Monday, 25 January 2010

detachment of the self from the familiar and the comfortable represented a path to an otherwise unattainable perfection, even to salvation itself.

It's Monday now, even though it's only 1am, but since I'm still up & reading about compulsary pilgrimage, I may as well sullenly update this blog. Sorry for the slew of shitty, exam-season-y updates; I'll try and get back to better habits next week, after this whole sorry ordeal is over. As well as some more considered Monday Words and the second part of that diary rambling, I.O.U. guys one genuine, actual, university-themed post (remember when this blog had a "theme", also known as a "point"? Ah, happy days), about how I appear to have managed to change my degree. Hooray!

Moving swiftly on, so that I can read a few more pages and then SLEEP, this week's thing is a Frank O'Hara poem. It's not terribly cheery, but you know what? It is, as I have said, 1am, and "not terribly cheery" rather appeals to my mindset. Also it is SHORT.

As Planned

After the first glass of vodka
you can accept just about anything
of life even your own mysteriousness
you think it is nice that a box
of matches is purple and brown and is called
La Petite and comes from Sweden
for they are words that you know and that
is all you know words not their feelings
or what they mean and you write because
you know them not because you understand them
because you don't you are stupid and lazy
and will never be great but you do
what you know because what else is there?

okay cool cheers for that frank

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