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ugh
I am in a terrifically foul mood and am ducking online to inform the world of said foulness, because that is what one does. Not even my entire Vienna Teng playlist has been able to alleviate this foulness. THIS IS SERIOUS, FOLKS.
I am off to: wash the dishes, read two articles on malaria, two on ecology & vision science and six on health psychology, and then re-attack the microbiology assignment from hell.
However, at a certain hour of the night my brain flat-out refuses to apply itself to academia, and I'd like to do some writing. Because the words have been spiking and pressing in my mind lately to the extent that I am tuning out in lectures with dangerous regularity, and I'd like to let off some gas. As it were.
For some reason I have become wildly enamoured with the idea of Shakespearean meta-poetry (as evidenced by yesterday's post), and sonnets are pretty much a rapid and failsafe way for me to scratch the writing itch without getting caught up in narrative or devoting too much time to any project.
Soooo. Give me a character* (anyone but Miranda - I have the skeleton of a sestina in my notebook, and I'd rather keep the ideas fresh) and I'll give it a bash :)
(If you'd also like to give me something - a song, a picture, an icon, a link, anything - that is good for the soothing of academic frustration, that would be much appreciated.)
*They don't have to be Shakespearean, I suppose. Fanfic sonnets for all! Booyah.
I am off to: wash the dishes, read two articles on malaria, two on ecology & vision science and six on health psychology, and then re-attack the microbiology assignment from hell.
However, at a certain hour of the night my brain flat-out refuses to apply itself to academia, and I'd like to do some writing. Because the words have been spiking and pressing in my mind lately to the extent that I am tuning out in lectures with dangerous regularity, and I'd like to let off some gas. As it were.
For some reason I have become wildly enamoured with the idea of Shakespearean meta-poetry (as evidenced by yesterday's post), and sonnets are pretty much a rapid and failsafe way for me to scratch the writing itch without getting caught up in narrative or devoting too much time to any project.
Soooo. Give me a character* (anyone but Miranda - I have the skeleton of a sestina in my notebook, and I'd rather keep the ideas fresh) and I'll give it a bash :)
(If you'd also like to give me something - a song, a picture, an icon, a link, anything - that is good for the soothing of academic frustration, that would be much appreciated.)
*They don't have to be Shakespearean, I suppose. Fanfic sonnets for all! Booyah.
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War! Do a War sonnet!
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with healthy death and treachery and fright
and all those things that dwell in shell-shocked hush.
You're every boy, his fingers turning white
around the handle of a flimsy sword,
his mother's voice still singing in his head
of peace and love and life. (And then you're bored.
And then you laugh, and then the boy is dead.)
You're Armageddon dressed up in a suit
and killer smile, the gift that never gives.
You're war-songs, heartbeat, scored for drums and flute;
a gun; a weight; the hopelessness that lives
in muddy trenches all throughout the world;
a boy's thin corpse, the fingers now uncurled.
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Or Brutus!
Brill idea, dear.
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(I need more Shakesperean icons *mourns*. Like, with actual Shakespearean text on them.)
~
Queen Mab is no mere midwife to the court
of fae and Delphi mist; each night you dream,
each night you wake all drenched in fears unsought.
In sleep you're killed and yet you never scream,
and Romeo puts on a mask to say:
I see you now as though you were a ghost
before the ball begins. You dance away
and you are lost; him, found; the crowd, engrossed.
You dream your death in gorgeous bloodied youth,
and just as all the dreams start to disperse
you turn and see a sudden perfect truth:
Verona's own must bear their given curse.
(On you the dreaming, frightening and vague;
on Montague and Capulet, a plague.)
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from where you stand. You barely bow. And that's
all that's expected, knowing who you are:
one Tybalt, nobleman and prince (of Cats).
Behind your eyes sparks helpless jealous lust
for she whose hand he takes. Thoughts wild, impure.
But Juliet is young and she will trust
her kinsman's word; for that, you will endure.
She thinks you're good for nothing, though, but war;
her Capulet blood spilled out through your veins
(inside you're raging: useless fucking whore)
and turned to mud. And yet. Yet there remains
none that you love quite like your father's niece,
and nothing that you hate so much as peace.
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:D?
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~
You tell yourself it's just one simple thing
to say. And so: "Lord Hamlet, are you mad?"
He sighs, looks down, as though remembering
his father's death. (It's really rather sad.)
"More wine, good Guildenstern?" he says instead.
(Why not?) "I like the game but not the rules,"
he says; the wine is rushing to your head;
the two of you are questing blind, like fools.
When Hamlet leaves, you groan. "We were to quiz
him on the past," your tongue feels odd, "divine
the ver- vera- the truth. This madness - is
it feel or rake?" Room spins. He whores more pine
(dear Rosencrantz!), he waves his arms. "SURPRISE!
He's mad!" "He'ssnot. It's all a lack of pies."
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Or, alternately, Daedalus of Greek mythology.
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*makes you hot chocolate*
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You are my very favourite Holly. Mmmmmsugar.
I can probably manage Caliban, though I'd prefer not to do anything Tempest...uous...just right now, partly because of the sestina and partly because I'm going to see it performed next week and I'm trying to purge my preconceptions. I have a lot of them left over from playing Miranda in a school production four years ago.
Anyway, I am going to go collapse into bed because the words have dried up to a trickle - I could only get the final couplet of Gen's, so I'm putting it aside for later - so you can leave Caliban with me and I'll see what happens or you can request something else.
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I am going to bed now, but TOMORROW! *promises*
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*cries*
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Geoffrey Tennant!no subject
Ophelia! ♥
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Fandom: Doctor Who
Character: Captain Jack
Theme: OBSESSIVE LOVE.