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Incidental Poetry

17 Jul

So as a result of too much free time and the determination to use Sky Atlantic before it gets cancelled, I have become addicted to The X Files. As should be partly obvious, I was too young to watch it when it first came out, but I’m making up for lost time (finished Series 1, partway through Series 2). And while I was watching clips on YouTube (the bloopers are hilarious), I came across this, and-not to be too cheesy-it spoke to me in such a way that I thought I really had to post it.

And here are the words:

Grief squeezed at her eggshell heart.
Like it might break into a thousand pieces.
Its contents running like broken promises
into the hollow places his love used to fill.
How could she know this pain would end?
That love, unlike matter or energy,
was in endless supply in the universe…
A germ which grows from nothingness
which cannot be eradicated even from the darkest of hearts.
If she had known this, and who could say she would believe it?
She would not have chanced to remain at his sad grave
until such an hour so that she might not have to learn the second truth before the first:
That to have love was to carry a vessel that could be lost or stolen
or worse, spilled blood-red on the ground.
And that love was not immutable and could become hate as day
becomes night as life becomes death.


The Use of YOLO

9 Jul

This  has been popping up everywhere recently (by which I mean school, television, facebook and the Internet. I cast a wide and varied social net). And the more I hear it, the more it annoys me.

The concept behind it is one that I wholeheartedly believe in. Taking every day with a new sense of wonder, with the knowledge that it might be your last, trying new things because you know that you only get one shot: those are all values that people should live their lives by. But isn’t it so typical of this-my-“technical generation” to shorten this well worn, time honoured, meaningful concept by making into four  somehow incredibly annoying letters?

And it’s not just that. I have a friend (whom I hope never reads this) who punctuates every sentance with a cry of “Yolo!”.


“What are you having for lunch?”


“These steps are really steep.”


“I like your top!”



So, understandably, for me the phrase has nearly lost all meaning.  And I’m sure it’s not just me that feels this way; the eye rolling whenever anybody says it now suggests that I’m right. But why do we have to make everything meaningless for ease of use? For further evidence, see I Regret Nothing-Edith Piaf song or dancing chicken?


The art of writing is the…

2 Jul

The art of writing is the art of discovering what you believe.

Gustave Flaubert

I’ve often felt this, especially when I begin writing something and end it in a completely different way than I was originally intending. Often, whatever I’m writing seems to have a life of its own, which means it’s different for others too! One poem I wrote and entered in a competition I intended to have a hopeful ending-but the teacher who gave me feedback commented on its “bitter tone”, which, having looked at it again, I could see material for. Words truly are alive.


Y que pequeños nos verá…

1 Jul

Y que pequeños nos verán,
Los que no volaron nunca.

(And they will see us so small,
those who never flew.)

I’ve never been one to find learning a language easy, but it’s moments like this that make it worthwhile. At the minutes, I am studying Spanish in school, and it definitely hasn’t been easy by any means to get as far as I have. But then, when I stop the grammar sheets, and the textbook exercises, and the seemingly endless essays, and go to listen to Spanish music or watch an amazing films (I recommend Espinazo del Diablo especially), and realise that I can understand it without subtitles as an intermediary-that is an amazing moment. And really, it’s why I keep studying.

This particular quote is from a song called Cometas por el Cielo (Kites in the Sky), by La Oreja de Van Gogh (Van Gogh’s Ear). They’re not perhaps the highest rated band in Spain, but I’m not Spanish, so I don’t mind.