reality check with jonk.

pablo neruda,my absolute favourite romantic poet.

sorry for NOT blogging at all during my major prelim week.actually,duno why im even saying sorry.but sorry i guess,to all my fans out there,like those sweet people on my tagboard.SWEET people on my tagboard,i repeat.one sweet sweet man.

can you believe today i didn't go to church because i got stressed out by my mum over what to wear so i conveniently used it as an excuse to throw a tantrum and not go? how stupid is that.don't know what wilfred owen's been doing to me.i've become temperamental and borderline insane.oh joy,i should just check into craiglockhart hospital too!

the best part is,my mum wasn't even affected by my upsetness.she found it funny.and so all i had to worry about was getting God to understand that this had NOTHING to do with Him at all.i felt so guilty steph had to call me to convince me i wasn't the biggest criminal on earth and God wld be okay with it,this once.i'm sorry God):

i also felt a bit scared someone would turn up with my much awaited natural confectionary fat-free fruit salad gummies and i wouldn't be there to be the proud receipient! i'm surviving on kitkats from dubai now.omg.steph,start screaming at me.

oh well as the exams draw to a close the freak out madness has been dissipating,fluctuating just before the paper and then dying down as we go into a oh-whatever mode.steph and i even debated about how hot dead poets were yesterday! she's going to say i started it but hey,she continued it.but to simply put it,dead poets from the early 1900s were like hot.like really! i think lord byron belonged to the 1800s,but his name alone makes him sound hot.like how hot is a guy who writes "she walks in beauty like the night"? very.

so there's brooke,owen and sassoon.brooke's slightly older I THINK but hey,he was the most handsome out of the 4 heavenly kings of hot poet literature.okay i found a picture of byron and he's only good looking from afar.he looks abit crappy up close.but manly,i guess.HAHA omg.

rupert brooke.gorgeous,smart,and dead.

lord byron.manly,romantic,and dead.

siegfried sassoon.suave,intelligent,and dead.

and the man h2 students love and hate.
wilfred owen,greatest war poet of the WWI.
sensitive,emotional,
and dead.

Sonnet XVII

I don't love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as certain dark things are loved,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that doesn't bloom and carries
hidden within itself the light of those flowers,
and thanks to your love, darkly in my body
lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you simply, without problems or pride:
I love you in this way because I don't know any other way of loving
but this, in which there is no I or you,
so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,
so intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close.

Pablo Neruda.
give it up for the guy man.