have done shall live on
In infamy
As shall you
They won't let it die
Although you let them die
I am a crafty one, a clever one
Aren't I?
Just like your father
Had you a father? I forget
My omniscience sometimes fails me
Feel the white cross
When I speak to you, look at me
You see what not looking does, do you not?
I have a mission
For you
I am not welcome on the material plane
And although you have left it
And seem quite unwelcome
My will transcends their own
They have no will but that I say
The time for my apocalypse is now
You are my instrument
Go now
Don your youthful raiment
As I send you out
As wolves among the sheep
Reign your terror
Embrace your destruction
Release your wrath
And all the while

I have not written a poem since. For obvious reasons. The college ones are certainly better than the high school ones, but they're still rather...er, I'll stick to writing prose.
Tags: battlestar galactica, girls, high school, personal, pimpings, poetry, rice, the wire, things i don't need to see, writing
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