i lined all my jars at the edge of the sidewalk perfectly straight so you’d see them when you walked by. i tried to carry all the lids back even though i think i dropped some on the way. im sorry. i wait by the window to watch you pass and fill them, and i even wonder at what point i should just…
“Please let him come, and give me the resilience & guts to make him respect me, be interested, and not to throw myself at him with loudness or hysterical yelling; calmly, gently, easy baby easy. I am so hungry for a big smashing creative burgeoning burdened love: I am here; I wait.”—Sylvia Plath (via quotewhore)
Cold railing fire escapes and stories unfinished. Drink in hand, I won’t even try to describe to you that feeling. A part is missing and it began screaming in intoxication. I can’t control the initial moment when the sky makes me cry—the complete vastness of my soul personified. If you could just taste the bitter root that was shoved down my throat, maybe you could understand, but only a bit, why every poem and rambling I write is about the loss of you. And although I am gone, most parts of me will always always adore you—just as the stars can’t help but love upon the earth, or how the moon never fails to rise. But really we don’t deserve any sort of role at all. Love is too small an idea to encompass the scale of lovers we had become. So I dropped the script. And I don’t go outside at night. And I keep my eyes fixed on the earthy ground in fear of scanning the horizon, (or worse, celestial bodies), and remembering what once was. All this to say that I adore you and your staff. But love is too small and friendship even smaller to remember what we were. So neither do I.
“I tried the key in all the doors,even though he said he didn’t recognize it. It’s not that I didn’t trust him, because I did. It’s that at the end of my search I wanted to be able to say: I don’t know how I could have tried harder.”—
Last night was fun. I finally had my first English pub experience. Laura and I went to “The Eagle and Child” and had a few beers… you know, that place where JRR Tolkein, CS Lewis, and others would meet every week. Ah. Bliss.
I love you, Oxford. Now I’m off to a wee little coffee shop to do some work.
Tonight I am reminded of why I love it here so much. It’s the people I’m with, mostly. Most of them aren’t coiled up and bound in a ridiculous pentecostal mindset. They are Christians, yet, they are free to be themselves and to have their own personal convictions. It’s refreshing, sitting at a table with 10 others, and how the 10 of us all feel as though we can’t be ourselves at our schools, and how ridiculously sad that actually is. I mean, if I ever discussed my actual beliefs at my school, I would not have any friends (save you, Jesse). Seriously. They would completely question my faith, hold their holy hands over my head and speak in tongues (or really fast gibberish that makes them sound cool). My few close friends at school have NO IDEA about my life, the things I partake in, and my views on certain issues. So what if I have a drink here or there. So what if I support gay marraige. So what if I chose to have a cigarette or two. Am I sacrificing my entire soul for these things? No… the thing that is life sucking is having to put up with this imprisonment we call the pentecostal university. I have been so stifled because I just want friends. But I’ve sacrificed a lot of myself in that process.
So, here’s to a new me. For my last semester at that silly school I will say what I want to say, do what I want to do, profess what I want to profess, and denounce what I want to denouce. I will be me, for the first time in my college career. Oxford has already began to solidify who I am and has helped me become more couragous in that. It definately helps that I am not alone.
So. I get really upset when I haven’t talked with my sister or mother at all since I’ve been over here and they both sent me emails today, simply asking if I’ve met any “hotties” yet.
Is what I’m doing at OXFORD UNIVERSITY not more important than whether or not I have a love interest? I don’t know why this bothers me so much, but I know that it really does, to the point where I’m not even going to respond.
Why is this their main concern when it’s not even a concern of mine? I’m at Oxford. I’m making a name for myself and myself alone. And I’m not about to just throw myself out there at such a pivitol time in my life, wasting time, wasting emotion. I think I’ve done enough of that…
ahhh Oxford. I own you. And love you. I find a quaint little spot outside of the new arts library today, at the top of the stairs. This little area where I can lean back, put my feet up, and read as I watch the world pass me by. I think I have found my nitche.
In other news—seminars started today. Which were fantastic. The Brittish history lectures this morning were just ridiculously boring. But the seminars are great. The woman who teaches Oxford Fantasists is amazing and reminds me of Mrs. DeBorde. I was actually able to engage in an intellectual conversation with her on the depiction of women in George MacDonald’s Phantastes. Ah, I just love it. It’s thrilling.
And then, Metaphysical poetry. The old man who teaches it is so cute! And we’re in a small room with 4 other girls, discussing John Donne’s erotic poetry. Oh, good times. But, I like that class too. Poetry is poetry, and I love dissecting it all.
For those who merely follow the steps after step down the cobblestone pavement mixed with cigarettes gum and tears drops Mindlessly meandering through alley after alley of intertwining history like the interior of a soul gone mad.
What in this crazy world am I living for. What
With millions and millions of books surround my head and sets from movies like living fairy tale texts alive with each step each breath
Could this be my day
And millions and millions of miles away you lay down your sweet hubristic head filled with infinite dreams along side suicide and dread.
While I stand millions and millions miles away minus a hand outstretched because a hand without another to hold is a damn shame in such a fairy tale town
Did I miss out on the most beautiful soul that this world will ever offer
You’ve tainted everything, even millions and millions of miles away.
Well. I had a rude comment on one of my posts, asking to share my experience at Oxford thus far. So I shall. This is for the one who is living vicariously through me. I hope it meets your oh so high standards, sir.
WELL. Flying was a pain, obviously. And Heathrow airport, all alone, is just about one of the scariest and most intimidating experiences ever. Took me two hours just to figure out how to get to the bus station. From then, an hour and a half bus ride to Oxford, where I got off the bus (still all alone at this point), and carried my ridiculously heavy luggage through this random square. Finally found some Taxi’s, but lo, I had no pounds on me. Silly. Luckily, this guy was standing next to me… and he says, “are you, uhh, going to…” “…8 Crick Road? Why yes!” Haha. He is a student in the program too… and luckily, he paid. Hurrah! Well, anyways… let’s get to the good stuff then.
I live in a cute little house with about 15 girls. We have cooking groups so we all cook for each other. Sweet deal. Anyways, the house is a good 25 minute walk from the center of Oxford, which is where all the shops and interesting people are. There are colleges scattered throughout the entire city… and they all are just gorgeous. The students that go here are doing exams now, and they wear fun little robes and capes to class, just like HP. Oh, btw, one of the colleges, their dining hall was the one used in Harry Potter! Must see! Anyways, the students wear a white carnation, pink carnation, or red carnation, which signifies which exam they are on (which are only taken at the END of the college career, on EVERYTHING). After they finish their last one, their friends meet them outside and shower them with champagne and fish guts. Hurrah!
Ok. So, I’ve done a lot of walking and I feel like I already know the city pretty well. My seminars start on Tuesday. That should be exciting! So, this is how the academic part works: 2 weeks of seminars where we just discuss the subjects and books, etc. Then, 2 weeks of tutorials (with a 2,000 word thesis essay due at the end of each week, for each subject)—this is where we meet one on one with various tutors of that subject and discuss our essay topics. This essay determines our entire grade…. Hurrah?
Each Friday we take field trips, which is uber exciting. The last week, we kinda just sum all our conclusions up and share our results. And drink tea. But yeah. Tomorrow I get inducted into the Bodliean Library—the 2nd largest library in Europe. I get to use all their resources and actually call myself an Oxford university student. I can also get into any of the colleges for free and just explore, including the spectacular Christ’s College. Hurrah!
I don’t know, can’t really describe it I guess. I just love it here. I already feel like I know the place and the people so well. Maybe this is some place I would even consider moving to. Anyways, that’s all. I’ll keep this updated, so that I don’t hear anymore complaints from the peanut gallery…
“You cut up a thing that’s alive and beautiful to find out how it’s alive and why it’s beautiful, and before you know it, it’s neither of those things, and you’re standing there with blood on your face and tears in your sight and only the terrible ache of guilt to show for it.”—
“You are the most dangerous kind of female the world can ever know. You carry the seeds for your own destruction and the destruction of everyone who loves you. And a great many will love you for your beautiful face for your seductive body; but you will fail them all because you will believe they all fail you first. You are an idealist of the worst kind - the romantic idealist. Born to destroy and self destruct.”—
You’ve always had a different view, and like the inside stiching of a hand embroidered shirt, I always looked at the wrong side. The side I wasn’t meant to see. I’ve always wondered what you saw that’s kept you calm for all these years, if on your side the stars hung on a string and that’s why you…
“Sometimes when I look at you, I feel I’m gazing at a distant star.
It’s dazzling, but the light is from tens of thousands of years ago.
Maybe the star doesn’t even exist any more. Yet sometimes that light seems more real to me than anything.”— Haruki Murakami (via quotewhore)