To thine own self be true

The best way to wake up after a long and troubled sleep is to listen to Ragtime Jazz. Especially the works of Scott Joplin. I'm listening to "Sunflower Slow Drag" right now, and it is both relaxing and energizing. Why don't I listen to this more? Here, for your listening pleasure, is "Sunflower Slow Drag":

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I have a challenge for you guys! Make a silent video to this song and post it in your reply! 

A little about me lately: 
My writing has been put on a bit of a standstill due to THREE MAJOR PAPERS due on or before April 1st. Which has me shaking in my socks, not gonna lie. I find the best way to get a focus on studying is to ignore the fact that you are studying and JUST STUDY. Does that make sense? It's so easy to get all caught up in the fact that you are researching or studying for this huge paper that has this amount of percentage on your final grade, which will determine your future career, which if you fail this one paper could possibly be that of Bum On The Streets. At least that's how the cycle goes for me. I've been meeting with a life coach, her name is Charlene, lately, and one thing we've been talking about is one's values. She got me to choose my fifteen top values from a variety of flashcards, and the third grouping I made was that of Trust and Credibility:

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  • Current Music
    sunflower slow drag - scott joplin

Another Misadventure With eowynstar_7

I've been writing my paper all night, it's six am, and I'm starving.

So I go to the kitchen and carve a bit of butter off the block to fry myself up a nice mess of hashbrowns-and-eggs.

I take the element covers off the elements, and my stomach rumbles in anticipation.

I turn on the right front element, and


Leave it to me to blow up the oven first thing in the morning.

Thankfully, Papa was able to fix it, and I was able to get my hashbrowns and eggs. (I am a pretty damn good cook when I set my mind to it, just sayin'. This weren't no regular hashbrowns and eggs, neither. This were fried in butter, with random seasonings like Mrs. Dash and salt and seasoning salt, and a scallion and a bit of onions and two eggs, and the wish for mushrooms but we were out, and a tiny bit of the Polish garlic sausage Nana bought from the Polish store. It were good).

Going to some show with Rosanna tonight.  Not sure if her coworker's in the band, or just wanted her to come with. Either way, should be fun.

On to write 291 more words of greatness!
  • Current Music
    devotion (armin van buuren mix) - yahel

The Great Sublime

I wrote this in class today. I'm not sure if it's a short story or a poem, but I like the way it flows. It's kind of a conglomeration of my responses to the artwork of Antonio Suarez ( and the music of Mons Chan (, both of whose blogs I recommend for some great art/music, as well as my own feelings towards spring. Here it is. Enjoy. :)

A new dawn had begun to break, and remnants built of yestereve's thick dew did cluster, old and fresh, small droplets of debris and hope. She stood in silhouetted silence backlit by the morning sun, wisps of dark brown hair afloat in lazy, graceful curls about her face. A lonely freedom surged within her breast, the winter having passed, along with various cadavers of herself whose burials from which she had just recently emerged. She was a fresh, new She, and all the other Shes did whisper in unwavering approval their own contrasts to herself, and to her joy, she found the earth itself was fresh, was new beneath her untried feet. Tender shoots of dreams, perhaps some called them crocuses, explored the chilly air within that ambling and suspenseful brink before the proper plunge to spring. A bottle tipped into her palm poured forth its purple, sketched and re-sketched waves to weave stop-motion-like, this creature for to mesmerize.
A smile played light upon her lips as glancing up to find their source, she felt soft hand-drawn paper leaves glance gently off her blooming cheeks, and over there a little way, apart from where she stood, perhaps another world in which to peer, she watched an older She limp painfully along within the broken dappled clearing, sunlight spots now dancing and now still upon Her face. She watched as She grew silent and unmoving, then in unexpected turn of these unusual events, a smile broke and grew upon Her careworn, aged face, as hobbling there on crutches through the broken dappled clearing, He approached, and She and He embraced, their hands to clasp, their hobbling gaits to synchronize. Releasing then the future, or her reverie thereof, she took a breath, invigorated by the smells of earth and life and air, and through that heady substance felt herself incorporate into the great sublime.

- SharaLee Topnik
March 5, 2010
On Spring

  • Current Mood
    creative creative

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I must now time myself.

And then nap for two glorious hours.

And then hope the PowerPoint actually works and that my speech isn't too long.

Technology/Ability to speak quickly, don't fail me now.

p.s. I officially despise Freud right now, but probably not as much as I will by 9:30 this evening.

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So I finished yesterday's paper and handed it in: one down, one to go! I have to now write a paper for Critical Theory. And research Freud's paper on dream symbolism for Tuesday's presentation. And get started on my history writeup for Byzantine History.  A Response Paper of four pages, which is roughly 1200 words. A bit longer than the last one, but not a problem. It takes more words to describe the ideas contained in Critical Theory than it does for Victorian Literature.

I thought I'd start out my argument with some of the discussions I've been having on Facebook, mostly with myself, haha, and I believe with Mons, too, on the nature of what makes High Brow Culture and Low Brow Culture, and why culture itself should not be viewed as a tool by which to separate the power bloc from the masses, but as simply a collection of  "the best", from which anyone despite their social standing can draw to more greatly enrich their lives, similarly to what Matthew Arnold believed, though I do not believe it will necessarily bring a society to his ideology of "sweetness and light" (insert citation here), due to the fact that many works of genius and what is seen as high art are of a dark and sinister nature, exposing reality for what it is. However, to refer back to my main argument, as soon as one begins to define what is best from what is lesser than, a problem arises, a question: who decides? In our current culture, there is a trend towards the seeming equlibrium of input into High Culture by both the power bloc and the masses, an idea which cultural theorists like Dwight MacDonald and Arnold disliked, claiming that it would lower the standards of culture to mix High Brow Culture with Low Brow Culture, thus invalidating the culture of the masses entirely, which I also believe to be an incorrect way of dealing with popular culture. Arnold and  MacDonald both have a special dislike for anything modern by way of popular culture, Arnold because
he was afraid that developments in his day of a middle or low-class culture would lead to anarchy and that high-class culture was the only legitimate culture, the only way to keep Victorian society as it then was secure. MacDonald's apprehensions are more connected to the then fairly recent emergence of several branches of popular artistic expression, which he disparages, claiming "Mass Culture has also developed new media of its own, into which the serious artist rarely ventures: radio, the movies, comic books, detective stories, science fiction, television" (59).

Etc, etc, etc. This has helped me get started on my paper at least.
Well, off I go, listening to Beethoven and saturated in caffeine to hopefully enhance my mental performance. Wish me luck.

i just got lost

So I'm 545 words through my 750 word paper for Victorian and Edwardian Literature. Only 205 words to go. Not that bad at all, really. Well, compared with some people I know who have to write 10,000 word papers, it's peanuts.  It's just slightly difficult when you are a perfectionist with your writing like I am, and you want every word to be absolutely PERfect and you left it till NOW to write. Just sayin'. But the thing is, I only got a B+ on my term paper because I stayed up till six am after doing the same the night before, writing it on three hours of sleep while recovering from H1N1, but I had to work at 6:45 so I didn't have time to finish the thing properly. Oh well. I honestly did my best there. I can't look back on that. But now, I need to work extra hard to get an A (ideally an A+) in this class, especially because Chonnam University will be looking at my transcript when considering admission.

Still. I DID leave this until NOW. It's really stupidity/busyness on my part. But now, all I can do is finish it! Every time I feel overwhelmed, I think of Mons and all the stuff he somehow pulls off, and it really inspires me to try harder and do my best even when I don't feel like it. As he once said, "Bite off more than you can chew, THEN CHEW IT!"

Not that this is more than I can chew, AT ALL. In fact, compared to December, this is nothing.

So just to get my mind back on my paper again, it's about how the figure of Tonga in Conan Doyle's The Sign of Four represents a "savage" foil for the British Empire's perception of its own "nobility". I just need a few more good quotes and perhaps to expand with some new ideas. Maybe one new idea. Only two hundred words! I mean, really, that's only a couple paragraphs.So. Back to it!
  • Current Music
    lost ! - coldplay (in my head)

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This poem is the feeling you have when you can't sleep after a hard day, or the feeling when too many bad things have all happened all at once. It's about fighting back and staking a claim on what's beautiful, fighting back for hope, even when with those diamond chips you've tossed, you have to kick up a little dust, too. Maybe you can't have the beautiful without the ugly sometimes. Either way, it's an internal reconciliation between the diamond and the dust of life, and a return to the now of your own reality, be that one of diamonds or dust or a little of both. The point is that either way, gravity's going to pull at everything. Your job is to keep defying it.

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counting stars

This is my first poem of 2010. It's a tad different than my earlier poetry, but so am I. I've changed. I hope you, dear reader, will still enjoy it. Thank you all for taking interest in this creative outlet of mine. I would not be a true writer without you.

last night i lay awake and
counted stars in bed to aid
a long-enchanted, dust-encrusted sleep,
instead to pick and worry at
this red-bound yarn of
time, unraveling the mystery about us
out of which material we
have materialized
returning unto it in time
once more.
and idly then i wondered if in
liberty so greedy i may
strain 'pon fistfuls
of the stuff,
my pockets for
to fill,
and wandering the
frozen streets,
to snip off pieces and disperse
largess to scatter here among
the populace.
more time would i
bestow 'pon you to say
and even still, hello,
and laying there, i counted stars
myself to interrupt, to sip
the cocktail of
chagrin and twist my lips,
another orb lost in
the multitude.

- daenor

just a poem

"i won't see you till next year" we
both said and laughed,
at least we said we laughed,
"haha" you typed and i replied in
kind, but sitting here in my old chair,
(still broken on one side)
i sigh and laughter is not even
traced upon my lips
because i cannot help but wonder if
you will be you next year
when next we meet:
who will i see, and for that
matter, who will you?
this time apart has shaped us; it's
shaped me and in a corner of my heart
i like to think "and through me, you",
but then i ask another question silently
and show you that i care
still trying to
ignore how much you're

 - daenor
dec. 30/09
  • Current Music
    glass - bat for lashes