| Like a hyacinth |
[30 May 2005|11:07pm] |
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mood |
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 happy |
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music |
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not disco... |
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Love and Death
What time the mighty moon was gathering light
Love paced the thymy plots of Paradise,
And all about him roll’d his lustrous eyes;
When, turning round a cassia, full in view,
Death, walking all alone beneath a yew,
And talking to himself, first met his sight.
‘You must begone,’ said Death, ‘these walks are mine.’
Love wept and spread his sheeny vans for flight;
Yet ere he parted said, ‘This hour is thine:
Thou art the shadow of life, and as the tree
Stands in the sun and shadows all beneath,
So in the light of great eternity
Life eminent creates the shade of death.
The shadow passeth when the tree shall fall,
But I shall reign for ever over all.’
Just something I wrote.
I was asked our school's little dance. I am surprised and delighted. I had no idea that someone had noticed me. I thought I was a thoroughly unnoticable person--but apparently not. I actually bought a new suit in honor of the occasion--three piece, burgundy velvet trousers and jacket with a paisley vest. It makes me feel dashing. I hope my date thinks the same. The only thing that could make the night better would be if he wore that corset...or at least let me see him in it.
Maybe said date would like to go riding back at my place sometime?
For never and ever,
Alfie
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| And Christ receive thy soul |
[23 May 2005|04:43pm] |
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mood |
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 annoyed |
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music |
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"Passenger" (Iggy Pop) |
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I feel like such a fool, but it's for a good cause, at least. I rarely get upset--at least, not outwardly. Usually if I'm feeling something I work it out in a poem, or over-analyse it until I'm no longer even feeling it in the first place. I don't do this on purpose--it's the way I work. I'm no engineer, I cannot tell you why my little gears and pistons crank the way they do.
But today I got upset. I think the geese that live in our small lake/large pond were poisoned. I think--I know, I saw them myself, along with the pesticide warnings along the edges. It just saddened me so much--I was fond of those geese. They were inconspicuous and reletively quiet, and brought a sort of natural feel to our ever-deadening campus. Sometimes I bounced ideas off them, and they would always listen politely. True, they used the softball field as their Port-A-Pottie, but really, who cares? They were so lovely to have around.
The world is such a cold, hard place at times--but God, such beauty as well. I wish it were just one way, to spare me the agony of being torn between hatred and euphoria. The reason of the world is so maddeningly sane, at times.
Well, paradoxes do make me feel better.
( Lightening the mood... )
Fleetingly yours,
Aflie Tenny
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| Hope to hear from you soon. |
[13 May 2005|12:48pm] |
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mood |
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 contemplative |
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"Origin of Love" (Hedwig) |
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Prompted by comments in someone else's journal, I was wondering--if I had business cards, what would they say (other then my name)? "Available for Bar Mitzvahs"? "Talents Include Poetry and 70s Gay Pron (edit: PORN!) Impressions"? "The Little Mod Who Did Big People"? "The Only Sappy, Over-Dressed Dandy You'll Ever Need"? I think I like the last one the best. Maybe I'll put it on a tee shirt.
Speaking of which, I just bought a silk-screener and about a million customizable screens. I'll be making shirts with various random phrases of my own choosing on them. If you want one for free, let me know--but I'm choosing what yours says (there's always a catch, best if you learn that while young).
I went home for the weekend--rather, to 'The Estate' as I call it. My house is only a town over, which is at the same time useful and annoying. It's nice to be able to get away from this place when I need to, but it also means my parents can come visit or order me to come home whenever they want...which can be terribly awkward. I'll spare you the stories, I'm sure you all have heard similar ones. But go home I did this weekend, mostly to visit our stable and say hello to the horses. Lady is my best girl, a lovely little dapple gray that I'm quite fond of. I gave her a curry and a brushing, and told her stories, some made-up, some about school. We went for a ride around the grounds, and I felt anamored of life for a moment. Then we came back, and my mother screamed at me for being late to dinner. And the feeling was gone.
Here's my class schedule, if you feel like stalking me:
1. Social Studies
2. English
3. Drama
-Lunch-
4. Romantic and Victorian Poetry
5. Earth Sciences
6. 18th/19th century History
Love always (and not just sometimes),
Alfie
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| Baptism? |
[10 May 2005|08:47pm] |
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mood |
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 curious |
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various Eric Satie |
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Water seems to have seeped into my life, somehow. I could analyze the symbolism, but I prefer to present what happens and let the reader determine for themselves what it means. God, my life is becoming more and more like a novel...If I ever come to some huge epiphany and stand on a mountain peak crying and reaching up towards the heavens, put me out of my misery. And bury my body out on Highway 51. Or is it 61? Now I'm getting my Dylan mixed up--I'm falling apart, can't you see?
On to the magnificent tale of What The Past Few Days in the Life of Alfie Has Been Like. Yesterday I went skinny dipping in the little pond down the road. I thoroughly terrified the geese and saw the most beautiful dragonfly ever, officially. I would love to be no more then two inches high and have filmy, irridescent wings. Maybe I'd have pointy ears, blue skin and fushsia hair. I would land on people's bedside tables and listen to what they whisper in their sleep, and whisper my own pretty thoughts in their ears to encourage pleasant dreams. And maybe people would write stories about me, and crazy old men would tell about me to children who aren't supposed to speak to them, because they are, after all, crazy.
The pond was wonderful. I love the feeling of mud between my toes, and lurking under the water with only my eyes above, like a crocodile. I can't decide whether I felt wonderfully one with the world or a like a large, ugly creature invading and disrupting a beautiful place.
I was caught in the rain the other day, and that was wonderful as well. The huge drops made pretty pinging noises on the metal trash cans I ran past, and I eventually threw aside the paper I was holding over my head and just skipped down the wet street. When I got inside, I decided to take a bath (I like them scalding hot) and fell asleep in it, for nearly an hour...I dreamt of fairies and pair of dark, arching eyebrows.
Love,
Alfie
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| I guess I try to please. |
[08 May 2005|02:13am] |
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mood |
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 blank |
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music |
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"Protege Moi" (Placebo) |
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I do some amature modeling, something I don't really talk about a whole lot; but I thought maybe I should come to terms with it. A friend of mine hired me to pose for pictures for her portfolio, and the shoot was today. It's good money, but it takes something from me. That giant glass eye, it looks into you, it judges. It leaves nothing untouched, leaves you with no secrets. She's seen all of me now, and now I feel like there's no reason left to see her anymore--she already knows all there is to know, just from those pictures. The pouchy belly, the hairy chest, the moles...is that all there is of me? That's one of the reasons I don't usually tell people I do this--they think that's all I am. In fact, if anything, it's the smallest part of me. Really, does any of it really matter? After seeing me half-naked, will what I write even mean the same thing to you anymore? Ugh. Cognac makes me philosophical. I just hope I get her into that program she's applying to. That would be a nice thing to come out of all of it.
I suppose you want to see what the final product was. These aren't all of them, just the ones I feel comfortable showing.
( poses )
I don't really know what to think of them. All they make me feel is the need to get waxed.
-Al.
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| Entry, Chiefly Boring |
[05 May 2005|10:28pm] |
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mood |
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content |
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"Heros" (David Bowie) |
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"Al has been said to walk the streets of London in spotted suits and a striped tie, heartlessly eating cotton candy alongside his sole companion, his skinny black mutt named Arthur Henry. However, he is also rumoured to be a useless and astranged young poet, spending all of his days in a hardly noticable little castle in an unknown part of Wales. There are numerous accounts in the late 1800s of his being a rather untalented ballet dancer, who somehow managed to seduce three Prime Ministers, a fortune teller, and the entire student population of Cambridge University. Those of a more romantic nature, however, make him out to be an alien love messiah, showering his glittering benevolence upon the masses without discrimination. This captured the hearts of young girls and elderly gentleman authors alike, and formed an artistic cult that survived until the reign of Victoria, whereupon the young man with spotted suits and a striped tie announced that he was, in fact, Lord Al. He is also rumoured not to have existed at all. Which makes me feel quite silly for researching such a thing. My goodness."
An except from my future autobiography, perhaps? Perhaps. We shall see what the world has in store for me. In reality I'm a flighty, day-dreaming, overly romantic fellow who somehow at the same times manages to be sober, doubtful and dispairing over the world's problems. I'm an amature poet--a dull one, if you ask me. My poetry's deeply personal, and I don't really see my anyone else would want to read it. But hey, if you want to, go for it. I'm just not promising anything. I wear a lot of skinny suits in velvet and pinstripes. I have a title, something inherited from my father, but it means next to nothing these days and I don't use it in everyday conversation--although there certain times when I do enjoy being called Lord. I sing outloud to myself a lot and usually walk with my face towards the sky, not paying attention to what's around me. You can call me Al (no pun intended).
As for what I've been doing with myself, all I really did today was take Arthur Henry for a walk in the local park. I squealed over the magnolia trees for about a half hour while AH peed on things and people looked at me strangely. It was a beautiful tree.
Al.
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