"Do not go gentle into that good night"

"Do not go gentle into that good night"
by Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

"Ode to Age"

"Ode to Age"
by Pablo Neruda

I don't believe in age.
All old people
carry 
in their eyes,
a child,
and children,
at times
observe us with the
eyes of wise ancients.
Shall we measure 
life
in meters or kilometers
or months?
How far since you were born?
How long
must you wander
until
like all men
instead of walking on its surface
we rest below the earth?
To the man, to the woman
who utilized their
energies, goodness, strength,
anger, love, tenderness,
to those who truly
alive
flowered,
and in their sensuality matured,
let us not apply
the measure 
of a time
that may be
something else, a mineral
mantle, a solar
bird, a flower,
something, maybe,
but not a measure.
Time, metal 
or bird, long
petiolate flower,
stretch
through
man's life
shower him
with blossoms
and with
bright
water
or with hidden sun.
I proclaim you
road,
not shroud,
a pristine
ladder
with treads
of air,
a suit lovingly
renewed
through springtimes
around the world.
Now, 
time, I roll you up,
I deposit you in my 
bait box
and I am off to fish
with you long line
the fishes of the dawn!

"Clown in the Moon"

"Clown in the Moon"

by Dylan Thomas

My tears are like the quiet drift

Of petals from some magic rose;

And all my grief flows from the rift

Of unremembered skies and snows.

I think, that if I touched the earth,

It would crumble;

It is so sad and beautiful,

So tremulously like a dream.

What We See When We Read (Book Review)

"Reading mirrors the procedure by which we acquaint ourselves with the world. It is not that our narratives necessarily tell us something true about the world (though they might), but rather that the practice of reading feels like, and is like, consciousness itself: imperfect; partial; hazy; co-creative.”

Have you ever told anyone that when you read a book, it's as if a movie is playing in your head? I have said this countless times, but I never understood how complicated the process of reading actually is until I read Peter Mendelsund's book, What We See When We Read. As readers, we are often unaware of the many steps we take when we read a story. It turns out that reading is not a linear path from start to resolution; it is a creative process by which we engage with the author, the characters, and with each description provided. 

Mendelsund begins by explaining the extent to which our imaginations shape the narrative we are reading. An author may give us only a short description of our protagonist, but the mind uses memory and creative instinct to fill in the blanks, thus allowing us to engage more fully with the text. Indeed, according to Mendelsund, the best authors leave the details to the reader's imagination:

"Books allow us certain freedoms- we are free to be mentally active when we read; we are full participants in the making (the imagining) of a narrative" (192).

Our minds are powerful tools that allow us to share in the formation of people and places and then act as director of that story’s performance. One of the most important points Mendelsund was making throughout his book was the power of the reader. The author fills a very important role, that is granted, but the reader has control of memory and experiences, of imagination and creativity. Without the reader, a story would be only a series of meaningless words on a page.

"Words are effective not because of what they carry in them, but for their latent potential to unlock the accumulated experience of the reader. Words 'contain' meanings, but, more importantly, words potentiate meaning" (302). 

What We See When We Read is wonderfully effective at illustrating the power of words and the power of the human mind. This amazing book taught me so much about something of which I believed I was an expert, which is something I both welcome and appreciate. I truly enjoyed the experience of reading this book, not just for Mendelsund’s wit and intelligence, but for the amazing illustrative designs that reinforced his ideas on almost every page. I highly recommend that any reader pick up this book, as it is both an exciting and compelling read.   

"R.I.P. 2 My Youth"

"R.I.P. 2 My Youth"
by The Neighbourhood

R.I.P. 2 my youth
And you could call this the funeral
I'm just telling the truth
And you can play this at my funeral

Wrap my up in Chanel inside my coffin
Might go to hell and there ain't no stopping
Might be a sinner and I might be a saint
I'd like to be proud but somehow I'm ashamed

Sweet little baby in a world full of pain
I gotta be honest, I don't know if I could take it
Everybody's talking but what's anybody saying?

Mama said if I really want then I can change it
R.I.P. 2 my youth
If you really listen, then this is to you
Mama, there is only so much I can do
Tough for you to witness but it was for me too

Tell my sister don't cry and don't be sad
I'm in paradise with Dad
Close my eyes and then cross my arms
Put me in the dirt, let me dream with the stars

Throw me in a box with the oxygen off
You gave me the key and you locked every lock
When I can't breathe, I won't ask you to stop
When I can't breathe, don't call for a cop

I was naive and hopeful and lost
Now I'm aware and driving my thoughts.

"Alone with Everybody"

"Alone with Everybody"
by Charles Bukowski

the flesh covers the bone
and they put a mind
in there and
sometimes a soul,
and the women break
vases against the walls
and the men drink too 
much
and nobody finds the
one
but keeps
looking
crawling in and out
of beds.
flesh covers 
the bone and the
flesh searches
for more than
flesh.

there's no chance
at all:
we are all trapped
by a singular 
fate.

nobody ever finds
the one.

the city dumps fill
the junkyards fill
the madhouses fill
the graveyards fill

nothing else
fills.

"Closed Path"

"Closed Path"
by Rabindranath Tagore

I though that my voyage had come to its end
at the last limit of my power, - that the path before me was closed,
that provisions were exhausted
and the time come to take shelter in a silent obscurity.

But I find that thy will knows no end in me.
And when old words die out on the tongue,
new melodies break forth from the heart;
and where the old tracks are lost,
new country is revealed with its wonders.

"Forest"

"Forest"
by Twenty One Pilots

I don't know why I feed on emotion
There's a stomach inside my brain
I don't wanna be heard I wanna be listened to.
Does it bother anyone else that someone else has your name?

I scream, you scream
We all scream cause we're terrified
Of what's around the corner.
We stay in place
Cause we don't wanna lose our lives
So let's think of something better.

Down in the forest, we'll sing a chorus
One that everybody knows.
Hands held higher, we'll be on fire
Singing songs that nobody wrote.

My brain has given up,
White flags are hoisted;
I took some food for thought, it might be poisoned,
The stomach in my brain throws up onto the page.
Does it bother anyone else that someone else has your name?

Quickly moving towards the storm, moving forward, torn, into pieces over reasons of what these storms are for. I don't understand why everything I adore takes a different form when I squint my eyes. Have you ever done that? When you squint your eyes and your eyelashes make it look a little not right and then when just enough light comes from just the right side and you find you're not who you're supposed to be? This is not what you're supposed to see. Please, remember me. I am supposed to be king of a kingdom, I'm swinging on a swing. Something happened in my imagination. The situation's becoming dire. My tree house is one fire. And for some reason I smell gas on my hands. 


This is not what I had planned.

This is not what I had planned.

"Ode to Hope"

"Ode to Hope"
by Pablo Neruda

Oceanic dawn
at the center 
of my life,
waves like grapes,
the sky's solitude,
you fill me
and flood
the complete sea,
the undiminished sky,
tempo
and space,
sea foam's white
battalions,
the orange earth,
the sun's
fiery waist 
in agony,
so many
gifts and talents,
birds soaring in their dreams,
and the sea, the sea,
suspended
aroma,
chorus of rich, resonant salt,
and meanwhile, 
we men, 
touch the water,
struggling,
and hoping,
we touch the sea,
hoping.

And the waves tell the firm coast:
'Everything will be fulfilled.'

"I'n Nobody! Who are you?"

"I'm Nobody! Who are you?"
by Emily Dickinson

I'm Nobody! Who are you?
Are you - Nobody - too?
Then there's a pair of us!
Don't tell ! they'd advertise - you know!

How dreary - to be - Somebody!
How public - like a Frog -
To tell one's name - the livelong June -
To an admiring Bog!