Ghost Writer

June 24, 2008 at 10:18 pm (4U, Poetry) (, , )

It’s the first of many poetry write-ups, this one. The poem I’d like to share with you today was written during the ten minutes immediately following my 4-unit English class today. The poem is a metaphor for superficiality; but even that is also a metaphor for something else…

Ghost Writer

In retrospect, his meaning was too shallow.
The real reason, the only reason he had
Was to satisfy himself in the eyes of others.
He didn’t want anything to do with it,
Really, if you ask him,
He’ll say he told you so.

She didn’t want anything to do with it either,
    (although she did seem fine when I asked,)
She just wanted to fit in,
Be like the rest of them. That life was
Never her life.

And then the sweetest taste of
Honey, on her lips and his,
Stealing away like the night, and their
Poetry – their poetry was not their own;

All anyone ever asked of them
Was their story, ripped and drawn out;
Until the final reckoning of the people
Reveals their mistakes, and forgives them.

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Sunday, Sunday… (ba da da, ba da da da)

June 22, 2008 at 1:32 pm (Life, Rant) (, , )

So it’s 1:22 PM on Sunday, and I’ve literally just woken up. Got a largely superficial phonecall at 9:06, and then decided to go back to sleep. XD

I’ve been thinking about a few things recently, like the meaning of life and such, and I’m appalled to find that there are still so many naturalists around today – that is, they think that the only purpose in life is to reproduce and then die. It’s horrible.

The meaning of life, to me, is something that we can’t really put a value on, because it’s different for everyone else – I would agree that the purpose of existence is to reproduce and die, but that’s not the answer to why, it’s the answer to what.

If you ask me what my meaning of life is, I will direct you to listen to some Beethoven or Tchaikovsky, and maybe tell you to go to an art gallery and appreciate what’s there. The meaning of life is basically, then, to make life better and more beautiful than it already is. Modernists will argue with me, believing that “art and literature reached its peak in that age”, but I am a member of the infamous Generation Y, that is, I am a post-modernist. We acknowledge that the world is chaotic (to use a blander vocabulary I’d say it was completely fucked), and then we find the beauty in that chaos and bring it out for the world to see.

There’s an interesting rant for you, thanks for reading.

And as always, keep wandering.

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