The moon dance

Realize that this is a rather psychotic poem and should not be read to children. I wrote this when I was 14. Inspired from a beautiful, neurotic dream of falling asleep in the snow and eerie images of the moon being reflected. I was this bony white lady in a victorian dress.

Night, I sit, afore my window,
disconsolate thoughts do froth within.
As winter wind rattles tree bough,
so same my heart rattles therein.

Rapid thought, so quickly vanquished,
clouded my very vision.
Fervent prayer, to slowly extinguish –
Oh, the demolition!

Irksome thoughts, disconcerting me,
Do go away!
Tis nonsense – oh let me be!
The sunlight is full of decay

Then there were moments, broken by chaos
Imbedded in my brain
How can I not notice every flaw
My dreams that shattered so prettily?

If light can giveth, oh such delight,
And darkness heals; replenish
Is shadow, then, so trite,
My heart was to relinquish?

Every fibre of my soul
Bound in faithful vigil
To those I loved, I sought in vain
To those what cannot be done?

The moon is full
This night
And the stars so twinkling bright
The air crisp with the winter breeze
That stirred so little
‘gainst my pale white cheek
as I tread so gracefully
head held high
a thin shawl fluttering o’er mine shoulder
lavender voile
and my pale green muslim dress

The snow lies thickly
peacefully, this night
all over the flouncing meadow
where the flowers once grew
in gay array
and you wooed me
in that willow lair
now shivering and bare

My bare feet dance
this night
tripping lightly o’er the blue, white snow
remembering, our every moment
remembering, the midnight breeze
your fingers caressing my cheek…

Now I raise mine eyes to the moon
Now I offer, my heart, my soul
To you I dance
Oh, gaily
To my love I dance
So joyfully
Twirling in circles
Like the full moon
‘til my breath hurts hard
in my hollow lungs

the snowflakes land gently at mine feet
as the moon seems to smile at me
accepting my offering
I lay down quietly
In submission, in rest
Fingers brittle and cold that lay across my chest

And I was buried by the snow
Ashes of my soul
Ashes of my love
Just so you know
Frozen tokens of sacrifice
In the bitter cold ice
Sweet, sweet sleep
With the mistress of the night

So I was buried by the snow
My last sight
The starlit sky
My last drawn breath
Of the crisp winter wind
So cold, so cold
My last, last thought
To draw your heart towards mine

My broken heart
Healed by the snow on the flickering moonlight…

This is the night
You feel something lost
Something gone, something
nowhere to be found
your breath catches harshly
you know not why
a deep hopeless ache
that causes you to sigh
It would not go away
Whilst you wander afar
Searching for a dream
You had once in the night
Wander from the clinging arms
Of other women with less heart
Wander from your bottle
Your business, your ‘friends’
You wander all distracted
With that yearning in your chest
You search, oh how you search!
It would make the moon laugh
To think, what is so obvious
You cannot understand

For I’m buried by the snow
Ashes of my soul
Ashes of my love
Healing of my heart
And you hear the silent call
But you know not what
Darling, come to me
And join my offering

Spring, you be searching
All distracted, all in tatters
O’ere the melting winter valley
And the meadow creeping green
I’ll be lying by the flowers
Freshly bloomed, that shock of colors
Hair darker than the sallow earth
A red rose grown at my throat
Skin bluer than violets
Colder than frosty nights
Eyes closed in eternal slumber
Calm and smiling, face a blessed
Buried by the snow
That were ashes of my soul
And my love for you
Drawing at your whole

Nightly I appear
In dreams
More like life than death
Dancing gaily
Lavender shawl a’ fluttering
And my green muslim dress
Swaying to the dance
The dance, the dance
Swaying to the dance
Of the offering to the moon
Smiling, still smiling
Pupils flashing austere
Faery, ghostly fingers
Grasping at your heart
So daintily, I dance!

Nightly I visit you
Driving you so slowly
Smiling, forever smiling
Without any malice
You lay there so immobilized
Entranced by the moonlight
Those phantom strings of light
Your heart do clasp
While I hover over you
With that pale blue face
And with those luminous eyes
I beseech you
For I promised her our love
That she’d come now to take
Nightly, while you strive
To break the bond I made
You always see me beckoning
Beckoning at thee
Come forth! Come hence!
Let us embrace the pure alter
Of the motherly moon
You’ll be mine, mine forever
As I am yours too
When you’re half stricken by grief
Half insane with fear
I’ll be there to remind you
I’ll always be there
Take my hand, darling
Together, let us dance
Under the moon’s watchful eyes
You’ll realize, surely
Just as I
In submission, our perfect love
Offered to the moon
Tonight.

Random French and a beloved friend

My friend Tarver has been visiting for the past few days. Absolutely love him. He’s an awesome person. We went biking a little and visited a cold and damp cave. He says he doesn’t eat more than he needs because his sense of smell is not that great. He’s so easy in our family – I wish he really were my older brother.
By the way, am amazed by Tarver’s mind. He seems able to recognize Chinese characteristics after the first glance (though not to the extent of drawing them by memory, at least hasn’t proved to be able to) and continue to be interested in it. Most Americans just ask me what something means and laugh after I inform them without expressing any desire or interest to learn further.
Shall really have to get back to my studies. It’s been like a vacation.
Received SAT scores as follows:
Critical reading – 730/800
Math – 680/800
Writing – 540/800 (broke my pretty little heart)
Total score – 1990/2400
Really must work at it. And what do you mean if I retake it I might get less?
Also got the book ‘Le Petit Prince’ which I am sure the French are tired of hearing about. Will be good practice for the language anyway (beside the fact that it’s the only French novel I could find in the bookstore. Exorbitant amount it cost, though. $15.95 for a tiny book.
This is the foreword by A Leon Werth (by the way, can somebody teach me how to type the French letters? It would be very kind):
Je demande pardon aux enfants d’avoir dedie ce livre a une grande personne. J’ai une excuse serieuse: cette grande personne est lemeilleur ami que j’ai au monde. Jai une autre excuse: cette grande personne peut tout comprendre, meme les livres pour enfants. J’ai une troisieme excuse: cette grand personne habite la France ou elle a faim et froid. Elle a bien besoin d’etre consolee. Si toutes ces excuses ne suffisent pas, je veux bien dedier ce livre a l’enfant qu’a ete autrefois cette grande personne. Toutes les grandes personnes ont d’abord ete des enfants. (Mai peu d’entre elles s’en souviennent.)
I have the general idea that the whole paragraph says something along these lines: This book, though seemingly made for children, is in fact for adults. There are 3 reasons I give. The first one I cannot translate, the second one seems to signify that children cannot understand such a book (comprendre), the third says something along the lines that (I’m going out on a limb here) that the France that grownups live in is hungry and cold (I suppose the soul of it is deprived?) and the (grownups?) need consoling (consolee) by such a book as ‘Le Petit Prince’. If you think these reasons are insufficient, the grownups (?????) children.
If my translation is wrong or ne suffisent pas, pray tell me. Considering the fact that I’m working here without a dictionary and have been a whole year without taking any French classes, you really can’t ask much.
Also rented Bridget Jone’s diary and thought it wonderfully hilarious. She just makes you love her, though she’s horribly – clutzy and rather dim. I especially like the part where she’s just eaten magic mushroom and goes wadding in the sea and goes “Pretty Bridget, pretty Bridget…”
Every adult who happens to be my mom’s friend always say “Oooooh! You look so much like your mother!” and I’m like “Yeah-yeah-yeah, tell me something I don’t know.” Am turning into a fussy adult too, since last time I met a little girl I was like “Wow, you’ve grown much taller than I remembered!” and had a crazy impulse to pinch her cheeks, all the while grinning like a chimp – had restraint on the cheek pinching but no restraint on grinning like a chimp. She regarded me with slightly frightened eyes, like she could read my intentions, or just found my grin scary.

Digressions on various subjects

Sorry that this is the same article on Xanga with slight modifications.
Find that there is so much to do! Trying to finish two grownup books I found in our local college library – they’re both on society, which I find awfully absorbing. I did start a letter earlier but accidentally erased it in a moment of absentminded file-cleaning (warning to self, never do any cleaning when one is distracted). The first book is called “A public betrayed” by Adam Gamble & Takesato Watanabe on Japanese media atrocities and their impact on their culture. It’s intended to be a warning to Western media’s general degradation. Shocking – how some magazines report articles without any concrete proof. In our national standard English test I took more than a year and half ago I had to write this essay showing my views on the liberty the media is given (which was a controversial topic at the time because the government was closing off a network that had been opposing it’s new reign), I did not make a stance on the issue and failed by a point (which I found unfair at the time but now can understand why my essay was so horrible – I tried to take both sides (which by the textbook is a big no-no), I deviated from the topic (one moment I was trying to say maybe the media should be restricted in some areas and the other moment I was soliloquizing on the sewer problem in Kaohsiung) and I wrote out of line.
Hey, at least I learned something.
Did I digress again?
Yes, I’m still on Chapter one in that book, but am learning a lot. Maybe I should give up novels altogether and start reading practical books – not really, but in truth there is so little time for me to learn everything there is in the world to know!
The other book is called ‘Chinese etiquette & ethics in business’ by Boye Lafayette De Mente. I borrowed it to read up on how Westerners view Chinese culture – and hopefully for revelations on behavior in Chinese culture that I somehow find so upsetting and frustrating but cannot figure out why. It’s wonderfully enlightening and deliciously detrimental towards bad PRC policies, which gets my youthful patriotic blood heated up – fun! My mom would be horrified if she knew what info I’m collecting in my brain, she considers it suicidal to become an activist in human rights, attract the wrong people and bam! You’re fried. But really, someone has to do it, we can’t all be ostriches. I’ll just be as ambiguous and unobtrusive as possible, to keep on the safe side. The thing is, if I keep going on anti-PRC websites and backing their view there will be a time (if I have to go to mainland china or when Taiwan is under it’s control) that I’ll have to flee, it’s rumored all over the net that the commies employ internet police and they might – well, not very good thing to dwell on. But man, you have got to check out the atrocious things they do to individuals who don’t just keep their head down and lead a drudging unsatisfactory life. It makes me sooooo mad. There is this story about a Chinese diplomat in Australia who defected the first chance he got on account of his feeling displeased with the system – they persecuted a kung-fu society because it had gotten so big they feared it would be powerful enough to stage a successful revolt and torture their members to death, beating them up so both their legs are broken and everything! That’s what I call evil, not Count Olaf’s pseudo wickedness, which mostly consists of vulgarity, bad acting, and nefarious demented genius activities. By the way, love the movie, had the black humor and beautiful orphans thing down pat, Violet’s dress was stunning – though I seriously doubt their parents only bought them black clothes. The scenery is absolutely awesome.
Heard this radio program on a noble peace winner from Kenya who planted trees; wonderful to learn about people like that. They said that if the greenhouse problem gets really bad, Africa is going to suffer ultimate losses. She said that if people owned the land they were planting trees on, they would have more enthusiasm for nurturing because they can be assured of the trees’ destiny – not to be chopped up for houses in the future – and be able to establish a relationship with the land. That’s cool. I mean, how many people in civilized American (or Taiwan) develop relationship with the land? Look at ‘Grapes of Wrath’! but I realize that I wouldn’t enjoy being a farm girl that much, maybe when I’m old with rheumatism I’ll garden.

A prophesying shade

My love, a shattering woe
from whence a covenant vengeance made
in silent bliss sweet words unspoke
wrought sad suspicion in this heart of gold
tear tarnished, on shinning surface sped
a drop of virtue in hell’s evil bent
lay corrupted, sundered, from the glories of men
to prose in features all rose blush spent
careless and worn the ironwood tree
decry a mockery to it’s windy leaves
and shallow a shout lay in it’s veins
a steely line of truth before unnamed
for here lie the covenant, sweet and true
of thousand hearts bound and thousands sundered by youth
in vicious parade that yawning breach
between spirits kindred did thoughtfulness speak
and break with haste this loveless world
a cold and hasty end in peril
heed me, for yon morrow’s sun
will soon melt this prophesying shade down
that love hath not a fairer name
then those breathed in silent decay.

A rather unfortunate happenstance

It is my one-year anniversary of official stupidity. There really are guys out there who make you say, “Men are total jerks.” Pray let me elaborate:
I enjoy swimming. It’s fun; you can relax and float, or do awesome workout without feeling sweaty. I tend to believe I swim like a mermaid, though other people may think otherwise. About a year ago today, I encountered a male who complimented me on my swimming. I was reluctant to talk to him because he’s older and really not that adorable (and if he were adorable, I would be more wary). He told me he thought I was an ABC, I was flattered – but no. He said when he was in a pub with XXX there were a lot of ABCs who went over and squeezed their tiny bosoms at them. I was like, okay, amusing… why? He said “What? You don’t know XXX? He’s my friend! He’s like a famous singer!” I smiled and said, no man, I’m not exactly up to date on the celebrity scene and frankly, I don’t care. I should have gotten a clue he was a sleaze ball then because he found it impressive to drop names. He said he works at the town hall as a secretary because his uncle works there. So I thought he was decent – as I believed most government people are.
He was amazed that I had never been to a KTV before and said, “Hey, you can come with me.” I said no, I don’t have enough money for such expensive ventures. He said it was his treat and insisted. I told him I’d have to bring a friend. He said sure, and I think of you like my sister.
LIAR! I didn’t know it at that time, but really – do I sound incoherent when I’m mad? I just get so angry whenever I think of that bastard I feel like I could chop up an elephant if not for the fact that it’s not humane. After the encounter at the pool he called me two times, one time to confirm that I was going, and one to say “Hey, I miss you.” I was like, what was that about? Anyway, to make a long story short, my friend was unavailable for that date, so I went, without my parent’s permission or knowledge because I knew they would find me going alone with a 29 year old man objectionable. And I was a lot more innocent, gullible, and trusting of human nature than I am now. We went to this pretty snazzy KTV and he ordered a jug of beer and started smoking pot and invited me to try some. I sipped at the beer (which I found repulsive, I mean, geeze, why do people profess to enjoy this stuff? It’s bile!) and adamantly refused the pot. I kind of pitied him for doing drugs, but he’s a grownup and I can’t very well report him, he might have connections in a gang and I’m just a defenseless little girl. He also had this little pink pill he chopped into half and offered me – ecstasy. I refused that also. Then he started holding my hand and it was shaking like he was having a seizure and he told me it’s a reaction of the drug and he’s getting high and I was like, okay… suit yourself, not interested, please don’t offer it to me again. I was started to feel disillusioned with grownups – see, grownups are suppose to be responsible and mature, not drugged up and trying to seduce a teenaged girl, which was what he was doing. A waiter came in several times and I made doe eyes at him, like, please get me out of this place? Because seriously, I didn’t know where we were and I couldn’t very well walk out. I didn’t know it at that time but I was like two blocks away from my cram school and I could have just asked my friend to walk over. I was 16 and I’m supposed be a minor! He started dancing with me and hugging me and breathing heavily into my neck and I could feel his – thing – at the back of my dress and I was shocked. Seriously, I should have done something. When he tried to touch my ass I moved his hand away but that was all. I didn’t know men behaved like this and he lied to me when he said he thought of me as a sister. Really, instead of giving us young girls lectures on how to use a condom they should give us lectures on evil predatory adult males and the signs we should look for when approached by such abase creatures. Later I told him I had to go to church and to please drop me off and he said sure. So we drove over and he kept holding my hand and I felt it was impolite to pull my hand away and then he held it tight and told me “It’s such a beautiful romantic night out, why don’t we go driving somewhere else instead of going to this church of yours?” I’m like, no way am I spending the rest of the night with you. You probably have some sleazy motel in mind and no way am I turning into some slut you’ve already gotten enough out of groping me man I want to kill you. But all I said was “No, I really have to go to church.” So he let me off and I just sat in the stairway for the rest of the sermon getting madder and madder and glowering at any male creature that came within my vicinity.
That was also one of the reasons I broke off with Spike – he was unavailable. He’s always unavailable. At least if you’re my boyfriend you should be there to protect me but no, he’s unavailable. My gawd I am still so mad today. The jerk never called me again which I thought “So much for sincerity.” And made me angrier still because if he did I would chew his head off. That was the turning point. I would chew his bloody head off. No, the point is this incident made me aware that not all grownups are to be trusted and they can be weak, perverted individuals and that I’m starting to be a grownup too and the way some men smile at me? It’s actually called leering. And I’m never telling Spike I was so stupid because it’s shameful and it’s almost like cheating on him, through no fault of mine. I simply hate the thought.
I believe some girls would cry if this happened to them. Really, it’s not their fault they were groped. I just wish – if men would do their rightful duty women would feel a lot safer. Males generally are better endowed physically than females so they can protect the family, they shouldn’t use this advantage in a wrongful manner. It really psychologically damages girls to be placed in such a vulnerable situation. The meanies probably don’t even remember their victims.
A toast to innocence! And I hope all evil men who try to seduce young naïve girls drop dead.

Je suis canon

I’m taking swimming now. Believe the swimming teacher flirted with me a little. He had been my swimming teacher for that level three years ago and he’s still there, looking gorgeous with his dark hair and stunning figure. Let’s call him Mr. T. He seems to get along very well with his colleagues, he makes the females laugh and the males listen. Well, last time he flunked me, so here I am again, looking gorgeous in my neon green (yucky color) conservative swimsuit, at least four years older than the oldest student of the class.
He started instructing the class and then excused himself for incoherence, looking especially at me (and people! I was not hallucinating! I mean, yeah, sometimes I hallucinate and imagine a cutie is looking my way when he only has his head turned in my general direction and is admiring, say, the ass of the middle-aged instructor in front of me. But not this time.) and saying “I’m a little distracted. ” Smiling his winning smile. I gave him a tight-lipped grin (because man, I was freezing) and gave a polite murmur (just like those Victorian age ladies in the books, must give response, even if it’s a meaningless one). He asked me if I should be in this class (since I’m evidently older) and I wanted to tell him “Hello? You FLUNKED ME!” but said yes and emitted another polite inaudible murmur. He then asked the class if he had demonstrated a certain swimming move and I said no, he looked at me again and teased “Are you sure?” or something to that extent, I wasn’t really paying attention to what he was saying because I was preoccupied at that point with his preoccupation of me, which was, honest told, rather distracting. I said no, you didn’t go in the water and flashed my adorable pearly whites at him, which must have looked gruesome since it was a cross between a grimace and an attempt at charm, owing to the lovely temperature.
I think some men just find it a habit to flirt, even if it’s with the closest female well into puberty who happened to be his ugly duckling student with a bad case of acne and athlete’s foot three years ago but now has turned into this striking female…
As I was saying – no, I wasn’t attracted to him, but his physique is rather lovely and his charisma strong. I don’t suppose I’m allowed to put his picture here, as it would require permission (though I have a picture of us standing on the side of the pool three years ago, me looking considerably awkward in a black bikini type swimsuit owing to the fact that I had nothing whatsoever to hold up the chest part and no waist). Nor would I put his real name, as it would create privacy problems and I fancy myself not especially evil. As those who know better will notice, not a lot of the names on my blog are real, mostly because I’m too lazy to ask all the people in my life for permission to put their real names on net.

Empathy for death?

Heard the news of a little boy’s death.
He is the son of one of my father’s female colleagues, not yet 7 years old. He had an inherent brain tumor that gave him insomnia, slant eyes, and headaches. They found the tumor when he was around 4 or 5 and operated on it. They had eradicated the tumor but he still died. I cannot fathom why. Mother feels this incident deeply because she herself has a brain tumor the size of a pea (since it’s in the brain, that’s considerable) behind her frontal lobes and causes her irregularity in menstruation, headaches, fainting spells and nausea.
The Dr. who presided over the birth of my brother and whom my mother considers a good friend and wonderful Christian died also. We’ve visited them twice after they moved to Colorado and they had built this mansion on the side of the hill. My mother said she felt strongly that the location would cause difficulties should someone in the house suffer an accident or be sick and need quick access to the hospital. My mom’s premonitions are always to be trusted; I shall explain this fact later. The good Dr. had a hereditary disorder that makes him highly perceptible to blood clots, and this occurred in his brain. He had been bedridden for four years before passing away recently. I remember he was always so kindly and somewhat of a health enthusiast. “He and his wife were good servants of the Lord.” They had missioned in Africa for nine years when he was younger.
I cannot understand why I feel so coldly towards these. I, as a human being, am obliged to feel something – yet there is nothing. A little selfish fear, perhaps, for the unknown region of death, but what more? My mother reminds my brother and I daily that she ails; she tires, and may not be long in this world. She tells me that I should be kind to my brother and take care of him justly after her demise. I suppose she sees my silence as stoicism… in truth, it is indifference. There is no more blatant evil than disregard, and truly I feel my heart is cold to the thought of her death. Why? The idea that she will no longer be here to cater to my needs, to advise and provide sobers me, but for now, no more. Am I utterly without feeling? Perhaps it is the repetition of the possibility that numbs me, or the idea that, if she is not always surrounded by this conviction, she will not die. I have heard of a person who died from a lung cancer after they were informed of it – when they had the very same cancer for years without feeling the worse for wear. It is a phenomenon of the mind that fascinates me – the proximity of thoughts and body.
Do others feel the way I do? It is proper to mourn a death, even for a stranger, but does one truly mourn? Knowing that we care little for the death of others, we know, perhaps, that we shall not be mourned. What is the purpose, then, of our existence? Alas, the universal human question! Surely we, with our divine gift of thought, are made with some divine purpose?
Somehow, none of the traditional myths I have ever read satisfy the question of our purpose. We, with our inquisitive minds are told to trust blindly. The faith of millions in one doctrine is a mind-bogglingly powerful thing, because they say the human mind can create many things by belief alone. Perhaps we recruit so many to our faith due to our sense of self-preservation – we are unconsciously building a paradise of our mind, and if our latter generations cannot bear this burden of faith, our heaven shall disappear and our essences dissipate. It is a self-reliant theory – but is it not possible? I hope I can delude myself into Faith someday so I need not feel so empty.
Heard this radio program “Letting go of God” the other day and was horribly depressed. www.juliasweeney.com

Anxiety, my dear, is not a sin

I shall return to Taiwan soon, it is an exciting yet worrisome thought. Suppose I go back and find out I have never changed? My personality and charisma is still deficient? I can imagine it would be like popping back into a vise, adhering to my original shape because of the environment and memories associated with it? I hope not!
I know it is a misery to go through the whole school knowing that nobody truly cares to listen about your woes except the counselor, who has a jam-packed schedule. Though from my past experience my counselor really didn’t have any stimulating suggestions.
When I was in my junior high I was unpopular. I was so thrilled to be in cramschool because there at least I had half a dozen close friends who seemed to genuinely care about what I think, but in school I had nobody. The fact is cramschool was like a starting over place for me, a place where everyone meets others anew and they have no old alliances, prejudices…etc. My school started bad because 1. I entered a class that had already been together for a year, so they already had alliances and expectations for what would be ‘normal behavior’ in their class. 2. the teacher compared me to the other classmates openly and called them a bunch of stupid gits, thus making me public enemy number one. 3. I could not contribute to the class or live up to the role of leadership they pushed into my hands the first week I was there. 4. I was good at English and was the teacher’s pet, and everyone hated the English teacher. 5. I didn’t say the right words in a conversation. 6. I sat back and ‘accepted’ their initial kindness and curiosity like a queen instead of going around ‘giving’ praise and showing that I liked them (hey, I didn’t care a mite about them, that was a major no-no. If you want to be queen, you gotta work for it, lazy queens get the guillotine. ex: Marie Antoinette.) 7. I read and wrote in my journal, all the time, I had no time for the ‘stupid louts’.
My teacher, who studied psychology, told me that I had two choices when I imparted my isolated situation to him. He told me that I could either focus on the people and put down my books, or focus on my fantasy world and disregard the people.
I considered – see, I thought my classmates a bunch of pricks with no ambition, little imagination, and crude habits – so I chose my fantasy world. Really, I have no regrets, since that is in the past now.
What worries me is that I wasn’t popular in youth group either. I believe it was my lack of enthusiasm and chat. Ah well, we can’t all be loved.