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Apr. 13th, 2011 | 12:05 pm


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Proem: To Brooklyn Bridge

Jul. 23rd, 2010 | 08:16 am

How many dawns, chill from his rippling rest
The seagull's wings shall dip and pivot him,
Shedding white rings of tumult, building high
Over the chained bay waters Liberty -

Then, with inviolate curve, forsake our eyes
As apparitional as sails that cross
Some page of figures to be filed away;
- Till elevators drop us from our day...

I think of cinemas, panoramic sleights
With multitudes bent toward some flashing scene
Never disclosed, but hastened to again,
Foretold to other eyes on the same screen;

And Thee, across the harbor, silver-paced
As though the sun took step of thee, yet left
Some motion ever unspent in thy stride, -
Implicitly thy freedom staying thee!

Out of some subway scuttle, cell or loft
A bedlamite speeds to thy parapets,
Tilting there momentarily, shrill shirt ballooning,
A jest falls from the speechless caravan.

Down Wall, from girder into street noon leaks,
A rip-tooth of the sky's acetylene;
All afternoon the cloud-flown derricks turn...
Thy cables breathe the North Atlantic still,

And obscure as that heaven of Jews,
Thy guerdon...Accolade thou dost bestow
Of anonymity time cannot raise:
Vibrant reprieve and pardon thou dost show.

O harp and altar, of the fury fused,
(How could mere toil align thy choiring strings!)
Terrific threshold of the prophet's pledge,
Prayer of pariah, and the lover's cry, -

Again the traffic lights that skim thy swift
Unfractioned idiom, immaculate sigh of stars,
Beading thy path - condense eternity:
And we have seen night lifted into thine arms.

Under thy shadow by the piers I waited;
Only in darkness is thy shadow clear.
The City's fiery parcels all undone,
Already snow submerges an iron year...

O Sleepless as the river under thee,
Vaulting the sea, the prairies' dreaming sod,
Unto us lowliest sometime sweep, descend
And of the curveship lend a myth to God.

- Hart Crane

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still on livejournal and pretty much late for work

Apr. 2nd, 2010 | 01:28 pm
mood: bouncyinterested
music: The Decemberists

 I would like to expand my friends list so if you're interest is piqued at all, leave me a message here and lets get this ball rolling.

: ) Rose

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(no subject)

Nov. 16th, 2008 | 09:39 pm

I wonder...how are we supposed to write about things that aren't related to the people in our lives and our daily dramas, because these things are all connected.

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tuesday thoughts

Jul. 22nd, 2008 | 07:34 am
mood: enthralledcaffinated

Upward Bound is truly almost over. We have three more days (including today) and then we all pack up and go home on Friday. It has been a long summer, but a good one. I guess, I wish it had been more challenging. I guess I should have challenged myself more with the classes I taught. For a while there, everything was going great, and then I kind of lost momentum at the end. The end should be the grand finale? So... something to think about in the event that I teach again in the future.

I need to work on my writing. My adademic writing. If I have any desire to go back to school to get my masters, then I need to be able to carry on longer scholarly dialogues. I should pick a topic and challenge myself to thirty pages once I get settled in Bennington. There are three great libraries, and at least Keith's school has a library loan program, so I should be able to find sufficient material. And my access to Miami's library internet archives has not expired yet, so maybe that will help too.

I wonder what I would write about. Better come up with something to back up a dream.

"Life, the universe, and everything?"

Maybe I'll narrow it down a little. I had better start reading.

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Apr. 17th, 2008 | 06:52 pm
mood: flirtyreading love

Important books from my life... Not in any order. They range from Literary to Fluff and back again, but they all played an important role in who I am as a person and as a reader. How could you know me? How many of these books have you read? Which ones am I forgetting?!?
[ps. forgive me for any incorrect spelling, its a long list...]

The Perks of Being a Wallflower, Stephen Chbosky
Middlesex, Jeffrey Eugenides
The Hours, Michael Cunningham
Flesh and Blood, Michael Cunningham
Specimen Days, Michael Cunningham
Love in the Time of Cholera, Gabriel Garcia Marquez
The Blind Assassin, Margaret Atwood
Caucasia, Danzy Senna
A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, Betty Smith
The Bell Jar, Silvia Plath
Another Country, James Baldwin
A Passage to India, E.M. Forster
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, J.K.Rowling
Johnny Got His Gun, Dalton Trumbo
Crime and Punishment, Fyodor Dostoevsky
The Crying of Lot 49, Thomas Pynchon
Slaughterhouse Five, Kurt Vonnegut
White Noise, Don DeLillo
The Amber Spyglass, Phillip Pullman
The Book of Lost Things, John Connolly
Promiscuities, Naomi Wolf
A Handful of Dust, Evelyn Waugh
All Quiet on the Western Front, Eric Mariaremarque
The Catcher in the Rye, J.D. Salinger
To Kill a Mockingbird, Harper Lee
On the Road, Jack Kerouac
The Floating Book, Michelle Lovric
The Midwife’s Apprentice, Karen Cushman
The Phantom Tollbooth, Norton Juster
Summer Sisters, Judy Blume
Joy in the Morning, Betty Smith
The Mystery of Edwin Drood, Charles Dickens
Oliver Twist, Charles Dickens
The Cossacks, Leo Tolstoy
The Lost World, Arthur Conan Doyle
Timeline, Michael Crichton
Nectar in a Sieve, Kamala Markandaya
Lullaby, Chuck Palahniuk
Water for Elephants, Sara Gruen
Pastoralia, George Saunders
The Tempest, William Shakespeare
Othello, William Shakespeare
My Emily Dickinson, Susan Howe
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Robert Louis Stevenson
Violet and Claire, Francesca Lia Block
The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, Ann Brashares
Prep, Curtis Sittenfeld
Midnight Hour Encores, Bruce Brooks
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Roald Dahl
Tender is the Night, F. Scott Fitzgerald
1984, George Orwell
Burmese Days, George Orwell
Up the Down Staircase, Bel Kaufman
The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, Douglas Adams
Wicked, Gregory McGuire
The Hobbit, J.R.R. Tolkien
The Queens’ Fool, Phillipa Gregory
Stargirl, Jerry Spinelli
A Ring of Endless Light, Madeline L’Engle
The Witch of Blackbird Pond, Elizabeth George Speare
Calico Captive, Elizabeth George Speare

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Sep. 28th, 2007 | 01:08 pm
mood: giddygiddy

Well, I didn't even stay up that late. Stupid. Usually when I'm in a paper panic I stay up until two or three AT LEAST. But I just got tired last night so I went to bed. I got up around 7:30, gross, but my shower (WHICH HAS HOT WATER AGAIN!) fully revived me. I wrote the conclusion, went to class, just edited it, now I'm livejournaling, and once my brain takes a break from it I will edit it once more, print it, get lunch, go turn it it, have a sweet medieval lit class, and go furniture shopping with Shannon!

Shannon's mom is coming for parents weekend so we have to make the house look like we actually moved in and live like semi-respectable people (aka people who have sweet art). Why just yesterday I hung up a poster of Venice, one of Patton, one of James Dean, and a creepy dolphin ying yang tapestry made by baby slaves! All of that is in our game room. Which rocks now. Not that it didn't rock before.

But we have to hang up the Monet and the Kandinsky, also the creepy bell painting. I'm excited. I have to clean a lot tonight, but once its over I can do nothing important!!!!!! Until homework.

Avoiding homework this weekend will be a priority.


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(no subject)

Oct. 25th, 2006 | 10:49 pm

So I forgot to add a new public post that says:

I guess the first few years of LJ are an open book, mainly because I don't feel like going back through every entry ever and making it friends only, but I will be posting only friends only posts from now on.

Sounds like I'm on a power trip kind of.

But the internet is a scary place, and one too many people I didn't really want reading this read it so:

If you want to be lj friends thats cool, I want you too, just leave a comment and I'll add you.



rose_older than older

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(no subject)

Aug. 25th, 2006 | 12:57 pm

To whom it may concern:

I am so unbelievably hurt and angry that you are reading this blog.

I don't even know what to say.

But this is just another in a series of invasions of my privacy.

Thanks a lot.

If you had any self respect at all, or respect for me, you would stop.

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(no subject)

Jun. 9th, 2006 | 02:48 pm

So the words elude me, still. (And I elude my voicemail) (Don't sell the cow!...bastard)

But! I am leaving very soon for VT and the job and all of that.

I feel like I might be time traveling. Or going to another dimension...the A-Frame Dimension...a place where puberty and pain sit hand and hand with love and a lake and a boat and old (friends?) and a couch and some trees and some cows and my family's family.

And my daydreams.

I don't make any sense. Must be time to get off this Virginia mountaintop.

I can't wait.

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