November 23, 2009
Pic by Englishhistory.net
Queen Elizabeth I, before becoming queen, was subject to intense scrutiny and threats due to her predisposition for Protestantism. Poised with the possibility of becoming queen, the prospect of her rule threatened to eradicate Catholicism from presiding over the affairs of England. Moved from the Tower of London (where her mother was executed) to Woodstock where she was housed for nearly a year as a virtual prisoner, she once carved grafitti into a window with a diamond:
Much suspected by me,
Nothing proved can be.
Quod Elizabeth the prisoner
1554-55
November 22, 2009
Found this link in my WriterMag:
“Write or Die (http://writeordie.drwicked.com/): This online app encourages writers to create a steady flow of prose. Users set a word and/or time goal and choose the mode. The kamikaze mode starts deleting characters if the user stops typing for too long…”
Starts deleting words, hahahahah….
November 22, 2009
My days are packed so densely I’m like the person who’s cramming hotdogs at a hotdog eating contest, only the hotdogs are English literature and Computer Science essays. I write with a pain in my lower back and I’m getting ready to go do a thousand sit-ups to build my back muscles…maybe tomorrow. Through my walks through downtown (downtown is essential to life here), I still remain blogger on alert, and I couldn’t help but notice how artsy and the graffiti is compared from before; the scene is a lot less hospitable where I was:
For the most part I’m glad I left, but my living situation is wearing me thin. Surprised? Thought so, since how everyone knows who remotely knows anything about my “situations” know that rarely is anything actually not sucking. But I have my hopes! My goals! Things that are out there that…they really are…they’re going to materialize…after all of these fucking years!!!! By the time I get anything I’ll be too old, but hey that’s life, right? At least I’ll be able to pay for a nice grave to snuggle into. Have you ever become so disgruntled, so aggravated, so inflamed, so annoyed, so confounded with life that you just can’t help but sit back and sort of laugh about it for a moment?
Fall is beautiful here; the leaves are golden and damp with a fresh rain, and I can’t help but feel something good.
Back at the cave, my tiny, dinky little cave of a room I live in now, I’m so immersed in this stuff that it’s not funny, I’m becoming a bit of a crab-apple. I don’t have to go out this far, but the grade…the darned grade damned it.
Chaucer’s fancy and weird English dialect is keeping me occupied with subtle meanings and translations and stories of old time fictions that may or may not have happened. But see the orange peeking out from the music stand? That be a Bach book it be.
In any case, can you see what’s going on with this Chaucer stuff? See what I’m up against here:
To the luscious mat on the floor I go.
