Wuthering Heights

So, I'm reading Wuthering Heights for my Victorian Lit class, and I'm at work, all alone. I have no class notebook with me, so I will "jot" down my thoughts here, so as to make sense of it. I think that this semester, my brain is refusing to fully work, or it's just not as enthused as it was before, because I read this book, and almost everything else I am assigned to read, and I feel so indifferent about it. Perhaps too much relativism? God damn Post-Modernism. God damn it. I think I just need to have some more free time.

Wuthering Heights. As of chapter 12, Catherine and Heathcliff love each other, even though Heathcliff is a mean, horrible person. Catherine married Edgar, though, since her brother Earnshaw would never have accepted her marrying Heathcliff and most likely would have killed him. Earnshaw actually almost killed his own son. So, years later after Earnshaw banished Heathcliff from the house, Heathcliff comes back, brooding as ever, yet he and Catherine are delighted to see each other. Meanwhile, Isabella, Edgar's sister is infatuated with Heathcliff who is probably taking advantage of her. Even though Heathcliff is an unsavory character, Edgar would allow Isabella to marry Heathcliff just to get him away from Catherine. This, I think, is a selfish move. So, right now, everyone seems to hate each other, and it's always cold and dark. Drama, drama, and drama, pronounced short "a."

It seems hopeless! *Throws hand to forehead and wilts* I imagine Heathcliff puts on this hard ass, dark front as a defense of his character and social status, while all he wishes is to be with Catherine unconsequentially. All because of a good dead that the late Mr. Earnshaw (Catherine and Earnshaw's father) did, Heathcliff is stuck in this circle of people and memories, and love for Catherine, and there's not much else that he has any connection with, while Catherine and even Edgar have an embeded roots and rich families. As upper class Victorians, they're expected to have stabilty and order, while Heathcliff being of the lower class would be expected to foil that. However, we see that the Earnshaws don't have that, though it could be because of Heathcliff's presence too. Did Mr. Earnshaw make a wrong move by bringing Heathcliff-disorder-into this ordered system? I think I have a term paper topic! Elements of order and disorder in Wuthering Heights.

Rough Draft

Last Night with Salome and Lorelei

My mama said I can have anything I want.
My girl Lorelei and I go out to the club
looking for tastey minds.
We're hungry zombie's laughing
at Snow White through the mirror.

In taxed whore joints I win the $200
cash prize every time.
Lorelei holds 'em with her hexing
freezing wolf-en visages
into drowling portraits.

This Sabbath, we went to Pussyfooter's.
Pennsylvania sacriliged its state rule
as I cried on my bruised knees, so
I could dance this night like I'd die Monday.

I had a funny feeling deep in my feet,
for shadows never lie.
(One last go before I go.)

Perhaps it was the cliche full moon
and my full moon and its odor, which
is like the odor of bleeding necks.
I dismissed Marion the trapeze angel
foretelling her broken neck last
full moon of her high swinging
in favor of the smelling salts of decapitation.

I smashed their last bottle of Hemingway's cognac
over my bare feet.

Erect metal, malleable snake.

The grand plan commenced--

Lorelei spied meeklings until
their heads exploded against walls,
smiling. Shards of brains twinkling like stars.
All I wanted, now, were the stars
in my pockets to put in jars labeled
My Power of Mankind
and line them on shelves
next to sorry deer heads on plaques
and between gun racks and swords.

Herein, Herod took my Lorelei
by the neck, she peeped a screech
in my direction,
a flash of Judith Slaying Holofernes
cut through my mind.
My dress fell from gold to blue
to gold to nude, the viral
spectators were bulging and as I drew
my hands for slaying, disguised to the beat
of music. Visions of lost brains danced
in my head.
John the Baptist as the Headless Horseman
mocked my new dance move. Herod
cheered "Voila" to the heavens, exposing
purple bruises on Lorelei's neck, which
hurt less than her scream c/o dead German
sailors of accumulated centuries,
--as John the Baptist ran off with my head.

Dear Jacket, again--

Hi. You will be under the control of my daughter, Shontae, this evening. Don't worry, I trust Shontae for the most part. It's only for an evening. You see, this is very special because if any kind of clothing should be passed down from me to my daughter, it is you Jacket. But, like I said, only for this evening. You will be back on my arms again...

Love,
Angela

Love Letter...

When I came back from class today, I found a letter under my door on Carlow stationary that said,

“TO: Resident Students

FROM: Mary Beth Halferty (and signed)
Residence Life Office

DATE: October 28, 2004

RE: Ghost in Dormitory"

Apparently, there were girls running around, freaking out on the 6th floor last night about ghosts being about the floor. There were girls who refused to go into the bathroom alone. (If the girls like to watch each other pee, among other kinky bathroom acts, they shouldn’t try and cover it up with a ghost story.) Mary Beth wanted to clear up the rumors about a ghost of a Sister of Mercy who committed suicide “years ago.” Sounds like a spooky tale to me! The story is supposedly false. However,

“The crosses above the doors on the 6th floor were put there by the director of the residence halls in the early 1990’s. She put them there to stop the very same rumors that we have now.”

So, she put crosses up to prove the rumors about ghosts were not true. Yeah, okay. If they weren’t true, there’d be no need for crosses. Actually, no there was no ghost when she put the crosses up. Later, that former residence hall director hanged herself in the 6th floor bathroom, where the freshmen girls watch each other pee.

Also, if there are any concerns, Sister Maureen Crossen will be in the lobby of FWH November 3rd, 7 pm for exorcism requests. I don’t think that a Sister is qualified to do this, but she’s all we’ve got in this time of need. If anyone is learned in exorcism, help a Sister out.

By clicking on the title, you will find a link that takes you to a list of haunted places in Pittsburgh. Carlow is on there, but it’s room 947 that is specifically listed.

But, I know for a fact that room 942 is haunted in the dorms…

These titles usually don't have much to do with the entry itself.

There is a box of fake flowers, a flower box of plastic purple flowers on the top of a cubical next door in the IT department. That makes me happy because putting fake flowers in front of a window is a mockery of real flowers. It takes up space where real flowers should be. I always prefered real Anything over fake Anything, so maybe I'm just biased. So, the fact that those fake flowers were placed in no line of sunlight and in no convienient way of watering -not like they would need it- makes me feel better about fake flowers in general. Someone realized where the flowers' place is, and didn't attempt to simulated beauty on their window sill. Still, the flowers can't help that they're plastic, so it wouldn't be fair to banish them all together. Therefore, in the most unlikely place for a real flower box to go. Now, as for plastic surgery--

Yellow Violet

Ashley was talking about me! She said,
"yea... there is just a general memory of sitting around laughing... which i think is great... i'm reminded of a time when angela said that she judges a friendship a lot on whether you can just sit around and laugh and that when that happened, she knew it was good... i think she was right on the money."

And then I said,

lasanges: aww
lasanges: thanks for that

And then she said,

Ashpearson: no, thank you

It's true, it's true. I believe I may have said that this summer when Ashley visited me at my apartment, but it may have been long before that. It most likely was when we were sitting around laughing, or maybe we were standing around crying hysterically. With Ashley, most likely the former. I might have said it one of the insane mornings we had been awake for more than 24 hours, and we agreed that the sun rise looked like peaches. Maybe we talked about our plans for the land canoe that day. Sitting around sounds lathargic, and I think that maybe out of some sort of ennui, friends end up doing something like sitting around and laughing, so that's when they may not feel so empty. Hmm, that's what friends are for!

The Continuing Story of Hugo Ball and others...

"There was nothing particularly original in this notion of an exhausted and perscriptive language."

So, next time, Angela, continue your assigments with this notion. Use the handout. You know, the handout.

TO A SKYLARK--

No one here but the "German guy" and his magnifying glass...


We cannot wait to mandate the candidate. --Kate.

Mary Bellows met Richard Slay

"Oh, Mary thought that she might die,
when she saw the ocean for the first time."

"Slay tipped his hat
and winked his eye
and turned away without goodbye."

'"...with the sea breeze whistling all alone..."

Dear Jacket,

Hello. It's been a while. I missed you more than I realized. I suppose I've been neglecting you, why with Blazer and all. Blazer is new, that's all, and stylish, and cute. Target rocks as far as Blazers go. However, don't forget, Jacket, you're still my number one. Blazer doesn't have a zipper that goes all the way up. Blazer doesn't have homemade pockets to keep my hands warm and occupied. Blazer doesn't have cool patches and pins from all over the world. Blazer doesn't have nearly 8 years of history with me. I remember when I got you, that one Christmas, 7th grade. Oh, it's been a long time, Jacket. Though, you're clearly not for winter, I wear you anyway. I layer, and you oblige. My scarfs all look so good on you. My found pennies fit so well in your little arbitrary pockets, homemade, thank you. I remember when I cut my hair to above my shoulders senior year, and then I could decorate the back of you, Jacket. Remember when I got really overly creative and sewed Barbie dresses on you? Everyone has their bad fashion phase. When I went to the Rock 'n Roll Hall of Fame a few years ago, and walked through the display of rock stars' clothes. I imagined you there, Jacket. Hey, maybe we'll even make it to the Smithsonian someday, next to Mr. Rodger's cardigan. Everywhere we go, people turn their heads to see this lovely jacket wearing me.
I just want to thank you for keeping me warm this morning, our first morning in a while, and first for many to come. You're like the arms of a sweetheart, though, so much more cordoroy-y.
I thank you, Jacket. Even though you're stuck in the employee closet right now, I'm thinking of you. See you outside after work!
Love,
Angela