<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-516067625800367387</id><updated>2011-04-21T19:13:03.019-07:00</updated><category term='poetry'/><category term='anxiety'/><category term='change'/><category term='women'/><category term='friendship'/><category term='art'/><category term='louise bogan'/><category term='graduation'/><category term='aesthetics'/><title type='text'>backwashed thoughts</title><subtitle type='html'>on poetry, art, and reflection</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thoughtswashedback.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/516067625800367387/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thoughtswashedback.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>backwashed thoughts</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17632246409029632992</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>2</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-516067625800367387.post-6170321060485856919</id><published>2008-05-20T19:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-11T09:56:13.184-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='graduation'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='friendship'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='change'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='anxiety'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='louise bogan'/><title type='text'>graduation</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RAcklmhTBys/SDOGd-mX0xI/AAAAAAAAABQ/bwySZr0Nr0E/s1600-h/3amigos.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5202649844121326354" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RAcklmhTBys/SDOGd-mX0xI/AAAAAAAAABQ/bwySZr0Nr0E/s320/3amigos.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;Graduation day was last Sunday, and though I myself didn't graduate (being a junior), it had a huge impact on me. My boyfriend Nick and one of my best friends Josh graduated, along with a slew of other friends and acquaintences. I can only imagine how they must feel--on the threshold of such change and decision. I am proud of them both, and know that they have so much to look forward to in life-- life beyond Eckerd College. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Josh, Nick, and I had dinner together last night. We reminisced on the good times we had (which were plenty) and remembered why we were all equally closest of friends. The picture above shows just how much love we all have for each other. That's us enjoying awesome beers at the Independent Bar downtown. It hasn't really set in yet how much I will miss the three of us together. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Before leaving last night, Josh said, "See you tomorrow, guys, we should go to the beach or something". We agreed, but we all knew we were joking. Josh was leaving early tomorrow morning for home and Nick and I wouldn't see him....for a long while. It just wasn't going to be the same. I don't think it has set in for any of us yet, but I'm afraid soon it will.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;But I am so fortunate to have Nick staying with me for the next year. I can't even begin to imagine what it would be like to have to say goodbye to him. I can't. And I don't have to. We have so much to look forward to. This summer we will be in Chicago together--Cub games, hot dogs, new friends, new opportunities! And in the fall, we'll both return to St. Pete for me to finish off my last year and for him to apply to grad schools and work. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I guess there's a lot of change for me in my life--good and bad. Things will definitely be different. And though its a fact of life, and though it helps you grow, change can be god-damn terrifying. Especially for someone struggling with GAD. Even now I can feel my body becoming more anxious anticipating this summer of change and transformation. I want my safeties! I want my familiars!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I'm trying to keep my chin up, none the less. I'm trying to hold strong and believe that I will make new friends as well as keep the old. I know that Nick and my relationship will grow stronger with our new adventures. And I know when he goes home to Princeton for a couple of weeks, I won't have to worry about him cheating on me. Well, we'll save that last one for another entry. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I should end with a short poem, if that's all right with you...&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Cassandra&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;by Louise Bogan &lt;/span&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;To me, one silly task is like another.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;I bear the shambling tricks of lust and pride. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;This flesh will never give a child its mother, -- &lt;/span&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Song, like a wing, tears through my breast, my side, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;and madness chooses out my voice again, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Again. I am the chosen no hand saves: &lt;/span&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;The shrieking heaven lifted over men. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Not the dumb earth, wherein they set their graves.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;A beautiful lyric poet, and an inspiration for all the research I shall be doing this summer on all things greek and tragic. Yours, M.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/516067625800367387-6170321060485856919?l=thoughtswashedback.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thoughtswashedback.blogspot.com/feeds/6170321060485856919/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=516067625800367387&amp;postID=6170321060485856919' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/516067625800367387/posts/default/6170321060485856919'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/516067625800367387/posts/default/6170321060485856919'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thoughtswashedback.blogspot.com/2008/05/graduation.html' title='graduation'/><author><name>backwashed thoughts</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17632246409029632992</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RAcklmhTBys/SDOGd-mX0xI/AAAAAAAAABQ/bwySZr0Nr0E/s72-c/3amigos.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-516067625800367387.post-1370090529875533588</id><published>2008-05-11T13:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-11T09:56:13.380-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='women'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='art'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='aesthetics'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='poetry'/><title type='text'>first</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RAcklmhTBys/SCdUbemX0vI/AAAAAAAAABA/fwjedtDzPVE/s1600-h/p_ssltm_2.jpg"&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5199217125869736690" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: pointer; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RAcklmhTBys/SCdUbemX0vI/AAAAAAAAABA/fwjedtDzPVE/s320/p_ssltm_2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="FONT-STYLE: italic"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;5X5 10&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt; by Timm Mettler from "A Series of Shifting Landscapes"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;Aesthetics are important. There are days when all I can think about is whether or not my silhouette looks like a terracotta statue of Athene, whether my hair is something gold enough to romantically call flaxen and fair. I'll want to look like art or you, or her, or that girl...anyone else but me. It's easy to become obsessed with beauty. When placed in comparison, it can feel easy to fall short. There's this lyric from a song by the Silver Jews called "The Wild Kindness" and it's &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="FONT-STYLE: italic"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;I'm perfect in an empty room&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;. Sometimes I feel like that line describes me dead on. Aesthetics are important--this thought could destroy me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;I chose to start this post with an image of Timm Mettler's landscape because it reminded me that this thought didn't have to destroy--that it could instead, inspire me to create. I could crumble under my own insecurities. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="FONT-STYLE: italic"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;Am I as pretty as her?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt; Or I could choose to transcend comparison. I could write, I could paint, I could sing, I could speak, I could give, I could think. I could become like a shifting landscape, my foundations grating and moving beneath my horizon. I could be abstract and meaningful. I could be unique and rich with vibrancy and texture. Aesthetics can distract, they can create an escape. The profundity of beauty-- bittersweet, and ambiguous. I want to become something like a poem.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;Away from your mirror! Beautiful words to obsess about, instead:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;Human Beauty&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;by Albert Goldbarth&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;If you write a poem about love...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;the love is a bird,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:10;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;the poem is an origami bird.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;If you write a poem about death...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;the death is a terrible fire,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;the poem is an offering of paper cutout flames&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;you feed to the fire.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;We can see, in these, the space between&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;our gestures and the power they address&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;--an insufficiency. And yet, a kind of beauty,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;a distinctly human beauty. When a winter storm&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;from out of no where hit New York one night,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;in 1982, the crew at a theater was caught&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;unloading props: a box&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;of paper snow for the Christmas scene got dropped&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;and broken open, and that flash of white&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;confetti was lost&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;inside of what it was a praise of.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;* * *&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;Albert Goldbarth is an incredible contemporary poet. His style is similar to a new kind of poetry called Ultra-talk, and of the same ilk as David Kirby or Mark Halliday. If you want to know more about &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.valpo.edu/english/vpr/grahamultra.html"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;Ultratalk&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt; poetry or &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.thestudioat620.com/p_ssltm.htm"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;Timm Mettler&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;. Click on the links. Comment if you feel inclined. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;Signing off. Yours, M.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:13;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/516067625800367387-1370090529875533588?l=thoughtswashedback.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thoughtswashedback.blogspot.com/feeds/1370090529875533588/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=516067625800367387&amp;postID=1370090529875533588' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/516067625800367387/posts/default/1370090529875533588'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/516067625800367387/posts/default/1370090529875533588'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thoughtswashedback.blogspot.com/2008/05/5x5-10-by-timm-mettler-from-series-of.html' title='first'/><author><name>backwashed thoughts</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17632246409029632992</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RAcklmhTBys/SCdUbemX0vI/AAAAAAAAABA/fwjedtDzPVE/s72-c/p_ssltm_2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
