late night philosophies

How awful would existence be to discover we’re all only cogs in a wheel, with questions of Faith, Life, and Existence all falling flat at the feet of an insubstantial God? Or at least all of your careful realities unraveled in the presence of some unforgettable truth. What then matters more, Love, Subsistence, or Something more?

As we are revealed as base organisms turning time forward, where do our human constructions of thought, free will, and individualism find affirmation? Or are our intrinsic human qualities our subconscious design and meant to fit us exactly as we are? Does science and religion distract us or sustain us? How can mythology passed from mouth to mouth, hand to mouth, and diluted by human wants and motivations clarify humanity’s existence? How does our modern existence and distrust of authority provide us with a meaningful future i.e. something to believe in? How do all of our questions ever find some conclusion, or better yet, a resolution?

I believe our lives are the physical manifestations of all of our questions. Life has created a myriad of possibilities in the human race, progeny taking family wisdom and genetics to expand the solution to the equation in bloodlines. Each life is a chance at wisdom. Each life turns the wheel of time, but with the larger and more obscure goal of one day meeting the right variables to punch into a long awaited formula. Our right and responsibility then is to seek with all our heart the missing pieces that would make us whole. This is truly an infinite and cosmic struggle that we have belittled as selfish inward concentration instead of the drive to make life better. And then there comes the problem of expectation. What if the variables are bloody and harmful? What if some people are fulfilled by the terrible and cruel? What if we have created a world where such variables are the norm and it takes much strength to filter through the rotten for some true flesh. For some true flesh, how true.

I spin my wheels for all but a true bit of flesh and piece of mind. I give back to the universe what is given to me and hope that my life acts as my whole prayer. I live my life with right intentions not because I expect something in return in an afterlife, but because I hope that I am working towards my own improvement through experience and study throughout the breathes I currently take. I would like to be able to answer questions. I would like to feel stillness in my soul when I find my life heavy on Justice’s scale, but some people are better at inquiry than conclusions.

Circa Survive - Every Way (Acoustic)

Oh my. This just rips right on through me.

First of all...."Blue Sky Noise" is an incredible album. Period. The bonus acoustic versions like the one below simply blow my mind. A beautiful influence of Good Old War jangle and Anthony's own brand of melody and phrasing.

This song (and album, really) is cradling my broken little heart.

"I'm so mistaken, Love's my direction. My soul's been shaken."

Love's my direction. Truly. My faith was shaken....But I have to realize "there is no gift without a price".

"Absolutely superb essay, Caroline, really a pleasure to read :) " -Dr. C. Orchard.

I'm all about being humble but..........

freaking semester 4.0!!!!!

wooooooo.

Take that-

Shakespeare (and Adaptation)

Poetry (Olds,Heaney, Brooks, Donne, etc)

Teaching and Evaluating Writing

American Literature beginning-1900s

British Literature 1660-1900s

I can't wait to teach

:)

Oh, Hello Again, Summer. How do you do?

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.......How long the lark has stopped outside these fields

And only seems unstoppable to them

Caught like a far hill in a freak of sunshine.

+ Seamus Heaney

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.new eyes.

I'm giving up on love and giving in. Reality really doesn't work like you think.

"Anyone Know Any Good Ghost Stories?"

We've forgotten how to tell

ghost stories,instead

we relay accounts

scared half-truths --wary

of innacuracy and blame.

We shirk claims on our

Stories, All stories.

Disconnected from our

connected tongues

we've lost the art

the rise and the fall

of plot and tears

in statistical fears.

Our ghost stories spectate

each horror news hour

a panorama of word stealers

spitting propaganda

to a crackling camp fire.

Ugh.

Oh your pretty words tangled my pretty sense
the propriety I lonely crafted sure
Lost to your touch impure,impure

Touch of love and soul
soon retracted, no, left to linger

Strung out to wither I run
not then from your arms,
But into nature's light
Away from night's temptation

Surely we'd damage one another
so closely entwined; out of time
Our amourous speech and touch

Surely each destroyed as we Collide

Read after writing the above:

love note

I: Surely

Surely you stay my certain own, you stay

My you. All honest, lofty as a cloud.

Surely I could come now and find you high,

As mine as you ever were; should not be awed.

Surely your word would pop as insolent

As always: "Why, of course I love you, dear."

Your gaze, surely, ungauzed as I could want.

Your touches, that never were careful, what they were.

Surely--But I am very off from that.

From surely. From indeed. From the decent arrow

That was my clean naivete and my faith.

This morning men deliver wounds and death.

They will deliver death and wounds tomorrow.

And I doubt all. You. Or a violet.

- Gwendolyn Brooks

...aaand exacerbating the mood....too much E.B. B on this Spring day.

Sonnet 14.

If thou must love me, let it be for nought Except for love's sake only. Do not say 'I love her for her smile—her look—her way Of speaking gently,—for a trick of thought That falls in well with mine, and certes brought A sense of pleasant ease on such a day'— For these things in themselves, Beloved, may Be changed, or change for thee,—and love, so wrought, May be unwrought so. Neither love me for Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry,— A creature might forget to weep, who bore Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby! But love me for love's sake, that evermore Thou mayst love on, through love's eternity.

- Elizabeth Barrett Browning

oh, you romantics

It's not just seeing

or seeing and thinking

but seeing, thinking

and choosing.

Oh you guys.

This can always make me smile.

An Updated Plea to those not "wife and servant", yet.

To the Ladies,

Liberation has given us choice. This freedom bestows upon our sex responsibility to fare well against men bent on disposable pleasure. We are sluts if we fall for cheap charms and instant gratification, yet remain sexy and exciting before the conquest. I argue instead for chastity.

Chastity has become nasty; a word recalling covered ankles, shrouded hair, and lowered eyes. We must rejuvenate the definition by the refusal of unzipping his pants until we can be assured in opening our hearts to warm welcome. These atriums vaulted in athletic muscle and animated with the blood that sets us to panting, must be guarded with the same zealous abandon that guides lovers’ pressing hands. Lips should catch both breath and heart by instinct, instruction, and consideration.

Ladies, we should not settle for take, and take, and take to come, but for share and explore what draws us closer into one. If the purest pleasure is well-shared and trusted, then we should not be ashamed by our standards. Though we are raised to imagine Fate as our handmaiden and pray by conspicuous consumptions, is there not power in discrimination?

I do not mean to suggest growing jealousies and gossip in bushels, but rather there is no great prejudice or shame in mastering the cartography of love without knowing all the land.

There are some that take as men take and own the slander of “Slut” as a designer scarlet S smeared on each breast. To these “Sex and the City” acolytes spinning sexual connections wherever blood boils, I direct some caution. Not for seeking pleasure, but for taking it with men in such an abandon that hanging out and hooking up have given uncommitted men excuse for bad behaviors. There is desire and a primal thumping beat that pulls our blood in desperate territories. Against this tortuous searing, consider a tension sustained and weighted before a full surrender.

The reality is we hold and shelter men in that physical act, while they push and pull away again and again and again. If they wreck us and disappear, we are the ones left with the knowledge we let the wrong one in. We are the so-called Sluts, and they the Playboys.

Thus, it is not bitter prudeness that fuels this address, but deep contemplation while dangling a toe in the abyss of sexual satisfaction and transgression. I see some leap and then fall alone. They are knocked against sharp outcroppings or search blind. I watch my peers pierce the air, tangle, and part, while I look for a stair or glider. Or at least a fellow to lead me off the edge and hold tight as gravity pulls. I do not expect the bond to stick, but wouldn’t falling be so much easier if we knew our partner had some regard for our impact? Some women dive alone and take what they can in flight, but that does not have to guide us all.

So please, consider the reputation of our sex. Steam the glass ceiling with your breath and write your name with a flourish only so long. We are free to be both the sexually adventurous “Sluts” with a capital “S” for sensuality and curiously Chaste discriminators. After all we shouldn't demand anything from men we do not require of ourselves.