*hysterique

I've listened and learned
as you held a hand over my mouth,
muting the mayhem of my
heart and head
dancing/wrestling/dreaming
with yours.
Pull apart my little pieces,
shake your head and shush me.
Your shell doesn't sing for me,
and your guts aren't game enough
to be anything more
than a secret I only
half knew.
No more, I keep promising...
Obsessions with projections
die hard.
I'll forever ache for anything
resembling the something
you seemed to be.

Where does the time go? And what was I doing when it went?
Friends and fun and faux freedom, the delights of the half-way house between highschool and adulthood. Thank God for University, or I'd be unhappy. The clocks tick, the calenders flick as we dance and drain glasses dry. Dreaming and daring the days to end and dawn on new discoveries and old simplicities. Things were a lot easier then. But we're rocking and rolling, the dusk sends us sprawling to sway and be swept away to bed, perhaps beyond. Our youth flings and flies, as we flail and inhale all the heat and hilarity of smooth skin, supple flesh and flowing hormones, hazy, amazing, miraculous. We'll wake up, one day. Energy spent, we'll sink to sofas and discretion, drooping and drying until we're waiting to die.

It's as simple as that!

You know, every time I have a conversation with you I spend hours afterwards just going over it. Maybe not all at once that night, but over the next few days, the few things you do say haunt me like crazy and I end up cursing you for your ability to get deep inside my head. I sometimes wonder if this how it will always be, me spending ages caring and thinking about how you are and what you're doing, holding out for our next conversation, hesitant to initiate one because I always feel like I irritate you. I always say the wrong thing and step too far, and yet I can't really apologise because I have a feeling you've got it into your head that I'm some completely insensitive, brash psycho, and I think that might be my appeal.

The worst is
worse
than anything
we can dream.
That's the best bit.
Hooked and sinking,
somewhere, sometime
we should have
stopped.
We've strayed.
The Line is
stage
to our perilous dance
as we play
and we ponder
explore.
Words with you
aren't wasted.
I smile
secretly
tangled and teased
when you speak,
I don't care where
you came from
I'm just glad
you collided
with me.

Suffice it to say, I've always known. It makes sense because we can only ever learn what we already know. But that doesn't help with the healing. It's still devastating to realise. It's still heart breaking to comprehend that everything is nothing more than coincidence and casualties. That we are nothing more. One plus One equals Two who can't look each other in the eye anymore, when it used to be their only worthwhile endeavor. We waste time protecting ourselves so that when we've taken too long, when we've lost our chance, it won't hurt as much as it might have. We hide truths to preserve the only true thing we've ever known. We lie so that we don't hate ourselves and everyone else when we take things lying down. A face to fall into, a heart to hold and a kiss to keep us convinced we're still alive. What else are we looking for? More importantly, what else is there to find?

The story of those
I pretended to love,
thought I loved,
almost loved,
and still love.

He swarms, smothers
and suckles.
I giggle and smile,
let him talk for a while.
When he speaks,
I thrill with
fresh opinions.

His contradictions are his
best qualities,
and they
clutch me.
His fears are my
favourite
because
I love licking wounds
to taste the truth
beneath outspoken skin.
When I'm inside him
I feel safe
inside myself.

In time,
my caress creates
confidence.
When I'm not needed
I'm neglected.
After all:
When he is full
he needn't be fed.
When he's strong,
there's no reason to stay.

Okay, so this unit is done, at least it will be when the exam is finished! Here is a poem that includes all the authors I especially liked this semester. Enjoy! Have a good holiday!!!!
In Summation

Coleridge was a funny bloke,
with big ideas and dreams
he traipsed across the country side,
inspired to write reams
of poems and stories and prose
insisting that his way of life
was more valuable than studies
that caused naught but stress and strife.

Wordsworth was a friend of Sam's
who agreed with what he said,
preferred to wander as a cloud
than fill his Romantic head
with facts and figures boring,
histories long stale,
since he became the laureate,
I feel like his dreams failed.

Gogol was a Russian who
was barking mad, I say
he wrote of noses running 'bout the town
and causing fuss all day.
Nevsky Prospekt can't be trusted
it fools with lights and passers-by
and all the beauty you believe it holds
turns out to be a lie.

Arnold went to Uni
and found it such a bore
he longed for adventures and discoveries,
book-learning was a chore.
He admired a clever gypsy
who was free and open-minded
going where the wind went
heart and head now undivided.

Tolstoy was a cynic
believing everyone mistaken,
unable to admit their wrongs
until their life was almost taken.
Ivan Ilych wished that he had been
a little braver with his heart
while the Master soon saw that a Man
is worth much more than his part.

Wilde had such a humour
I think he'd be quite charming
he thought  the expectations
of society could be harming
to spirits and their honesty
to souls and all things real
he showed people through his writing
that it is quite okay to feel.

The 19th Century was a time
of Victoria and refinement
the artists thought it was a time
of pretending and confinement.
Through poems long and winding
through stories short and sharp
they taught all of us who read them,
we should be who we truly are.

By Elise Mckenzie

This week we got to act out a section from Act III of The Importance of Being Earnest by Oscar Wilde. Oh what fun! I got to play the part of Lady Bracknell. She amused me greatly because she reminded me of my own mother.
Lady Bracknell was quite cold and disapproving of Cecily to her nephew Algernon but quickly warms up when she discovers that the young girl is heir to quite a large sum of money. My mother is never cold or disapproving of any boy I introduce her to, but she definitely warms up considerably when told that he is studying banking/medicine/law/anything else that brings in cash. And so I was inspired to write a little script reflecting the same attitudes Lady Bracknell presented during the Victorian age that are still alive and discriminating today!

Characters:

Silvia: A smart young woman of moderate beauty.
Jason: Silvia's boyfriend. Smart, arrogant, expresses his love of death metal through his choice of wardrobe.
Carmel: Silvia's mother. Secretly a gold digger, but pretends that love is the main factor that drew her to Silvia's father.

* * * * * * * * * * *

By Elise McKenzie!!