je m'appelle l'amour.

I feel stressed right now but I don't feel pessimistic at all. What a strange feeling.

Anxious? Maybe. Maybe it's a good kind of anxiety. I feel my mind working.



SOD:

Or stockings of the day. Sheer plaid stockings, black. Made in Japan. Very wintery.

I am currently working on the research project for my French Linguistics class.

And I'm loving it.


Such a nerd.

Happy Halloween-- You like my linguist costume?






My favorite thigh-high socks. Striped, black and grey. Kinda halloween-y too. I'd post a picture of orange socks today, but considering that it's gameday too, I think it's inappropriate. Very. Sockdreams.com, made in USA.

Another poem written by me in high school, this time a villanelle.

A villanelle is a fixed 19-line poem, employing only two rhymes and repeating two of the lines according to a set pattern. Line 1 is repeated in lines 6,12, and 18; line 3 is repeated as lines 9, 15, and 19. The rhyme scheme is aba aba aba aba aba abaa.

I love repetition, so I like villanelles, even though they are hard to write.







Villanelle: Le Café Noir

I watch the creme descend
Into the bitter black coffee.
Don't stir; I want to see the colors blend.

Heroic white--black, it mends.
Dark mud, look at it flee;
I watch the creme descend.

Black ceases not; with force, it defends
Its territory, as white splashes like sea.
Don't stir; I want to see the colors blend.

I fetch for more creme to send,
But the coffee is too quick for me.
I watch the creme descend.

Perhaps this is a trend,
That from coffee, creme is never free.
Don't stir; I want to see the colors blend.

The battle has reached the end.
Where is the white debris?
I watched the creme descend--
Don't stir; I want to see the colors blend.







SOD:


Lacy footies with attached anklet, white. Made in Japan.

I'm feeling poetic today, but don't really have the time to paint an elaborate poem right now. So I'm going to share some of my old poems.

What's better than looking at old pictures? Looking at old writing.

This one's from 2006, I was 16. And angry. Kind of funny and kind of disconcerting. Looking back, I think I had every right to complain.

I edited it some today to make the meter work better.



Hate

I hate the way you yell my name,
And leave to smoke again,
Then come back in with casual face;
I think you're quite insane.
I hate how you repeat my words
And claim them as your own,
And how you rule my every move
Just let me be alone.
I hate how you can't check your voice
You yell, and yell, and yell
I know your sick words mean me harm,
But you can't even tell.
I hate how you get angry first
Because the cable's down;
Blame me as the cause of pain,
Yes Queen, here is your crown.
Everything I do is wrong;
Your opinion's always right
I've learned to just obey, comply,
And stop the useless fight.
I hate you bitch, with all my heart
I wish to run away,
But with no route of true escape,
I sit here, cry, and pray.



SOD:


Open-toe footies, purple. Made in Japan.

Bullshitting, also known as creativity.









Basic cotton knee-high, creamy white. Shown with pink rain boots. Sockdreams.com.