(Warning: vaguely sexual content)
(More mushy stuff about my boyfriend under the cut: I do apologize. I actually finished this a month ago but didn’t post it until now – sorry! It’s rather rough and quite lazy.)
(It’s strange, how weirdly inspiring (in terms of art) English Literature degrees can be sometimes. Sadly, though, I think the metaphor here is going to be a little lost.
This is, I should mention, not really a poem – this is something closer to a work in progress. Hence the numbering; perhaps I’ll come back to this idea. It’s a lovely one, regardless.)
(Oh, and for those of you reading who are a little lost as to the symbolism, here’s how it works: prior to the 19th Century, books were read only by an elite few, and hence, paper was of a high, low acid quality. We move to the 19th Century, the introduction of the printing press, and we need paper in higher quantities, so we move to wood pulp (hence the term ‘pulp novels’) which are of a high acid quality, and degrade faster. This is why, oddly, books from the 15th Century are better preserved than books from the 19th Century. It’s a lovely factoid, and a piece of symbolism I’d like to return to.)
(I honestly have no idea what inspired this, beyond the 400-level paper I’m taking on the subject. But also, huzzah, I have a computer so semi-regular updates can happen again, yay!)
(After a night of intense stress, my boyfriend got his job! Yay! So I’m celebrating with a short freeform poem about love, emotion and poetry.)
(I wrote this exactly two years ago today: January 23rd 2014. Well, technically, I wrote it on January 24th, and I expect the tributes will start to flow tomorrow, given that I’m strictly speaking a day ahead, but the date in question (and doesn’t everything, when it all boils down, just come down to dates and words and the stories we choose to tell? But I digress) is the 23rd. It’s the date people remember, anyway, and here’s why:
For a period of about, oh, three years? I was involved in the Channel Awesome fan community. Don’t worry; it’s not overly-important. But one of the video producers for CA for a while was someone called Justin Carmichael, or Jewwario, and this poem was written on the day it was announced he had committed suicide.
I was never a huge fan, but I knew people who were, and watching the outcry prompted me to write this. It’s less about dealing with your own grief and more about dealing with other people’s. It is not, I feel, a very good poem, but it is how I was feeling at the time.
My own personal feelings on JW are…complicated for a variety of reasons. But that is a post for another time, when I’m braver and stronger and less afraid.)