Buzzah!

This fascinating study reminds me, again, of how exciting science really is. A condition that seems hopeless - a virus that seems impossible to kill - will someday be a mere spectre of a threat. Of course, it's been a long, long way coming to even get to THIS point - and it will be a longer time yet until the disease has been completely resolved. But studies on Ebola, bovine spongiform encephalitis (Mad Cow Disease), and others prove that there is hope to cure even the most deadly of viruses. Perhaps we could use this technology to conquer AIDS, or at least lessen its hold on the body.

I won't say scientists are miracle workers - that's not true. But the research they undertake, the new things they discover, are the closest thing we have to a miracle on Earth. I'm glad that we live in an era of relative enlightenment, where scientists and researchers have access to most of the funds they require and a majority of public support. It makes me excited for the future: what new things may we uncover; what old problems can we obliterate?

Love Poetry

Love is, undoubtedly, one of the most written-about, talked-about, and sung-about topics on the entire planet. That's because, as humans, we are all searching desperately for - or clinging desperately to - love. We're little better than animals when it comes to this - every animal needs love. It would very much make sense, then, that we use a majority of our time thinking about, searching for, and holding onto love.

I am no different when it comes to love. Already, at 17 years old, I have left a string of bad relationships behind me like rotten pearls - and written a ream of poetry on the subject. To me, love poems are the best way to capture all the fleeting feelings of love, or pseudo-love even: the adoration of a new interest; the obsessive fascination with a crush; the warm comfort of a well-worn relationship; the desperate compromise in trying to save a broken love; the deep sense of loss with a breakup.

Much of my poetry about love comes from crushes. This is partly because I am still quite young, and partly because of the nature of a crush. With a crush, you really can mold your interest into anything you want them to be - and they have no obligation to fulfill these roles. As long as you understand that your fantasy-interest greatly differs from the reality of the person it is based upon, and you NEVER expect these qualities to manifest in real life, you can have quite a bit of fun with this kind of poetry.

Sometimes, instead of addressing to a poppet of a real person, this poppet becomes a character in its own right: you, essentially, create an imaginary love interest, who can then take on any quality you desire.

One of the enduring aspects of my love poetry is the persona of 'Precieuse,' who is a character compounded of my favorite traits of many of the people I've dated or been involved with. Precieuse is, as a character, perfect. In my poetry, I compare myself to Precieuse's perfection and his/her totally unattainable qualities - and in this way, I analyze myself. Though it is addressed to this character, Precieuse, it becomes deeper than that: it becomes a study of my own desires, fears, and flaws. Hence, the love poetry becomes self-exploration instead of mere adoration, and serves a deeper purpose than entertainment.

A great example of this type of self-exploratory poetry is my poem, Malaikana:

^{To be wounded by perfection leaves the most bitter scar.}

I am haunted; I walk along the cemetery stones;
I hide in the shadow of your scorching light.

The wolf-eyed Apollo, destined for things beyond us,
the leftover ember from God's perfect epiphany.
It is hard not to want to hurt you
just to glimpse the gold below the skin.

When you lock eyes to mine, I see the cosmos as never before.
I see the mechanics of infinity. I can barely blink.
You know not what you are. You are traitor of angels,
wing-shorn seraph sent to live among the outcasts.

The irresistible draw of the beauty I will never have.
I would follow you to the final threads of the universe,
your soul-dead corpse of a companion.

Here, I confront my own insecurities: my concerns about the beauty I lack; my need for companionship to be fulfilled; the spiritual aspects of love, and my inability to find spiritual fulfillment without romantic fulfillment; and my feeling of being 'overshadowed' by my love interest. Quite deep for a mere love poem!

You'd be surprised at just how much you may learn from yourself if you take a moment to analyze the words you write for another. In all that we write, we leave remnants of ourselves; and when love is the subject, those remnants might be all the more telling.

Origin

All things must start; even blogs. So this - this that you're reading right here - is the start of a blog.

One might question why I chose the name Bitter Grapes (well, THE Bitter Grapes - some jerk already took plain old Bitter Grapes). It actually comes from a poem I wrote -

(Fulton, Illinois)


We sucked down the honey tree,
lifted bitter grapes off rain-swollen vines,
ripped the skin from our hands (escape!)
and bled red dewdrops on the prairie grass.

You, belicose blessing,
math-riddled saint of Prophetstown -
Nunzio, the spoken angel -
stand on the shore of the Rock River
with a thunderstorm across your face.

I try to count your eyelashes as they brush against my skin.
You are estimating the average diameter of my freckles
when I push you into the fruitful earth
and make you think other things entirely.



(Birds sing)

But that doesn't really explain what Bitter Grapes is. (My former Editor-in-Chief has asked me, on several occasions, "are bitter grapes the green ones?" No. No they are not.) Bitter grapes are the ones that make the sweet ones taste so good; the bad that makes you count your blessings. On Bitter Grapes, I will try to recount the good AND bad. Along with the professional postings and poetry, I'll address the things that make up my life: beautiful, awful, sweet and bitter, and try to throw a few universal truths in there along the way.

Make way for some fine whines up ahead.