romantic, Romantic, Romanticist

There is little that daunts me more than a blank page and a short haircut.  "Who in the world am I?  Ah, that's the great puzzle."  Lewis Carroll has been an inspiration of late, if you haven't noticed (check a few posts back for the Mad Hatteresque post), and he was just as correct this time around.  Who I am is a puzzle that is constantly changing.  But I think I've found a piece of it, and I thought I'd share it with you.

Some call me a flirt, or a heartbreaker, or a romantic, and I guess in some ways they'd be right.  I'm a sap for anything sappy and heart-melting (why else would I have a full-sized movie poster from the movie Tangled above my bed, and a half-finished romantic comedy in my "writing" folder...), but I don't think that merely being "romantic" is the full piece of the puzzle.  Sure, I'm a Romeo somewhere beneath all this red hair (which has been recently cut much too short), but that's only a small corner of this puzzle piece.  Believe it or not, this part of me is more than just rushing into relationships, wonderful love-letters, and endearing pet-names, and I would venture to guess it's the smallest part of the piece.

Other people I know would next be likely to guess what I'm getting at to be more technical.  "Ah!"  They'd say.  "You're getting at the feelings behind your favorite genre of classical music: you're a Romanticist."  And, in some areas, I'd have to admit that they are correct.  I am seldom to be found listening to any other classical than Berlioz, Dvorak, Mendelssohn, or Tchaikovsky.  And yes, these great men do in fact greatly influence the coloring of this puzzle piece.  Inspiration comes in many forms, and very often it comes to me through their musical devices.  But again, being a Romanticist doesn't seem to cover the entire surface or depth of what I'm getting at.

1815 to 1910,

Love, letters, and Gems,

Dreamer, Philosopher,

Adventures: garret to cellar:

romantic, Romantic, Romanticist.

There are very few people I've met who actually understand every facet of what it means, at least to me, of being a true Romantic.  I'm in love with the city, but a country boy at heart, a dreamer...but one who wants to have a plan...not 100% lost in the clouds...but lost nonetheless.

A Romantic is one who would use the word "garret" instead of "attic" because the former holds more nostalgic meaning, and simply because it's a wonderful word.  A Romantic may want to have a study stuffed with old books in a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf and a set of spiral stairs in their house, because these are the Gems that are found in the most unlikely of places.  They might think that Foxgloves and climbing Roses are the best flowers because that's something one would find in a perfect story; and, speaking of story, Romantics tend to be the best story-tellers in my estimation.  Why are fairy-tales so appealing to us?  Why is a story best with a good old-fashioned villain and a hero to outwit him at every turn?  Why is a raven like a writing desk?  These are questions that a Romantic understands, even if they cannot put them into words.  To be a Romantic is find beauty in extremely simple things, like a warm fire and a book and a cup of tea, or a piece of punctuation at just the write place, or a capital letter (or lack thereof) just to give emphasis.  A Romantic could go on describing what it is to be so for ages, because to admire those characteristics is, in a way, another characteristic of being Romantic.

And you know, it is interesting to me that being a dreamer is seen to be opposite of being a realist.  At least, it is so according to Merriam-Webster.  But ask yourself: who is it that has survived the ages and has practically become immortal?  Is it the realists?  Or the dreamers?  Is American Joe an icon that we cling to, quote, and aspire to be?  I daresay not.  It is the heroes created by dreamers.  We may not be practical, and we may not be realistic.  But those who are true Romantics are those who help keep us human.

Being a Romantic is the best of most worlds.  Maybe that didn't make sense.  Maybe you call that being big-headed or proud.  I prefer to think of it as being haughty without being so...proud, but humble about it.  I am most certainly not afraid to pitch my tent in the Romantic crowd.  Here, to be famous is to be dead.  But I'd rather it be that way.

Considerations of the Letter 11

Today I am considering things that start with the letter 11.    But in all seriousness, nonsensical, and homicidally verbagiousness (that’s the characteristic of verbing you know, and not technically upon my considerations as it does not start with the letter 11), the musings and mischiefs of Carroll and I (specifically of Alice and JTY), have made its way into my imagination and Scarlequain, AH, 11!

Slayed the Jabberwock,

Put the Question to Spock:

 Why is a Raven like a writing desk?

Hatter, Harry, Hammer, to the test:

J.T.Nonsensical.Y.

Life is better with the wing of an angel around one’s neck, I daresay.  Indeed, a little known fact of Poe’s crow and the cow’s low is just that.  You suppose Alice slayed the Jabberwock in a day?  Wing your way up the spiral stair, and away from Absalom’s stare.  Where is your Muchness, young one?  Why is a Raven like a writing desk?  Why do all the Spocks in the world know An Answer?  Is there an answer?  Did Poe write on both?  I’m more inclined to think there is a B in both and an N in neither.

And now Much One Young, you shake your bean and mutter something mean.  But being mad isn’t bad, in fact you’ll be quite happy, if not sappy, to realize that the best usually are.  Mad, I mean.  And probably saps too, if the two winds blew blue too.

Is there a moral to this story, this ridiculous tirade?  Something Deep you can dive in, some philosophical spin?  More than you know, your Muchness.  I hope you’ve found it by now.  I hope you’ve answered your Question.

Eh what?  Wake up you say?  My friend, you just heared the time of day.  But I’ll tell you a nary, this old storator will.  There once was a boy.  And not just any boy.  This boy had powers untold.  What were they?  Well, I’m sure you’ll find out; today I am considering things that start with the letter 11.