Annie-isnt-ok• Show poetry

Currently working on college. Consequently there is little time for anything


The artist is the creator of beautiful things.
To reveal art and conceal the artist is art's aim.
The critic is he who can translate into another manner
or a new material his impression of beautiful things.
The highest, as the lowest, form of criticism is a mode
of autobiography.
Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt
without being charming. This is a fault.
Those who find beautiful meanings in beautiful things
are the cultivated. For these there is hope.
They are the elect to whom beautiful things means only
Beauty.
There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book.
Books are well written, or badly written. That is all.
The nineteenth century dislike of Realism is the rage of
Caliban seeing his own face in a glass.
The nineteenth century dislike of Romanticism is the
rage of Caliban not seeing his own face in a glass.
The moral life of man forms part of the subject-matter of
the artist, but the morality of art consists in the perfect
use of an imperfect medium. No artist desires to prove
anything. Even things that are true can be proved.
No artist has ethical sympathies. An ethical sympathy
in an artist is an unpardonable mannerism of style.
No artist is ever morbid. The artist can express
everything.
Thought and language are to the artist instruments of an art.
Vice and virtue are to the artist materials for an art.
From the point of view of form, the type of all the arts is
the art of the musician. From the point of view of feeling,
the actor's craft is the type.
All art is at once surface and symbol.
Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril.
Those who read the symbol do so at their peril.
It is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors.
Diversity of opinion about a work of art shows that the work
is new, complex, and vital.
When critics disagree the artist is in accord with
himself.
We can forgive a man for making a useful thing as long as he
does not admire it. The only excuse for making a useless
thing is that one admires it intensely.
All art is quite useless.

- Oscar Wilde
Preface to "The Picture of Dorian Gray"


This is the song I've been singing my whole life
I've been waiting like a knife
To cut open your heart
And bleed my soul to you
I did it all for you
You and you and you and you
This is the sound I've been making my whole life
I've been waiting for this night
To clear up all the talk
Althought I'm selfish to a fault
Is it selfish it's you I want
You I did it all for you
This love will stand as long as you
There's really no excuse
I did it all for you
These are the tears I've been crying my whole life
Like an ocean of desire
I'm reaching thru the noise
Across the dusk of time
Within the lilting lies
I am singing out to you

Dreaming of that face again.
It's bright and blue and shimmering.
Grinning wide
And comforting me with it's three warm and wild eyes.

On my back and tumbling
Down that hole and back again
Rising up
And wiping the webs and the dew from my withered eye.

In... Out... In... Out... In... Out...

A child's rhyme stuck in my head.
It said that life is but a dream.
I've spent so many years in question
to find I've known this all along.

"So good to see you.
I've missed you so much.
So glad it's over.
I've missed you so much
Came out to watch you play.
Why are you running away?
Came out to watch you play.
Why are you running away?"

Shroud-ing all the ground around me
Is this holy crow above me.
Black as holes within a memory
And blue as our new second sun.
I stick my hand into his shadow
To pull the pieces from the sand.
Which I attempt to reassemble
To see just who I might have been.
I do not recognize the vessel,
But the eyes seem so familiar.
Like phosphorescent desert buttons
Singing one familiar song...

"So good to see you.
I've missed you so much.
So glad it's over.
I've missed you so much.
Came out to watch you play.
Why are you running away?
Came out to watch you play.
Why are you running away?"

Prying open my third eye.
Prying open my third eye.
Prying open my third eye.
Prying open my third eye.

So good to see you once again.
I thought that you were hiding.
And you thought that I had run away.
Chasing the tail of dogma.
I opened my eye and there we were.

So good to see you once again
I thought that you were hiding from me.
And you thought that I had run away.
Chasing a trail of smoke and reason.




Bonjour, I am Bethany and Annie whichever you prefer to call me.
The annie isnt ok name didn't come from some depressed alteration of my name but from a micheal jackson song. (Would annie really be ok if there was blood stains on the carpet hm?) I hope you enjoy what I write, it's all a learning process and I really enjoy learning so if you have criticism or alternate forms or styles you would like to enlighten me with it would make me all the more happier. I have very strong opinions but I value love and friendship more than my beliefs but my beliefs more than the general population. That is to say the simple minded are easily discarded. I'm shy but I enjoy talking to interesting minds so come sit by my side for a while, it may be advantageous to us both.
Atque in perpetuum, frater, ave atque vale

Influential works:
The Picture of Dorian Gray -Oscar Wilde
Duino Elegies - Rainer Maria Rilke
The Second Coming -William Butler Yeats
Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte
The Thief -Abraham Cowley
Anna Akhmatova
Vladimir Mayakovsky
Alexander Blok
Edgar Allen Poe
John Cage

Lovely People:
ihaterap
Green Power Ranger
KatieMae
Eusebius
silent lie
Titian
Polly Pocket
And of course my cat who truthfully enjoys the characteristics of a ninja.