InsaneJournal

Entry #C-4: "Clue"
[audio recording]

A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
Beside remote Shalott.



[private to self]

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;
On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flow'd
His coal-black curls as on he rode,
As he rode down to Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flashed into the crystal mirror,
"Tirra lirra," by the river
Sang Sir Lancelot.

That's Tennyson, and that's what Blythe deserves, isn't it? Maybe I should write one, just like this stanza, about myself... I can make myself sound sexy.


His pale, dull skin is sunlight-phobic,
He's definitely heterotrophic;
Sometimes caramel sticks at length
In uncombed hair, at triple strength
And nothing gets it out...?
From Task Force Headquarters and hotels,
His name is just one letter (L!),
"The probability that I consider you physically attractive has risen to a formidable 7 or 8%",
Said this sappy lout.

Now, that's just sad. And comically so. That's the worst kind, because it's bereft of dignity.

You know? Even if it's one-sided, I feel more motivated than I have for a long time. This "lady" is becoming my inspiration, even if I can only kneel to her image.

What's come over me, lately?