Real Love (demo) --John Lennon

A dynamic human and fascinating figure.

I carry your heart and this poem

I've been thinking a lot about e.e. cumming's "i carry your heart with me." (I strongly suggest you go read it--it's only 15 lines.) Most people think it's a happy love poem and categorize it as such, but I get the feeling that it's a loss poem. What's really the only way to carry someone's heart? Only if they're gone. Otherwise their heart would belong to them. The speaker has the heart of his/her "dear" and his/her own heart--that's two hearts! Someone's missing a heart in this situation.

Furthermore, I think the poem's really about the speaker carrying Death's heart much like he/she would carry his/her lover's, accepting that Death is "the root of the root...of a tree called life." The speaker admits to not fear his/her fate because Death is the ultimate fate for everyone--"(for you are my fate, my sweat)." We all carry eminent death inside our hearts, even if we do not admit it. The title, "i carry your heart with me," is redundant because "i carry" implies possession, which the "with me" restates; thus, our hearts are burdened because we indeed must carry--the word suggesting struggle--Death's presence our entire lives. Death "is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart" because Death eliminates any hope of permanent connection. We have no hope in ever seeing the stars come together while we are alive, something that astronomically would take billions upon billions of years to witness, so in our lifetime we will always see separated stars. The tragedy of the limited human lifespan cheats us out of seeing stars coming together and, more importantly, of seeing our loved ones forever. Finally, Death is "what a moon has always meant" because seeing the moon and night has always meant daytime has fallen, and the sun's warmth and protection is gone. Death and the moon have always meant misery, darkness, coldness, danger, and mystery. A sun will always "sing" Death because people die in their sleep and are discovered the next morning. Daylight reveals Death like it reveals mountains, oceans, rivers, forests, people, and every other object of the natural world. The tone of the poem is not fearful or panicked because the speaker accepts Death as the natural end to all living things, even calling Death "my dear" and "my sweet." It is natural like the moon, the sun, trees and love, and everything else. By the end, the burden of Death is lessened a little in the speaker's heart; the last line, "i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)," suggests that the speaker has accepted his/her inexorable death and resolved to not become trapped or burdened by unhealthy self-awareness that would greatly diminish his/her quality of life. It also triggers, in the reader, the realization that we can ease the burden of dying by accepting our own mortality and moving on.

In other news,

I need to read more poetry. I need to read more anything, really. Recently, my English professor gave me an extension on my research paper because he felt the failing grade I received was not "indicative of my writing ability." It was a huge compliment, and a massive ego boost because, as I think I've stated earlier, he's persnickety about student responsibilities. But I've already come to feel all the sharp shortcomings of my writing as I run his words through my head. I'm not the best writer in the universe, but, oh man, I want to at least become an excellent one. There are countless better writers who work harder than I do and who are much more knowledgeable and practiced. Can I compete? The only way to become great is practice.

But here's an even larger question: Will becoming a great writer make me happy?
For now, at least, it's the best idea I got.

Good Morning

I kind of wish people would say hi to each other again. I'm under the impression that sixty years ago perfect strangers on the street would greet each other. "Good morning," "Good afternoon," and "Hello" were common courtesy. Now what's courteous? Holding the door open for someone?

Everyone wants their distance and personal space untouched. Everybody's afraid of everybody. I suppose some fear is important. But when did it get to the point that looking at someone and saying hello was a crime? Some people are impossible to look at because it's like a personal attack to them; some people smile and say hello if you look at them, but they never initiate it.

We're too ironic and bored to take anything seriously anymore. If we're earnest we're also ironic. If were not ironic then we're uninspired. The only thing worse than dullness is sincerity.

One of my favorite Robert Frost lines is: "In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life — It goes on."

Our Mutual Discord

I want to go, to leave, and find someplace new. If possible, I want to travel to the future. I want to know who I'll be, who I'll associate with, what I'll do, what I'll be skilled at, and what I'll be deficient at.

Sometimes a person doesn't like you, and sometimes you don't like a person, and there's nothing else to be done about that. I don't mean outright hatred that burns inside our hearts; that's the kind of contempt reserved for movies and vain nincompoops. This dislike can be illustrated by something simple, like giving them a curt nod hello when you see them and walking away. Can everyone on Earth be agreeable with each other? No, I doubt it. We may hold our tongues, reserve our body language, withhold any hostility whatsoever, but there's not much to be done, nor is there more to expect. There will always be at least one person we don't see eye-to-eye with, and who's feelings are in concord with our own. It can't be helped. Whether it's because of deeply held opinions, an accidental history of bad blood, or something in-between, we each have a foil.

I am most encouraged when I am amongst my peers and perceive myself capable of surpassing their work; I am most discouraged when I read or hear about my superiors and find myself doubting my ability of ever reaching their level. I think my ego is far too frail.

Lately the sky has been overcast, and all day long it's gray outside.

Nostalgia Again

Mellow, melancholy music makes me feel nostalgic. It reminds me of my first year in high school. It's hard remembering my life back then. I have an overpowering sense of romantic nostalgia that reminds me of crushes, trying to fit in, and feeling very lonely. I was very lonely. I was very confused about what I wanted, and I never felt special. There's a lot of mixed feelings in that part of my memory.

I've never had a lot of friends. I don't generally meet very many people. I make acquaintances here and there, but full-blown friendships are rare. I've roughly had the same circle of friends since middle school. We're close, if only for that reason, but I've always imagined the friends I have now will be forgotten ten years from now. Everything's changing, as I've said a million times before. But it's so difficult to qualify this change that I don't even know what my life will be a month from now.

Who will I become in fifteen years? Who am I right now?

In other news, I finished Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. It was pretty funny. It bothers me a bit to know that Lewis Carroll was some creepy mathematician who took dubious pictures of children, but what does it matter now that he's dead?

I keep thinking about "The dreary intercourse of daily life." It makes me irritable.

My Elderly Self

I have this weird way of thinking about how my day is going. I'm constantly worried that I'm going to have a bad day. If I have a good day, I'm worried that the next day or the day after that will be a bad one, just to "balance" everything out. If I have a bad day, well then I'm miserable because my day's bad. It's not easy to stop thinking about.

Sometimes I blend into crowds just because I'm unremarkable. While I was waiting for my morning class to start (which it didn't because it was canceled), some guy was handing out brochures or something to everyone in the hallway. As I was leaning against the wall, he started on my right, made his way through a throng of people to my left, then returned to my right without handing one to me. I didn't mind not getting one; I'd probably just throw it away. But it's strange. Maybe he doesn't like me. Maybe I give off a disgruntled, angry vibe. What if he's an unobservant guy?

It seems like the more I drive the slower I drive. I seriously drive like an stereotypical elderly person. But it really annoys me when I see people flying past me at 60 on a 40 mph street for no good reason. I mean, if you're going to save someone's life and driving that fast was the only way to save them in time, then I guess that's a good reason. But seriously: What are the chances of that happening? Oftentimes I think it's because everyone's always in a big hurry, like they've got something life/death important to do. But I've got news for you (people who drive unsafely): no one's that important to be endangering lives on the street. Plus you're wasting gas!

(I sound like a grumpy old man.)

A Fine Misty Day

I had a fine day today, and even though the weather was thoroughly depressing in a misty, North of England kind of way, I didn't mind.

What did bother me, however, was a girl in my math class who kept coughing in an 'I'm quite sick' sort of way. I hope I don't catch her cold.

I feel guilty for handing in a crappy English paper, especially when I really like my professor. He's a stuttering, knit-picky kind of guy, but he's smart and he's straight-forward about what he knows and what he doesn't, and he shares my belief that suffering in school is for the purpose of becoming better people more than obtaining a diploma and a subsequent career. It's nice to know I'm not alone in that thinking.

I nearly fell asleep listening to my CD player (yeah, I still use mine after 6 or 7 years) while misty rain wafted around my car. The vaporous gray clouds hid the afternoon sun as I awaited a time when no honorable man rise against his neighbor, and for 6:30 when my class would start.

I've been reading a lot more lately. I just finished Great Expectations (fantastic book), and am currently switching between Wuthering Heights and Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. It's funny that a few years ago I wouldn't have understood any of these books, and now I'm reading them for a bit of morning enjoyment. I think I'm starting to come into my own.

I've also been writing a lot more recently, mostly fiction. There's not much more to that except I'm not very good yet, but I'm a lot better after practicing every day in March, and only hope to become better in the upcoming months. After all, creative writing is my freakin' major!