DurAnorak (duranorak) wrote,
DurAnorak
duranorak

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I'm odd.

Currently I'm lonesome for a lunatic murderer who died around a hundred years ago.
So I'm reading poems people have written about him instead...they're making me feel remarkably sane.
The murderer in question is currently probably hiding from a Space concert.

...I'd hate to be an ordinary person. What do they do without situations like this to be in? ~g~

All the poems by men have been written 'in memory of the victims', while the one by a woman is 'a tribute to Jack'. ~cough~predictable~cough~.
But she describes him as an "incubus", a conclusion I hadn't thought to make and rather like.
"Seems to me under the trickster's new moon he was born..."
The rest of the poem is appalling - my dear, have you heard of scansion? - but I did like ^that...

Oh, and the fluorescent light in my kitchen seems to be leaking water. Which wechsler has just pointed out is Not A Good Thing, rather than just being an Odd Thing. ~taps side of head~ Brain not working. Like, at all.

E.
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