Dager Thinks Too Much

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Jabberwocky Anagram

So there’s this rumor that if you anagram the entirety of Lewis Carrolls poem the Jabberwocky, it turns into Carrolls confession that he was in fact the serial killer Jack the Ripper. My friend challenged me to test this out, and three days of intense labor, stress, and a tiny bit of cheating (those haha’s may have a few more h’s than is absolutely necessary) I present the Jabberwocky, fully anagrammed.

I Charles Ludwig Dodgson

Confess to killing four daring whores in Whitechapel

Why…

For the fine vivid joy of those dastardly moments

That  Mad Hatter harbinger’s had it

Dear Boss, the bubbling babbling manxome mome acid’s too much for me

But do you not desire the preteen princesses?

May I tote the torn twelfth year tots judge?

We walk… They bawk

Grabbing… to the bed… hovel… hive… hold

Hehh hehh heh heh hem heh  heh heh he hoots

Wow WOW wow waggle! He hacks

 “Mom, Dad, he might be mad”

There’s not a wasted night in Wonderland

We jot, jab, gab

But sorry my dejected bumbling buddy, that J was for Jack not Jabberwocky

“That’s mad math”

A  caucus chase con

To that slit to the navel slut

And Alice I’m angry

Bruises from boats vats are hard to hide babe

 I only bury the ugly ones

So, there it is, the fruit of my labor. My friend also made a sound collage in which I read the original poem, then the anagram, and then postulate on what else may be an anagram before myself and three others did a dramatic reading of the Walrus and the Carpenter. I’ll put it up if I can get the file, if I do say so myself it sounds pretty cool and trippy.

Things I Did in the Last Forty Eight Hours: A Terribly Important List

• Met an alleged old internet baux of Tom Milsom (Ken from Rhode Island still thinks quite highly of you Dear)
• Made a boy cry (men don’t get to do me wrong)
• Went to my first ska show
• Had a beer with my middle school bully, it felt like slowly being pecked in the cheek repeatedly by an overly agressive ostrich at first, but then it was cool.
• Possibly broke Jim’s glasses/definitely mended them with the sticky part of a concert wristband.
• Nearly broke my back dancing
• Discovered Spaced and subsequently developed the mad urge to fly to England just to befriend Simon Pegg (I’m still quite sure we would get on very well)
• Got some good work done on my attempt to anagram The Jabberwocky into Lewis Carrolls confession that he was in fact Jack the Ripper (I have far too many consonants left over!)
• Managed to not have sex with Tyler, not that it was a challenge, but I think that the important part of any day is when you realize you made it through without banging Tyler.
• Worked on helping to organize our schools theatre very briefly whilst drinking alot of cheap vodka.
• Cleaned a drunk bitches room

So all in all, it’s been productive, if a bit of a shitshow at times.

On an unrealted note, I need to think of specific topics to talk about, because when I  mention multiple pop culture related things and then tag them, I always end up feeling guilty for those people who found this post hoping it was about Lewis Carroll or Simon Pegg only to find a brief mention of said subject. I like t imagine that this feeling is something like moderately satisfying sex while you’re drunk, it wasn’t the worst thing that ever happened, but when you look away for a second you realize that the world could be a much better place than it is. Or I’m neurotic and narcissistic today…

Grrrr

My neck is so gross, I look like I was picked up by an acromantula and tossed about for a bit before he got bored…

It’s perfect here, just perfect. So much more relaxed than London, the work is easy, the tours are fun and the people are just great, I am so happy! It’ll be weird going back though, I’ve already gottn back into my European groove, it’ll be sad going back to all the old brands, street signs, and lack of 800 year old Cathedrals, I may just “lose” my return ticket.

p.s: Minna and Sarah, there are breakfast bars here called Elevenses, whenever I see them I miss you and think of how excited you would be to see them. Nick, I would say I miss you whenever I see a ginger, but that’s about every twelve seconds… so I just miss you and your doofy face :p

saolsona asked: Are you studying in Dublin? I live there, it's wonderful. And if you need to ask me anything feel free. I'll help out the best I can :)

Thanks so much! I am studying here, but only for two weeks :( I wish it was longer! Mostly right now I’m just getting my bearings, it is so lovely here, and as evidenced by you the people are very helpful and warm. I guess right now I’m just wondering if you know of any cool things I have to see that aren’t well known among the tourists… oh and how to find me a cute Irishmen to date :p

So there’s this…

Dangerous Dublin lights up the drunken night for world weary New Years Eve nomads, running flights of fancy into the well tilled sheep filled soil of this derelict haven for the somniferously sad and gallantly glad alike, so long as you can rhyme cheaply and sing Auld Langes Ayne to the tune of “how the hell did I end up here?”

I’ve been uber writers block-y lately, which is why I haven’t been posting a lot of poetry stuff, this is the first thing I’ve written in a while that I don’t hate, how do we feel about it followers who there are five less of than I used to have?

I just wrote a nice long post about the last two days in Dublin, and when I went to post it, my hostels internet decided to reboot, so I lost it. I’m just going to tell you what I’ve done in bullet points instead, bullet points are cool right?

Day 1

• Jet lag (I passed out at six a.m when I arrived at the hostel, but I’m still not used to the change)
• Getting lost in Dublin
• Guinness Storehouse tour (I walked in the footsteps of Queens, Presidents, Hobbits, and Hurley from lost all without leaving that place… which was all in all… a little bit cool, the advertising stuff was interesting, but I don’t think any non brewers need to know as much about the science of beer as I now do)
• Dinner with one of my Professors and another student (she seems really cool and is a poet, which bodes well for our future communication with each other)

Day 2

• Slept late (graaaaah)
• Walked for forever trying to find an atm (no, I mean for forever, the street just kept going and going)
• Took a cheesy hop on hop off bus tour (I got off at the Modern Art museum, but it was closed. Then I boarded again, got off when I saw the greatest statue of Oscar Wilde ever, he was lounging on a rock in a green jacket being all smart and shit. I boarded once more and got off at Grafton street for what turned into an epic search for a towel than ended in me missing the last bu and having to walk back, which leads me to my next bullet point)
• Saw occupy Dublin (I asked the guy outside the main shelter if I could take pictures and he invited me in to meet everybody, it was one of the first times I have been interested in this movement, though I’m still not sure exactly how I feel about it)

Dublin city

• It is something like if you smushed together Cardiff and London but made the people a lot more hospitable and cheery.
• The city has all the history of London, with it’s gorgeous Churches, ancient architecture and famous residents (I can’t believe how many amazing writers footsteps I am walking in right now, I feel as though any place I go someone could start it’s history with “James Joyce was drunk and sad here for a while, then he was drunk and sad over there”), but it has a few more areas that feel a bit rough, however it is pretty cool to be walking down a street filled with newsagents and office buildings only to arrive at a centuries old castle, the juxtoposition is remarkable.
• In general it smells pretty awesome here.
• The food is delicious and cheap, plus, the portions are ridiculous! Pub food is the epitomy of gluttony, and I, as a fat girl with an appetite, just love that. Though I can’t help but wonder why more people here aren’t morbidly obese, maybe they only give the tourists that much food, in hopes that we will get too fat to get on a plane and leave when the time comes.
• Every single Irishmen I have encountered so far has been sweet, helpful and inquistive. During all my travels I have never been asked so many times where I come from. The people are also quite cheerful, it seems that despite all of Irelands past woes, these people can’t be kept down, it’s really quite nice. For all the good I say about London, it must be admitted that it has a much sadder atmosphere than Dublin, and it’s kind of nice being in a place where I get to be the saddest person in any given room.
• The boys, the boys, oh those Irish boys. They are cute, ginger and charming as all get out. I am already deeply in love with a boy who runs a souvenir stand, why on earth don’t I need a new peice of fake Celtic jewelery every day, I have absolutely no reason to go talk to him again :(
• The only thing I want out of the city right now is friends! The great thing about staying in London for so long was that I was able to date a guy from there who could show me around, the natives know all the cool insider places. Are you a Dubliner? Do you like books? Do you listen to sad indie music? Do you not mind that this is pathetic beyond belief? Then we should probably go on an adventure.

So yeah… I kinda forgot that the point of bullet points is to be short and to the point, but there it is, the last two days, they’ve been pretty cool.

In Which I Bitch About How Great My Life Is. Or: Don’t Bother, It’s Not All That Interesting

So I’m leaving for Dublin in two days for a study abroad program, I’m really excited but there is just so much to be done and I don’t know if I’ll be ready on time. I’m arriving two days early so I have to book a hostel and figure out what stuff I can do that we won’t already be doing with the program, which isn’t all that much to tell the truth, we’re going to be crazy busy. There is a gorgeous park and a castle plus tons of walking around to be done, so I know I won’t be bored, but there is that underlying “oh God I’m gonna be all alone what should I do?!?!” fear that I always have when I go traveling. I like being alone, but sometimes it does get awkward to be in another country all by yourself, with no one to talk to or confide in, and while these fears are mostly sequestered to the two days I will be on my own, I also can’t help but be nervous that I will be alone for the entire trip. It’s going to be odd not having Jim around whenever I feel the need to be a douche, it’ll be yucky rooming with people other than Minna, I don’t want to buy drugs from people other than Scott, and I’ll miss not having a single one my gang to hang out with during this super cool and sure to be stress filled two week period. I just really hate being alone. Not to sound terribly pretentious but after extensive facebook creeping I have discovered that I am by far the most “alternative” of the group to be going (with the exception of Ruthie… but we’ll wait to see if Ruthie in Dublin can be anything other than a beautiful whiskey filled mess), it’s mostly party girls and I’m just not sure that they’ll get what I mean when I say “damn it’s been a long day, I could use a night at the Nice Nice” or that they’ll even care to try and understand (which is more important to me than knowing what I mean in the first place as an awful lot of what I say sounds like gibberish). Basically, I get to do something super cool and I am utterly terrified and need to complain…

So yeah… that was my triumphant return to tumblr after a week of nothing, lots of run on sentences and whining… sorry guys

Oh, and sorry if you thought this was going to be about Craig Finn or Lifter Puller, I felt my one reference earned me the right to abuse those tags, but stay around if you’re into him/them, it’d be nice to know you guys are out there.

So I’ve been really sick this week and as a resultI have been taking a LOT of cold medication… a LOT of cold medication. The following is a collection of lines I sent to my good friend Jim while under the influence. I think that they’re attempts at poetry, though a few are just utterly mad.

Overheard lips as for skilled eavesdroppers in the leaves above our ill fated maddening insanity. She cries uncredited incredible idioms at Strangers on a Train, hold ‘em up Hitchcock stands the test of time and our venemous VHS player. Content to remain in the pale yellow of teppid home made terrariums she begged “let’s rest all of our last hopes on a well dressed foxhound named Destiny”

This simpering winter writers block will be the Donner party death of me.

Crafty cockroack capsules slither haphazardly cross dirty don’t-take-too-many carpets, let’s hinge all our bets on acetominophen insanity, we can cash our disastrous overdoes on failed suicide, flailing on nyquil nooses we fall on our street smart narcissistic swords “third times the charm” chirps the cheery pharmacist.

Family dollar Nyquil is the best Nyquil….

Count out that friendly fire Robitussin slowly, dizzy trickery rhymes weakly in the corner, I swear to you I’m sick as a dog who loves drowsy DXM, now where did my glass of water go?

He hold on tight as risky business ricochets about the room full of wasps whispering “why must he subject our upper crust upturned noses to his untucked impropriety?”

There’s this ticking, clicking, cricking in my nicked artery neck, super sized high pupils dilate dangerously, is the room spinning or is this shit kicking into high gear? It might be a good idea to disregard everything I say after 9 P.M as drug induced until this cold is out of my system… we have a LOT of pills in this house.

I have so much writers block it’s not even funny. I just sit and stare in screen in hopes that words will come out, and when I do manage to push something out it sounds stilted and ingenuine. I know it’s just the oncoming tragedy of winter, but I was hoping I would be able to draw on that rather than allow myself to become stagnant and horrid. I feel like Plath, I’m hardly eating, I hate writing, reading feels like a chore and all I want to do is drink Robitussin until I don’t feel things. Okay, so maybe it’s not writers block so much a depression…. But the writers block part of said depression is utterly horrid. This wouldn’t be so bad if I didn’t still have twenty thousand words of novel and a lot of poems that I want to write. If I didn’t have goals I would just let it be and get back to being a good writer once the weather gets warmer, but I can’t just wait this out, any non writing prompt related ideas to help me get through this dear followers?

Sing me songs of malfeasance you sorrowful sparrow. Bite down on bitter bated breath full of tired begging for just a touch more tragedy in your black hearted coffee.

Leak saltwater tragedy onto my heaving heart wrenched chest, listen to broken beats and tortured lungs for whistered swears that this to shall refuse to pass, “this will only hurt for a second” is slander to his sad name. My talking bird weeps on days that end in “why me?” With a mouth full of envy dilligently directed at those less fortunate who speak pleasant peasant confessions to clerical clergymen. I’ve yet to meet another ostritch who can compartmentalize so full of wonder.

This is mine, I worry I am turning into Jim, I may need to be slapped soon.