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People think it must be fun to be a super genius, but they don't realize how hard it is to put up with all the idiots in the world. - Calvin


Catharsis:
1 : PURGATION
2 a : purification or purgation of the emotions (as pity and fear) primarily through art b : a purification or purgation that brings about spiritual renewal or release from tension
3 : elimination of a complex by bringing it to consciousness and affording it expression

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Thursday, Oct. 25, 2001 - 12:16 P.M.
Today was the big bore. Not a little boring, but the BIG BORE, longer than eternity, stretching off into the distance like some open barren plain that just keeps going and going and going. It never stopped. Maybe though, it was just the day. I started out okay enough, I was up a ready to go. And you'd think after a night of saucing it up that this would not be the case, but I slept wonderfully and soundly. the drawback was waking up and having to carry on with the rest of my day.

Not that the rest of my day was all that bad cuz in all actuality it was an okay day.

Class was great. You wouldn't think spending the day discussing a couple of poems and the good things about them would be a compelling education, but it really is. I am not a poet. I can write poetry. I enjoy writing poetry. It is a wonderful form of expression enabling you to say things that you would otherwise not be able to say. my opinion. Once upon a time I would have been hard pressed to tell people that I like to write poetry, much less write anything at all. Its amazing in this day and age, that a creative spirit must be tied down and all but covered up. When the truth be told everyone, no matter who they are have something to say, something to write, some inspiration that they wish to express, but so many of us choose to ignore it and pretend its not there because of what others may think about it.

Anyway the poem we wrote last week, a mean little bitch of a poem that had all these things that we had to incorporate into each line and we had a list of words that we had to choose from that we had to use also. Happily it didn't take me near as long to write it than I thought it would. It was a quick little thing that, the instructor seemed to really like and suggested I submit it to the writing competition. Anyway this is the poem I wrote.

Rereading it, I like it much better than I did when I first wrote it and then after I read many of the others which I thought did so much better.

The Last of it, the Blast of it

Dry young cornstalks shriveled in the wind

and the air tasted of hot copper pennies

then rain fall, crashing broken glass from the dark flashing

and willows, stark dancing medusas, lashing at the sky

Looking for a soul to steal

The Devil comes down to Georgia

teeth gnashing "its time to pay the piper."

and like the wind, he laughs and disappears translucent

The stalks will glisten and sing, a moon will glow, an ethereal egg

soaring but scarred,plunging but hard, to reality like the rocks and dirt beneath

hard words that suck life's marrow,and often harrow

like the piper come for those hot copper pennies