Oct. 7th, 2003

timepiececlock: (spike sold the world)
I was feeling petty and irritable at 8:30ish this morning. I wanted to yell in my poetry class. Instead, this:

Ode to the Woman in the Front Center Row

I hate you without knowing you.
No, wait, not hate but grate.
You grate on my skull and ears.
Like gears that grind and crunch.
Your hum-haw voice versus my mind.
That fervent squeak and tentative choice
Of words, always weak but interrupting.
Stop trying out assertive plays!
Or, if you must, then lady try to shout.
And have a plan before you go for bust.
Cause I find the dichotomy a chore
To endure your brave but mousy whine.


*****

I spent the hour of History 17B playing with the internal rhyme. Like I care how much of the Northern population were Scot-Irish immigrants in the 1860s. Oooooh.. watch me diss my ancestors! Humbug.

Don't pay any attention to the punctuation.
timepiececlock: (the scientist)
Well, I voted.

I don't think it'll do much good, though.

All I can do now, is have hope in the better judgement of my fellow Californians.

Speaking of,

GET OFF YOUR CUTE ASSES AND VOTE DAMMIT! THERE'S STILL AN HOUR AND A HALF AND I DON'T WANT THAT ASSHAT ACTOR AS OUR GOVERNOR!

::cough:: If you already have, good on you.
timepiececlock: (you blur everything)
I just want you all to know, if the asshat actor wins, I'm going to be

very

bitter.




very.
timepiececlock: (braveheart)
::hrumphs::

Well. If I wasn't going to be a Political Science major anyway before, I certainly am now.

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