Atticus. profile picture

Atticus.

Flowers, too, suffer death, and yet they are guiltless.

About Me


I'm Nick, and I'm yours.
I have never taken a good picture in my life. I want to be Jack Churchill when I grow up. Look him up. If I love you once, I love you always. I'm the drama club president. There are times I wish my eyes were transparent so nobody would see how glassy they are. I like Windsor knots, chemical equations, antiquated books, correcting syntactical errors, and pretending. There's a reservoir of memory and emotion in me that is dying to break free and be shared with someone else.
Do you remember still the falling stars
that like swift horses through the heavens raced
and suddenly leaped across the hurdles
of our wishes--do you recall? And we
did make so many! For there were countless numbers
of stars: each time we looked above we were
astounded by the swiftness of their daring play,
while in our hearts we felt safe and secure
watching these brilliant bodies disintegrate,
knowing somehow we had survived their fall.

My Interests



I've got a genuine interest in just about everything imaginable. I have a knack for almost anything that ends in -ism. I live by the fact that Otto von Bismarck was one badass motherfucker, and that he, along with Rainer Maria Rilke and Hermann Hesse, are the Holy Trinity ruling from Germany.I like the smell of old books and the allure of old poetry. I plan to name my children (should I have any) after famous chemists/chemical equations. Henderson-Hasselbach is my firstborn. I think surrealism is fantastic, particularly in writing, and I love the game le cadavre exquise. Soccer is more than a sport, and if I had time, I would play every day.Poetry is [insert deity here]'s greatest creation. There is poetry in everything. I love poetry that utilises mathematical metaphor.Europe[an history] is really one of the best things ever.It's my belief that I can relate to the interests of just about everyone. =]

I'd like to meet:



Few people nowadays know what man is. Many sense this ignorance and die the more easily because of it, the same way that I will die more easily once I have completed this story.

I do not consider myself less ignorant than most people. I have been and still am a seeker, but I have ceased to question stars and books; I have begun to listen to the teachings my blood whispers to me. My story is not a pleasant one; it is neither sweet nor harmonious, as invented stories are; it has the taste of nonsense and chaos, of madness and dreams--like the lives of all men who stop deceiving themselves.

Each man's life represents a road toward himself, an attempt at such a road, the intimation of a path. No man has ever been entirely and completely himself. Yet each one strives to become that-one in an awkward, the other in a more intelligent way, each as best he can. Each man carries the vestiges of his birth--the slime and eggshells of his primeval past--with him to the end of his days. Some never become human, remaining frog, lizard, ant. Some are human above the waist, fish below. Each represents a gamble on the part of nature in creation of the human. We all share the same origin, our mothers; all of us come in at the same door. But each of us--experiments of the depths--strives toward his own destiny. We can understand one another; but each of us is able to interpret himself to himself alone.

AIM imageigercounter

My genuine blog.

Music:



But our intentions were intangible and sweet
Sick with simple math and shy discoveries
Piled up against our impending defeat.

Movies:


Television:

Futbol. House. Grey's Anatomy. Scrubs.

Books:


Currently Reading
Day of Empire by Amy Chua.
The Glass Bead Game by Hermann Hesse.
Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe.
To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee.
Authors.
Aeschylus
Aldous Huxley
Aleksandr Pushkin
Alexandre Dumas
Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Anna Akhmatova
Antoine de Sainte-Exupery
Appolonius of Rhodes
Aristotle
Arthur Miller
Ayn Rand
Baldassare Castiglione
Ben Olson
Charles Baudelaire
Charles Dickens
Charlotte Brontë
Cicero
Daniel Quinn
Dante Alighieri
David Mamet
Donna Tartt
Dylan Thomas
Edgar Allan Poe
Edward Albee
Elizabeth Barret Browning
Emily Brontë
Emily Dickinson
Emily Mann
Erasmus
Euclid
Euripides
F. Scott Fitzgerald
Federico Garcia Lorça
Francesco Colonna
Francis Bacon
Frank Wederkind
Friedrich Hölderlin
Fyodor Dostoevsky
George Orwell
Gustave Flaubert
H. G. Wells
Harper Lee
Henrik Ibsen
Henry David Thoreau
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Hermann Hesse
Herodotus
His Holiness the Dalai Lama
Honoré de Balzac
Horace
J. K. Rowling
J. R. R. Tolkien
James Joyce
Jared Diamond
Jean-Jacques Rousseau
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
John Locke
John Steinbeck
Joseph Conrad
Jules Verne
Kate Chopin
Khaled Hosseini
Leo Tolstoy
Lewis Carroll
Marquis de Sade
Maya Angelou
Miguel de Cervantes
Milan Kundera
Nathaniel Hawthorne
Niccolo Machiavelli
O. Henry
Oscar Wilde
Ovid
Pearl Buck
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Petrarch
Plato
Rainer Maria Rilke
Ralph Waldo Emerson
Ray Bradbury
Roald Dahl
Rudyard Kipling
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Sappho
Seneca
Siegfried Sassoon
Socrates
Sophocles
Statius
Tacitus
Tennessee Williams
The Brothers Grimm
Theocritus
Thomas Hobbes
Thomas More
Thornton Wilder
Thucydides
Victor Hugo
Virgil
Virginia Woolf
Voltaire
Walt Whitman
Walter Scott
Wilfred Owen
William Blake
William Butler Yeats
William Faulkner
William Shakespeare
William Wordsworth
Books. 1984
20,000 Leagues Under the Sea
A Doll's House
A Midsummer Nights' Dream
A Rose for Emily
A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers
Absalom, Absalom!
Ajax
Alice in Wonderland
Animal Farm
Annabelle Lee
Anthem
Antigone
Argonautica
Bacchae
Beowulf
Blood Wedding
Brave New World
Candide
Carmen Saeculare
Civil Disobedience
Colours of Good and Evil
Consolatio
Controversiae
Cromwell
Death of a Salesman
Demian
Don Quijote
Dubliners
Ecclesiastes
Eclogues
Fahrenheit 451
Faust
Flowers for Algernon
Genghis Khan
Gertrude
Guns, Germs, & Steel
Harry Potter
He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven
Heart of Darkness
Hippolytus
History of the Peloponnesian War
Hylas and the Nymphs
Hypnerotomachia Poliphili
I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings
Ishmael
Journey to the Center of the Earth
Kubla Khan
L'Age d'Or
Le Cid
Leaves of Grass
Les Fleurs du Mal
Les Miserablés
Letters to a Young Poet
Leviathan
Lord of the Rings
Lyrical Ballads
Madame Bovary
Matilda
Metamorphoses
Milton: A Poem
Notes from Underground
Oedipus Rex
Organon
Our Town
Palatine Anthology
Paradise Lost
Paradise Regained
Peter Pan
Phèdre
Poems Chiefly Lyrical
Prometheus Bound
Prometheus Unbound
Queen Mab
Romeo & Juliet
Salammbô
Seven Against Thebes
Siddhartha
Sir Gawain and the Green Night
Sonnets from the Portuguese
Spongia adversus aspergines Hutteni
Steppenwolf
Still Life
Suasoriae
Tao Te Ching
Tartuffe
The Aeneid
The American Dream
The Annals
The Art of Happiness
The Awakening
The Count of Monte Cristo
The Crucible
The Death of Ivan Ilyich
The Divine Comedy
The Epic of Gilgamesh
The Glass Menagerie
The Good Earth
The Great Gatsby
The Histories
The Hobbit
The Hunchback of Notre Dame
The Idiot
The Iliad
The Importance of Being Earnest
The Island of Dr. Moreau
The Jungle Books
The Little Prince
The Marble Faun
The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket
The Nightingale
The Odyssey
The Picture of Dorian Gray
The Prince
The Professor
The Raven
The Republic
The Scarlet Letter
The Secret History
The Social Contract
The Thebaid
The Three Musketeers
The Unbearable Lightness of Being
The Voyage Out
The Zoo Story
These 13
Threnody
To Kill a Mockingbird
To the Lighthouse
Two Treatises on Government
Utopia
Volpone
War of the Worlds
Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?
Wuthering Heights

Heroes:

Steven Gerrard. Raul Meireles. Fabio Cannavaro. Carlos Puyol. Peter Crouch. Iker Casillas.

& Mr. Darcy.

My details, yo.

Relationship Status: Rather solitary.
Here for: You.
Orientation: I like [nice SMART] boys that melt my heart with their words<3
Hometown: Houston!
Ethnicity: I'm blacker than you.
Religion: Hermann Hesse.
Children: Eh, why not.
Education: Autodidactic.

My Blog

I am silver and exact.

We've dreamt--oh,how we've dreamt.The magician is amongstus. With a sly sleight ofhand and a magic wand,the dove disappears.And we've dreamt.Oh, how we have dreamt....
Posted by Atticus. on Thu, 11 Sep 2008 04:23:00 PST

Indicative of my town.

I was at the mall today to see a friend of mine whom I have not seen in a long time. Anyway, My cell phone died and so I couldn't get a hold of her once I arrived. So, as with all things, I decided to...
Posted by Atticus. on Tue, 29 Jul 2008 10:28:00 PST

And this is the kingdom you bore me to, Mother, mother.

So I've had a minor epiphany. Every now and then they come to me. But this one feels especially profound in the sense of what lies on the other side of this realisation:     ...
Posted by Atticus. on Thu, 26 Jun 2008 11:45:00 PST

[d]evolution, [r]evolution, change.

I haven't posted anything on here in a while. these endless rewritesmake creation impossible.useless blank dullwordless worthlesspoetry from the deep shallowness of my mind.scratch that.it's useless.w...
Posted by Atticus. on Fri, 20 Jun 2008 04:03:00 PST

A few salvaged poems.

These are the select poems I could find cached on my blog. For some reason or another my Google account has been deleted and I'm frankly quite pissed off. So, here they are--I'm hoping that I won't ha...
Posted by Atticus. on Wed, 06 Feb 2008 08:30:00 PST

An agent of change in a rigid system.

I feel as if I'm at a crossroads. There are so many paths that span out from this deserted locus, and I am daunted. Which path do I take? Where do I choose as my destination?Moving beyond metaphor...I...
Posted by Atticus. on Sat, 15 Dec 2007 01:09:00 PST

Stepping out of the proverbial poetry box to foray into other styles.

So pretty much all the poetry I've written...ever... consists of cheap cliches and frivolous, depressed phrases flaunting the sadness of life. But I realize that I've moved beyond the point in my life...
Posted by Atticus. on Sun, 25 Nov 2007 08:42:00 PST

Perhaps people like us cannot love. Ordinary people can--that is their secret.

building upon a foundation of nothingthe artisan's work collapsed.surprise?--no, it makes sense.for one cannot build something on nothing,even if nothing has a facadea veneer more glorious than even r...
Posted by Atticus. on Sun, 04 Nov 2007 03:52:00 PST

the farcical life of a cynical romantic.

I saw you at forty years old today.The age was clearly etched in your face.I saw the fatigue, the change in your presence;you look...good...for the time that's passed.Any doubt about youridentity was ...
Posted by Atticus. on Sat, 20 Oct 2007 10:46:00 PST

Nobody talks to children. No, they just tell them.

It's past 3 AM. I've got an essay to write and two tests to study for. I've got lines to memorize and research to do. I've got family to appease.Yet these are not the things that plague my existence. ...
Posted by Atticus. on Tue, 02 Oct 2007 12:50:00 PST