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Mar. 23rd, 2004 07:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
numberoneblindI don't know. Today was okay, even if I was dead -- slept through half of my classes -- and then it sucked, and now it's kind of going okay again. I might not have to work this summer, I might just take a college class or two (my mom's a teacher at LMC so I get them for free there) and do some volunteering. that would be awesome. because there aren't so many jobs around. and college classes + volunteering = dying hair fun colors. working = no fun hairdye.
today for Brit Lit we did a "Pilgrimage" and read poems in other classes, written in the style of Chaucer's prolouge to "Canterbury Tales" (hence the pilgrimage... yeah.) We had to dress up as the ironic characters we wrote about. I was a colorblind artist. We had to write the poems in rhyming couplets and iambic pentameter which was DOOOOOOOM.
There was an artist, known around the world,
Whose palette was unique, her colors swirled
With modern flair admired from the start.
They said she was a master of her art.
Her works were bright and bold, in varied hues –
In colors most would never think to use!
She painted bright orange skies, and blood-red trees
And yellow clouds that scooted on the breeze.
She dressed herself in clothing quite bizarre,
With mismatched things oft spotted from afar.
Some said it was a style she maintained.
But what this woman left quite unexplained
Was the true reason for her style of dress.
For there was one thing she would not confess:
She was, as fate would have it, colorblind!
Her strange palette, by this, had been refined.
In truth, she thought her art was quite mundane
Portrayed in normal tones, simple and plain.
And so it was she never understood,
Why profits she took in were quite so good...
So yeah.
I found a new way to randomly traumatize people, in person and on AIM...
Me: you know what?
Tim: what?
Me: ::wriggles fingers:: TENCTACLETENTACLETENTACLE!
Tim: eeeeeeeep!
today for Brit Lit we did a "Pilgrimage" and read poems in other classes, written in the style of Chaucer's prolouge to "Canterbury Tales" (hence the pilgrimage... yeah.) We had to dress up as the ironic characters we wrote about. I was a colorblind artist. We had to write the poems in rhyming couplets and iambic pentameter which was DOOOOOOOM.
There was an artist, known around the world,
Whose palette was unique, her colors swirled
With modern flair admired from the start.
They said she was a master of her art.
Her works were bright and bold, in varied hues –
In colors most would never think to use!
She painted bright orange skies, and blood-red trees
And yellow clouds that scooted on the breeze.
She dressed herself in clothing quite bizarre,
With mismatched things oft spotted from afar.
Some said it was a style she maintained.
But what this woman left quite unexplained
Was the true reason for her style of dress.
For there was one thing she would not confess:
She was, as fate would have it, colorblind!
Her strange palette, by this, had been refined.
In truth, she thought her art was quite mundane
Portrayed in normal tones, simple and plain.
And so it was she never understood,
Why profits she took in were quite so good...
So yeah.
I found a new way to randomly traumatize people, in person and on AIM...
Me: you know what?
Tim: what?
Me: ::wriggles fingers:: TENCTACLETENTACLETENTACLE!
Tim: eeeeeeeep!
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no subject
Date: 2004-03-23 05:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-03-23 05:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-03-23 06:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-03-24 04:13 am (UTC)Niiice
Date: 2004-03-23 07:10 pm (UTC)Re: Niiice
Date: 2004-03-24 04:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-03-23 07:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-03-24 04:12 am (UTC)Heh.