Errare est Humanum

Errare est Humanum, To err is human... Well kinda. We all make mistakes, some big some small, but we do not look at size here. All have made mistakes, no matter how swell you are you are bound to trip and fall one day. Yea pessimistic I know. Well I was thinking about it, c'est difficulte to express... how i feel at this current moment. I think i better start from the beginning and perhaps i will be able to come up with something. Aujourd'hui, I was free, today was teacher's day ... the day where all students would show some sort of appreciation to their tutors or teachers. Well it was the day where I saw some people write stuff to teachers that they personally did not like or have any thanks to. I agree that there are some teachers that we all dislike. Well I guess that if you hate a teacher, by writing to him/her and saying all that bull on paper it is worth nothing, cos you are just pretending, AND IT ANNOYS ME !... yea there is a need to thank them and need to appreciate the effort put in, but exaggerating c'est not right ! Anyway, I am still sick and suffering from flu, yea... running nose, cough with phlegm. Disgusting is'nt it. Along with that the army blocked me off from accessing my Letter of Identity, and somehow I am still stuck in the middle and I have really no idea how to do or what to do. So now i have to wait and trust the system... which is not helping because of the different authorities that it has to go through... it will take AGES to finally process it. Quite afraid cos if anything goes wrong there is the Article 33 or something like that where they can fine you or something up to 10 000 and i would not say that i am from a very rich familie... so 10 000 is a really, really unbelievable sum of money. 

Demain I have lecon and the best thing is that it is not classroom, it is in a large lecture hall... where they will rant to us about our papiers which we may not even be getting back demain! Again c'est absurd to tell us the answers but not return us le papier d'examen. Sorry for all le francais (the french) ... because i am learning french and need to practice... as they say practice makes perfect... or in french c'est en forgeant, qu'on devaint forgeant. Right, pressing on... 

I just thought of some ideas whilst doing my walk around ma ville. It is about chaos, where everything that man does causes chaos because we innately are not perfect. the meaning of chaos is where something that relies on the other and it is not given back to, for example like when a light is connected to a battery, the lightbulb lights up and the battery is drained, therefore there is chaos because the battery is not fed by the bulb again. However nature is perhaps the only perfect example of perfect harmony, like a tree, the ground feeds the tree and in return the tree feeds the ground by its leaves falling and decomposing. therefore creating more ground. Thus because both feed each other there is a cycle that goes on. Man, because he is natural, is therefore in perfect harmony, HOWEVER... we are unable to create a totally perfect and harmonious object... Perhaps i am wrong and we have created things that have a harmony. I am ignorant at times.

haha! anyway, i should move on and really go back to what i really wanted to do and stop deviating...I guess the only medium of expression that i am bound to is poetry, So i shall do this as a stream of consciousness... Oh i just remembered... SYLVIA PLATH copies ANNE SEXTON ! really plath has the similar desire of Sexton of being a jew and the electra complex and all that nonsense, coincidentally both committed suicide, both are deranged poets... hah! you make the link. Though i prefere sexton over plath.... Right enough sidetracking... this poem is untitled 2 (I have a previous untitled poem) and it is written as a stream of consciousness, with music in one ear... 

The trees stand at attention 

Backyard empty with the magpie sitting by the old broom.

Cloud the room with the cigarette 

I pace the room, my echo.

Dreaming of sheep, black and white. 

The couch is empty, the red and the plush. 

The bed is empty, the stairs and the cupboard. 

Flowers left out in the rain, the vase is brand new. 

Old, pools of ravens color my lenses. 

Feeding on the restless, feeding on the bread crumbs left outside. 

Old oak, broods over me, the roots deep, the branches shade. 

The red lipstick, kisses from a lover. 

The red and the stab, the black, flat, end. 

Machines turn silent and the final word, signed along the line. 

You may be extremely confused about what the poem means. Well it is about loss... obviously. It is a funeral that is taking place. The oak, a symbol in celtic myth, a doorway to the netherworld. ravens, magpies- both birds that represent death. red is of course - representative of life- blood and black, well needless to explain. Well I hope this poem finds favor in your eyes. Briefly the poem is about loss. See what you may... it is all up to the reader's interpretation. But there is a limit, or as Derrida called it aporia to the interpretation. 

So i bid thee adieu ! and i will be back demain to continue blogging :D happy reading ...