dira: Bucky Barnes/The Winter Soldier (Default)
So I was reading T. S. Eliot's Four Quartets today, like I do, because I had finished the book I was reading and didn't want to write on my lunch hour. And so the end of "East Coker" particularly struck me, like it does.

Rambling thoughts about T. S. Eliot and writing fic versus writing original fiction with cameo appearance by my 592nd Existential Crisis As A Writer. )
dira: Bucky Barnes/The Winter Soldier (Ten - Look Down)
So I've embarked upon a rewatching-Doctor-Who project, since Eleven's debut is coming right up next week. It would be doomed at this point, since I'm still in season two, except that I work for a Catholic school so I'm off work for Easter weekend as of noon on Thursday.

(Not, as I just typed "noon on Tuesday". Dear Sheryl Crow, I want those brain cells back, love, the mid-90s.)

ANYWAY, rewatching, and here is the thing, okay:

I don't think I can get through "The End of Time" again without an honest-to-fuck drinking game.

Is there one anywhere? Would anyone like to make one up in the comments? HELP.


PS, My tattoo is healing very nicely, which is to say that it itches quite a lot right now. Many thanks to you all for the advice. I think the most important tattoo-aftercare epiphany I had, once I'd got it, was "Chill the fuck out, it's not an organ transplant, your ridiculous baby brother has managed this successfully like twelve times."

And then I figured out the auto-timer on my camera and then I took my shirt off. )
dira: Bucky Barnes/The Winter Soldier (Default)
And you may certainly have a cookie if you recognize the reference.

I have lots of cookies, don't worry.

This optimism thing I have been doing for the last 28 years: I am now committed to it as a lifestyle. )
dira: Bucky Barnes/The Winter Soldier (Default)
I had one of those back-at-school anxiety dreams, except it kept unspooling. I was going to turn in a compilation of interesting papers on some topic, but I needed to make a new table of contents--wait, it was my thesis, and I hadn't written anything, just compiled the papers--it would be plagiarism--I had to ask for an extension, but it was the last day of the semester, I hadn't attended any of my classes at all--I didn't have syllabi, didn't even know where the class met--found the class, was still frantically searching for a syllabus when the instructor called me aside to have a scaldingly humiliating discussion about my total failure of her class--I asked for an incomplete and she laughed sadly and told me I'd better go down to the registrar's office and beg them--I had to go to the registrar's office and couldn't find socks and didn't want to go through the floo because it might burn my feet and what was I going to tell my parents about not graduating and how would I ever find a job?

So then I woke up and I was really glad to be awake. Then I remembered that before that there were dreams of hanging out on a beach with Chris Judge, and I could not figure out why that dream had to turn into crazy school anxiety dream. Hmph.


Anyway! As your reward for reading/scrolling past that nonsense, a very simple meme from [personal profile] fox: when you see this, post a poem.


The Hurricane
William Carlos Williams


The tree lay down
on the garage roof
and stretched, You
have your heaven,
it said, go to it.


Bonus poem: go read "Voyager 2, Upon Arrival" by Chris Flowers, in the latest issue of Ideomancer. Because it's beautiful, is why.


This entry is cross-posted at http://dsudis.livejournal.com/547157.html.
dira: Bucky Barnes/The Winter Soldier (Obama/Biden - that's the ticket!)
I actually did make it all the way through election night without really crying--maybe just because it wasn't truly sinking in. Maybe because of the vodka.*

Today I cried, twice.

First at this poem which [livejournal.com profile] cereta linked to, First Step (Lech Lecha) by the Velveteen Rabbi.

Don't be surprised by tears.
This right here is holy ground.

Take a deep breath and turn away
from cynicism and despair


And second at this video [livejournal.com profile] astolat posted, a rally in Portland reacting to the announcement of Obama's victory. Seriously, seriously crying at this one. VIVA PORTLAND. AMERICA ILU.

* It is really hard to explain to anyone who isn't you guys how I wasn't watching the election alone - to say nothing of how I celebrated - when I was watching with a half-dozen people in the computer box, and the way my living room went wild was the explosion of joyous posts up and down my friendslist. But it was awesome, and I love you guys.
dira: Bucky Barnes/The Winter Soldier (Castiel - Blue)
...or at least, not that anyone else is likely to find this as intriguing as I am, but really. Among Sam, Dean, and Castiel, there are an awful lot of interesting places you could go right now, jumping off from John Donne's Holy Sonnet 14 )


Observation brought to you because I've been reading yet more Left Behind deconstruction at Slacktivist, which a) predisposes me to be thinky, and b) quotes this sonnet ("knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend") in the blog's header.
dira: Bucky Barnes/The Winter Soldier (Don - Glock by elishavah)
So I went and got all addicted to Writely just in time for Writely to be co-opted by our evil robot Google overlords who think we taste like bacon. At first I only noticed that Writely kept prompting me to sign in with my gmail account (which is associated with real-life and family stuff and the email I put on my resume and so on) when I signed up for it with my yahoo account (purely fannish). Aggravating, as I kept having to click "sign in as a different user," but it took me until [livejournal.com profile] iuliamentis pointed out the co-opting to grasp that Gmail and Writely each require Google Account, which can be associated with non-google email addresses.

So when I log into Writely I'm logged out of gmail, and vice-versa, and I am habitually logged into all of my emails all the time.

DAMN YOU, GOOGLE! DAMN YOU!




On a brighter note, hey, it's October!

O SUNS and skies and clouds of June,
And flowers of June together,
Ye cannot rival for one hour
October's bright blue weather;


(Helen Hunt Jackson, "October's Bright Blue Weather")


This means it's four days until regular season (i.e. TELEVISED!) hockey starts, and eighteen days to my birthday. In case anyone was wondering.
dira: Bucky Barnes/The Winter Soldier (Default)
[livejournal.com profile] katie_m posted a poem I love (Henry Reed's "Naming of Parts") in honor of Poem in Your Pocket Day, and I wanted to post a favorite of mine, only it turned out that it isn't on the internet. Lucky for my desire to share, I work right next door to one of the best university libraries in the country (*snif*. I miss working *in* it...) and I was able to pop over there and snag a copy of James Dickey's collected works off the third floor.

So. In the Mountain Tent )

Of course, it turns out I'd only ever read the first two stanzas of the poem (that was as much as would fit on a page-a-day poetry calendar, I guess...) and I'm not sure I like the rest of it as much, but I'm feeling completist, so there it all is.

I should really tell my mom sometime that that was the coolest page-a-day calendar ever, so maybe she'd stop buying me embarrassingly bad ones for Christmas every year. They always wind up at the bottom of my closet or riding around the trunk of my car for months before I can bring myself to throw them out.
dira: Bucky Barnes/The Winter Soldier (Default)
Speaking of things that I do more than two years after the obvious time for it:

Reading John M. Ford's 110 Stories, about September 11.

Crying for September 11.
dira: Bucky Barnes/The Winter Soldier (Default)
[livejournal.com profile] roane's post prompted me to go have a look at bash for the first time in a while - a gratifying number of new [internal struggle over correct usage... oh, fuck it, it's Friday] quotes have appeared since my last visit, including this one:

#128114 +(1622)- [X]

Time for my prayers:
Our Father, who 0wnz heaven, j00 r0ck!
May all 0ur base someday be belong to you!
May j00 0wn earth just like j00 0wn heaven.
Give us this day our warez, mp3z, and pr0n through a phat pipe.
And cut us some slack when we act like n00b lamerz, just as we teach n00bz when they act lame on us.
Please don't give us root access on some poor d00d'z box when we're too pissed off to think about what's right and wrong, and if you could keep the fbi off our backs, we'd appreciate it.
For j00 0wn r00t on all our b0x3s 4ever and ever, 4m3n.


Which cracks my shit up. I'd send it on to #4 Brother, except he's probably already seen it. In fact, he probably wrote it or submitted it or something.

Whaddya think, [livejournal.com profile] daveamongus, could l33t be the next vulgate?

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