I don't know what's right and what's real anymore.
I couldn't go so far as to say Lily Allen is my idol, or that I'd ever want to live by the words of this song. But it is pretty frickin good, and it got me through the lagging part of my workout today. "No I'm not a saint, but I'm not a sinner / And everything's cool as long as I'm getting thinner." Turned up the volume and I was all set. Pure poetry right there. Perfection. Or at least Allen's version of it.
Now for some real poetry...I'm currently sitting in the library, by a massive circular window. The sun is hitting just right; there's a ray sunshine lighting my notebook, warming me ever so slightly. I'm prepping for my English exam and trying to finish my analytical Latin project...so pretty much a party. Coffee, power bars, and a Pandora mix based on Dr. Dog to keep me fueled. No Wax Tailor today. Too trippy for this kind of work.
I've been flipping through a book of Wallace Stevens poems, which my teacher pretty much considers his instruction booklet for life. I'm not sure I like his work that much, but it's keeping me awake, so I can't complain. Stevens has some pretty weird stuff, or at least weird stuff that I've found today in search of essay topics. But one in particular struck me for some reason. It doesn't relate entirely well to The Fear (song above), but since I'm in deep analytical mode, I was able to draw a parallel or two. Feel free to enjoy them separately. Or together. Or not at all, if you can't stand British pop stars or modern American poets.
MEN MADE OUT OF WORDS
What should we be without the sexual myth,
The human revery or poem of death?
Castratos of moon-mash--Life consists
Of propositions about life. The human
Revery is a solitude in which
We compose these propositions, torn by dreams,
By the terrible incantations of defeats
And by the fear that defeats and dreams are one.
The whole race is a poet that writes down
The eccentric propositions of its fate.