Mrs. GH's 2nd Period AP Lit Class

There hasn't been a post for a while so i figured i would let you in on some more music that will get you into the music that X and I listen too instead of the mtv, vhi, radio garbage that consists of slow jams and gangsta rap, or your standard, everything sounds the same pop punk. And if you are thinking now "Ok they listen to things like Blink 182, Fall Out Boy, or Simple Plan. They Rock!!!" Your dead wrong...so here it goes.

1. When They Really Get To Know You, They Will Run- Pedro The Lion
2. First Day of My Life- Bright Eyes
3. Televators- The Mars Volta
4. Njosnavelin (Nothing Song)- Sigur Ros
5. Let Go- Frou Frou
6. The Only Living Boy In New York- Simon and Garfunkel (Old School)
7. Like Eating Glass- Bloc Party
8. The Recluse- Cursive
9. If I Live Or If I Die- John Vanderslice
10. Club Foot- Kasabian
11. Penelope- Of Montreal
12. Penelope- Pinback (Weird Huh)
13. Light and Day- The Polyphonic Spree
14. Hold Me Now- The Polyphonic Spree
15. July, July!- The Decemberists

Give Me Feedback...
Make Juilenburg

...would I format this poem and retype it so it's uniform to our handouts. Here you go, man. 2 poems by John Donne--find the metaphysical conceit and "have them ready" for tomorrow.

The Sun Rising
   John Donne

        BUSY old fool, unruly Sun,
        Why dost thou thus,
Through windows, and through curtains, call on us ?
Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run ?
        Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide
        Late school-boys and sour prentices,
    Go tell court-huntsmen that the king will ride,
    Call country ants to harvest offices ;
Love, all alike, no season knows nor clime,
Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.

        Thy beams so reverend, and strong
        Why shouldst thou think ?
I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink,
But that I would not lose her sight so long.
        If her eyes have not blinded thine,
        Look, and to-morrow late tell me,
    Whether both th' Indias of spice and mine
    Be where thou left'st them, or lie here with me.
Ask for those kings whom thou saw'st yesterday,
And thou shalt hear, "All here in one bed lay."

        She's all states, and all princes I ;
        Nothing else is ;
Princes do but play us ; compared to this,
All honour's mimic, all wealth alchemy.
        Thou, Sun, art half as happy as we,
        In that the world's contracted thus ;
    Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties be
    To warm the world, that's done in warming us.
Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere ;
This bed thy center is, these walls thy sphere.


The Flea
by John Donne


MARK but this flea, and mark in this,
How little that which thou deniest me is ;
It suck'd me first, and now sucks thee,
And in this flea our two bloods mingled be.
Thou know'st that this cannot be said
A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead ;
    Yet this enjoys before it woo,
    And pamper'd swells with one blood made of two ;
    And this, alas ! is more than we would do.

O stay, three lives in one flea spare,
Where we almost, yea, more than married are.
This flea is you and I, and this
Our marriage bed, and marriage temple is.
Though parents grudge, and you, we're met,
And cloister'd in these living walls of jet.
    Though use make you apt to kill me,
    Let not to that self-murder added be,
    And sacrilege, three sins in killing three.

Cruel and sudden, hast thou since
Purpled thy nail in blood of innocence?
Wherein could this flea guilty be,
Except in that drop which it suck'd from thee?
Yet thou triumph'st, and say'st that thou
Find'st not thyself nor me the weaker now.
'Tis true ; then learn how false fears be ;
Just so much honour, when thou yield'st to me,
Will waste, as this flea's death took life from thee.

One time we played hide and seek with closed eyes, some flesh, fingertips, and adorational grins. It was all the metaphorical hype one could conjure, and all the happiness one could ever want, drawing parallels to childhood memories recounted by a drip of apple juice on the tongue and an animal cracker for solace on a rainy day. But now you've got me writing very lengthy sentences about memories of us which try to compact an insurmountable quantity of emotion into a fairly articulate expression of distress. I mean, I hate to say it, but your absence makes depressing acoustic guitar melodies my only friends when I sit alone in isolation from the world (or lackthereof.) I feel like a mixture of Elliott Smith, Deathcab for Cutie, Keith Urban, all surmounted into one person, and lacking all that talent. Alright, toss Common into that mix, because there needs to be some smattering of blackness for that mass of person--I wouldn't want to lose my inherent tan.

Anyhow, now isn't joking time. Now is mourning time. Mourning for our love's cadaver, corroded deep in the throes of Cupid's morgue for relationships like ours. So what will it be? Cremation or a burial? I think my construction of this piece, though, shows we've already been cremated, as I am an ash.

I am an ash.

And I'm touching the nose of this reader, but I'm sure it doesn't tickle.*

Whoa. Total emo moment all, sorry.

To steal a formatting note from Rob Muilenburg and the short empire that was his blog:

This post was filled with a ridiculous amount of unneeded agony.

Alexander -X- Catchings I

Now now Jake, don't be overly presumptuous about our tastes--some mainstream is good, but in doses. See, they're a lot like gummi worm medicine my friend has at Pacific. They taste JUST like real gummi worms, but if you eat too many you'll OD and die. Well, mainstream music is ilke that; it's good in doses but if you get hooked on it your will to accept more open-minded genres will die. So no, mainstream is not necessarily bad, unless we're talking about music with frivolous lines like, "This sh** is bananas, b-a-n-a-n-a-s," and even that, while totally ludicrous in meaning, can be downsized by a catchy beat and women empowerment through the radio. Oh, Gwen Stefani.

In other news, I wrote a poem about the ex--
Don't mind the line numbers.

"Our Tainted Fruit"
X

Blueberry lines
1
and frazzled thorn vines
2
make me exaltant
3
that you are mine.
4


Apricot squares
5
and cinnamon pears
6
remind me of fingers
7
musing your hairs.
8


Rotten fig skies
9
and tart cherry pies
10
I taste and I see
11
in our season's demise.
12


Carameless apples and
13
blood-crusted dapples
14
cover the rim
15
of our passionfruit snapple.
16


Green non-ripe fruit
17
and your smile so cute
18
are all I've got left
19
past berries and roots.
20


A subsistent boy
21
you're sauce and I'm soy
22
and you fling our old times
23
like some worthless toy.
24


I sit and I make
25
a Christmas fruitcake
26
with our rotten figs
27
for old springtime's sake.
28

All the love I can give electronically:
Alexander Catchings I

me and X have vowed to get you wonderful...but mislead (at least in music) people on the right path...ENOUGH with the music on heavy rotation...ENOUGH with the teeny boppers...thats why that i have set up a beginner list of things to download. These songs are fantastic and have deeper meaning then any music on the mainstream radio and mtv. so your assignment is...download and listen to these songs...good day...make juilenburg

..that title is a piece of the proceeding song I will discuss.

Alright, for those of you who didn't see this bit already:

My friend and I were discussing this today--is "This Bitter Pill" by Dashboard Confessional not the most ridiculous song you've ever heard? I mean, I wish that I could half scream half cry into a microphone with an acoustic guitar tuned half a step down and strum made up chords, then have my song go mainstream and be adored by depressed fans with raven side bangs (males and females) everywhere.

Wait wait wait, though:

"The bottle is waiting
the cap is twisted begging to be used
and so are you."

This guy is livid.

If you haven't heard this tremendous musical atrocity, then listen to it, ideally if you're in woe. My friend articulated it best: You can listen to this when you're depressed, and think Wow, I thought I had it bad, but no matter what happens, I can never have it as bad as this guy. It's true. You'll just have to think that while Chris Carrabba vomits his angst into your delicate ears.

As an aside, remember to sign your names at the bottom of your posts, please. It's a lot more convenient and I didn't design this to automatically put your name in for each post--I'll fix that when I'm not quite so lazy, so hopefully we won't have graduated by then.

Also, listen to Jake about music. His taste simply rivals even my superb musical indulgences, so if you are lost in the thresholds of horrendous top 40 night club music (remember what The Thrills said: Top 40 night clubs provide the soundtrack for dry humping on dance floors) PLEASE talk to me or him, we'll straighten you out, and you'll stop listening to things like ::shudders:: Ja Rule.

All my adoration,
Alexander Catchings I

And it came to me then that every plan
Is a tiny prayer to father time
As I stared at my shoes in the ICU
That reeked of piss and 409
And I rationed my breaths as I said to myself
That I’ve already taken too much today
As each descending peak on the LCD
Took you a little farther away from me
Away from me

Amongst the vending machines and year-old magazines
In a place where we only say goodbye
It stung like a violent wind that our memories depend
On a faulty camera in our minds
And I knew that you were a truth I would rather lose
Than to have never lain beside at all
And I looked around at all the eyes on the ground
As the TV entertained itself

‘Cause there’s no comfort in the waiting room
Just nervous pacers bracing for bad news
And then the nurse comes ‘round and everyone lift their heads
But I’m thinking of what Sarah said
That love is watching someone die

So who’s gonna watch you die?

what sarah said...death cab for cutie

i just thought i would share with you the song i have been listening to constantly...fantastic lyrics don't you think...vivid description

If you have any taste in music at all you will find these poetic masterpieces appealing

let down- Radiohead
what sarah said- Death Cab For Cutie (These lyrics are amazing)
neighborhood #1 (Tunnels)- The Arcade Fire
trailer trash- Modest Mouse
rose parade- Elliot Smith
neighborhood #3 (Power Out)- The Arcade Fire
wake up- The Arcade Fire (Sry i am really excited about the arcade fire right now...but you should be too)
saint simon- The Shins
caring is creepy- The Shins
cannonball- Damien Rice
casimir pulaski day- Sufjan Stevens
absinthe party at the fly honey warehouse- Minus The Bear (haha oscar wilde...absinthe.)

beware...some of these songs are fairly depressing (rose parade, what sarah said, let down, casimir pulaski day)...i don't want to be responsible for any attempted suicides
expect to see more of these types of blogs...music is almost all i care about

and if you havent gotten into the indie world of music...your missing out...hopefully i will get you in

send me a rant or a rave on these songs...tell me what you think...give me some suggestions on what i should dl...PIRATE
urs truly...make juilenburg

      Sherbert colored leaves whisp under shoes on a month of crisp bitterness. People say it's the pinnacle of each year, but I would rather count the stars with one eye closed on a warm evening instead of try to get comfortable while wrapped in this blanket of refrigerator melancholy.

       So many people are like freshly separated cubes from a chilly tray of frosted water, and they're interfering with my sips of much-needed chai tea.

       Nights are numb and days droll with color gone from the lively sky passed on to mundane cadavers of leaves.

       This is a month of curdled milk expressions. I purse my lips and squint my eyes as I sip it, and think, How I hate the taste of October.