Never Did Post That Song, Did I?

Yeah, sorry. I went on a field trip Thursday to Philly. We saw the Impressionists at the Philadelphia Museum (totally awesome), the Rodin Museum (which is closed, but the exterior is beautiful and we got to see Le Penseur, the Gates of Hell, and the Burghers of Calais), and a Zaha Hadid exhibit in the Perlman Building. Also something about cheesesteaks, but I'm a vegetarian, so I brought chocolate and ate that.
And on Friday we had, no joke, a pronoun test in English. Read my last post for more. Honestly, I love my English teacher, but pronouns? Really?
Then, let's see, I did a craft about butterflies, which was cute... (I run a craft/storytime at my library for 2-7 year olds... amazingly the most tolerable age... Around third grade they turn into little demons. Who I then have to teach about religion in my temple at my OTHER job)... And today I saw my school's musical, The Drowsy Chaperone, on closing night! For extra credit in English, mostly (an essay I wrote crappily brought my grade down ridiculously) but I also have some friends in it, and I really liked it, honestly. It was hilarious. If you haven't heard of it, here's a link to the Wikipedia article because I don't feel like explaining: The Drowsy Chaperone.

UPDATE FROM THE FUTURE: there was a little bit here. Let me explain by paraphrasing from it: "I'm an adult in a teenager's body, and I'm playing at being a teenager anyway."

Anywho, I'm going to take a short bathroom break and then return to my rant, so you may notice a lack of anger coming up because I will have evacuated my bowels... (Sorry, was that too much information? Well YOUR FACE is nonexistent, Nonexistent Readers. So there.)

OK, I'm back...

Well, I guess that song will have to wait, again. I don't have much more of a rant in me.

Don't think any of you are too sad about that. :)

I'll post more some other day.

Your mixed-up poet,

magic*esi

The Pronouns Found That They Were Exceptionally Basic Points of Grammar

The pronouns also found that they did not need to be reviewed to a class of sophomores and juniors. These sophomores and juniors already knew about pronouns. The students are not lesser intellects than the teacher. The students really need to learn about aspects of voice and style, rather than what they are learning, which, unfortunately, is the proper way to use PRONOUNS.

I feel like a failure for this, though. Not because of pronouns, I know how to use pronouns, I'm just choosing to mess up on them in this blog in particular because I can. It's because:

a) I now have an 85 in AP English because I got a 70 on an essay and a 66 on a reading test.
b) Not because of pronouns, either- genuine writing issues.
c) I have a B in FOUR CLASSES. That's more than- oh- EVER. These classes are: US History, which is just a grading mistake which should be fixed soon enough; Chemistry, which was due to a bad grade on a test, my fault, and that should go up soon too; Economics, due to one assignment I didn't do- that's my fault for being lazy, but hopefully it'll go up; AAAAANNNND AP English, which is due to my being the worst writer in the world.

Yes, I know, I'm not the worst writer in the world. Still. You think it doesn't feel like that, when I see that I got a 70 on an essay?

d) EDIT FROM THE FUTURE: I'm an angstbucket.

AVPM Break: "Are you kids ready to fight draaaaagons? Of course you aren't, you're only children, what the hell am I thinking?"
"What the devil is going on here?"
My new obsession. Yeah.

e) I have an Algebra 2 quiz next period, and I'm not studying. Also, I'm in US History, and not paying attention.
f) I need to do a lot of research about astronomy, astrophysics, physics, anatomy, biology, and chemistry for The Wishmaker. At least for the next book, tentatively titled Triple Point. (update from the future: nah, that's the title of the last book) Still. I know nothing about this, cause I'm so darn stupid. Oooooohhhhh colloquialism! (Update from the future: What. what the fuck)

Anyway. So tonight for homework I have to write a list of ten sentences with pronouns. Hmm, I feel like I have déjà vu, OH RIGHT because we did this in THE FIFTH GRADE. That's g), I guess, so h) My family life isn't exactly a picnic in the rainbow pony land. For more, read some of my previous posts. UPDATE FROM THE FUTURE: yeah, some bad stuff happened, but nothing TOO bad. And it's all resolved now. So don't worry.

Still, I have some good points in my life:

a) The Hunger Games is coming out in two days, and I'm going to see it! Yay! I'm so excited!
b) I did a good job, for once, on my art history tutoring this morning. We learned about Japan! Ooh! And I made the PowerPoint from scratch, by myself, and it's still awesome.
c) Walden! Yay, I love it! Finally, a book that isn't crappy! Haha. Like I think I've said before, I'm going back in time to find good books since there aren't any in this age. I kind of gave up on 45 Before '45, but that doesn't mean I'm going to plop back with Twilight or whatever.
d) It's spring and it's beautiful outside!
e) Tomorrow I'm going to the Philadelphia Museum of Art to check out the Impressionists and the Rodin  Museum and I think something about some food I can't eat because I'm a vegetarian. Whatever! Yay!

One time I made my character, Leira Frank (she's from my seventh grade novel, the one that turned into nothing), do this. Write a list of problems in her life and then good things. I did it myself in my eighth-grade diary, only I didn't write any good things, and my list of problems was 40 long. Fun fun depression time! That was a bad year. Although, it was the year I became a feminist nonconformist. I should've read the Transcendentalists then, eh?

ANYWHO, for those of you who don't care about my life, I'm going to make a list of Great Spirits from my book, The Wishmaker, while my US History teacher explains our project on Reconstruction.
This stuff is kinda interesting. So I hope you aren't bored.
Expect a song tomorrow!


1. Ash- spirit of the calm before the storm, supporter of humanity
2. Awe- spirit of music and storms, friend of Ash, supporter of humanity
3. Death- spirit of death and poetry, opponent of humanity
4. Sleep- Master of Sittphi (spirits of destruction), antagonist and greatest opponent of humanity
5. Aurora- spirit of the dawn, supporter of humanity

That's all I have so far, sorry. Yeah. Well, at least there's a song tomorrow! And at least you guys are nonexistent, so you don't care!

Your not-paying-attention, currently failing four subjects (Failing is a B), poet,
magic*esi

I Should Be Doing My Chemistry Homework

It is a lovely day outside, and in half an hour my family's going outside for pizza and ice cream. Hooray! Plus, I finished my Japan PowerPoint for tutoring the freshmen Wednesday. Ah, Japan. Check out its art, it's awesome.


Anywho, so I wrote myself a poem that started out all depressing and whatever but it turned really damn creepy and kind of funny in the way that you think you should laugh but you're afraid something's going to pop out at you with an angry face. Ya know.

Here you go. I called it "Emerson", because I started it with an Emerson quote, and it's about nonconformity and stuff, but really I should call it "My Social Contract, Just for Teenagers".
I'll talk more about the Transcendentalists after the poem, if you're interested.

UPDATE FROM THE FUTURE: this is a really shitty poem, and really angsty, and just terrible. Do yourself a favor and don't read it. I'm not being modest. It really is awful. If you want to read GOOD poetry by me, go here: http://figment.com/books/507384-Post-Apocalyptic-Poetry

Emerson

“for nonconformity,

the world

whips you

with its scorn”

all the happy little children

dancing in their lit-up circles

dizzy smiles on their faces

as they spin and spin around

everybody laughing, smiling

even in the storm’s frustration

everybody dizzy

as I tumble to the ground

And break me, beat me

burn me, scratch me

cut me til my skin is raw

Just don’t ignore me

Please

Stop 

Looking

Away

I am different

that I know

Different than your silly show

Of 

“I am different, did you know?

I will wear a tie-dye bow

And that will make me special, no?”

I am color, I am light

I am dancing at midnight

I am wise for anyone

I am strong and I am young

You ignore me

You don’t know me

Guess who sees me: no one does

As you laugh

And fake uniqueness

I’m better than everyone

Oh, you dance

And break my bones

And say,

“Oh look! I am alone!

I only have

three-hundred-thousand

Facebook friends,

(all who I know),

so pity me,

don’t look at

Ariel

sitting there all alone”

And look,

you are depressed as well

With cuts all down your arms,

that’s swell!

You must be deep inside,

I can tell

By your shitty poetry

And crappy art

You must have

A real big heart.

And you’re so damn unique!

All of you

You’re all unique

It’s very true

In the exact same way

I’m proud of you

You all love the same

Hipster bands

And do your silly

Unicorn dance

And have

Five hundred Tumblr fans

You’ve written

“Seventeen whole pages”

Of your new novel

(For the AGES)

This time, this’ll be the one

You have to say

Writing’s just so fun

You can’t see why I

could be so dumb

As to not write

A novel like you

Eighty thousand words

(Maybe you’ll reach that, too)

AND LOOK!

LOOK HOW DARN SPECIAL YOU ARE!

You’ve heard of Sylvia Plath’s Bell Jar!

(you haven’t read it,

but there you are)

You’ve got witty comments about the world!

(Read them on Tumblr?

that’s absurd)

If you do something normal,

you’ve got an excuse!

So don’t you worry, guys-

IGNORE THE RECLUSE!

Ignore Ariel

and she’ll go away!

She’s just a reminder

Of how fucking boring 

your stupid “nonconformity”

is

compared to her 

genius

and her talent

and her actual

originality.

Smash her into the ground, though.

That’ll work.

There. That is really the first time I've ever cursed in a poem, besides 'damn'. Where's Waldo: damn, darn, crap, shit, fuck. Have fun, my dearie ducks! (What's wrong with me, may I ask?)
It's only to express emotion. I don't like cursing, really, no matter what impression you get from all the "fucking"s in this blog. It's because I don't get any other place to express emotion, you know? First there was the, "oh, I'm in love," deal, which was pretty much bottled up inside me for the last three years. Then there was the, "NO I HATE LOVE" deal, which is done now, mostly. Thank God. (By which I mean, I have fully realized that no, I don't hate love, but I'm certainly not IN love with anyone). Now it's the, "Dude. I exist. Hello? HELLO? Am I wearing an Invisibility Cloak? Hold on, no one reads this blog- a fucking Invisibility Cloak? Ooh, that felt good! Shit! Ahahahahaha!"
But no, I don't do that in real life.

As for the Transcendentalists: Yeah, so Emerson's cool, but he's a bit preachy, and get this: My Favorite Teacher agrees (the English teacher, if you haven't read my last ten thousand blog posts) that Thoreau is better than him. YES because Thoreau is my new obsession. Read Walden, guys. It's springtime! Best time to read Walden, in my opinion.

Anyway. Yeah, my other new obsession is A Very Potter Musical. Adore it. So much.
And of course, what's coming out in four days? THE HUNGER GAMES THAT IS RIGHT YAAAAAAAAAAYYYYY!!!!!!!

So really, why am I so mad about things? I guess it's a mood swing thing... darn, I really am in puberty, aren't I? You know, I was thinking today: Why am the only one in my family who's NOT in puberty? My dad is perpetually a teenage boy; my mom is a whiny teenage girl always in PMS; my sister is actually 13 and God do we know it. But me? No, I'm the mature adult around here, thank you.


But I can write love SO WELL. At least, I think. Mae and Aaron? (my characters in case ya didn't know) Most romantic relationship of ever. UPDATE FROM THE FUTURE: lol no they're not romantic at all
 Like I said, Aaron is a tortured soul, which I didn't even realize I was doing until my mom told me about Twilight, "Yeah, tortured souls are romantic" and I was like OMG, Aaron!
No spoilers about WHY he's a tortured soul. But here's one line that made me, The AntiCupid (reference to antichrist? No? OK.) melt, and I wrote it, and I hate romance.
"He had never thought of a girl as beautiful as his music."
Oh my God squealing! That is just so romantic, me. I rock.

Anyway. Yeah, I ought to do the chemistry homework. My chem teacher is doing this cuh-razy experiment where he actually teaches us for once, but still, I think I should read the textbook.


Anyway, my sister wants me to hear a song, so more tomorrow; I DO have a poem.

Your lovely Transcendentalist poem,
magic*esi

Sorry Nonexistent Readers! Here is a Happy Poem

I know, yesterday's post was depressing. I shall make up for it with a happy poem. Let me try to find one... I'm supposed to go to a meeting for my school's lit mag today, but as if. There's an idiot sub instead of the teacher who usually supervises it, who's on maternity leave, so yeah, no. And there's no one here today in school... everyone's at Teen Arts.

Ugh. Did you know yesterday my English teacher assigned us to read an essay longer than the novella I wrote in seventh grade? Emerson. Freaking Emerson. He's a good writer, damn it, but GOD SO LONG.
Damn. My friend (annoying Harry Potter one from the last post) just said she wants to go to the lit mag meeting. Auuugggh. She'll force me to go. And I have a lab report to do!

OK. Here's yer happy poem. It's not really happy, but it's not depressing either. Coincidentally, it was published in my school's lit mag.
I hope I haven't posted this before on here.

The Queen's Ball

The hallway was silent

The light-bulbs were darkened

The floor was sparkly clean.

The windows were sleeping

No grass-hoppers leaping

As all awaited the Queen.

Then footsteps were heard,

And then a quiet whisper,

“Look, look, she’s here!”

And eagerly awaiting

The hallway was stirring

As the sound drew ever near.

A candle then flickered

The flame softly dancing

And figures stepped into the light.

A pixie, a bullfrog,

A butterfly, a genie,

As the dance lit up the night.

The Queen’s Court played music

And partners were chosen

And in the middle of it, she stood tall

In a soft golden gown

With a halo round her head

The Fairy Queen leading her ball.

Woodland elves gave out pastries

Dripping with sugar

That was spun in the hollow of a tree

And Cupid sat in a corner

Watching the dancers

Cackling madly with glee.

The moon glowed ever brighter

But pixies still hung baubles

To add to the golden glow

But in the midst of the dancing,

There was a quick pause

As the violinists held aloft their bows

The Queen walked to the center

And retrieved her crown

And thanked all for a very good show.

She just left- it went quiet

And the pixies’ wings

Came to a tentative close

“I suppose,” said the conductor,

“As the Queen’s parties go

This is as bad as it goes.”

But what did go wrong?

And as to that, it is said

That nobody knows.

As the Queen’s Court packed their things

And left in a rush

Saddened by the ball’s sudden end

The hallway was silent

As all sat to wonder

If the Queen would stop to visit again.

And now I've got a friend to avoid and a lab report to do, so I shall post more later.

Your lab-report-lacking poet,

magic*esi

Teenage Angst...

It's not a poem, just a load of angst.

Augh. Sorry for not posting in forever, nonexistent readers. I should get the Write It ers to join you guys. You've been so supportive. You've never said a bad word! (hahaha)
That's not the angst; that's just a bit of fun joking to start off with.

UPDATE FROM THE FUTURE: What was here wasn't bad or embarrassing. It was true. But it's personal and I don't want anyone to see it. Anyone else, I mean; it's OK that "the witty weird friend" from the rant saw it.


We read Emerson's essay Self-Reliance for English today. It's lengthy and overdone and overdramatic, but at least it isn't a pack full of awful, awful, screaming lies. At least it tells the truth. Albeit with one too many modifiers.
What are my problems? What is it I need to confide in people? It's only what is written above. All of that. I feel trapped. Trapped in this small town, trapped in America, trapped in the world. Trapped in the prison of my own mind, although my mind has limitless bounds, and my imagination ends at the borders of the universe. I have limitless potential and opportunity, but I wish I could pursue it now and not wait. I want to live! Everyone is set up to be a corpse before they are even a person. I cannot do that. I must live! I must!

And I can.

I just wish I weren't so alone.

-magic*esi

'Help' and, well, Untitled, I guess...

Wow, it has been forever. The last time I posted was February 25th. It's not like I exactly have a crew of adoring fans here, but still. I didn't want this to turn into one of those blogs I eventually let rot into nonexistence. I have a ton of those. The good thing about this one is that it has the topic of poetry, which I write a lot of, and then want to post.

OK, the first one is about someone who wants to commit suicide and gets some annoying help or someone suggests to call a suicide hotline or whatever... UPDATE FROM THE FUTURE: a hypothetical person. Not everything I write is about me, ya know. :)

Help

Do you need help?

You’re the sort of person that needs help

There’s something deeply,

deeply

wrong with you.

Everyone would be better off without you

Do you need help?

Yes, you do

You’re crazy

Crazy crazy crazy

Do you like the sound of that?

Crazy?

Gone crackers?

Gone bananas?

Driven mad?

I think you need help

I think you should seek help right now

Instead of wasting time on

the chemistry work

You need a lot of help

It’s no wonder no one likes you

No one pays attention to you

If you don’t want to be ignored anymore

we can help you a lot

I know a great way

To make everyone stop ignoring you!

Do you need help

Figuring out how to die?

'Kay, right now I've been studying for Chem for the last ten minutes (we have a really difficult test on stoichiometry today) so let me post the next poem quickly. It's about not being part of the crowd that's obsessed with grades and colleges, and just letting myself be free to be myself.

Not Sure of a Title

Sorry

Sorry I shattered your

perfect crystal-ball world

Sorry I pierced the

pretty spun glass

until the cracks began to show

and spread

in spidery black lines

and then crash

crack

A thousand little dusty white pieces

all over the floor

Cough

I coughed when the dust rose

in perfect little white steam-clouds

Sorry I coughed

because the smoke was pretty

but it filled my lungs and I know

it’s unhealthy to let myself swallow

and then cough

hack

A cloud of steam in your eyes

to show you I’m not you

Boom

Boom went the world when I stomped

on the perfect grassy green ground

I don’t like your little

manufactured pretty world

I am not part of

your ivy-climb crowd

‘Cause I once was there

And I sang too loud

But I won’t turn

back

A trail of footsteps in my wake

all over the ground

I love this poem personally; I wrote it in economics yesterday (instead of, like, paying attention to economics, my least favorite class) and so yeah. 

Oh, and I just realized my poem 'Help' kinda indicates that people who commit suicide just want attention. I know that's not true. That's not what the poem's supposed to say. Not exactly sure what it's supposed to say; I wrote it in chemistry when I was feeling really crappy, so it's just my feelings spilling onto paper (or a Pages document, I guess).

ANYWAY. Got molar masses to convert, so I'll post more later.

Your expert in stoichiometry and poet,

Ariel