What is a poet? An unhappy man who conceals profound anguish in his heart, but whose lips are so fashioned that when sighs and groans pass over them they sound like beautiful music. His fate resembles that of the unhappy men who were slowly roasted by a gentle fire in the tyrant Phalaris’ bull—their shrieks could not reach his ear to terrify him, to him they sounded like sweet music. And people flock about the poet and say to him: do sing again; Which means, would that new sufferings tormented your soul, and: would that your lips stayed fashioned as before, for your cries would only terrify us, but your music is delightful. And the critics join them, saying: well done, thus must it be according to the laws of aesthetics. Why, to be sure, a critic resembles a poet as one pea another, the only difference being that he has no anguish in his heart and no music on his lips. Behold, therefore would I rather be a swineherd on Amager, and be understood by the swine than a poet, and misunderstood by men.
Søren Kierkegaard ~ Diapsalmata
Monthly Archive for December, 2007
I just ordered my brand new Telecaster!!!!!!!!!!!
See how perty!
Any way I’m psyched out of my mind about this so I thought I’d share my psychedoutedness with you guys.
Alright so I wrote this a few months back, and yes, I have posted it before but, I never got any criticism concerning it. So I am re-posting this fairy tale in hopes that I may receive a bit, no matter how harsh.
Any ideas for names would also be much appreciated, But for now it will remain titled
A Fairy Tale
Alright so let’s start out with me painting you a little picture…
If a girl asks me for my number (whether I am attracted to her or not) I can’t say no.
So I’m working the drive-through at starbucks the other day and these four girls come through in a tiny Bug and are extremely giggly and all that stuff and we talk a little bit because that’s what I do; I talk to everybody that comes through… One thing leads to another and all the girls say to the driver “Get his number!” So she says,
“Hey, we want to invite you to her birthday party at Millikin.” pointing to the girl in the passenger seat “Give us your number.”
Oh crap!
Seven digits come flying out of my mouth; there was no stopping them.
I gave them my number knowing full well that I was just not going to answer or going to have to come up with a lie when they called.
ten minutes after they leave… a voicemail.
two minutes after that… a text.
can you say crazy?
the texts continued, asking if I was at work so they could come see me, what I was doing this weekend, why am I not texting back… these types of things.
All of this was fine until I’m walking through the mall a couple of nights ago and I get a text that says “I just saw you in JC Penny.”
I began to run.
Later that night I’m at a fellow co-workers house and I start to look at a list of other employee’s phone numbers and one number stands out amongst the rest… The number of one Miss Crazy Pants; otherwise know as my shift manager.
So I start leaving her text messages… at four in the morning…
“I’m laying in bed thinking about you… what are you wearing?”
So much fun, how should this end?