Lilteens's Weblog

la cerveza mas fina

lilteens — Thu, 13 Nov 2008 04:28:55 +0000

“You have to study the picture, and sometimes the words are contradicting the picture,” Hoberek said. “It is slowed down a bit because in part what you are doing is contemplating the pictures the way you would a painting.”

“Our greatest glory is not in never failing but in getting up every time we do” Confucius
(kick ass)

“Inside these four walls
Ain’t nobody but me
There is a place that I run to
Where there ain’t nobody to please

Here’s everything I wanted to say

(Through these times)
I’ve always held your hand
(By your side)
Everyday you couldn’t stand
(I’ll hold on) to see you rise again
(I’ll still love) You ’til the bitter end
‘Til the bitter end

I will never forget
All the things you said
I never heard you say you’re sorry
I hate you for leavin’ me dead

Here’s everything I wanted to say

[Instrumental Interlude]

And I’ll still love you, ’til the bitter end”
-Black Stone Cherry: The bitter End
——>the way the lyrics are written are kind of interesting to me, I’m working on repetition in my own writing, in poetry, and cannot seem to get the repetition to sound right and to not sound like a hammer over and over again. it boggles the mind whenever I get a critique back telling me it doesn’t work, but HOW THE HELL do i make it work? What is it about repetition that works, but then again doesn’t work? How do you know if it’s working well? and how do I make something not sound prosy? Almost all of my poetry has seemed to turn out prosy, but I don’t want to take too much out because it wont make sense and then if I put too much in then it’ll sound like a story… but then there’s detail that I cannot bring myself to actually put into the poem because to me I don’t find it necessary, but others do… confusing!!! ha Confucius and confusing… its awesome right? I think I’ve lost my mind… yeaaaaaah

the editing effect

lilteens — Mon, 27 Oct 2008 00:23:10 +0000

The Almost Moon- Alice Seabold

lilteens — Sun, 26 Oct 2008 22:13:54 +0000

“My clues to my mother’s life before me were not many. It took me a while to notice that almost all of them–the Steuben glass paperweights, the sterling silver picture frames, the Tiffany rattles that were send a dozen strong before she miscarried her first, then second, child–were chipped and dented, cracked or blackened in various ways. Almost all of them had been or would be thrown either at a wall or at my father, who ducked with a reflexive agility that reminded me of Gene Kelly tripping up and down the sodden curbs in Singin’ in the Rain. My father’s grace had developed in proportion to my mother’s violence, and I knew that in absorbing it and deflecting it in the way he did, he also saved her from seeing herself as she had become. Instead she saw the same reflections of herself that I pored over when I snuck downstairs after dark. Her precious still photography.”
“When my father met her, my mother was fresh from Knoxville, Tennessee, and made her living as a showroom model of underwear and support garments. She preferred to say, “I modeled slips.”

“These were the years of my earliest childhood, when my mother was still powerful, before she collected what she considered the unforgivable flaws of age. Two years short of her fiftieth birthday, she began covering all her mirrors with heavy cloths, and when, as a teenager, I suggested we remove the mirrors completely, she objected. They remained there as she grew infirm. Her shadowy, silent indictments.”

“Years ago, when I began to feel overwhelmed by having to care for my mother, I started to dispose of small items throughout my house. Perhaps that’s why I wouldn’t have blamed Mrs. Castle if she had stolen the Pigeon Forge bowl. In some senses, after all she’d done, I’d more than once felt like opening up my mother’s jewelery box and saying, “Help yourself.” Unfortunately, young Manny of the condom had already done that, a fact I had successfully kept hidden from everyone.”

“In the middle of the largest room, where two adults stood with their arms gesticulating in the air, was a rocking horse like the one he had once made me and those he made and painted each year for the Greek Orthodox Children’s Fair. This one was plain, save for the pencil work that would mark out the separations between colors.”

i want to meet these people

lilteens — Sat, 25 Oct 2008 17:13:28 +0000

www.postsecret.com is where I get a good portion of inspiration for things that I write, whether I want them to be seen by others, or not. I write as if I’m the person who sent in the postcard, I think to myself, what could make them feel compelled to do this, why are they feeling this way, and work out different situations they might find themselves in, all based on the secret itself, but also the colors and patterns that they chose.
it gives me shivers

Oh politics, how I love thee

lilteens — Sat, 11 Oct 2008 16:13:03 +0000

YES!! I found the video and was able to make it work… so now you can just enjoy it here and find the humor in it that I have… finally.

Story of my life come Sundays

lilteens — Sun, 28 Sep 2008 19:51:03 +0000

Once again, postsecret.com has updated, and once again story of my life. Basically the only thing that I truly look forward to on Sundays… and I’m fine with that :)

Binder Clips

lilteens — Fri, 05 Sep 2008 14:57:38 +0000

things collected from postsecret.com, busch gardens, song lyrics (etc). hence the binder clips title, need something after all to clip them all together

Faut souffrir pour être belle
And all the art that I have created, is simply a reflection of something he’s already made
Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle
Begin each day as if it were on purpose
It could be a million different things… It could be a thunderstorm in Japan!!

Finding one’s voice

lilteens — Wed, 27 Aug 2008 02:11:37 +0000

This picture below is from the website www.postsecret.com, which has always been my favorite website ever since high school.