Why I don't eat Oysters...

The sun was shining on the sea,

Shining with all his might;

He did his very best to make

The billows smooth and bright--

And this was odd, because it was

The middle of the night.

The moon was shining sulkily,

Because she though the sun

Had got no business to be there

After the day was done--

"It's very rude of him," she said,

"To come and spoil the fun!"

The sea was wet as wet could be,

The sands were dry as dry.

You could not see a cloud, because

No cloud was in the sky;

No birds were flying overhead--

There were no birds to fly.

The Walrus and the Carpenter

Were walking close at hand;

They wept like anything to see

Such quantities of sand;

"If this were only cleared away,"

They said, "it would be grand!"

"If seven maids with seven mops

Swept it for half a year.

"Do you suppose," the Walrus said,

"That they could get it clear?"

"I doubt it," said the Carpenter,

And shed a bitter tear.

"O Oysters, come and walk with us!"

The Walrus did beseech.

"A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,

Along the briny beach;

We cannot do with more than four,

To give a hand to each."

The eldest Oyster looked at him,

But never a word he said;

The eldest Oyster winked his eye,

And shook his heavy head--

Meaning to say he did not choose

To leave the oyster-bed.

But four young Oysters hurried up,

All eager for the treat;

Their coats were brushed their faces washed,

Their shoes were clean and neat--

And this was odd, because, you know,

They hadn't any feet.

Four other Oysters followed them,

And yet another four;

And thick and fast they came at last,

And more, and more, and more--

All hopping through the frothy waves,

And scrambling to the shore.

The Walrus and the Carpenter

Walked on a mile or so,

And then they rested on a rock

Conveniently low:

And all the little Oysters stood

And waited in a row.

"The time has come," the Walrus said,

"To talk of many things:

Of shoes--and ships--and sealing wax--

Of cabbages--and kings--

And why the sea is boiling hot--

And whether pigs have wings."

"But not on us!" the Oysters cried.

Turning a little blue.

"After such kindness, that would be

A dismal thing to do!"

"The night is fine," the Walrus said.

"Do you admire the view?"

"It was so kind of you to come!

And you are very nice!"

The Carpenter said nothing but

"Cut us another slice;

I wish you were not quite so deaf--

I've had to ask you twice!"

"It seems a shame," the Walrus said,

"To play them such a trick,

After we've brought them out so far,

And made them trot so quick!"

The Carpenter said nothing but

"The butter's spread too thick!"

"I weep for you," the Walrus said;

"I deeply sympathize."

With sobs and tears he sorted out

Those of the largest size,

Holding his pocket-handkerchief

Before his streaming eyes.

"O Oysters," said the Carpenter,

"You've had a pleasant run!

Shall we be trotting home again?"

But answer came there none--

And this was scarcely odd, because

They'd eaten every one.

-Lewis Carroll

I'm sure it makes me psycho that love this poem. The one from the movie is more colorful. It makes more sense with the pictures to explain Lewis Carroll's cracked out imagination. Granted, I'm trying to start a trilogy right now that's ending up pretty messed up as well. Maybe I'll be as famous and Carroll with my crazy fictional piece. Or maybe it will just be messed up.

What I hope never to have to say...

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,

Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,

Silence the pianos and with muffled drum

Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aerophones circle moaing overhead

Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead,

Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,

Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,

My working week and my Sunday rest,

My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;

I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;

Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;

Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.

For nothing now can ever come to any good.

-Funeral Blues

W. H. Auden

One of my favorite poems that makes me cry almost every time I hear it. And for those of you wondering where you've heard it before, John Hannah breaks you down to tears when he recites it in Four Weddings and a Funeral.  I always just have to read it in my head because reading aloud is too sad.

This poem, ironically, is what I have looked for my entire life.  Finding someone that would bring this poem out of me if they died. Not that I want them to die, I just want that feeling. That low pit in your chest when you realize what you would do if the person you're looking at ever went out of your life. Having that feeling is what gets you through the fights and the frustration. And as much I constantly have issues with myself, he's always there. Every fight seems pointless when I look at him and think of this poem. It's strange that that makes me feel so good. So safe and confident that everything is going to be fine. And, as much as I feel this way, I hope I never ever have to read this poem aloud.

Happy Holidays my ass...

I'm sorry, I know it's terrible to say, but holidays just suck. Although I'm sure it's obvious, my fiance and I are not related (as I'm sure you're happy to know). So, also obviously, our families both want us to be home for Thanksgiving and Christmas. As I'm sure most people know, it is difficult to be two places at once. Yet, what is that helps families to assume that this is possible? My parents are both in education, so they have four days of vacation for Thanksgiving and two weeks for Christmas. Yet, they expect my fiance and I who work swing shifts the day before and the day after both these holidays to drive up to see them.  Apparently, in the alternate reality that they live in gas is free and traveling is fun in the sun. 

I just don't understand the expectations of our parents. I mean, you grow up and your parents send you out on your way, then all the sudden they want you back. Like all the time they were shoving you out the door they didn't realize you would actually leave. And now, mine at least, seem to be following me out the door and down the street. I don't get it. Aren't they happy that I found someone to spend my life with? I'm getting ready to get married and start program of study to further my career. Isn't that enough? Now I have to drive three hours one way to stuff myself with food with them and then drive home so I can work the next day. What's so important about a day? What makes Thanksgiving different from any other day? When did my parents get so selfish?