Sunday, November 30, 2008

I don’t want the dream to end.

My apologies for omitting her reaction to what I told her. I admit I was in a rush to get that last entry out so I could also write her a letter explaining to her the things I couldn’t quite get through on the spot. In the car, I simply told her that I’d crushed after her since we first met.

Her first reaction was “aw!” I liked that. It’s not a yes, which I wasn’t expecting anyway, but it was positive, and friendly. I told her I didn’t need her to say anything to me right away, which I reiterated and fortified in the e-mail I sent her last night. She said she would speak to me over msn at some point, and I was quite happy with that.

I have only just awoken. I’m surprised some people read my last entry already, since I posted it at midnight, but then again, I oft forget there are time zones. I stayed in bed for an hour this morning, unable to quite pull my mind out of its half-dreamy daze, because I know that sooner or later, I’m going to hear from her, and then the dream will end.

Saturday, November 29, 2008

I love her, and now she knows it.

No poem today. Sorry I’ve been away so long; I have good reason. Many reasons in fact, as I’ll briefly explain.

Firstly, I wrote three essays this week, on top of three tests, and I got that JET application in on time. (Actually, my sensei also introduced me to the program coordinator tonight, so hopefully that will help. She was very complementary, say I was “always there early, every day, very eager to study,” and that I “would make a great teacher,” and even that I was “her favorite student.” That last one can’t possibly be true, or rather, I’m sure everybody in the class is her favorite. I love our teacher; though she’s over sixty, you wouldn’t know it. She’s always so cheerful and very upbeat. Anyway, I digress.)

Straight to the good stuff – I went on a date with Nurse Betty on Thursday night. Not a date-date, but a friendly friend-date. Still, I had the time of my life, we had sushi, laughed our asses off, she told me about a few pranks she pulled on her ex. Basically, she egged his house, and also drove up to his place later, and gave him flowers. When he asked why, she told him that it was her condolences to him for losing the best thing that ever happened to him. This is why she’s my hero. Ah yes, I suppose I should mention that shortly after I posted that last poem, he broke up with her for good.

In a moment of rare courage, when she pulled up to my house to drop me off, I told her how I felt about her. I figured it would be best if we both had an immediate out – I could leave the car, and that would be that. But I thought to myself, if I don’t tell her now, I will lose her. It has to be now. When else would I tell her? A week from now? A month? She’ll be taken by then, because in my mind, she’s perfect, and nobody who has her in their sights would let her go. So I won’t either.

That’s all for now, no poetry, sorry. Actually, I went out to a Japanese dinner banquet tonight, and sang karaoke and made a few haiku in a competition to see what group of people (by table) could come up with the best ones. So, I’ll share those, and those can be the poems of the evening. Oh, the theme they gave us was friendship.

Friends are like haiku,
Rising suns and maple leaves,
They are seasonal.

We are not alone.
Friends make us laugh and cry,
Like rain in the spring.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

Second Guessing

I keep clicking your facebook page, I’m sorry, I can’t stop.
But you keep drifting through my mind, and rising to it’s top.
I know it’s not my business and I shouldn’t get frustrated,
By the way “in a relationship” becomes “it’s complicated.”

I’ve sent you a few messages to see if you’re okay,
But now I see his comment, and I fear he’s back to stay.
Now I’m second guessing every little clue I see,
Which I’ve been doing all along, with ev’ry you and me.

Even if I’m eloquent, appreciative and witty,
My words just get eclipsed by his, “oh hey, you look so pretty.”
It’s disgusting, it’s barbaric, it’s an outrage and a sin,
That with these shallow words of his, he’s back under your skin.

He stays away from you too long. He clearly won’t commit,
He’d have wed you long ago, had he thought you were fit.
He’s stringing you along and never making you his wife.
Can’t you see he’s chewing up the best years of your life?

You say he has no boundaries, with the women that he meets,
How long until he breaks your heart? How long until he cheats?
By your admission, you confess you’re crying all the while,
With your permission, I would give my life to make you smile.

But I’m not one to open wounds, or make unfair demands,
I merely think that you deserve someone who understands.
And though it breaks my heart to well these feelings up inside,
It’s not my place to tell you now; alone I must abide.

I made a rule about this, and it’s one I plan to keep.
For he who steals a girlfriend is a lecher and a creep.
How can I expect to keep a love that I have stolen?
Even if he makes you cry until your eyes are swollen.

I know you’re tired, I know you’re sad, I know you must be scared.
I know this handsome engineer has got your heart ensnared.
I know that you don’t make the rules, I know that love is blind,
But I’ll be here for you in case you ever change your mind.

Monday, November 17, 2008

An Early-Morning, Mourning, Free-Form Poem I Formed for Nurse Betty

Nurse Betty,
Brave, brazen, bastion of beauty,

Thoughtful, lovable nymph.

“He never deserved you,” he shouts towards his monitor,
Like a child jerks extraneously while mashing a gamepad…
In the pre-Wii days.

“I want to be the co-dependent leech that ends your loneliness.”
He says, realizing that he threw away his last love in much the same way…
Like a piece of trash.

How does he prove to her, or even to himself,
That he is any better than the turd who went before?
For he himself has been a terrible, tumultuous turd,
Unworthy of the love he once spurned.

Sunday, November 16, 2008

I’m Nursing this One

I was going to go to a party this week-end, tagging along with Nurse Betty again, but I got a cryptic message from her on Friday saying that “the shit hit the fan” with her boyfriend, and they broke up.

My first reaction was shock. Though I’ve wanted her for a long time, ever since I first met here, really, it seems unreal somehow. As long as I’ve known her, she and this handsome dude, (whom I’d never actually met, and now presumably never will), had always belonged to each other. But I suppose I should have seen the signs, and so too should she.

In fact, I did see a few signs, but I figured I was only seeing what I wanted to see. It’s funny how we often do that. I thought it was odd that he spent so much time away from her. She said it was work, and perhaps there was a degree of truth to that, but still, something seemed off.

In one note I published on facebook, under my real identity, I described a woman whom I desperately wanted to know I was alive. Actually, it was Make-up Girl, in case it matters. Nurse Betty read it, and commented on my phrase “eyes with burning sharp intelligence behind them” and she said:

“I wish he would say things like that to me.”

We all need people to see these things to us. And though I couldn’t say it tactfully to her, that’s how I’ve always felt about Nurse Betty too. But she wanted her boyfriend to say that to her, not me. And I suppose that’s what I really wanted too.

To be honest, I’ve been trying to ignore my crush on her, and I think it’s been working. Maybe not, but right now, I’ve got my eyes on someone else – the subject of the last two poems. No, scratch that. I also wrote that thy-touching poem since. The subject of “Bright-Eyes’ Haiku” and “A Paradox Unclear” is my current crush. Perhaps there’s no reality behind this crush, as I had hoped to get her to join a study group for this week-end, just to get to talk to her a little more, not to mention share with her some really terrific notes on the English Renaissance. But I guess this week-end, nobody gets what they want.

Now my heart is filled with angst, not knowing what to say to either of these women. Bright Eyes is cute, but I need to get to know her better first. I *think* there could be something there, but until I can get more than 45 second spurts to talk to her, I can do naught. But Nurse Betty, I know very well, and she’s actually one of the few people I really feel I connect with. There are so many things about her. Maybe it’s that she reminds me of N/A, or maybe it’s that she likes those stupid facebook pass-it-on surveys as much as I do, but whatever it about her, she’s always on mind. I don’t know what to do about her, because it seems tacky to tell her now, while the corpse of her old relationship is still warm. I tried to send her a message to comfort her yesterday, but somehow, the right words never came.

I suppose if I had to choose between them, (he says, as if his black heart had a chance with either of them anyway), then I don’t know who I would choose. When Bright Eyes is away, I never think of her, but every time she is near, and we talk, I am filled with excitement. But this feeling is present whether Nurse Betty is or not.

Friday, November 14, 2008

Touching My Thigh

At first, I am oblivious to you.
I sit in class, taking notes like those around me.
You hover there, just above my thigh,
Waiting for your chance to touch me, in a way that no one can see
And only I can feel
And then, stealthily, I feel your touch,
You caress my thigh softly
And I sit there helplessly, unable to move,
I try to ignore your touch, but I can’t.
You divide my attention.
You are all I can think about now.
The noise of the class moves further away from us.
You have no class.
You never did.
You’re not listening,
You feel no remorse,
No shame
And how can I blame you?
You tease my thigh,
With your soft touch
Though every part of me says I should not,
I am compelled.
I touch you back.
And I wonder to myself,
I you were mine,
What would you taste like?
But you are not mine.
And you can never be,
For you are someone else’s.
At least you were, until he heartlessly left you there.
What kind of ass-wipe sticks gum under a desk anyway?

Thursday, November 13, 2008

A Paradox Unclear

I like loving her at a distance.
She doesn’t know, and I think it’s best that way.
We have several classes together, and I sit as close to her as I can,
Without being too obvious.
I don’t like obvious.
I prefer oblivious.
It’s like obvious, but with a li added to it.
A lie.
A sweet lie.
We talk though, and whenever I can, I try to make her laugh.
As our Brit Lit prof dictates her notes to us, at hyper speed.
Side-by-side, we race one another to copy everything down.
Some days it’s a challenge.
Some days it’s damn near impossible.
One day I turned to her after class and said:
“If I were the language police, I would give her a speeding ticket.”
I was proud of that one.
It made her smile.
That made me smile.
“You should tell her that,” she said, ever practical.
After class I have maybe 45 second to talk to her before we part ways.
Perhaps I should be getting that speeding ticket.
I wish we had more time.
Don’t we all?
Even before I found the courage to speak with her,
I watched her whenever possible, excited whenever she put her hand up.
And I’d just stare, mesmerized by her countenance and charisma,
And indeed, the cute outfits that she wears.
The lady is classy to a fault.
And her eyes light up as she speaks,
Whatever she is saying, she is completely into it.
What she says is profound, exciting.
She’s exciting.
And every time she speaks, I wonder if I could ever be this exciting to her,
Or anyone,
Or if I’ll ever even meet another woman this exciting again.
I would tell her this. I would.
I’m not afraid to share my feelings,
But I wouldn’t trade our current dealings for the world.
I’m still shaken by the memories of those women who told me I was positively creepy for being interested in them.
Somehow it doesn’t seem fair.
Why would a woman be offended by the fact that I’m interested?
I’d have to be really fucking ugly, or have some other terrible attribute, wouldn’t I?
I don’t want to lose what I have,
Which doesn’t seem like much, I know,
But I like loving her at a distance.
I can’t hurt her, she can’t hurt me,
And we can smile.
And then nothing.
Sweet nothing.
Then she is gone.

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

Bright Eyes’ Haiku

She puts her hand up.
What she says is exciting.
She is exciting.

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

Remember This

And now, for Remembrance Day I wish to extend my gratitude to every person out there who has made a conscious choice NOT to become a soldier. That’s right. NON-combatants. My beef is not with those who, in centuries past, were conscripted, nor is it with those who, as a matter of necessity, defended and/or continue to defend their own turf from unswayable opponents. But as for the war in Afghanistan, there is no fucking excuse. Looking for terrorists? Ha! You’ve been there SEVEN YEARS! “Where are the terrorists, guys? You aren’t serving your country. You’re wasting its money and occasionally coming home in a box. And you chose this. There is no honor in this life. It is a war FUELED by greed. Get the pun?

I don’t believe in ghosts, but I imagine that if they did exist, the world would be steaming with pissed-off World War 1 vets, wondering why in the blue fuck the “war to end all wars” didn’t end anything, really. And then the WW2 vets would come along and wonder why their war, the “war to end all wars, and this time we really mean it” war dissuade people from fighting either. And then the Korean War vets come along, and wonder why their war, the “okay, we probably shouldn’t be doing this, but you know, we just can’t help ourselves” war didn’t… Oh… Never mind. I guess the lesson here is that people kill one another, people have always killed one another, and people will continue to kill one another until there’s none of the mother-fuckers left. And no amount of standing for a moment of silence is going to make any damn difference. So piss off and have a happy fucking remembrance day!

Monday, November 10, 2008

Something tells me I’m missing the point of these haiku thingies.

Today in Japanese class we watched a documentary on Japanese culture (we watch a lot of them actually, part of a Japanese culture series. I forget the name unfortunately. There will be more opportunities to learn it.) Anyway, it featured a Welsh poet who moved to Japan to write haiku poems and to study Karate. His writing is very pastoral, and it is clear that he loves nature, particularly the woods and the cherry blossoms. He apparently purchased 25 acres of badly mistreated (over-cut by loggers) woodland, and has hired two full-time workers to restore his neck of the woods to health. As he says to his friends, “it’s my land, but it’s your country.”

I can’t remember his haiku exactly, but one of them went more or less like this:

Strangers, you and I?
Under the cherry blossoms,
We’re certainly not.

Deep, huh? I wish I could write like that. Well, my understanding is that generally haiku should have to do with nature, but I’m more caught up in the rhythm of them. They can give the illusion of profoundness to the most asinine thoughts. That’s why I like them.

I would like to see
An epic movie starring
A great big sex cake

Silly, I know, but rhythmically just as sound. Anyway, I think I’ve wasted enough of your and my time for one day, and I have an essay on Thomas More’s Utopia due tomorrow.

Sunday, November 9, 2008

I don’t know what in the haiku to write about…

I’m aware that I need to write more.

Well, another week or so has passed since my last entry. Not that I have that many readers anyway. Still, I’ll try to be good and write about something. It’s not like I got that much to do – I’ve got an essay due next week, actually. I made a vague goal to get started on it today, and so naturally this is when I choose to do a blog entry instead.

There’s something a little bit sad about the blog of a person who doesn’t actually do anything. This week-end I can quite honestly say that I’ve done nothing but play video games, watch TV, and met with Ema Nymton to create a Dungeons and Dragons character. That’s right. As if being 28-years-old, living with my parents, and in first year uni weren’t bad enough, I’m playing D&D for the first time since I was ten. And I plan on enjoying it, dammit. But it gets me thinking – not that I’m terribly emotionally invested in what other people think, but more as a point of interest – exactly what sort of impression do I give people? They’re probably thinking “good grief, look at this guy. He’s going well out of his way to make sure he never gets laid.”

And now, a few haikus by Malice Blackheart:

Trying to find girls
Only to breathe shallow nothings
Banana hammock

A boy coughs down eggs
Fried greased ham in just known lays
Must not own place quaint

Rescued a toad once,
She was trapped in a match box.
Who would put her there?

To write my essay,
I stare all night at the screen,
Then it dawns on me.