pity this busy monster,manunkind, not.

This schizophrenic machine played Roxette's "You can't put your arms around what's already gone" and followed it up with Boston's "We can make it".

Make up your feathered mind, bit-box!

Anyway. tiassa was talking about bad teenage poetry in the context of one of those regular rant subjects. (Well, poetry and stuff like this, for sort of useful cognitive dissonance.) Which got me on poetry a bit. (Why is it that reading badly composed free verse inspires in me an urge to write poems structured according to Very Strict Rules? Is this just a bit of really unsubtle contraritude?)
( Sanity cut for *strictly structured* angst poetry. )

So. Thing. I have committed pantoum.

. . . that was incongruous.

I was discussing pattern poetry with keeps and oneironaut (and lstone some, but I think he was ignoring the literary drivel ;) ) and mentioned sestinas (which is the other form of pattern poem I know). I aimed them at my favorite sestina of mine (I write them occasionally, but I find them wicked difficult), which is actually deviant from form in a way that I happen to find elegant.

I did a google search for "sestina origin" to see if I could find out where the form comes from (according to this thing called the Poetry Parlor, sestinas are from the eleventh to thirteenth century French troubadours; pantoums, on the other hand, originate from Malaysia).

The second hit is . . . the Broken Sestina. Which is the poem I aimed them at in the first place. (The Poetry Parlor was something like tenth.)

I should try to learn a new form. . . .

There's something . . .

. . . really, really . . . something . . . .

About feeling that one has a life that goes in broad, repeating patterns, later ones being more so than previous ones . . . .

And realizing that the places that things are ripping apart and dissolving right about now have a parallel back at the beginning (This is where we got the job, so this is. . . the beginning) in a relationship that . . . ended very badly . . . and which I only actually got over at the point at which I started the relationship that's . . . currently . . .

. . .

Addendum: eaten half a bowl of cereal without having the emotional distress surges that make me try throwing it back up. need to take vitamins. throwing things at the CD changer. current mood: numb.

Review of The Tuxedo

( I don't think it's a spoiler, but hey. )

The previews included something called Shaolin Soccer, which has Kevin all wound up with enthusiasm. Talk about a movie tailormade to his enthusiasms.

Went out to dinner. Had teriyaki stirfry. Ate all the meat even though I didn't really want to. Too stressed to be hungry, dealing with reality making me dizzy and faintly queasy. (He, she, it is nauseized.)

What's the word for phobia of people? Not crowds, just . . . random people . . . ? I never realized how much energy I usually put into whatever structures I have in my head that moderate how disabling that sort of thing can be before I ran out of energy to power them. . . .