Oct. 4th, 2014 05:42 pm
citrakayah: (Default)
I'm tired.

My architecture workload is... exhausting. I feel like I barely manage to get stuff done on time, which is indeed the case. Heck, that's if I manage to get stuff done on time; I didn't for the last project even if I had a valid excuse (funeral). I wasn't the only one; half the class it seems had the same issue. Except they didn't have to go to a funeral.

Same thing for the studio class. The teacher is not happy with the class, and I can hardly blame her. I'm not happy with myself either.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm really made out for this, if this is what everything is going to be like. I don't have the mental ability to be that focused on work only. I should be, and every time I do anything except work I feel a bit guilty, but I don't have that ability, even if other people did, because before I never really needed it.

If I'm not made out for this program... I really don't know what I'll do. Be miserable? My entire future, for the past five or six years, has revolved around the idea that I would be an architect.

There are online communities I'm part of, and I want to read what people are writing and respond to it, but I can't for long periods of time. Because I need to work, and it's one thing to do something that doesn't take large amounts of focus and another thing entirely to actually put thought into something.

And short of posting a short inane reply somewhere--which feels kind of insulting--I feel like I can't reply, because I'm using all my mental and emotional energy on doing the goddamn cross section of a house in AutoCAD.

There are replies, journal entries, posts on the Werelist by people who have put a lot of thought into what they're writing. I feel like I can't do similar.

So... burnout, I guess.


Nov. 25th, 2011 12:31 pm
citrakayah: (determined)
Right. So. Poetry.

I wrote this haiku while rather depressed. Oblivian says that art is in many cases formed by angst, and unfortunately she's certainly right about much of my poetry.

Oceans are leaking
From twin aquamarine orbs
Forming salty brooks.

This was a love poem written on a bet. No one said it had to be to a person or express sexual love.

Yowling kitty cat
Screaming in my ear at night
She has lovely fur.

It's not very good, is it?

This is probably going to be my end of the art trade with Velvela once I'm finished with it. If not... well, I was getting rusty. This poem is called 'The Burning Lands'.

The disc blazes with flame and fire,
Sending rays of brilliance to the ground below.
Both a blessing and a curse,
It gives both life and death.

Heat makes the very air waver
Above the hard, cracked ground.
Creatures hide under rocks,
To avoid the scalding earth.

I have walked the Burning Lands for far too long.
Looking for a way out.

Rough draft, and possibly not complete, but I think it's okay.

This one is really old. It was an attempt at a sestina, which didn't work. I remember some guy saying that these things are easy; I say he was wrong. Certainly it's not easy to write a poem on therianthropy in sestina format, even when using basic endwords that should crop up fairly often in any discussion of the subject.

Wolf or man, man or wolf?
In many ways, it is a reflection of our mind,
locked in battle in the wilderness,
one civilized, one feral.
The mind is a strange beast,
one that we cannot always understand.


citrakayah: (Default)

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