4 posts tagged “charles bukowski”
I spent the last two days at UNCG for my "Spartan Orientation and Registration." Even though the schedule was rigorous and we didn't have much time alloted for sleep, it was a pleasant experience. I met a few people including this one music major who talked with me about having a love for Charles Bukowski and tattoos and an art major who added me on facebook and has a really cute personality. They also gave us a lot of delicious, free, food.
I got accepted into the honors college and although I'm worried about the requirements, I think I can do it. One huge part is a semester (15 weeks) abroad.. but the (un)catch is you only pay UNCG tuition for the semester and you get a $1000 grant for other expenses to go along with the four semesters of language you have to complete. My adviser started me on a tough course of German when we registered for classes, so hopefully I'll get that done and get to use the knowledge.
Speaking of classes, this is the way I registered for my first semester of college:
Monday:
Introductory German 10am - 11:50am
Female Perspectives and Culture Through History 2pm - 3:15pm (a honors course that's luckily required by my major!)
Tuesday:
Introduction to Narrative 8am - 9:15am (I placed out of English 101, 102, and 104)
Introduction to Women's and Gender Studies 11am - 12:15pm
Introduction to Art 2pm - 3:15pm
Honors Proseminar 3:30pm - 5pm (for the honors college, a weekly "proseminar" is required)
Wednesday:
German 10am - 11:50am
Female Perspectives 2pm - 3:15pm
Thursday:
Intro to Narrative 8am - 9:15am
Intro to WGS 11am - 12:15pm
Intro to Art 2pm - 3:15pm
Friday:
German 10am - 11:50am
Pretty exciting I think. Also exciting is that I get to see Charles tomorrow. We have a double date with Kearstin and Mike on Monday, but we figured that we needed two days to fully experience it. :)
we are always asked
to understand the other person's
viewpoint
no matter how
out-dated
foolish or
obnoxious.
one is asked
to view
their total error
their life-waste
with
kindliness,
especially if they are
aged.
but age is the total of
our doing.
they have aged
badly
because they have
lived
out of focus,
they have refused to
see.
not their fault?
whose fault?
mine?
I am asked to hide
my viewpoint
from them
for fear of their
fear.
age is no crime
but the shame
of a deliberately
wasted
life
among so many
deliberately
wasted
lives
is.
I'll probably be spending the rest of my day playing Dino Run, instead of researching the impact meat intake has on the environment and trying to memorize Middle English for Mrs. Carpenter. Why couldn't she have given us this assignment when the rest of her classes were learning it, too, so I could feel some sort of accomplishment instead of this dull sense of dread. Megan gave me her phonetic-spelling write up of all lines and it makes it seem less intimidating, but I still don't know how to pronounce some of it. I'm probably getting way too far ahead of myself because this is the second day that we've been trying to learn it and who can memorize something in two days? She hasn't even told us how to say half of it.
What am I even talking about? I had a good time last night with Jimmy and Aaron and Billy and Chuck. We're going to have more good times this weekend, I hope, and I'm really excited about getting dressed up for dinner on Saturday but it seems so far away. At least it's not Monday. But then again it could be Friday. I've been messing with photos on Flickr a lot today, too, outside of my dino running. I want to download the (pirated) version of Photoshop for OS X but I feel slightly guilty editing my photos. I mean, I want them to be honest and tell the whole story. I could easily manipulate them to force them to say exactly what I want them to say, but some of the beauty is in the personal interpretation. That sounds silly, doesn't it? A picture shows what is in a picture and that's what it is, right? Just looking through my photo library (there are seriously tons of things saved on my hard drive) I can remember what a specific photograph said to me at a certain point, but now it means something different. When I randomly explore things on Flickr, I see things from someone else's point of view.. but through my lens. But will editing a picture change that? No. It's still art, open to interpretation and criticism from others. What I'm saying is, personally, my integrity feels slightly challenged if I edit something a present it as the truth. It's different if it's going to be something I offer as fiction, or.. well, it's hard to get into words. Kinda like Addie Bundren, speaking from her coffin and saying words aren't enough. Someone needs to come up with a mental thought-transducer or something.. but that would be scary.
For some reason, I've been really discontent lately. It probably has to do with the fact I'm sick and want to hole up and read Charles Bukowski all day but then I get lonely. :(
I also had this dream last night about Samia threatening me with a hand-saw and I honestly think it has to do with the fact she drove Chuck and me around yesterday. I'm too much of a nervous person to ride in the car with anyone that's not me or Charles or my dad driving. Not that anyone else is a bad driver.. I'm just not used to it. The unpredictability of the whole experience makes me feel uneasy and guilty about being scared of their driving. I mean Kearstin is a crazy driver but Scott is wonderful! I don't think it's fair to put the two in the same mental box like I have.
Anyway, I'm tired of like 89% of the poems we read in English. How about some Bukowski?
me and Faulkner
sure, I know that you are tired of hearing about it, but
most repeat the same theme over and over again, it's
as if they were trying to refine what seems so strange
and off and important to them, it's done by everybody
because everybody is of a different stripe and form
and each must work out what is before them
over and over again because
that is their personal tiny miracle
their bit of lucklike now as like before and before I have been slowly
drinking this fine red wine and listening to symphony after
symphony from this black radio to my leftsome symphonies remind me of certain cities and certain rooms,
make me realize that certain people now long dead were able to
transgress graveyardsand traps and cages and bones and limbs
people who broke through with joy and madness and with
insurmountable forcein tiny rented rooms I was struck by miracles
and even now after decades of listening I still am able to hear
a new work never heard before that is totally
bright, a fresh-blazing sunthere are countless sub-stratas of rising surprise from the
human firmamentmusic has an expansive and endless flow of ungodly
explorationwriters are confined to the limit of sight and feeling upon the
page while musicians leap into unrestricted immensityright now it's just old Tchaikowsky moaning and groaning his
way through symphony #5
but it's just as good as when I first heard itI haven't heard one of my favorites, Eric Coates, for some time
but I know that if I keep drinking the good red and listening
that he will be alongthere are others, many others
and so
this is just another poem about drinking and listening to
musicrepeat, right?
but look at Faulkner, he not only said the same thing over and
over but he said the same
placeso, please, let me boost these giants of our lives
once more: the classical composers of our time and
of times pastit has kept the rope from my throat
maybe it will loosen
yours
