I had gotten back my ENglish essay, the inclass essay i did with such zealous passion. Then it is a C-. The comment of it completely broke my heart: basically exellent analysis, but the reason that keep it from being an A paper, is the mechanics--way to many mechanical mistakes. Then i realise i cant let the problem sits any longer on my finger tips. I deserve better. My Lessie hot English Teacher, Stephinie talked to me with her beautiful blue eyes that, I know it is frustrating, but you are one of the better thinker in the class. Damn i know it. I did all my analysis essay with writer instinct, to put myself into the author's position, picture myself penning down the very same sentence, and capture the very thought that i might have when i do it. It is easy. And what a shame to get a C-. Beautiful Stephanie thinks i deserve better, me too. Meanwhile Charlotte Birch tells Jenny: you dont create, you Journal, be a writer first. And Jenny told Charlotte Birch to read that carnival story again, my heart just jumped and I took my essay to Stepanie in the next day.
I know it is possible to have bad grammar and be a writer. Shakespear fooled everyone with his name by turning every mechanical mistakes into style. Very well, indeed.
And this C- makes me want to become a writer, seriously a writer. I dont know what makes me have dreams so ambitious. Meanwhile i do not permit myself to get away with any mistake while typing this very thing. it is hard, because simply there is no grammar in the language i grow up with.
I take my English class with such mixed feeling. I must say it is sexily interllectual. It is sexy because literature, like all other art forms , is filled with metaphors of sex and violence. Freud connected all unconscious thought, the raw material for any art representation to sex and aggressiveness. Indeed, but when one appreciates literature fully, one needs to dig into the soul of oneself, and put onself in the characters, the writer, and the atmosphere. People who points out technical mistakes or complain the realisticity of movie basically wastes 6 dollars and 2 hours for the so called entertainment. Let us get back to the sexiness of my english class. There are two hotties in my class, Stephanie and elyss. Stephanie is a Ellen Degeneres in three tone highlight, a piercing on the ear bone, shirt pants and blazer,and endless variety of combat boots. When she looks at you she narrows her eyes a little and tilts her head as if what you jsut say occupys all her neurons in her sensitive mind of literature. It is kind of annoying sometimes to have her agrees with anyone who say anything in class, but i jsut love watching her eyes narrow and head tilts, with one leg casually supporting her weight. I just cant forget the time she kinda impersonated Othello in modern language and said: he thinks she is kinda cute and goes,' aww, my little warrior'. you have no idea how sexy she was, and how wrong i was to find excuses to talk about my essay, which i decided to do everytime i got back my essay later on.
Elyss, if you watch American top model, you have no idea why those " i-think-i-m-a-superstar" bitches can get someone to give them contracts. Elyss is the most beautiful white girl i have ever seen. Being a bitch as anyone is in Orange COunty, she is nonetheless , a 18th century kinda beauty. The kind of face you see in bust painting of whoever's mistress, in those puffy dress and beaded headdress, staring into a distance with a face so narcissist and arrogant likes a slave holder's wife. It is how literature become sexy as it should be. she is the reason why i hate my english class somehow, because she is so beautiful and so white and such a bitch. It is mixed with jealousy and defeat that she is totaly undeniably beautiful just because she is white. And I hate my english class somehow because Stephanie is so sexy as a lessie yet in her office stands three pictures of her husband. I saw her wedding picture: on a seaside against the horizon, dressed in white, groom in black;she has a bunch of red roses on one hand and her husband's arm in the other, as if happily swaying herself in a wedding dance, the couple gaze into each other's eyes with that eternal smiles when the sunset makes her white gown glimmer with happiness. It is again mixed with jealousy and defeat that she is one happy breeder. Anyway, all the more i sighed with the C paper, the breedingness of Stephanie and the whiteness of elyss; I love all of them still, with jealousy and defeat. Being so emotionally consumed by that two hours of literature in my life and my book, I want to become a writer. Meanwhile Jenny is typing, her face is casted in a eerie blue light from her laptop. The hunter and the hunted.
Stephanie Wells is way hotter than Charlotte Birch.