Wednesday, August 20, 2003

a rant by annie!

Hmmm... it's been quiet awhile since I have posted. And as I have a book report due (or rather a critique of a book, if you want to feel like you've moved past the 3rd grade) there's no better time then now to start a rant.

On Finances
I've become wholy (or is it holy? that doesn't look right) depressed as I've come to realize that I cannot afford to live in a decent neighborhood in San Diego County after I "graduate". Houses are so freaking expensive and rent is just an overinflated bottomless pit. The best I can afford is a 2 bedroom, 1 bathroom condo, if I have a roomate; in Arizona I can basically sell my car and get a house! I think the only solution is to start a "San Diego For San Diegians!" Campaign, I implore all true San Diegian to heckle those who have been here for 4 years or less, until they all leave.

On Love
I've also decided that people are not meant to be with just one person. Mathmatically it is highly improbable that millions of people have find that one true person your suppose to be with; therefore it must mean that there are at least several people in the world you are meant to be with and it's just a matter of who you find first. Or maybe i'm just too damn cynical for my age.

On footnotes
I think footnotes are one of the greatest inventions ever. I mean you can rant on and on, in an exceptable manner in a "scholary" paper. With footnotes you can have 20% content and 80% rant. What other way is there to go?

On Apples
I've been vaguely tempted to get a new G5 or a powerbook. They are quiet slick are they not. Also this msblaster worm has erode my faith in Microsoft's bloatware to the point where I might be willing to shell out the dough. What they need is to port the OS to x86.

Tuesday, August 05, 2003

" "
by Myrna Perez

This is my cup of pain
My lot of sorrow from this world
But a drop; still heavy with salt.
What passed before was but a trite mockery
of this, But a shallow reminder of life.
A pale contrast to the
Endless happiness.
Was my joy but an illusion?
A masquerade, an absence of
pain, and not reality?
My faith bitter frail,
Like old spun glass.
Not because I rail at fate,
But I realize the depth
of my own weakness.
A stream of words pours forth:
Is this me speaking; all the right words.
As if it were a game to be won.
My hope has not flown,
My song is not dead.
But both are pale
and spent.
This gray stone lives within my heart.
Where is the flow of life?