University-related venting

I've got a history exam in the morning. I like history, but I can't stand the turn that the teachers seem to have taken.

I despise classes, I tell you. The need to be politically correct subdues historical accuracy and the study of worthy topics. The status of women in different time periods is a topic only slightly less popular than the status of indigenous peoples or other minorities. I appreciate the effort made to be correct for all present minorities, but at some point, I'd also appreciate people digging their heads back out of their collective arses and actually looking at the shite they're spewing out.

That, and the acceptance that exists for only looking at history from the victor's view. I've seen people write papers on the Second World War using Churchill's writings as a base, but completely ignoring the existence of Mein Kamph. Now, while I don't appreciate the latter, it's more valid than many other texts from the period. And the voluntary ignorance of the students, as encouraged by the teachers, is a bloody waste of knowledge, resources, and potential.

And literature classes seem to be no better. If we're studying Wordsworth (who I'm not particularly fond of in the first place), I'd appreciate an analysis of the poetry, and not an in-depth discussion of the status of women as seen in his poetry. And, if we're talking about Canadian poetry, what's about including French-canadian poetry (which existed before English-canadian, due to the French being in Canada before the English) before including translations of unknown Native American poetry? I mean, sure, it's a part of history and literature here... but, at some point, why not just face the fact that, if we're studying the main works of a certain period, they'll have been written by white men? Deal with it already. Because this is getting ridiculous.

It is possible to get a BA in English Literature from McGill without having had to read a single one of Shakespeare's plays, and avoiding most of Milton's poetry. However, Canadian prose and poetry is required, and Virginia Woolf and James Joyce are addressed in the general literature classes. While I appreciate both, I do feel that, if one wants to obtain credentials claiming competency in English Literature, a study of the basics might be included.

And now, I shall go study. And justify the influence of the American revolution on French and English history. Joy.

I want...

I want to paint.

I want to write.

I want to scream poetry at the moon, knowing that She will hear all and appreciate little.

I want to run through the woods, lit only by the light of the waning moon, hearing the howls of the coyotes which surround the countryside.

I want to collapse into a heap of snow and screams and ashes, singing to the divine glory of the muses.

I want to feel the bite of the winter wind on bare skin, to dance among the icicles which hang off the pine trees, and to skirt around the sides of the frozen stream, seeing it only as the Lethe.

I want to feel the blaze of the bonfires scorching the edges of my skin, to hear the crackle of pine needles flaming into the night, to dance around the edges of the burning branches, lit only by the desire to feel.

I want to make love 'till morning, to scream into the night, and to wake again when the sun has set, leaving only a haze of red on all it touches.

I want to slither through the shadows of the trees, dancing with the angles of moonlight reflecting off the snow, making the forest gleam with forgotten glory.

I want the symbols of truth and faith and mystery dyed onto my back as a reminder of all that can be lost; to feel the sting of memory and the pain of being, and to know that nothing will be forgotten forever.

I want to skim through the pages of eternity, flowing through time, laughing at the mortals who are happy to be confined to their existence.

I want to be surrounded by wine and smoke and jazz, singing obscene odes to the gods of the city lights.

I want to ignore the dirt and cars and noise, hearing only the music of the stars and the rush of wind along the St-Lawrence river.

I want...