Wednesday, April 17, 2013

T.S Eliot The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock

Let us go then, you and I, 
When the evening is spread out against the sky 
Like a patient etherized upon a table; 
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets, 
The muttering retreats 
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels 
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells: 
Streets that follow like a tedious argument 
Of insidious intent 
To lead you to an overwhelming question. . .                               10 
Oh, do not ask, "What is it?" 
Let us go and make our visit. 

  In the room the women come and go 
Talking of Michelangelo. 

  The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes 
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes 
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening 
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains, 
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys, 
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,                               20 
And seeing that it was a soft October night 
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep. 

  And indeed there will be time 
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street, 
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes; 
There will be time, there will be time 
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet; 
There will be time to murder and create, 
And time for all the works and days of hands 
That lift and drop a question on your plate;                                30 
Time for you and time for me, 
And time yet for a hundred indecisions 
And for a hundred visions and revisions 
Before the taking of a toast and tea. 

  In the room the women come and go 
Talking of Michelangelo. 

  And indeed there will be time 
To wonder, "Do I dare?" and, "Do I dare?" 
Time to turn back and descend the stair, 
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—                               40 
[They will say: "How his hair is growing thin!"] 
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin, 
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin— 
[They will say: "But how his arms and legs are thin!"] 
Do I dare 
Disturb the universe? 
In a minute there is time 
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse. 

  For I have known them all already, known them all; 
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,                       50 
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons; 
I know the voices dying with a dying fall 
Beneath the music from a farther room. 
  So how should I presume? 

  And I have known the eyes already, known them all— 
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase, 
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin, 
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall, 
Then how should I begin 
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?                    60 
  And how should I presume? 

  And I have known the arms already, known them all— 
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare 
[But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!] 
Is it perfume from a dress 
That makes me so digress? 
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl. 
  And should I then presume? 
  And how should I begin?
        .     .     .     .     .

Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets              70 
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes 
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? . . . 

I should have been a pair of ragged claws 
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
        .     .     .     .     .

And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully! 
Smoothed by long fingers, 
Asleep . . . tired . . . or it malingers, 
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me. 
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices, 
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?                  80 
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed, 
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter, 
I am no prophet–and here's no great matter; 
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker, 
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker, 
And in short, I was afraid. 

  And would it have been worth it, after all, 
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea, 
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me, 
Would it have been worth while,                                             90 
To have bitten off the matter with a smile, 
To have squeezed the universe into a ball 
To roll it toward some overwhelming question, 
To say: "I am Lazarus, come from the dead, 
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all" 
If one, settling a pillow by her head, 
  Should say, "That is not what I meant at all. 
  That is not it, at all." 

  And would it have been worth it, after all, 
Would it have been worth while,                                           100 
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets, 
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor— 
And this, and so much more?— 
It is impossible to say just what I mean! 
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen: 
Would it have been worth while 
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl, 
And turning toward the window, should say: 
  "That is not it at all, 
  That is not what I meant, at all."                                          110
        .     .     .     .     .

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be; 
Am an attendant lord, one that will do 
To swell a progress, start a scene or two 
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool, 
Deferential, glad to be of use, 
Politic, cautious, and meticulous; 
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse; 
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous— 
Almost, at times, the Fool. 

  I grow old . . . I grow old . . .                                              120 
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled. 

  Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach? 
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach. 
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each. 

  I do not think they will sing to me. 

  I have seen them riding seaward on the waves 
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back 
When the wind blows the water white and black. 

  We have lingered in the chambers of the sea 
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown               130 
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

Tuesday, April 16, 2013

My taste for jazz......

Im on a musical kick.... Here are some of my favorite jazz pieces.....

This makes me wanna be in The Great Gatsby.....

Nobody does it like Billie.....

Gershwin... my personal favorite composer....

I have to thank my dad for introducing me to Miles Davis. Kinds of Blue is such a gem (though this song is not from it... still one of my favorites)

My favorite modern day jazz song... if I could choose someone's singing voice to have...

Steve Reich

Listen to this piece of music.... truly amazing.  Steve Reich wrote this piece in 1986.  There is a recording of instruments that is played on a tape, while one musician plays on stage.  They purposefully get off from each other, which makes it a unique listening experience everytime you can hear it.  I played the clarinet for a hot minute, I love the way it sounds in this piece.  If you only listen to one part of this song, start at 8:20... so cool. Mr. Reich is a pioneer of minimal music. He used loops to create musical phasing patterns. His music is marked by repetition, harmonic rhythm, and canons. His compositions heavily influenced modern music and he is regarded as the best living American composer. Enjoy New York Counterpoint....

Monday, April 15, 2013

SO hot right now...

 So yes, I am a nerd and have a crush on Iron Man... Can't wait for the THIRD movie this summer!!!!

Sunday, April 14, 2013

Visual Snack

Just a bit of awesomeness to make your day just a little bit more well.... awesome.

Thursday, April 11, 2013

Find a way...

Dont give up.  Keep fighting.  Keep searching for a way.  If this, if I'm something that you want, do everything in your power to find a way.

Wednesday, April 10, 2013


D and I hardly have any pictures of us!! It has been how many years and I think we only have 1!? SO this is my attempt to start a more visual log of us... 

This one is my favorite. 

Is it just me or does he look really annoyed?

The gum thing was pretty freakin gross..

My gosh we are cute.

I know what your thinking.. did Mitzi just steal this picture from GQ and is pretending that this is her hot friend Derrin?  Too good to be true, I know.

Sweet little Cori.
YAY a fun weekend adventure! 

Samantha James

I dont know how many people know about Samantha James, but I love her.  She has such a clean, crisp voice with a jazzy accent.  I listen to her when I am studying.. or crusin in little Juniper... The original of this song is really relaxing.  This is a little spicy remix I just found.

Tuesday, April 2, 2013

Hood Rat

I had so much fun last night.  A receipe for success...
1. April Fools Day
2. 6 fun girls
3. 6 rolls of Saran wrap
4. Old school rap (see above)
5. Black get away car
6. Black leggins/hoodies
7. Tennis Shoes
8. A need... a need for mischieve... hhaha

It was pouring rain and what else are a bunch of 24 year old girls supposed to do at 10 pm on April Fools except re-live some high school days?

We were sworn to secrecy, but I can tell you... I have never ran so fast or laughed so hard.  It was soooo much fun. One of the highlights of my 2013 so far.