It is no bad thing in any case that between the two our bookshelves should serve from time to time as joggers of the memory, as cat-rests, and lumber yards.
#RIT#CNF#CW211#Perec
It most often corresponds to the beginning or end of a specific piece of work; it intervenes in the middle of those indecisive days when I donโt quite know whether Iโm going to get started and when I simply cling on to these activities of withdrawl...
#CW211#Perec#RIT#CNF
To live without self-respect is to lie awake some night, beyond the reach of warm milk, phenobarbital, and the sleeping hand on the coverlet, counting up the sins of commission and omission, the trusts betrayed, the promises subtly broken...
I would try to contemplate the Hegelian dialectic and would find myself concentrating instead on a flowering pear tree outside my window and the particular way the petals fell on my floor.
#Didion#CW211#CNF
I sat before my fire and looked down the lake into the blue from which I had come, and as the quiet descended and the first star came out, the coals glowed and I gazed into them as primitive men had for many thousands of years. #RIT#CW211#Oslon
The bell rings again,
She knocks your books,
Youโre late for class,
That girlโs an ass,
Youโre picking up your textbook,
Standing there from the looking glass.
#highschool#RIT#CW211#sonnet
The bell rings,
The hallways crowd,
Your cellphone dings,
Everything is so loud,
Getting what you need to bring,
You see a friend and feel proud,
You love them more than anything,
You want to chat but thatโs not allowed,
High School friendships end,
They feel like they are about to wipeout,
They are fighting to get past the dead end,
But will they ever get out, will it ever end?
#highschool#rit#cw211#Villanelle
They are fighting to get past the dead end,
Hurting and confused, hoping to breakout,
But will they ever get out, will it ever end?
So far gone thereโs nothing left to amend,
Without a doubt nothing else to lie about,
They are fighting to get past the dead end.
Weekdays drag and weekends fly,
Monday morning strikes, they cry,
Empty hallways fill with kids,
They sit in class with droopy lids,
The classroom cold and dry.
#RIT#CW211
The kids dream of a blue sky,
Hoping the time will flyby,
Other kids start throwing digs,
Weekdays drag.
When the weekdays say goodbye,
The kids they have no tears to cry,
Now they are happy kids,
They go off the grid,
They sing the weekend a lullaby,
Weekdays drag.
#RIT#CW211