Neil Perry
[VOICE]

I can hardly believe it's already September... in some ways it feels like the summer just started, and now it's over. I do like the fall, though, so I can't say I really mind. And it puts me in the mood to read poems about autumn, which are some of my favorite. They're always so lovely, even when they're sad.

Non-IC cut for length | Hendecasyllabics, by Algernon Charles Swinburne )

I've been thinking-- I haven't picked the next play yet. But I want to do something, and I was thinking, maybe we could have some kind of poetry festival? Or a contest, with people reading poems of their own? We could have a theme, or if people prefer they could write about whatever they wanted-- I don't know what would be better.

What does everyone think?


[ooc; eesh please assume this was posted earlier in the day work i hate you. <3!]

[Community Post]
 
 
Neil Perry
I wrote a poem
           with no words
Whispered it into your lips
           Only to find, already,
you knew it by my heart.

                        02.16.2011


[Community Post]
 
 
Neil Perry
Today seemed like the right occasion for a poem, but it's hard to find the right poem for the occasion. After all, there aren't many things poets write about more often than love. But, I kind of like John Donne, so that's what I ended up with:

I scarce believe my love to be so pure
As I had thought it was,
Because it doth endure
Vicissitude, and season, as the grass;
Methinks I lied all winter, when I swore
My love was infinite, if spring make'it more.

But if this medicine, love, which cures all sorrow
With more, not only be no quintessence,
But mixed of all stuffs paining soul or sense,
And of the sun his active vigour borrow,
Love’s not so pure, and abstract as they use
To say, which have no mistress but their Muse ;
But as all else, being elemented too,
Love sometimes would contemplate, sometimes do.

And yet no greater, but more eminent,
Love by the spring is grown ;
As in the firmament
Stars by the sun are not enlarged, but shown,
Gentle love deeds, as blossoms on a bough,
From love's awakened root do bud out now.

If, as in water stirr'd more circles be
Produced by one, love such additions take,
Those like so many spheres but one heaven make,
For they are all concentric unto thee ;
And though each spring do add to love new heat,
As princes do in times of action get
New taxes, and remit them not in peace,
No winter shall abate this spring’s increase.



I hope you have a happy Valentine's Day, everyone.


ooc note )

[Community Post]
 
 
Neil Perry
I dreamt when I was young, of course, of love,
But found mere echoes of brave lovers' words
Had not a raven to trade for a dove,
No lady's honor tried on rivals' swords.
And yet the words did work their cryptic art,
And for true love I could not help but yearn,
Longed for a worthy guardian for my heart,
For someone who would cause my blood to burn.
I wondered what fair shape my love would wear,
Weighed in my heart what beauty I loved best,
And yet, my years of dreams could not compare
To one with whom my love today does rest.
            For all those books of lovers, fair and true,
            I wouldn't lose a moment spent with you.


|[ ooc; not cursed, not even a little bit, but you bet he'll tell you he is 8) ]|
 
 
Neil Perry
06 September 2011 @ 09:57 pm
[AUDIO;]

Teach me to love? Go teach thyself more wit.
I, chief professor, am of it.
The god of love, if such a thing there be,
may learn to love from me.
 
 
Neil Perry
[ VOICE / MUSIC / ACTION ]

[Anyone dropping by the Bilton and Scaggs bookstore today is in for a surprise; a section of the usually book-cluttered counter has been cleared off to hold a record player and surprisingly large stack of records, with a Network device propped precariously by it to broadcast what's playing.

In fact, Neil has turned the bookstore into an impromptu radio station for the day, and will be sharing a mixture of 50's music, poetry readings, and on-air conversations-- er, interviews-- with customers if he feels like it.]




That was Buddy Holly and the Crickets, with That'll Be the Day, here on WDPS. Stay around for a Poetry break... but first, another little something from home...







[ooc; NETWORK or ACTION replies welcome! If action, we could "broadcast" conversations if you like. XD I will be posting more music/poems/etc in comments, and trying to keep the playlist below updated with the assorted things he's broadcasting ALL DAY LONG.]


PLAYLIST | work in progress )
 
 
Neil Perry
I do think it's funny that our parents act like this is some kind of break. I'm on the soccer team at school, I'm on the soccer team here; I get up early at school, I get up early here; swim in the lake at school... you get the idea. But it's not so bad. It beats summer school, anyway. Not that that's saying much.

[ Private to Todd | easily hackable ]

I have the book with me, think we could sneak off after the campfire and all?



[ooc; ....impromptu Dead Poets meeting in the woods, anyone? :D]
 
 
Neil Perry
APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.


Ever since I read that I can't help thinking of it in April. I don't think I agree. Maybe April's cruel here-- any month can be, in the City-- but I don't think it's because the world's waking up. I like that about spring; it feels like everything's been bare and cold forever, I like when that comes to an end. It's not that winter isn't beautiful... It can be. The snow and ice, keeping everything covered and pristine... It's sort of sad, though. Maybe just for me. For us.

The poem's much longer, that's just the first little part of it. It's nice... It's strange, and sad I think, but I like it.

Maybe April will take a turn for the better.
 
 
Neil Perry
[VIDEO;]

[The picture shakes and blurs a little as the camera is set on a windowsill, pointing out at... well, nothing in particular. Just the falling snow. And once it settles into place, he starts to speak.]



Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
Arrives the snow, and, driving o’er the fields,
Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air
Hides hills and woods, the river, and the heaven,
And veils the farm-house at the garden’s end.
The sled and traveller stopped, the courier’s feet
Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit
Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed
In a tumultuous privacy of storm.

Come see the north wind’s masonry.
Out of an unseen quarry evermore
Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer
Curves his white bastions with projected roof
Round every windward stake, or tree, or door.
Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work
So fanciful, so savage, naught cares he
For number or proportion. Mockingly,
On coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreaths;
A swan-like form invests the hidden thorn;
Fills up the farmer’s lane from wall to wall,
Maugre the farmer’s sighs; and at the gate
A tapering turret overtops the work.
And when his hours are numbered, and the world
Is all his own, retiring, as he were not,
Leaves, when the sun appears, astonished Art
To mimic in slow structures, stone by stone,
Built in an age, the mad wind’s night-work,
The frolic architecture of the snow.


[ooc; tags will be delayed after ~3 pm ;_; but i backtag foreverr!]
 
 
Neil Perry
Curses like the long one last month are always interesting-- like playing a role written just for me, being someone I'm not but who I might have been. I didn't really mind this one-- I know sometimes those get bad, for some people, but well, school is just school, how bad can it be?

It was strange, though; imagining things were so different than they are. What life would be like if I'd had a twin brother, if I'd been at a different school, if... well. Anyway, what I really wanted to talk about is what I did, because everyone knows what happens during curses isn't always real, this is important to me and I think I'd rather give up the secret than have people think it didn't mean anything. Sometimes secrets are meant to be shared.

There is a Dead Poets Society.

I almost wrote there was, but really I think because of the nature of the Society, it can't really cease to exist. Not all the Dead Poets are dead, but the poets who are dead are still Dead Poets. Here, especially; I mean, there's no reason to think Henry David Thoreau couldn't walk into the bookstore tomorrow afternoon. So even if there weren't any meetings after... everything happened, at home, there'd still be a Society; and maybe someday someone will share the secret again like Mr. Keating did with us. And even if they don't, even if no one ever talks about it again... it's just a name and a structure to something that's always been there. There will always be Poets, because the human race will always be filled with passion. And so, there will be members, even if they don't know the words for it.

I'm not sure this makes any sense, to anyone who wasn't there. But I wanted to say it.

Some of you are Dead Poets, and some of you don't know that you are. But I hope you're all making the most of it, whoever you might be.

Anyway.

I need one more actor from you, City! Our cast for The Importance of Being Earnest is just one person short of being full-- but right now, we've no one playing Merriman. So, if there's anyone who'd like to try their hand at acting, we'd love to have you. Even if you've never been in a play before! We're happy to have newcomers.

And... Everyone else in the play-- we'll have to start full rehearsals soon, what days work best for you? I do hope you've started working on your lines?

[ooc; play post here! also, as always, please no fourth-walling the Society. XD responses may be late after 5 east-coast time.]
 
 
Neil Perry
[Anonymous Voice Post is Anonymous!]

[There's a pause before he begins speaking in a stage whisper theoretically designed to disguise his voice. If you know him (or his brother, for that matter,) it might be obvious; but really, it's for effect. Don't stifle his flair for the dramatic okay.]

I went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life. To put to rout all that was not life, and not, when I had come to die, discover that I had not lived.

We of the Dead Poets believe that, although our academic pursuits are a matter of great importance, such work is not what we live for; poetry, passion, the appreciation of beauty, are what keep us from being bound to lives of quiet desperation.

So tell me, gentlemen, ladies-- can you keep a secret?


[In addition, one might find here and there random bits of poetry-- mostly of the Romantic era-- chalked unobtrusively on walls and sidewalks, occasionally 'signed' with the initials DPS, or the words Dead Poets Society.

Any student of any school who expresses interest in this post-- anyone he can identify, anyway-- will be slipped a piece of paper at some point with a few lines of Coleridge and a time tomorrow evening written on it.]




[ooc; All replies will be text or the same 'anonymous' whisper >3 Neil's AU bio is over hyar, along with all my others. ^_^ a-as always please don't fourth-wall the Dead Poets :X Todd will be posting re: the meeting tomorrow!]
 
 
Neil Perry
[Slipped between the pages of Todd's current poetry notebook]

I almost wonder if it's too soon, after everything last month... if that's even over, I know they never found... well. Maybe we should just be grateful for the time we have, after all, this is what passes for a quiet month so far.

Who knows how long that will last.


With everything that went on last month I'm afraid I've gotten rather behind on trying to recruit for our next play... But I suppose there's no time like the present to pick up where we left off. For anyone who hadn't heard about it, or who wasn't here last time I spoke about it-- We'll be putting on a production of Oscar Wilde's

The Importance of Being Earnest.


Right now, we haven't quite sorted out the roles but we have Rosella, Cain, and myself; and I believe Justin was going to help out as crew. But! As you can see, that means we're still in need of more, both on stage and backstage. Anyone's welcome who'd like to take part-- whether you've ever been in a play or not, we're happy to have you, so just... let me know!



[ooc; may be a bit sporadic tagging but I will do my best <3]
 
 
Neil Perry
[VOICE;]

[No preamble, just a deep breath, and then...]

Cut for Length, Language, and Gratuitous Borrowing of Poetry || not-IC cut )

[There's another moment's pause, as though he's going to say something else, before Neil thinks the better of it and cuts off the recording with a click.]
 
 
Neil Perry
[The snowy expanse stretches as far as you can see, which really isn't very far at all. Fat flakes are falling heavily, reducing anything more than a few feet away to an indistinct gray mist. A dark bulk looms in one direction; a house, perhaps. It has the air of Wordsworth's peak, silent but purposeful, rising from the earth to trouble men's dreams.

Nearer, there is a tree, and in the lower branches of the tree Neil is perched. He's bare to the waist and crowned with branches and blood-bright berries. He doesn't seem bothered by the cold in the least, paging through a heavy old book. The cover's too worn to read; the pages out of focus or blank if you look over his shoulder, but that doesn't bother him either. He doesn't know he's dreaming; at least, not yet.]




[ooc; neil's inner symbolism is a little muddled these days, this could go either way as a good or a bad dream. separate threads considered separate incidents with different people, unless otherwise arranged <3 No continuity expected and OPEN to ALL comers <3]
 
 
Neil Perry
O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being,
Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead
Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,

Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,
Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou,
Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed

The wingèd seeds, where they lie cold and low,
Each like a corpse within its grave, until
Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow

Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill
(Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air)
With living hues and odors plain and hill:

Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere;
Destroyer and preserver; hear, oh, hear!


That's Shelley's, not mine. There's more but I didn't want to write all of it. It seemed kind of fitting; I guess because summer's really gone now, and it's nearly October and the way everyone talks about that makes it seem kind of frightening. Ghosts and graves. It makes sense in a way, since Halloween is coming, too. I'm excited about it even if it's dangerous. But maybe we'll be lucky, and it won't be too bad. The poem is hopeful too; if only because winter won't last forever.

I don't really see the point of worrying when we can't know what's coming. I was talking to Claire about optimists and pessimists, and really I think I'd rather be neither-- I'd rather be happy as long as I can and take things as they come.

This all just reminds me that we need to get started on the mystery soon, if we plan to perform it end of next month... I really don't know where the time goes. Maybe it's just that I've been distracted. It's been weeks since I said anything on this, though I guess I've been talking to plenty of people even if I have nothing to say. I'm not a total hermit. I hope.
 
 
Neil Perry
Impossible really doesn't have much meaning here, does it? Walking through other people's dreams was amazing. I understand why some people didn't enjoy it-- I mean, I guess it depends on whose dreams you see and what they're about-- but I guess I was lucky. All the dreams I stumbled into were pleasant ones. Yuuko, Rosella, thank you for showing me around your homes! I'm glad I had a chance to see them, even if it was just a dream.

Todd-- are you really going to  that was did you remember to write that poem down when you woke up? Or at least, do you remember how it goes? I was trying but I can't recall all of it. It'd be a shame to lose it, it was really good!

And speaking of which... I need your recommendations on something, City! Who's your favorite poet? What's your favorite poem? I'm partial to the Romantics myself, but I'm curious to see what other people like. And kind of curious about poetry after when I'm from... I guess I have a lot to catch up on! Anything, really-- whether you think I'd like it or not, I want to read it. Assuming the library lets me find it.

Oh, what else... Work on the play is going well, though we still need more actors, of course! We've three of the four lovers, but we're still looking for a Demetrius! And several others-- most of the Athenian actors, and more fairies, always. And if any of you would like a hand practicing your lines, let me know. Blair tells me we've got costumes taken care of, and our scenery (since the play will be outdoors,) so we should be in good shape. Once we fill out a few more roles, and once everyone feels they've got a handle on their parts (even if they're not memorized yet,) we can start thinking about working as a group!

[ooc; Theater organizizing post here still. Also...not plotting anything re: poetry. clearly. >_> also yes, he is serious, he will help you practice lines |D if anyone is lame like me we can log it if you like ♥♥]