Today has been largely uninteresting, I slept till 11am or so, then got up and used George's computer since he was at class and wouldn't be using it, before deciding I should go down to MATC and deal with all my FA issues and make sure I was enrolled in my math class (I was on the wait list and have been too lazy to confirm my teacher's allowance of my classroom attendance) and after all that it was already two or so in the afternoon. Katie never called me, and I would have left MATC in a second to hang out with her (I'd rather not spend the whole day alone, which is what we've discovered is going to happen) so here I am, stuck doing nothing. And obviously, after ditching plans with me (she said she was going downtown, which I WOULD HAVE DONE WITH HER) shes going to hang out with Kyle tonight. Worst part is she facebook messaged me insted of calling me to avoid conflict. lmfao.
At Zoetrope things have been a little odd. I consider myself a very good critical reviewer of poetry. I am good at catching spelling/grammar issues, and I am excelent at comma/dash/period placement and I can usually give suggestions to people on the flow of their works. These types of things are *so huge* to making poetry great, and it seems like all anyone has said to me in response is I'm being harsh. When someone writes a cliche poem, I'll usually go ahead and tell them I found it slightly cliche, and give suggestions as to what specifically caused me to think that, etc. Some people just seem to be looking for a pat on the ass, which I'm not in the buisiness of giving. :D
A Poem For Funerals
Drab lighting - her eyes vacant looking
to the ceiling.
Her weeping - her slender fingers
each a cigarette, a stick bug, or
boney repertoire of flesh.
There are empty rows,
and then there are full ones.
Her family had better not
waste their time.
For friends their faces
are no more important
than mine. The ones
who would see such a girl,
at least.
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