laugh, for life's not a paragraph

Okkervil River tickets: CHECK. Finally going, and it's next Thursday, and I'm excited excited excited. Also, I'm fully moved into my place, meaning that there is stuff on my walls and I'm mostly settled in. Always do your dishes, clean the bathroom on Tuesdays, keep the door open to let in light. All that and a few other things.

I'll get by.

Classes! I haven't gone to Hollywood cinema yet, but I know the prof, so it's going to rule. Other ones: Chaucer yay, American Poetry meh (prof is dry), Children's lit yay, Ovid meh (again, prof is dry). Here's what my reading is looking like right now:

Chaucer: Troilus and Crysede
Am. Poetry: Walt Whitman: Song of Myself
Chil. Lit: The Secret Garden
Ovid: Metamorphoses, Book I

Haven't really read a lot of any of those. Luckily, the classes are big enough that I don't have to push myself to get all my reading done by a certain time. Also, the schedule seems put together well enough that I won't have any Weeks of Death this semester, so far as I know. Of course there will be stuff for film, but I enjoy writing that so dang much that it really doesn't worry me. Hell, I wrote like 15 pages for my final last year. This is gonna be enjoyable pie. A la mode.

Oh yeah, E.E. Cummings:

if everything happens that can't be done
(and anything's righter
than books
could plan)
the stupidest teacher will almost guess
(with a run
skip
around we go yes)
there's nothing as something as one

one hasn't a why or because or although
(and buds know better
than books
don't grow)
one's anything old being everything new
(with a what
which
around we go who)
one's everyanything so

so world is a leaf is a tree is a bough
(and birds sing sweeter
than books
tell how)
so here is away and so your is a my
(with a down
up
around again fly)
forever was never till now

now i love you and you love me
(and books are shutter
than books
can be)
and deep in the high that does nothing but fall
(with a shout
each
around we go all)
there's somebody calling who's we

we're everything brighter than even the sun
(we're everything greater
than books
might mean)
we're everyanything more than believe
(with a spin
leap
alive we're alive)
we're wonderful one times one



I don't know if I've put that one up before, but there you go. My second favorite poem ever (my favorite being "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" by T.S. Eliot, which is too long to post here. Enjoy! Goodnight!