Curiosity has always been a driving force. You might call it a personality quirk. How does that work? What does that really mean? Wherein lies a myth’s source? What happens behind the scene? People think I’m inherently studious. The truth is, I’m insatiably curious!
Written for tonight’s Quadrille #129: A Curiosity of Poems, prompt at dVerse. That little nugget of writing happiness invented at dVerse. A poem of just 44 words including the prompt word, which tonight is curiosity. My Quadrille has the curious, or if you will, strange rhyme scheme of abbcacdd.
Paying real money for graphic extras in games. Just graphics no game perks. Lunacy according to the parents. Life necessity according to the child. Discussions ran long and spirited. In the end we relented, because what first seemed like only graphics came with the possibility to earn game money to keep unlocking stuff without having to put up more real world money. The result was a very happy child chuckling happily as he played, saying how grateful he is. However unnecessary it seemed to me it seems to have made the game experience much more rewarding for the player.
Gamification People chasing next level Everywhere I look
The simple yet priceless pleasures of children. Of their hugs and laughter. Of their pride in having made a drawing or a pearl plate just for you. Of their happiness for an excuse to have berry juice and cinnamon buns. Of their delight to have picked a bouquet of flowers to give. Of the spark in their eyes as they say, – I love you Mommy! Happy Mother’s Day!
To share a child’s joy is to grow heart-young again to remember love
If you desire to be my lover. You must feel delighted to mysteries discover. Read the nomenclature of the poetic fire in my soul. Not have the need to push me into hemmed in roles. Be able to decipher the cartography of my mind’s twists and turns. Not fear that my passions will burn. Learn the topography of my body’s pleasure. Delight in seeking every carnal treasure. I’m not for the timid. Are you still interested?
Tonight was movie night with the kids. We saw The Mitchells vs the Machines, as usual I had the English subtitles on since the Swedish translations don’t always do the original justice and since it can be hard to hear with two kids talking. I don’t have much to say about the movie. What struck me as so often before is how the music plays such a big part of the experience, and how they like the credits nearly as much as the film because it’s a chance to dance and sing.
Music has always been a big part of my life, listening to, singing, dancing to. So I’m not surprised this streak is clearly visible in my children.
Life begins with sound Fortissimo live-spark start Heartbeat, boom, boom, boom
Hope Is a Dangerous Thing for a Woman Like Me to Have – but I Have It by Lana Del Ray
Tonight’s Saturday song is Hope Is a Dangerous Thing for a Woman Like Me to Have – but I Have It by Lana Del Ray.
A song someone sent to me because they thought about me listening to it. At the time I felt both flattered and quite caught out. Did I really seem so depressed and struggling? I guess at the time I thought I did a better job hiding it. Then I realized how backwards hiding how I truly felt was, especially from someone who could read between the lines. So instead I got ugly honest about the darkness and received both some relief and a new friend by it.
Since then I’ve become much better off not habitually always hiding how I am. It’s not always easy, and has the sad side effect of showing who your real friends are. But all in all I now believe it’s a better way to live than the opposite.
I can also say it made me listen to Lana Del Ray and her poetic lyrics.
It’s unusual that a contemporary song has so much written about it, but looking up the lyrics and song links I stumbled upon several articles about it. Here’s two, one from Atwood Magazine and one from Story of Song.
Enjoy!
Lyrics
Hope Is a Dangerous Thing for a Woman Like Me to Have – but I Have It by Lana Del Ray
I was reading Slim Aarons and I got to thinking that I thought Maybe I’d get less stressed if I was tested less like All of these debutantes Smiling for miles in pink dresses and high heels on white yachts But I’m not Baby, I’m not No, I’m not That, I’m not
I’ve been tearing around in my fucking nightgown 24/7 Sylvia Plath Writing in blood on the walls ‘Cause the ink in my pen don’t work in my notepad Don’t ask if I’m happy, you know that I’m not But, at best, I can say I’m not sad ‘Cause hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have Hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have
I had fifteen-year dances Church basement romances, yeah, I’ve cried Spilling my guts with the Bowery Bums Is the only love I’ve ever known Except for the stage, which I also call home, when I’m not Servin’ up God in a burnt coffee pot for the triad Hello, it’s the most famous woman you know on the iPad Calling from beyond the grave, I just wanna say, “Hi, Dad”
I’ve been tearing up town in my fucking white gown Like a goddamn near sociopath Shaking my ass is the only thing that’s Got this black narcissist off my back She couldn’t care less, and I never cared more So there’s no more to say about that Except hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have Hope is a dangerous thing for a woman with my past
There’s a new revolution, a loud evolution that I saw Born of confusion and quiet collusion of which mostly I’ve known A modern day woman with a weak constitution, ’cause I’ve got Monsters still under my bed that I could never fight off A gatekeeper carelessly dropping the keys on my nights off
I’ve been tearing around in my fucking nightgown 24/7 Sylvia Plath Writing in blood on your walls ‘Cause the ink in my pen don’t look good in my pad They write that I’m happy, they know that I’m not But, at best, you can see I’m not sad But hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have Hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have
Hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have But I have it Yeah, I have it Yeah, I have it I have
After more than a year of isolation taking the commuter train to the other side of town felt like an adventure, like going somewhere new, even though I’ve been there lots of times. Arriving felt strange, the busy place I remembered nearly empty of people. No students at the campus. Even the university hospital was mostly quiet.
After getting a bit dizzy and light-headed after the shot I was kept under observation for an hour. When I emerged the grey overcast sky had turned to brilliant sunshine and summer warmth.
Like sun after rain getting the first vaccine shot fills the heart with hope
Front cover of DEN NYA DAGEN GRYR (THE NEW DAY DAWNS) by Johan Svedjedal Photo by RedCat
Let me into a bookshop and I can browse forever. Until hunger, thirst or the outer world demands attention. Today it came in the form of my nine year old demanding we go for burgers as promised. But I had already found my prize. A biography of one of my favorite poets. One I didn’t know existed just one week ago. So finding a copy on the sales shelf made my day.
Between the covers of a book, a world is bound happiness is found
The world according to RedCat 