Lettuce Garden

You're a lolipop that I suck on
You melt in my mouth
I just swallow you down
They can't see me
Because you're in my face
Only I can see you

Tell me you know what you're doing Sir
At least tell me you were thinking Sir
I know you weren't thinking of yourself Sir
Right Sir?

Silent war, Silent war, Silent war
I'd rather die than to lick your blood
I'm not living in, no I'm not living in
Silent war, Silent war, Silent war
Silently moving with Silent weapons
I'm not living in, no I'm not living in
I'm not living in your
Lettuce garden

I'm a lollipop that you suck on
I melt in your mouth
You just swallow me down
You can't see me
Because I'm in your veins
You can feel me

I know what I'm doing Sir
I know what I'm thinking Sir
So don't tell me how to live my life Sir
Right Sir?

Silent war, silent war, silent war
Love never fades away here
We've got an army of angels
Silent war, Silent war, Silent war
Silently bleeding, Silently dreaming
I'm not living in, no I'm not living in
I'm not living in your
Lettuce garden

Silently, Silently, Silently
------------------
olivia - lettuce garden

Appassionato

So the sirens ring
in appoggiaturas that t-u-m-b-l-e
scarlet parabolas and diamond tangents
barely grazing the point of skin

So the storm clouds cry
crystallized tears that t-u-m-b-l-e
hanging by threads of lightening
barely illuminating your face in the dark

come
don't make me beg for more
come
and lie and die beside me.
---------------------------------------

they say imitation is a form of flattery, but i don't like it. i'm glad she likes my Juliet, but i don't want her trying to imitate Juliet's tone. Juliet's cheeky tone comes to me naturally; trying too hard to be witty comes across as desperate.

it's ironic enough that she wants to be the tragic Shakespearean heroine, Ophelia. So-ophelia. she wants to make ophelia witty. i laugh internally, because i've always thought that Ophelia would be dark and romantic-gothic. in other words, how i usually write. then again, Juliet was never sharp-tongued enough to get rid of that blockhead Romeo. so i guess i did take some creative liberties.

i am not a fan of the dual-advice-columnist concept, but i have little say in the matter. i think the concept only makes sense if the two columnists are a male and a female. however, i shall have to tag along with this without complaint.

well, without public complaint, that is.

Return of Juliet

I have always wanted to be a columnist for the school paper, but I have a feeling that my random entries featured on blogs such as blogspot or xanga will not be well-received. My writing tone tends to fluctuate between arbitrary eccentricity and morbid sophistication - and frankly, some people are creeped out by my entries. (of course, i just argue that an artist is never understood in his/her own time)

Thus, I have decided to apply for the advice column as an anonymous writer known as "Juliet." Hopefully, if I win the job, my identity will remain a secret - if people know who is reading about their problems, they are less likely to be honest and MUCH less likely to write at all. Therefore, if one of my fellow classmates is reading this, I strongly suggest you keep this to yourself.
.............................

Column: Dear Juliet

One of the most famous names in literature, Juliet remains to this day as an icon of tragic romance. Over the course of four days, Juliet Capulet falls in love, marries illicitly, mourns the death of a close cousin, is nearly disowned by her parents, is betrayed by her long-time nurse, becomes suicidal, drugs herself to appear dead for two days, becomes a widow, and commits suicide beside the body of her dead husband.

If there was anyone more qualified to write an advice column, it would have been Juliet.

DEAR JULIET:
I am having problems with a guy, “Paris,” who sits a few seats diagonally away from me in one of my classes. Although he has never spoken a single word to me, several times I have glanced away from the teacher to find Paris turned around in his seat, staring intently at my face. I have tried glaring back, hoping to get the message across, but I still look up from my desk only to meet his unblinking gaze. Frankly, Paris is starting to creep me out. What should I do to get him to stop?

- CREEPED-OUT KATE

DEAR KATE:
Unfortunately, men like Paris never seem to get the hint unless you a) fake your death or b) repeatedly ram the idea into his head that you have no interest in him whatsoever. Unfortunately, pretending to be dead is not only very uncomfortable (a mausoleum with dead bodies is no Bath & Bodyworks), but also extremely exasperating when the make-up work for school begins to pile up.

That being said, if you have no interest in Paris, you must make it clear, before he begins to interpret your every slightest movement as a gesture of affection. Sometime after class, approach Paris amiably, as you would with any other classmate. Firmly but tactfully, tell him that you cannot concentrate on Mrs. Montague’s lecture, and could he please focus his attention on the teacher instead? Otherwise, ask your teacher to move your seat, preferably several desks directly behind him where he cannot look at you without a 180 degree turn and x-ray vision to look through the skulls of the students seated directly in front of you.

Hopefully, Paris will comply with your request, perhaps saving his daily admiration of your beautiful face for passing periods, when you will be less apt to notice any penetrating stares. If his fervent interest in your face escalates to borderline stalker-obsession, then that will be an entirely different matter.
- JULIET