words of Black and Red.
its totally hilarious when robin (-ahem- the almighty robin) uses all the vocab in the world to show that he isnt smart when the vocab in itself proves otherwise. i think its called dramatic irony. but even without it, he's still damn funny. and that's when 'lol' and 'rofl' start regainng its actual meaning.
anyways, here it is, his lordship's handiwork -
I've been doing the narcissictic thing by looking through my own blog archives, and I all I see were 1) virulent rants about things not many people care about 2) Whining 3) attacks on people 4) personal stuff. Intelligence, however, is conspicuously missing. There doesn't appear to be one iota of grey matter on this blog, and that is an appaling thing. I mean I know I'm dumb but I at least want to keep up a veneer of semi-intelligence. As if to bring the point closer home, I just read one of those blogs that seems to be put on this earth to make people like me feel inferior. You know, one of those totally cheem blogs replete with complex stuff about the social construct and the basis of existence that confounds laymen like me but is in all probability totally comprehensible to the blogger? Ya that type.
So I decided to up the cheemness quotient on this blog. Lets start by placing an incomprehensible pretentious Sylvia Plath poem and then going all orgasmically rapturous about it!
The Munich Mannequins
Perfection is terrible, it cannot have children.
Cold as snow breath, it tamps the womb
Where the yew trees blow like hydras,
The tree of life and the tree of life
Unloosing their moons, month after month, to no purpose.
The blood flood is the flood of love,
The absolute sacrifice.
It means: no more idols but me,
Me and you.
So, in their sulfur loveliness, in their smiles
These mannequins lean tonight
In Munich, morgue between Paris and Rome,
Naked and bald in their furs,
Orange lollies on silver sticks,
Intolerable, without minds.
The snow drops its pieces of darkness,
Nobody's about. In the hotels
Hands will be opening doors and setting
Down shoes for a polish of carbon
Into which broad toes will go tomorrow.
O the domesticity of these windows,
The baby lace, the green-leaved confectionery,
The thick Germans slumbering in their bottomless Stolz.
And the black phones on hooks
Glittering
Glittering and digesting
Voicelessness. The snow has no voice
Oh everytime I read that poem I feel like an icecube! All cloistered in my coldness and yet just WAITING to be burnt to a more miscible, swimming form that is in utter consonance with the ebb and flow of humanity's inexorably spiralling path towards a tommorow with rainbows and jellyfishes and car-crashes! Oh the beauty! The wretched, soul-destroying, enervating, all-consuming beauty! I wanna bone Plath!
Ok I shall go on to write about the MEANING OF LIFE ITSELF AND HUMANITY'S PLACE IN AN EVER-CHANGING SOCIETY later. Oh and just for kicks, I shall use metaphors that get so consumed in its own designs that nobody actually has a f***ing clue what I'm saying! THEN I can be totally cheem and get all the chicks!
And ya, I was bored and I hate studying Plath.
lol
rofl
its no wonder i've read ever one of his entires. that and one of the entires that had relation to us sometime earlier. and i thot, it cldn have been put better. if i cld mug english, i'd mug that entry.
some ppl just know how to trnaslate passion to words. that passion. once felt and now relived. but i dont wish to hold him back, i just hope to make him proud. we will get there someday.
our time will come.
anyways, here it is, his lordship's handiwork -
I've been doing the narcissictic thing by looking through my own blog archives, and I all I see were 1) virulent rants about things not many people care about 2) Whining 3) attacks on people 4) personal stuff. Intelligence, however, is conspicuously missing. There doesn't appear to be one iota of grey matter on this blog, and that is an appaling thing. I mean I know I'm dumb but I at least want to keep up a veneer of semi-intelligence. As if to bring the point closer home, I just read one of those blogs that seems to be put on this earth to make people like me feel inferior. You know, one of those totally cheem blogs replete with complex stuff about the social construct and the basis of existence that confounds laymen like me but is in all probability totally comprehensible to the blogger? Ya that type.
So I decided to up the cheemness quotient on this blog. Lets start by placing an incomprehensible pretentious Sylvia Plath poem and then going all orgasmically rapturous about it!
The Munich Mannequins
Perfection is terrible, it cannot have children.
Cold as snow breath, it tamps the womb
Where the yew trees blow like hydras,
The tree of life and the tree of life
Unloosing their moons, month after month, to no purpose.
The blood flood is the flood of love,
The absolute sacrifice.
It means: no more idols but me,
Me and you.
So, in their sulfur loveliness, in their smiles
These mannequins lean tonight
In Munich, morgue between Paris and Rome,
Naked and bald in their furs,
Orange lollies on silver sticks,
Intolerable, without minds.
The snow drops its pieces of darkness,
Nobody's about. In the hotels
Hands will be opening doors and setting
Down shoes for a polish of carbon
Into which broad toes will go tomorrow.
O the domesticity of these windows,
The baby lace, the green-leaved confectionery,
The thick Germans slumbering in their bottomless Stolz.
And the black phones on hooks
Glittering
Glittering and digesting
Voicelessness. The snow has no voice
Oh everytime I read that poem I feel like an icecube! All cloistered in my coldness and yet just WAITING to be burnt to a more miscible, swimming form that is in utter consonance with the ebb and flow of humanity's inexorably spiralling path towards a tommorow with rainbows and jellyfishes and car-crashes! Oh the beauty! The wretched, soul-destroying, enervating, all-consuming beauty! I wanna bone Plath!
Ok I shall go on to write about the MEANING OF LIFE ITSELF AND HUMANITY'S PLACE IN AN EVER-CHANGING SOCIETY later. Oh and just for kicks, I shall use metaphors that get so consumed in its own designs that nobody actually has a f***ing clue what I'm saying! THEN I can be totally cheem and get all the chicks!
And ya, I was bored and I hate studying Plath.
lol
rofl
its no wonder i've read ever one of his entires. that and one of the entires that had relation to us sometime earlier. and i thot, it cldn have been put better. if i cld mug english, i'd mug that entry.
some ppl just know how to trnaslate passion to words. that passion. once felt and now relived. but i dont wish to hold him back, i just hope to make him proud. we will get there someday.
our time will come.