Project 365
Poetry


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20 April 2008 27 April 2008 27 July 2008 3 August 2008 10 August 2008 17 August 2008 24 August 2008 7 September 2008 14 September 2008 21 September 2008 28 September 2008 5 October 2008 12 October 2008 26 October 2008 2 November 2008 9 November 2008 16 November 2008 23 November 2008 30 November 2008 7 December 2008 14 December 2008 21 December 2008 28 December 2008 4 January 2009 11 January 2009 25 January 2009 1 February 2009 8 February 2009 15 February 2009 1 March 2009 15 March 2009 29 March 2009 12 April 2009 24 May 2009 7 June 2009 14 June 2009 21 June 2009 27 December 2009 7 March 2010 4 April 2010


20 April 2008
27 April 2008
27 July 2008
3 August 2008
10 August 2008
17 August 2008
24 August 2008
7 September 2008
14 September 2008
21 September 2008
28 September 2008
5 October 2008
12 October 2008
26 October 2008
2 November 2008
9 November 2008
16 November 2008
23 November 2008
30 November 2008
7 December 2008
14 December 2008
21 December 2008
28 December 2008
4 January 2009
11 January 2009
25 January 2009
1 February 2009
8 February 2009
15 February 2009
1 March 2009
15 March 2009
29 March 2009
12 April 2009
24 May 2009
7 June 2009
14 June 2009
21 June 2009
27 December 2009
7 March 2010
4 April 2010

jess;; eighteen. ib graduate. chronic sufferer of writer's block. french speaker. physics geek. lame to the log base e of thirty seven. often uses math to express the quantity of a certain emotion. or her sarcasm. or her decrease in iq in relation to spending time with her friends. mostly the latter. and where math fails, she writes poetry. because it's kind of hard to express unrequited lust and emotion in general in terms of math. although, life is rather like a sine graph, and how high you get is dependent on the dilation parallel to the x axis which can be determined by your life experiences...but jess doesn't think she's a nerd. she doesn't study enough. speaks often in the third person. thinks too much for her own good. listens to the same song one hundred times on repeat. because listening to a depressing song once just isn't enough. queen of innuendo. insane. wannabe psychiatrist. she thinks. honestly, she has no clue what she wants to do with her life. has feminist tendencies. Christian. loves australian football. peter wentz's guitar. toby rand's tambourine. loves singing but can't hold a note. so, instead, she loves her singers. and nice eyes. addictive personality, permanently worried about something. also permanently on guilt trips. because she's very good at that. generally changes her mind thirty seven times. daughter of overprotective parents. happy emo. the jesster. loves lyrics more than music. would describe her life with the lyrics to self-conclusion by the spill canvas. is sandra's sexy bitch. solitaire slut. moody cow. has crazy-ass friends. is slowly working on a manuscript. normally the former. chocoholic. creative. sketches all the time. when she's not writing. is bringing sexy back. wants to live in paris. in the chateau du versailles. and ride a moped. has spent two nights in paris. seems to always be involved in love triangles, or friendship triangles, or something that requires her to stay up at night worrying because she freaks out that it's her fault. which is a little irrational. coincidentally, that's her middle name. attention whore. loves musicals and acting. writes poetry whenever she's emotional and always starts crying. always. is obsessed with snape and the sex god that is alan rickman. hates showing weakness. loves aladdin. instinctively answers in french. gives objects unoriginal names. such as monsieur vache for her cow wrist pad. actually names and talks to inanimate objects. has a twin. in fact, she has many twins. questions sincerity by the minute. always needs sleep. hopeless romantic. procrastinator. overuses asterisks in msn conversations. narcissist. writes when she's emotional. loves hugs and being held. is a sentimental sort of person. pretty sure she thinks too much. believes that eyes are the window to the soul. stubborn. is pretty much insane, but life is too short to waste being angry. even when some deserve it. has the most amazing friends in the world. is going to be a famous playwright, just you wait.

Credits section.

Layout by PHOTOKICHO
Art by Natsuhime

I should be studying. As usual, I'm not. It's Friday night and I've had five long days. That's my reasoning anyway. It's not really true and I promise I'll have my major French oral and one prac written by the end of the night. Or I won't sleep. Or just deprive myself of the football. And it's going to be a great game tonight. Providing there is a slaughter of West Coast with my beloved kicking twenty nine goals. Ah, that would be bliss.

Okay, so maybe I need a life. Just a little. But I'm in year twelve. Therefore my life consists solely of procrastination, last minute cramming and general not having a life-ness.

It's weird. I've spent two or so paragraphs rambling, ranting and raving. I know nothing of hardship. We had a Holocaust survivor speak to us today. It amazes me, the resilience of the men and women who, as teens, had to make the decision to live or die. To keep the fire alive for one more day when liberation would have seemed forever away, to maintain their spirit even though they ran the risk of death every waking moment. It's something I can't understand - would I have wanted to keep going? Or would I have just lay down in the snow and let the war play out, giving up on the notion of surviving? It scares me, that very question, because I don't know what the answer is.

We worry about numbers. 45. 7. 99.95. 50.

We worry about letters. A. B. C. S. N.

We worry about abbreviations. EE. WL. IE. SAC.

We worry about nothing.

As year twelves, we base our lives around this sort of stuff, we are scared of failure. Of fucking failure. It's...insignificant. This doesn't determine who we are. What we become. Is this what life is about? I don't think so. I think there are lessons to be learned from the Holocaust, other than hatred is the most vicious, most deadly disease that can penetrate our beings. I'm not going to dispute that that's the most important lesson we can take away from the senseless murder of six million people based on religion, race, disability, sexuality and occupation.

But I think we need to live our lives, live them properly - knowing that six million people never had that chance. Generations of people who will never have the chance to experience what we take for granted - the little things. Sunlight. A cool breeze on a summer's day. A thunderstorm. Love. Family. Friendship. A hug when you're down.

Even all the "bad" things that we go through. Sadness, depression, anger - would we have life without them? I think we need to know the lows to fully appreciate the highs. Nothing's perfect - and surely a life that's not perfect is better than no life at all?

Labels: darren hayes, philosophising, procrastinating