Pleasta Meecha

 Well, I was asked to write a blog post introducing myself for a class that I'm taking on John Milton, so I figured I would post it here as well just for fun. I am not a big guy on taking photos of myself, so any time I want to post one for a profile or whatever, I have to take one on the spot, so I've included an obligatory photo. I feel like when introducing themselves, most often people emphasize the same five or so things and then finish it all off with "something interesting" which invariably becomes nothing more than an extension of one of the first five things, so this time, I'm going to take a little bit of a different approach and share some things that not everyone might know. I hope you can get to know the everyday stuff about me from just regular interactions, here and in real life.

I am a technology enthusiast with reservations. I follow all sorts of cool new technologies, from transparent solar cells to 3D printers that can be used to print viable human tissue (to quote the oracle from Hercules, "...it's gonna be big"). I'm interested (though shamefully inexperienced) in lots of different forms of digital expression, from 2D art to filmmaking, and I'm really interested in reinterpretations of older forms, like spoken word poetry and the work of young and aspiring Youtube artists like Lindsey Stirling. It's secretly a dream to make a successful vlog or Youtube channel someday. I remain adamant, however, in my opinion that just because your phone is an egghead, mine doesn't have to be a "dumb phone" even though it's from 2005. I like a lot of the features of modern phones and stuff, but I know myself well enough to know that if I had a so-called "smart" phone, I would probably quickly get sucked into all the cool apps and other stuff. So, I stick with my museum-worthy RAZR. 

See, MSPaint isn't thaaaat bad...

Ever since I was 15 or so, I've wanted to develop a low-cost method of water purification for application in low-income areas. That's pretty much what made me want to study chemistry originally (that, and the prospect of going into food sciences and developing calorie-free Goldfish crackers so I could not feel bad about being practically addicted to them). I worked at a nature preserve for a summer and actually served on a municipal water council to raise awareness of water-born illness and to encourage "green" building techniques. Yep... closet hippie. Eventually, though, English called my name, so I can still be a hippie, just in different ways.

hospital bed

HOSPITAL BED

for no one really understands

the Loneliness of Death,

the Sorrow that ensues within 

those last few moments' breath.

and no one truly comprehends

the Pain of true Regret, 

the moments you would fain relive 

and words you can't forget.

One of the things that I love most about writing is it's an opportunity to develop empathy. In order to create characters, plots, or dialogues that are at all realistic, you have to frequently leave your own life, your own experiences, and drown yourself in the thoughts and sorrows and aspirations of people from all different age groups and walks of life.

"Strive"

Wade

Through the shadows of yourself,

Through the caverns of your confusion

And the dark night 

Of your doubts and fears.

Wander

Through the wonders of reflection

Through the thoughts of yesterday,

Of time long past and yet 

So here, and now.

Wait

Upon the quiet hope 

Of memories yet unarrived–

Upon the daring of a moment, 

And the hope of today,

Of a thousand summery tomorrows.

"pity these hands," à la e.e. cummings

pity these hands,

gnarled and crippled

that never ached

to bring another aid,

that never sweated

in the cupped palms of a lover

and grew wrinkled, old,

alone.

pity that heart,

battered and befuddled,

deprived of love

by love once lost,

that never knew mankind

nor humanity–

that heart

that ticked and tocked

for want of other occupation

and then, gears grown thirsty

and beset by rust,

one day

stopped.

Psych Ward: A Vilanelle

A dressing gown, a light, and fresh-cut grass–
My vision flashes red, my body shakes,
My heart, a stone, this cell made out of glass.

They gave me yellow pills that taste like brass,
And Betty brings me Salisbury steak,
A dressing gown, a light, and fresh-cut grass.

Before they brought me here I’d sit in class,
And hark, what light from yonder window breaks
A heart, a horse, a cell made out of glass.

They said hallucinations usually pass
Within a day or two. Can’t stay awake...
A dressing gown... a light... and fresh-cut grass?

A storm of convict thoughts that flee en masse
From there within my mem’ry’s lucid lake–
A heart, a shout, and pounding on the glass,

And leather straps, syringes... laughing gas.
And later on the aide will feed me cake,
A dressing gown, a hall, and fresh-cut grass!
Within this mind, this cell made out of glass.

Sahara

Calloused feet
leave five-toe prints
in still, soft sands,
still hot, still waiting
for night's cool reprieve;.
A long, thin shadow
trudges across an ethereal expanse,
a fragile frame fading
into a blood red sun
as it slips silently
over the darkening dunes.
And the desert– the desert
breathes out a tired sigh,
and footprints melt into the winds,
swirling off into the twilight sky.

A Poem of Love...

Gertrude

I love the way you pick your nose,

The chipped nail polish on your toes,

Your crooked grin, your frizzy hair,

Your absent look, devoid of care.

I love your cakey, make-upped face,

Your manly gait, devoid of grace,

Your rumpled blouse, your sauce-stained skirt,

Your cheeks begrimed with soot and dirt.

Your hoggish snort and loud guffaw

Reduce me to dumbfounded awe,

And when I see your monstrous feet,

My flutt’ring heart nigh skips a beat.

In beauty naught surpasses now

Your bristle-brushy unibrow.

And I’ll not fear the touch of death,

When thinking of your rancid breath.

Your stubbled chin oft to behold

Is better boon than purest gold,

And if true love be hard to find

Then glad I am that you are mine.