|Reviews for Tuesday to Friday|
| Oh Bake Cake chapter 1 . 12/26/2002
You know who I am...
Well, yes, it's depressing, but I still like this. And I'm not saying them for the heck of it. Most poems I don't like.
"The Prophecy"...Get out of my head...
| Commie chapter 1 . 12/24/2002
Depression's always fun.
Corruption always reigns.
| Amaris chapter 1 . 12/24/2002
Hmm...yea...I really didn't understand this poem all that well. There are parts I liked though. "No acids to aviod, no basics to cover." I like the fact that they are opposites in both aspects. Also the "Won two to zero..." Was the Won (one) done purposely? If so, I liked that part. I liked the last two stanzas as well. The last sentence is a stanza right? Starting from "Footnotes..." to be more specific.
| frenchfries chapter 1 . 12/22/2002
i like, i like ( says in funny accent)!
| the Queen of Jupiter chapter 1 . 12/18/2002
I love how the poem is separated into different parts with "-, - said", and how each one sort of is like a little peek into your daily life. "No acids to avoid,/no basics to cover" - chemistry, woo! :P "Piano keys/the teacher's keys/to enlightenment": piano lesson!
Of course, there might be some sort of hidden meaning that I'm missing altogether...but...*sigh*
Midterms this week. Trying not to freak out. o_O
| A.J.Peart chapter 1 . 12/15/2002
Since this one is different from the last few, I can easily let myself fly off the handle to rant about random things without feeling like a broken record. I figure it would be easier to break it into days, since that's what I assume to be intended, and do so as the poem "repeats" itself.
Right off the bat, you've produced the theme of repetition which is physically evident in the poem and also textually. I'll explain.
"This time around" obviously reffers to the whole repetition of weeks; Monday leads to Tuesday, Wednesday to Thursday, and all the way to Sunday, which then leads on to Monday. It's a lovely cycle that we all sort of never think about. But "Will be better today, yesterday promised me so," while reflecting later lines, at this point it sort of opens the door for expectations. It's sort of like what keeps you going, a reason to get up in the morning, the thought that why shouldn't I get up? Today's supposed to be better, isn't it? How could it be worse?
"No acid to avoid, / No basics to cover."
Today is supposed to be different, but there's nothing dangerous to avoid, acid also being a rather obscure perril in general; it's not every day that someone hurls a flask of hydrochloric acid in my general direction. There's also nothing left to learn, the basics of life that are all you need to know. That's what I figure the first 20 to 30 years of our life are all about, learning how to live and how to spend the next chunk of our time. But today is supposed to be better...how can it be better if there's nothing new to make it different? It is the same as yesterday.
It could be said that the Earth is "free and revolving," though it's doing so because it's been harnesed by the sun's gravitational pull, or whatever the whole scientific astoloigical terminalogy happens to be. It's the rotations of the Earth, technically, that gives us the passing days. I mean, theoretically, if there was no daytime or nighttime than there would only be passing hours, passing time. Days technically wouldn't exist and yet there would be no difference. As days don't really change from one day to the next, neither would the passing hours...I don't know where I'm going with this, so I'm going to move along.
Here you throw a whole bunch of things together; random images thrown together through word association, essentially, starting with the revolving. "Revolver to temple," suggests suicide; is it because of the repetition? "My temple to yours," suggests an embrace, which is a complete contrast to the previous image; perhaps they're contrasting because the latter is saving the former from such a 'sinful act.' "Your elbow to the wall" (**might want to drop the second "to" in that line**) suggests being pushed by something to the point of not being able to go further; it sort of reinforces the whole suicide thing, as if the world and all the shit that life has thrown into the fan has gone to the point of basically, 'I can't take this anymore.' "Our hearts separated by time," brings a motive into the picture; time being the greatest of all repetitions, pulling apart two hearts, suggesting love or all emotion in general I suppose, and without that connection, "my temple to yours," there's nothing to act as acid, no basics left, and the revolving freedom finds the revolver in our narrators hand.
Depression Type: suicidal. This reflects someone pushed and kicked and tortured by life to the point that they don't want to live anymore. Slt. So Tuesday's are bad. Most people think of Mondays being the worst day of the week, but I would have to say, apart from this poem, that Tuesdays are actually worse. Monday you're expecting to be bad. Wednesday is half-way into the clear. Thursday holds the promise of a comming end to the week. Friday tells the world to go screw itself as it drifts into the weekend. Saturday is probably the best day since it's the furthest day from having to go back to the routine of the weekday; it's the furthest from the repetition, I figure. Sunday just say's, 'Hey look, tomorrow's Monday. Time to make this weekend memorable.' Slt. But then there's Tuesday: Monday was bad, so what could be worse than that? Tuesday is the only day that there really isn't anything to look forward to, nor is there really any reason for it to be bad; that's where the badness comes from. It's in our exppectation of something, whether good or bad, that makes a day go by, but Tuesday doesn't really have anything like that (unless given to it by a scheduled plan or whatnot). There is nothing naturally good or bad about Tuesday; it's just a day with no purpose... kind of strange, actually... hmm, maybe I'm wrong though. I'm just ranting randomly.
W00t, a test was passed! Expectations again; I suppose they're another theme in here, eh? In school and in life, there are countless people with some sort of expectaions of you, whether for your performance at a task or the task itself. Slt. To exceed those expectations is actually not as good, 'cause then they expect more from you, and you merely keep pushing the bar further and further up. And to confirm genius is a reitteration of that fact.
A week could easily be spent trying to achieve that expectation, and it seems like the achievment of that was a disapointment to the narrator.
Following the pattern, you bounce one idea off the next. Seems like the general idea is that a team, being an aggregate of people, a single form built of a dozen or someodd people, brought together to fight a battle with a similar form; the game was won, but only by things that aren't human, or humans who are dead. It's like people aren't allowed to participate in the game, only watch it, since "the gates [are] opened" to them.
Depression Type: Pessimistic, I'd say, though that's a broad topic. It's hard to actually label this one as anything in particular, though it seems like the kind that comes from either the fear of failure or the realization of failure through success... slt. I said pessimism 'cause, as you know, pessimists look on the dark side of everything, and feeling like you've done all this work only to find that you can only watch and not participate, would be pretty degrading to the whole ego thing, and thus cause a little depression to arise. I think that makes sense.
A freak accident is something that we really can't give a meaning to. There was no reason for it to happen, and probably shouldn't have happened, but it did and so we're going to try and explain it by saying it was a freak accident, a random occurance of life that just happened to occur to someone we know, a tragic event that just cannot be explained any other way. Slt. And this is reflected in the whole "So sad, so bad - / It had to happen to you" lines.
Again, the repetition pops in here, "Tomorrow will be better." It seems like we can say that about any day, especially when something terrible happens. We can always say that tomorrow will be better and the day after that will be better still. It's optimism that causes a great disappointment if you let it, 'cause the next day is probably going to by all appearances be just the same as the previous. I guess that's my own pessimism peaking through, but hey, who's complaining? That doesn't make any sense but that's alright. Nothing has to make sense in this world; we just call them freakish.
"Piano keys," the piano being, like many other instruments, something that can produce an emotional response of nearly any kind needed, based entirely on the person playing. The teacher would use this to learn more about the person playing, it's like a peer or adult listening to what we have to say just to find out what is bothering us. They do it to find "enlightenment" as they might say. But most of the time, I would think, these people wouldn't be able to understand entirely because it's different for everyone, and often they would try comparing it to their own experiences and it would be all for nought since their's would undoubtedly be different. So there's someone trying to help, trying to listen and be optimistic for the narrator, but it's impossible to be...slt.
Depression Type: pessimistic again, though I'll have to elaborate as well. As I said, there is no one who could really help with depression or sadness than ourselves, except for the support of a loved one - not their aid, their support. Simply having someone there for comfort or whatnot is more helpful than someone asking, "What's wrong?" or, "What can I do to help?" and saying, "There must be something I can do," when you tell them that there's nothing wrong or that there's nothing that they can do. It's people trying to and wanting to help that cause this sort of depression, but there's no way of explaining it, it's a freakish sort of depression, that they must only accept as something that can be worked through in time and not as something that they can solve. Something like that, I guess.
The end. Death is the end to every cycle in this life, the life we currently live within ourselves. "Self-absorbtion," being caught up within ourselves in a way that causes us to become disappointed with how we've turned out, how we're living or how we lived our lives. It's reflection on the past, and perhaps a little bit of wondering whether there will be another time around, another week to waste. It's terribly easy to drown within your own thoughts.
Footnotes written for anyone who cannot see is pointless, so we're looking at pointlessness here, as though the whole book, a lifelong accomplishment, something to be remembered for, was done entirely for one reason, which turned out to be pointless...slt. There's faith, too, other people having faith in the narrator, when there's no point in having such. Going to the narrator's Heaven would be foolish, as though the narrator were worshiped like a god.
Depression Type: the depression caused by more depression. This is a great cycle, where you become depressed, hate yourself for it, and become depressed for hating yourself for being depressed, and then hate yourself more for being depressed for that reason...and so on. Slt.
"Corruption reigns" could have many applications. It could reffer to the forementioned heaven, thus saying that the God of the narrator's heaven is corrupt, kind of like if they were to worship Satan or Loki or someone like that. It could also refer to all depression in general. It could be the depression that rules over the soul of the narrator, and that there is nothing that can be done about it. It's a perpetual sadness that is being felt by the narrator. I think that second thought makes the most sense for the poem.
All in all, I think this is a poem entirely about depression, and is clearly such, meaning that you shouldn't have to tell people before hand that it is...though I'm not totally sure since I didn't read it until after I knew. Most people, I suppose, would probably just describe this as a depressing poem, which it is. I don't think there's any way of writing a poem about depression without it being able to cause some at the same time.
A good job once again, and if this is the bad poem you were talking about last night, it seems I was right when I said that sometimes bad poems turn out better than you think. If it's not, well than please excuse me while I shove my foot in my mouth.
Millies exclamationes ad te.
| peachykeen chapter 1 . 12/15/2002
You're such a silly girl! How could I not leave a review? Or maybe, you were talking about reviews that like have incite, and not just me being me... Anyway, it sounds like my week without the piano, and without passing the test. Words to define pour moi: eon, and aggregate Tres bien, ma amie!
| miss meaningeverythingtome chapter 1 . 12/15/2002
not too much. i like it. it's cool, interesting idea and i like how you fleshed it out. dig the semi-internal-but-really-very-overt rhyme scheme thing. hehe.