Imagining an Animal!

Grass slowly flows beneath the scales of the snake as it slowly slithers across the field.  Wind caresses the soft hills of the plane, leaving the grass to writhe in ecstatic joy as the snake tunnels through its ticklish embrace.  Far away, a small flower watches the snake; it takes in the sun and the wind, exhaling a certain sigh of relief in its safe tree above the world of treacherous animals just waiting to eat from its delectable petals.

The snake recoils slightly and, stopping to view the surrounding terrain, continues on, watching carelessly, unafraid of danger in the slightest.  A white noise hums from the earth itself; an engine idling, waiting, as if in standby between the days of its youth and its inevitable collapse into oblivion.  It is a natural hum, created from the animals and bugs that once ruled the Earth, before the days of Man--the days of creation.  Cicadas chirping and barking their calls to each other, crickets playing their songs for the Earth to hear, like deaf musicians playing their songs for their long dead lovers.

It rolls to a stop, looking out to where, atop a hill, the Earth is smothered; the grass lying in bliss under a blanket of two lovers lazing upon a quilted creation of origins unknown.  The snake hesitates, but pushes on.  The unknown is something to fear, but facing fear is easy enough when one cannot understand the meaning of cowardice.  It nears the blanket, pausing slightly.  Instruments of communication rise from the throats of the lovers as the snake finds its world enveloped in darkness.  Red protrudes into the black, light is muffled beneath the sheathe on the earth; a different world unknown to the snake.  The dark depths of its lair, pierced by the Sun's unforgiving glare onto the Earth, was a home to the snake.  In this darkness, it was an alien.

Screams pierce the hum, the Earth is trampled beneath frightened skin.  Bones crash and push away, perspiration bathes the grass, two figures grasp away and retreat to their own sides.  Light pushes through, darkness falls back, the snake returns to the Earth.

Laughter breaks the hum, skin is alight with the sun.  Far away, a flower sighs with relief.

2010 Olympics!

So, I didn't watch the 2010 Olympics.  Other than that Georgian Luger dying, that's all I really saw of it.  It's kind of a bummer.  I enjoy the Olympics, but just the feeling of them.  The atmosphere--even though I'm not there--sort of sets a tone for me that I can really appreciate.  Maybe it was Canada that ruined it for me.  Shows you what good Canadians are: No good, whatsoever, I tell you.  Nothin' but hosers, eh?

Honestly, the most I can tell you about the 2010 Olympics is that Shaun White is a pretty cool dude.  He was on The Colbert Report, which should have led to everyone seeing it, seeing as how Stephen Colbert is hilarious.  I can also tell you that I absolutely did not like the logo for this year, which I just now discovered on Google Images.  What a horrible design.  What could we expect from Canada, though?  I guess I can give them some props, though; they didn't just put a moose drinking maple syrup, which is quite overdone, in my honest opinion.  Get some new ideas, Canada.

So America is apparently winning in medals, as of this moment.  37 over Germany, with 30.  And Canada acts all smug with the most gold medals, 14.  We get it, Canada, you like hockey!  Go back to your bags of milk and silly hats.

Either way, we have Shaun White.  And Aquaman.

Oh, Emily Dickinson and her Poems...

Oh, how poetry is hard to analyze...  I'm sure if you've read my thing on Chanting the Square Deific, you already know about my opinions on poetry.  They're mixed, to say the least.  While it requires skill to write, I--oh, forget it.  I need to stop digressing.  It's annoying, sort of.

Either way, what was the poem?  Something about being in grass.  Oh, A Narrow Fellow in the Grass.  There we go.  Honestly, there couldn't be a worse poet for me to analyze.  Of all the poets I need to read over, it has to be Emily Dickinson.  I could actually appreciate some of Whitman's stuff, but this is just ridiculous.  I know, I know, I'm probably just not looking into it enough and she's a genius or something, but still.  Whitman's stuff is great because of the way he does it.  Dickinson just isn't enjoyable to me at all...

I can appreciate some subtle nuances that Dickinson places throughout the poem, as well as her linguistic skills.  She's very eloquent, I'll give her that, but otherwise I'm not sure.  Her poems give off a rhythmic vibe, and yet when you speak with them, you're thrown off because of it.  If I hear a rhythm, I demand to hear a rhyme!  But then, that's not what poetry's all about, is it?  It's all in the way it's written, what with its pentameters and all that.  Bollocks, I say.  That's right, bollocks.

Oh!  I almost saw some Jesus reference, but that's probably my imagination.  I look for Jesus too much in poems...  But that's what so many are about!  For some reason, it feels as if Dickinson is speaking of Jesus in different periods of his life, but who knows.  Barefoot child, whip-lash; her breath gets tight when she meets him.  Hey, who knows.

Pleasant Plains and Greek Gods

It's hard to write about a school so mundane as Pleasant Plains High School and turn it into a fantastic portrayal of ancient Greek gods and goddesses and whatnot.  I mean, honestly!  Maybe I'm not creative enough.  Or I don't have extensive enough knowledge of the Greek myths of Zeus and Hades and the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man or what have you.  Either way, it's an odd challenge to go up against, but I'll try my hand at it, anyways.

Well, first off, let's think of the teachers as the gods and goddesses.  I'm not sure who to pick for what...  Hm.  Well, I guess it's obvious to choose Mr. Ward as Zeus, considering he's the principal, and all.  But what about Peterson?  I wouldn't call him Hermes, since he's not Ward's messenger...  We'll go with Brutus, or something.  Et tu, Brute?  That's a Greek myth, right?  Julius Caesar?  Moving along.

Our very own Mr. Langley, I see as Hephaestus, for some reason; cast into the deep, dark bowels of his English room, left to toil in his darkroom with a number of different underlings that provide him with a number of pictures of their siblings and black and white lawn chairs.  Mrs. Blemler would be Athena.  She's the goddess of wisdom, right?  She seems like an Athena.  I don't know why.  She reads books, so she seems all wisdom-like.

Mr. Tadla would be Apollo.  He shines the light upon Pleasant Plains.  Need I say more?

Hades would probably be Mrs. Durbin and Mrs. Clough, due to the sole reason that they're the only teachers in the basement.  And Mrs. Graven.  Come to think of it, so is Mrs. Blemler, now, isn't she?  There's a conundrum...