Laura and Michel, sitting in a tree...

...K-I-S-S-I-N-G!

I was reading over Petrarch's Sonnets, as part of my studying for Hamel's Lit midterm tomorrow. Oh how I wish I could write poetry. I used to try. It wasn't too bad, either. When I was 12 I was making ample use of extended metaphor and whatnot. I wrote a poem about someone washing their hands, but using a battle instead. Part of me is a bit embarrassed by it, but another part is still proud as heck of it. I'd write about everything. I even pulled off an actual Shakespearian sonnet for English freshman year of high school. I love words. I love the English language. And although Rosencrantz and Guildenstern may be dead, I love them dearly.

If I could write poetry, I could write songs. Oh man, that would be perfect. But as it is I am left to make use of the works of others, copy and paste words from someone else's mouth. I've said it a few times, but I believe in two things: love and music. Maybe there’s a reason why I play the clarinet. So my mouth is too busy making an embouchure to sing while I play.

I love Blue October because their songs are purposeful; they have meaning and use brilliant and harsh imagery. I first heard their song "Hate Me" and what struck me the most was "They crawl in like a cockroach leaving babies in my bed, dropping little reels of tape to remind me that I'm alone, playing movies in my head that make a porno feel like home." And then I saw their music video for "Into the Ocean" and I had a new favorite song. Their music in that song is even bubbly, like water. But currently my favorite by them is "Independently Happy." Perfectly describes my feelings towards living here, because I’m finally happy. But you all know that. If you don’t, consult my previous notes.

But alas, Prose is my voice. I don't mean to say that I'm discontent with it. Far from it, because (these are my Notes, so I can sound incredibly arrogant if I want to) I've got a pretty darn good handle of informal prose when I feel it. It's my voice, and if you want to be happy you have to learn to love your unique voice. Prose is part of my voice. The thing is, even my poetry was always most comfortable for me when written in free or blank verse. It just shows, I guess, that prose is what I'm meant to use, and to use it well. I have the greener disease.

So why do I want poetry? Poetry, real poetry has to come from the heart. It's the same reason why I fall for musicians. Real music comes from the soul. Its fruit of something deep and real and beautiful living there, growing there. A real soul, a real heart that cares about the big questions, that has the capacity to love and be loved. And damn, that's hot. I get excited when I hear that someone (especially guys) writes poetry, or songs, because songs count as poetry. I think part of it also has to do with the fact that I’m a hopeless romantic. Gothic Macabre from Poe, Romanticism from Shakespearian sonnets and drama, and passion from a million other greats.

I think I write a bit like Montaigne does. Start with a topic, make digressions, and maybe come back to the original point. Frankly I haven’t read as much as I am supposed to of his work, but I still feel a bit of affinity with him. Much like how I can relate in a scary way to Catherine of Northanger Abbey. Now that was fun reading. Another Sparknotes Classic. Ah well. There are worse things, I suppose. Besides the fact that Sparknotes is a complete and total insult to the actual reading of literature because it is abused so much to take the place of actual reading. But I read and use them anyway. You could call me a hypocrite; I call me human. I acknowledge my deficiencies and advocate the ideal. Wow, that sounds a lot like Catholic teaching. Regular old wishy washy Christian, even. (again, my dad is Lutheran, so I can bash prots because deep down inside I really love them. It’s the same concept as it being ok for black people to bash black people. I take my excuses for invective when I can get them. Deal with it). Realize we’re sinful, but try to ‘be perfect, just as your heavenly father is perfect.’

Bottom line (But why should there be one?): I love poetry, but I write prose and I’m okay with that. If you write poetry and I have some sick feeble sort of feelings, whatever form they take for you, they’ll be magnified by double if you write poetry, and ten if it’s good. That goes for friends and lovers.

Lovers. HA. Now there’s a funny word. Let the record show that Katelyn is single and happy. Independently Happy.

Damn I love layers of meaning.

Happy (Belated) Valentine’s Day, everyone.