I bought a new eau de something spray last night from the mall. I really liked it as I sniffed the air after spritzing the tester.
Today, after working in it all day, I HATE it! I can taste it. I can't get away from the smell. GAAAH! How can it be this bad?
Like you even needed a smell!
Air smell as opposed to reacting with body chemistry smell. :(
I hate that. There is an amazing perfume, Burbury (sp?) - I love the smell of it.
It smells delicious on Khayman - and on me? Diseased, skunk-sprayed French whore.
Yeah. :( Makes me sad.
The problem probably is you smell too nice already without it. Once you put on the perfume, it becomes a battle. Your good natural smell starts to mix and mingle with the new invading smell. It is simple math.. like 2+2. Except in this case it is a quadratic equation that is then divided by zero and all hell breaks loose.
Do what I do. I use just a very basic, brand name deodorant body spray you can get at any store. I use it sparingly and people always tell me I smell great.
What they don't know is that my diet mainly consists of fish and garlic, so the body spray actually HAS a negative scent to combat.
It all balances, see?
Keep the new perfume. Eat more raw garlic.
This is why I don't wear perfume. My body odor is skunky as it is.
This is a rant. By nature, that means I'm going to give my opinion on something that bugs me. I'm not angry...just annoyed, ok?
I am standing on my soap box and I have taken a REALLY deep breath.
I love poetry. I LOVE it. I love reading poetry from the dawn of literature to current, modern verse. I like trying to read foreign poetry in its original language, comparing it to translations. I even like to read scholarly critiques.
I admire accomplished poets who study their craft and produce works that are beautifully written, using imagery, symbolism, rhyming structures, meter, and other literary devices. They are like masters of fine art who respect the canvas and the tools of their trade like paint, color, brushes, pencils, etc...
What I do NOT like is the person who fancies themself a poet without really caring that it is a craft. Sometimes we get to read Morri's frustrations about photographers who follow no guideline or professional standard. Just because you CAN point a camera at someone, doesn't necessarily mean you SHOULD.
Don't get me wrong...I adore the casual person who dares to put pen to paper to express themself in a new way. I love the process of starting somewhere and giving it a shot, maybe learning along the way on how to improve your writing.
I'm ranting against the self-publishers who believe their work is wonderful, yet they don't even take the time to spell check or ask an unbiased person to proof/edit the work. A handful of people who politely tell you that they like your work does not mean that you are good at it.
I'm not denying that you have the right to self-publish anything you like, but begging people to buy your rag? How much TIME have you invested in it? Have you no pride? No sense? No respect for others?
I used to have difficulty watching the "I Love Lucy" show. I was so embarrassed FOR her. She got herself into the craziest situations. I would cover my face at each wacky scheme into which she would drag poor Ethel.
I do that now...for you. I cover my face for you as you hang that rag out there and call it poetry, begging people to buy it on a website that doesn't even feature the "book," but its own prowess at publishing the dregs of society that no self-respecting publisher would touch.
Write...by all means...WRITE! But know that it takes time and effort to become good at everything. Learn. Send a poem to a magazine for consideration. Get feedback - REAL feedback. Lose the ego and take chances. Reinvent yourself. Read...fall in love with language.
I can tell a writer who does not love words and the effects of well-crafted syntax and meter. What poet would stand stagnant in a stream of "am, is, are, was, and were" when words like "wriggle, fantasize, coalesce, and tickle" are but a daydream away?
Who would forever Hallmark their way along in sickly rhyming couplets in the face of blank verse, iambic pentameter, myriad sonnets, meter, alliteration, assonance, etc?
Sometimes I try to put my own hand to the task. I work at verses, often editing out the "too much." I try my very best, caring about taking chances and creating something to a standard. I have even "published" some here. But I consider myself a hobbyist or a student of poetry at best. And if you read my work, you get what you paid for.
Will I ever really publish? Maybe. I have a concentration in Writing, so I took a number of classes, including some brutal peer-editing courses. I remember how hard it was to learn to listen to the reader...to re-think positions and decisions...to grow into a better writer than when I'd begun. I read Eliot, Baudelaire, and other favorites and think, "Not yet. A way to go yet."
If you learned one riff, one refrain...would you publish a symphony? Would you market it proudly and expect people to wet their pants when they saw it? You wouldn't be so foolish or arrogant.
One somersault on a mat when you were 4 was something to take personal pride in. It did not qualify you for the Olympics. The arrogance you feel about your poetry stops being cute when you spill it on me. When you expect me to PAY for your poorly spelled dumpty dumpty, I just want to squish your empty little head.
I must admit, I see a lot of that.
While I love words, love to create something out of them, I can't see myself as a writer yet, even thought I have published some items in magazines and such. Even after that, I still don't think I'm ready for such a title. I would, one day in the future, love it to be said my work is up there with Edgar Allen Poe, J.R.R. Tolkien, etc, but not yet, not now.
Sometimes I wish other people, those who claim to be amazing writers, whether it be prose, poetry, or stories, could see that, as well. It doesn't happen over night. It doesn't just "form" like an idea does. It takes incredibly hard work, dedication, and the desire to produce something that not only moves themselves, but can move another no matter how many times they read it.
I couldn't agree more with everything you have stated here. :)
My poetry is a roadkilled attempt at crossing the street of my heart.
Morri, was that another one of your cousin's Facebook statuses? ;P
Hence, I will never publish my own attempts to create something that I have neither the knowledge or talent to create properly.
And Morri - that was poetic. Lovely metaphor. :)
Yeah! What she said! (Ms. Joli) And umm okay, so my comment wasn't a "symphony," but hey at least it didn't make you wet your pants either! *grins*