þriðjudagur, október 25, 2005
The most boring man on the face of this planet
doesn't know he is - which must render him the saddest one as well. Fortunately, there are only maybe one or two of you reading this post who know who I'm referring to. The rest of you lot, cross your fingers and praise your good fortune. I hate this guy! Enough on that subject.
Oh, dear it's Tuesday all aver again. Then, one might deduce yesterday was Monday, which is true, but not just your ordinary, bleak and boring Monday, but the 30th anniversiry of Women's Day Off (or whatever it translates at). Yours truly went downtown with some girls from the English Department, Sigga, Kristín and Linda, and there joined the other 49.997 chicks celebrating, and afterwards I feel inclinded to state: it felt good. Even better felt discovering that dear Pétur Knútsson phonology professor cancelled the day's lecture. A man's got to do what a man's got to do...
It felt most suitable studying Christina Rossetti for today's literature class. Urge everyone to read her poetry, it's very very beautiful. Our teacher called her the speaker of women who 'refuse to be idealised and idolised', which might explain why I feel so strongly for her lyrics. I'm absolutely positive that a someone who places another person up on podium cannot really know that other person. We're all humans, all fallible, and should be looked at such, and as a whole. Noone is perfect, noone has the true power to inspire another so as to make him more complete - every change in person must come from within. We may be influenced to great measures, helped or spoiled, but when it comes to it, the change must begin in yourself. Nobody can do it for you. And placing utter admiration upon the shoulders of another person is most unfair. It is wrong to ask someone to be you savior, because he really is unable to.
And then, I refuse to be objectified! You superficial ones of this world, whether you may be called manchauvinists, idealists, pre-raphaelites, goths, hopeless-romantics or miseroholics, why don't you try for once to just look past the 'lovely face' and into the true matter.
I wept for memory;
She sang for hope that is so fair:
My tears were swallowed by the sea;
Her songs died on the air.
(Christina Rossetti)
Oh, dear it's Tuesday all aver again. Then, one might deduce yesterday was Monday, which is true, but not just your ordinary, bleak and boring Monday, but the 30th anniversiry of Women's Day Off (or whatever it translates at). Yours truly went downtown with some girls from the English Department, Sigga, Kristín and Linda, and there joined the other 49.997 chicks celebrating, and afterwards I feel inclinded to state: it felt good. Even better felt discovering that dear Pétur Knútsson phonology professor cancelled the day's lecture. A man's got to do what a man's got to do...
It felt most suitable studying Christina Rossetti for today's literature class. Urge everyone to read her poetry, it's very very beautiful. Our teacher called her the speaker of women who 'refuse to be idealised and idolised', which might explain why I feel so strongly for her lyrics. I'm absolutely positive that a someone who places another person up on podium cannot really know that other person. We're all humans, all fallible, and should be looked at such, and as a whole. Noone is perfect, noone has the true power to inspire another so as to make him more complete - every change in person must come from within. We may be influenced to great measures, helped or spoiled, but when it comes to it, the change must begin in yourself. Nobody can do it for you. And placing utter admiration upon the shoulders of another person is most unfair. It is wrong to ask someone to be you savior, because he really is unable to.
And then, I refuse to be objectified! You superficial ones of this world, whether you may be called manchauvinists, idealists, pre-raphaelites, goths, hopeless-romantics or miseroholics, why don't you try for once to just look past the 'lovely face' and into the true matter.
I wept for memory;
She sang for hope that is so fair:
My tears were swallowed by the sea;
Her songs died on the air.
(Christina Rossetti)
# posted by Skotta @ 7:58 e.h. 
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