Monday, December 7, 2009
Almonds
This look of sultry, “please fuck me,” “I dare you to make an advance,” escaped her pupils. But it wasn’t just her pupils that forced me to freeze, solitary and astute in one my place. It was the perfect almond shape that slightly squinted, unblinking. It was when the almonds, draped in thick black, long, curled lashes slowly dropped and suddenly I was released from their bondage, but only for a lifelong second. When they lifted and parted once one long black line and suddenly, carefully two, they captured me and tied me up and held me, standing right there in my spot, unmoving, still, silent, hard. And oh, how those almonds knew. They laughed at me and taunted me; they questioned me and challenged me. They begged me and pushed me. They harnessed me, kept me, beckoning my every molecule and pore. It was the way the corners of the tear drops dipped down into her nose, almost giving an illusion of her eyes heading in separate directions, taking off, with me left alone and unsatisfied, confused and abandoned. She saw me, knew me, and was way ahead of me in this game of uncomfortable pleasurable torture. I grew hot as she continued to stand there, in all her beauty, but seeing none of her, only the almonds. The brown quicksand in her irises caught hold of my feet and sucked me in with no opportunity for escape. I was helpless, fearless. The lashes moved up and down, sizing me up. Just above the almonds was a perfect plain of smooth prairie brown, with an umbrella cover of black, just hovering, slightly arched in questioned ponders, but hungry for the kill. Trekking across the prairies again, back into the thick vines of my capturer, I stepped into the quicksand and let myself sink. I watched as she caught my steady resolve and her head slightly tilted, her curled curtains slightly framing the right side of God’s canvas, His best work. Almonds narrowed to slits in daring fashion, ready to pounce on any movement not allowed. She laughed through the black pupils, the tear drop corners, the umbrella plains and brown prairies, the black lined vines, and through my own saucers. She walked towards me, advancing on her prey.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
The West
What does the west represent to you? Freedom. Opportunity. Anti-conformity. Clean slate. But when we look really close at the ideal west for many immigrants, we see the west is none of this, because with freedom comes boundaries, laws, fights, and bondage. With opportunity comes failure. With anti-conformity comes conformity to new social norms created by the new westerners. Clean slate is accompanied by dirty pasts and hidden truths; new lives waiting to be dirtied. The west is just an ideal, but the west is no different than the east. The east is the west’s future, the west is the east’s past. When the east was first discovered, it too was the frontier. The west is now the last frontier only because we have not finished civilizing the area; we will not finish either because of federal laws protecting the lands. Therefore, the ideal west no longer exists, does it? It no longer is the true west because the true west is undiscovered and truly free. This west is bound and shackled by law to be free.
She Wanted to Escape
In writing this piece, I would suggest listening to Antony with Bryce Dessner's song "I Was Young When I Left Home" from Dark Was the Night, as I was inspired by this song.
She sat there, part of the circle, next to the boy she liked but would only ever be friends with, next to a stranger, across from a past friend sitting next to a new friend. She sat there, talking but not engaging. Her mind wandered to the past, the future, a parallel reality. She just wanted to escape. Just wanted to relax and let her mind wander from responsibility and pain; from suffering and grief. She took one hit and passed it, coughing, feeling the rush of the drug rush into her brain, a slight pleasurable dizziness surrounding her. She smiled and watched each of the other four take a hit, cough, smile, and continue conversation. She took another, bigger hit. Held it. She let her lips part and watched the smoke just drift out of her mouth, like a lazy cloud floating on a summer day. She blew some smoke rings, pretending she was a train. She started to laugh at the idea of being a train and she told the others and they laughed. They all laughed until some cried. She sat back and closed her eyes. One boy went to get his guitar and suddenly there was soft music strumming from the fingers of her past friend. The music seemed to fill her head and her whole body tingled. Soft hums followed the guitar and a song was sung. A mix of an old childhood tune and some new phrases of current love. She opened her eyes and saw this boy looking at his girlfriend, both in their own little reality, full of love and emotion. She looked at the unattainable boy and he was playing with his hands, twisting them in and out of each other. She suddenly hated this boy and loved him with all of her will. She was tapped on the shoulder by the stranger and she inhaled like she never had before. She coughed uncontrollably, her head lifting off of her body, soaring up, somewhere far away. She could look down and around her at the same time, at those around her, unaware and yet so awake and alert. She watched herself stand up, those looking at her smiled confusedly, and she swayed to the music from the guitar. She laughed as her body tickled and she closed her eyes, tilting her head back. She let her arms swing side to side, left to right. She put them out and slowly spun in a circle. She opened her eyes and looked at those other eyes and she asked them to join her. The unattainable boy, the stranger, and the girlfriend stood up, moving to the music. She let her head roll lazily around her neck, right, back, left, forward, right again. She looked around at those around her, all smiling and moving their souls to the music, their minds separate from their bodies. The boy playing the guitar played a little faster and they all laughed and danced a little faster. They stopped swaying and started bobbing their bodies, swinging their hips and moving their arms, doing crazy footfalls and leg bends. The guitar player laughed and played louder. She could hear the pick striking each string, each twang, each singing note. She and the others sat back down, laughing and giggling together about the same and a part about the different. She laid her head on his lap and he rested his hand upon her forehead, at the start of her dark, curly hair. He looked at her, she looked at him. Each smiled. She knew what each smile meant and he understood. He let his hand glide through her hair, each finger being caressed by each curl leaping up and entwining, then letting go and settling back into their bed. The music slowed and soon the singing stopped. The music died out and everyone slowly faded away. Her heart beat slowly and her pupils dilated then grew small. Her breathing slowed and the tingling moved to numbness. His hand was all she felt. His eyes were all she saw, his lips were all she knew. His lap was what she laid upon, spent her last moments upon, and drew her last few breaths upon. She felt her body start to fall, free-fall. She could see everyone around her, the boy’s hand suddenly stop and his other hand cup her chin and turn her face toward his. She watched the stranger get out his cell phone and begin to dial; the girlfriend start to get teary eyed and watch from a far; the guitar player stand up and fall upon his knees next to her and push the boy’s hands out of the way. She watched and she felt herself still falling, slow and fast all at once. She felt the wind as it rushed through her hair, kissing her skin, lifting the fingers, caressing her chest and shoulders, breathing upon her neck, whispering into her ears. She listened to the quiet sounds of the girlfriend’s sobs, the quiet whispers of the past friend and the stranger, and she listened to the broken whisper of the unattainable boy. She watched as tears fell upon her face. His tears. She looked around at her moment of escape. Her moment of forgetting. She tilted her head back and felt the sorrow of those around her, the grief and anger starting to form. She tried to grasp something, anything. She tried to hold on. She jumped and watched her body jump back into reality, into life. She watched the bodies around hers become rigid and stiff. Taken aback. She watched her eyes move towards his, her hand wrap around his neck, her chest rise in one big breath. She heard her breath leave. It sounded like a gust of screaming wind, so loud it echoed and she felt a lightness she had never felt before. She watched the tears escape the eyes of those who didn’t know her and felt the tears of one who might have loved her.
She sat there, part of the circle, next to the boy she liked but would only ever be friends with, next to a stranger, across from a past friend sitting next to a new friend. She sat there, talking but not engaging. Her mind wandered to the past, the future, a parallel reality. She just wanted to escape. Just wanted to relax and let her mind wander from responsibility and pain; from suffering and grief. She took one hit and passed it, coughing, feeling the rush of the drug rush into her brain, a slight pleasurable dizziness surrounding her. She smiled and watched each of the other four take a hit, cough, smile, and continue conversation. She took another, bigger hit. Held it. She let her lips part and watched the smoke just drift out of her mouth, like a lazy cloud floating on a summer day. She blew some smoke rings, pretending she was a train. She started to laugh at the idea of being a train and she told the others and they laughed. They all laughed until some cried. She sat back and closed her eyes. One boy went to get his guitar and suddenly there was soft music strumming from the fingers of her past friend. The music seemed to fill her head and her whole body tingled. Soft hums followed the guitar and a song was sung. A mix of an old childhood tune and some new phrases of current love. She opened her eyes and saw this boy looking at his girlfriend, both in their own little reality, full of love and emotion. She looked at the unattainable boy and he was playing with his hands, twisting them in and out of each other. She suddenly hated this boy and loved him with all of her will. She was tapped on the shoulder by the stranger and she inhaled like she never had before. She coughed uncontrollably, her head lifting off of her body, soaring up, somewhere far away. She could look down and around her at the same time, at those around her, unaware and yet so awake and alert. She watched herself stand up, those looking at her smiled confusedly, and she swayed to the music from the guitar. She laughed as her body tickled and she closed her eyes, tilting her head back. She let her arms swing side to side, left to right. She put them out and slowly spun in a circle. She opened her eyes and looked at those other eyes and she asked them to join her. The unattainable boy, the stranger, and the girlfriend stood up, moving to the music. She let her head roll lazily around her neck, right, back, left, forward, right again. She looked around at those around her, all smiling and moving their souls to the music, their minds separate from their bodies. The boy playing the guitar played a little faster and they all laughed and danced a little faster. They stopped swaying and started bobbing their bodies, swinging their hips and moving their arms, doing crazy footfalls and leg bends. The guitar player laughed and played louder. She could hear the pick striking each string, each twang, each singing note. She and the others sat back down, laughing and giggling together about the same and a part about the different. She laid her head on his lap and he rested his hand upon her forehead, at the start of her dark, curly hair. He looked at her, she looked at him. Each smiled. She knew what each smile meant and he understood. He let his hand glide through her hair, each finger being caressed by each curl leaping up and entwining, then letting go and settling back into their bed. The music slowed and soon the singing stopped. The music died out and everyone slowly faded away. Her heart beat slowly and her pupils dilated then grew small. Her breathing slowed and the tingling moved to numbness. His hand was all she felt. His eyes were all she saw, his lips were all she knew. His lap was what she laid upon, spent her last moments upon, and drew her last few breaths upon. She felt her body start to fall, free-fall. She could see everyone around her, the boy’s hand suddenly stop and his other hand cup her chin and turn her face toward his. She watched the stranger get out his cell phone and begin to dial; the girlfriend start to get teary eyed and watch from a far; the guitar player stand up and fall upon his knees next to her and push the boy’s hands out of the way. She watched and she felt herself still falling, slow and fast all at once. She felt the wind as it rushed through her hair, kissing her skin, lifting the fingers, caressing her chest and shoulders, breathing upon her neck, whispering into her ears. She listened to the quiet sounds of the girlfriend’s sobs, the quiet whispers of the past friend and the stranger, and she listened to the broken whisper of the unattainable boy. She watched as tears fell upon her face. His tears. She looked around at her moment of escape. Her moment of forgetting. She tilted her head back and felt the sorrow of those around her, the grief and anger starting to form. She tried to grasp something, anything. She tried to hold on. She jumped and watched her body jump back into reality, into life. She watched the bodies around hers become rigid and stiff. Taken aback. She watched her eyes move towards his, her hand wrap around his neck, her chest rise in one big breath. She heard her breath leave. It sounded like a gust of screaming wind, so loud it echoed and she felt a lightness she had never felt before. She watched the tears escape the eyes of those who didn’t know her and felt the tears of one who might have loved her.
Existence
This is a conversation I had once which was very intriguing...
There is no such thing as “existence” until we have made it exist. We are not here, until we have said we had a past and that we had a history. If “reality” is merely a word that mankind created, then what is “reality?” And if “reality” is what we make it, then what if we took “reality” out of our vocabulary? Would it still “exist?”
If reality is what we make it, and it only exists when say it exists; our past only exists when we create a past, then what are we doing? Who are we? Are we even here existing?
Reality is what you make it, but the thing is that it’s still reality, maybe very different from what you’ve been taught reality is, but reality none the less…whether or not we exist as we have always believed is irrelevant. What we are doing is surviving and gathering knowledge.
Survival of the fittest. But even with that knowledge we don’t necessarily know what we are doing or what it means, until someone or ourselves gives it a meaning or definition. Just the same as someone pointing something out and therefore it is, when before whatever “it” was, wasn’t.
It’s within our own surviving that we feel the need to have meaning and question which makes me think that there is something else, namely the singularity.
What do you mean singularity?
You should look it up but very basically it’s when humans merge with technology, essentially becoming a multi-minded organism, evolution through technology.
But doesn’t that worry you? If there is say, a “robot holocaust” our dependence and emergence with technology would have the capacity to destroy mankind. We would have lost our skill sets that generations before us have. Even the agriculture today depends upon technology…if that emergence happens, and then fails…
Yeh that’s possible but I just choose to believe the more positive possibilities. And either way I think merger with technology is inevitable, so it makes no sense worrying about the outcome.
Well yeh. I mean we already have dependence upon technology so much that we can’t go back. I just think we should be aware of it and try to minimize.
There is no such thing as “existence” until we have made it exist. We are not here, until we have said we had a past and that we had a history. If “reality” is merely a word that mankind created, then what is “reality?” And if “reality” is what we make it, then what if we took “reality” out of our vocabulary? Would it still “exist?”
If reality is what we make it, and it only exists when say it exists; our past only exists when we create a past, then what are we doing? Who are we? Are we even here existing?
Reality is what you make it, but the thing is that it’s still reality, maybe very different from what you’ve been taught reality is, but reality none the less…whether or not we exist as we have always believed is irrelevant. What we are doing is surviving and gathering knowledge.
Survival of the fittest. But even with that knowledge we don’t necessarily know what we are doing or what it means, until someone or ourselves gives it a meaning or definition. Just the same as someone pointing something out and therefore it is, when before whatever “it” was, wasn’t.
It’s within our own surviving that we feel the need to have meaning and question which makes me think that there is something else, namely the singularity.
What do you mean singularity?
You should look it up but very basically it’s when humans merge with technology, essentially becoming a multi-minded organism, evolution through technology.
But doesn’t that worry you? If there is say, a “robot holocaust” our dependence and emergence with technology would have the capacity to destroy mankind. We would have lost our skill sets that generations before us have. Even the agriculture today depends upon technology…if that emergence happens, and then fails…
Yeh that’s possible but I just choose to believe the more positive possibilities. And either way I think merger with technology is inevitable, so it makes no sense worrying about the outcome.
Well yeh. I mean we already have dependence upon technology so much that we can’t go back. I just think we should be aware of it and try to minimize.
Five Scents
Lay down
Breathe.
Take in my scent –
my shampoo, my perfume,
my makeup
Take in my scent –
my skin, my breath
Listen.
slow, steady, intake
slow, steady, inhale
quick, hard, exhale
quick, hard, exhaust
Feel.
my life, my rhythm
heart beat –
1-2, 1-2, 1-2
tick-tock, tick-tock
pitter-patter
muscle twitch
skin graze
Watch.
chest rise
fall
eyelash fall
rise
lips part
close
nervous swallow
Taste.
my lips –
hints of lipstick
my skin –
bitterness of perfume
Breathe.
Take in my scent –
my shampoo, my perfume,
my makeup
Take in my scent –
my skin, my breath
Listen.
slow, steady, intake
slow, steady, inhale
quick, hard, exhale
quick, hard, exhaust
Feel.
my life, my rhythm
heart beat –
1-2, 1-2, 1-2
tick-tock, tick-tock
pitter-patter
muscle twitch
skin graze
Watch.
chest rise
fall
eyelash fall
rise
lips part
close
nervous swallow
Taste.
my lips –
hints of lipstick
my skin –
bitterness of perfume
don’t name it
it won’t exist
exist within context
context is created
created realities
realities are false
false understanding
understanding the living
living fake lives
lives that are upside down
down to most is up to some
some is just a few
few only stand from many
many speak
speak and listen
listen to who
who am i
it won’t exist
exist within context
context is created
created realities
realities are false
false understanding
understanding the living
living fake lives
lives that are upside down
down to most is up to some
some is just a few
few only stand from many
many speak
speak and listen
listen to who
who am i
Travis
This is about a boy in most of my classes that I always meet eyes with in an awkward since...
It seems that every time I look
across the room you’re there
staring
at me.
And I don’t know what to think
Do I have something on my face?
Is my hair out of place?
I’m not sure what to think.
Or do
how to act.
It’s oddly flattering
So…thank you?
I think?
It seems that every time I look
across the room you’re there
staring
at me.
And I don’t know what to think
Do I have something on my face?
Is my hair out of place?
I’m not sure what to think.
Or do
how to act.
It’s oddly flattering
So…thank you?
I think?
Hidden
Hidden between peek-a-boo fingers
underneath crinkled eyelids smiling
inside entwined hands intimately embracing
within the whisper of the covers
rubbing against tangled legs
sneaking in between lips brushing
leaping off tongues speaking
dancing freely upon cheeks blushing
diving off eyelashes fluttering
swimming towards quickened side glances
pausing during cautious lip bite thinking
sung out with rustle of morning hair tucking
dawned upon and moon lit
tinkered with and pondered
rationalized and tossed aside
dug up treasure from the dirt
circle back to peek-a-boo fingers
start over with body tingles
underneath crinkled eyelids smiling
inside entwined hands intimately embracing
within the whisper of the covers
rubbing against tangled legs
sneaking in between lips brushing
leaping off tongues speaking
dancing freely upon cheeks blushing
diving off eyelashes fluttering
swimming towards quickened side glances
pausing during cautious lip bite thinking
sung out with rustle of morning hair tucking
dawned upon and moon lit
tinkered with and pondered
rationalized and tossed aside
dug up treasure from the dirt
circle back to peek-a-boo fingers
start over with body tingles
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Wolf's Cry, Stars and Clouds
I stood there staring at what I thought was my world, but I was so wrong. It was the universe. I had spent all my time just staring at the universe! And I stood there staring at this cloud. Was it a cloud? Can there be clouds at night? Transparent ones I mean. But then that would mean that during the day the only way to see a cloud is to have sunlight reflect off of it. I don’t think this happens. But maybe it’s those weird star clouds that are really pretty in those science pictures from NASA. I don’t know. SHIT a shooting star! No just a bug flying by in the yard light. That’s a fast moving bug. Wow. Then I tilted my head back down and wondered how long I had been standing there. And I realized that my ear buds from my IPOD felt like cotton balls and I could hear them move in my ear canals: SWWWOOOOSSSHHHH SWWWIIIIISSSSSHHHH. Weird. Then I realized the music I was listening to was that African band. I can’t remember. But I could feel every beat of the music. I titled my head back again and stared at the universe. I felt every muscle relax, my fingers and hands start to disappear, my body became loose and I swayed with the winds and I felt warm, so warm. Everything inside of me became still. Except for my heart; my heart it beat so fast and strong. I felt it push life through my veins. I opened my eyes and it was like BAM! STARS. I felt every slap, tap, and thump of the hands of the conga players. My head rocked and tapped back and forth to the music, so my hips followed and I wanted to dance the night away to this African band. I noticed that my glasses fogged every time I breathed out, felt the air and I become two again instead of one as we once were, if only for a moment. Even though I used you, air. I felt you leave me, air. My glasses fogged every time and it was like fading away into…nothing. And then I realized I was standing there, staring at the universe, staring at the sky. I looked down the horizons and saw a single bright star. Like a flashlight in the sky, shining right at me, from so far away. I think it’s a planet. But why do planets shine so bright? Are they balls of light, like the sun? That doesn’t make sense. They reflect moonlight but not sunlight? Why are they so bright? Why this one? Not twinkling from atmospheric gases or lack thereof, but bright and still, solidarity becoming it. So conspicuous of all the night’s gems; why? Is it like that of the transparent clouds that only reflect sunlight and not moon light? Well, I mean to say is it the opposite, this planet-star, of the transparent night time clouds? Then I heard it: the cry. I thought it was someone yelling on the soundtrack, perhaps it was recorded live. But then I heard it again and this was definitely not that of a crazed fan. This was the cry of a wolf. My heart sped up even more, if that was possible. I was nowhere near the door and I was in the light. I was in the light, alone. I stopped moving and tried not to breath. But the cry was followed by a second, then a third. Each cry was from a different position, creating a half moon around me, closing in. I turned, took out my ear buds. Silence. Then – AAAAAOOOOOHHHHH Oh my god RUN. Next I’m running to the door, my flip flops wet from the condensation in the grass, causing me to slip and slide on my way to the door. No clue how close but the cries got more excited, like running in for the kill. So terrified; I watch the shadow in front of me as I run to the door. Door closes behind me and I’m in. Just as I reach for the next door, I hear them. Just out of sight from the light of the yard, under the veil of the transparency and the hidden secrets and reflected lights, conspicuous to all of night’s creatures, they prowl.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Sorry
I don’t know how to say I’m sorry
Other than “I’m sorry.”
I could say it a million times,
Until eventually it has no meaning.
I can climb the highest mountains,
And tell the whole world how I feel.
I could write you a letter
With only two words written.
I can always call you up,
And cry into the phone.
Or maybe I could come face to face,
With all that I have done.
I want to say I’m sorry,
I just don’t know how.
I want to tell you how I feel,
I just am too scared to say it.
I could always make a broadcast,
So the public knows it too.
I could disappear into the dark,
And hope I could forget you.
I can throw a tantrum like a child,
Maybe that might work?
I could also write a book,
About the way I made you hurt.
Maybe I might just forget about it all.
Maybe then I wouldn’t hurt,
Not even a little,
Not at all.
Other than “I’m sorry.”
I could say it a million times,
Until eventually it has no meaning.
I can climb the highest mountains,
And tell the whole world how I feel.
I could write you a letter
With only two words written.
I can always call you up,
And cry into the phone.
Or maybe I could come face to face,
With all that I have done.
I want to say I’m sorry,
I just don’t know how.
I want to tell you how I feel,
I just am too scared to say it.
I could always make a broadcast,
So the public knows it too.
I could disappear into the dark,
And hope I could forget you.
I can throw a tantrum like a child,
Maybe that might work?
I could also write a book,
About the way I made you hurt.
Maybe I might just forget about it all.
Maybe then I wouldn’t hurt,
Not even a little,
Not at all.
Friday, July 31, 2009
How?
How do you prepare yourself for the unknown? Is it possible to wake up every day and know that that day may be the day you die? How can you wake up in the morning? How can you get out of bed? Would you do the same routine each day, brush your teeth and look yourself in the eyes, spit and rinse, dry your mouth, and turn away from what could be your last reflection? Would you make your bed, eat a healthy breakfast or would you leave your bed unmade and eat your favorite chocolate bar? Would you drive to work taking the same roads or would you call it quits and drive through the country side, enjoying the beauty of nature? If you knew what time you were supposed to die, would you call everyone and say good bye? Would you tell them that you loved them and that you wouldn’t forget them ever? Would you drive to your parent’s house and lye on your mother’s lap, give your dad a hug, sit in your old room, on your old bed and remember your life? Would you write a letter to those who you loved most and write down at least one memory with every person mentioned? Would you go to your favorite spot and stay there, waiting for your moment, smiling at the beauty around you, remembering good times, and close your eyes, tilting your head to the skies, ready?
Dylan
I’m not sure what it is about you that I can’t keep out of mind. Maybe it’s the way your lips, full and pink, took in my kiss and sucked my bottom lip, pulling me closer to you, sending chills of excitement deep into my stomach or when you just gave me a peck on the lips between long, passionate kisses. Maybe it was the way you nibbled my ear and then blew into it, making me shiver. Perhaps it was your hands and the way they caressed my face and ran through my hair; the way they ran over my arms and along my sides, making me giggle because it tickled. Or the way you ran your fingertips through my palm and along my wrist before holding my hand. Or it was your eyes; beautiful blue-green eyes and the way they stared at me. The look you gave me just before you- you know. Or the smiles and smirks you displayed when I made a sound. Or the way you embraced me when we came together and your fingertips grazed my thighs and your lips kissed my neck, my chest; my lips being pulled into something so passionate. Maybe it was when you kissed my thighs, or my stomach. Or maybe it was when you woke me up by kissing my shoulder and opening my eyes to see you above me in the middle of the night, staring back. Or it was the way you held me while we rested; or the way you laid your head against my chest and I kissed your forehead, running my fingers through your hair. Or maybe it was when I had my first orgasm and you kissed me the whole time- long, hard, and never letting go. Maybe it was the way you woke up and thinking that I was still asleep tucked the hair behind my ear, brushing it way from my face in the morning. Maybe that was when I fell for you accidentally.
I can’t seem to think a single thought without you interrupting me. Your eyes, your smile, your lips, and your touch all linger still in my mind after all this time. I want to see you and hold your hand in mine, entwine our fingers, feel our hearts as eyes linger, for just a moment longer feel your arms around my waist, pulling me in for one more kiss. Feel your breath just before you kiss me, feel your heart beat against mine; listen to the soft whisper of the sheets around us moving, feeling each kiss intensify my breathing. The way your lips tickled my ear and brushed across my nose, the way you made my heart stop and start— sending butterflies throughout my body, made me smile. Opening my eyes to see you looking right at me, seeing deep into my thoughts, reading every movement, every sound, every kiss, you are too good to be true.
I can’t seem to think a single thought without you interrupting me. Your eyes, your smile, your lips, and your touch all linger still in my mind after all this time. I want to see you and hold your hand in mine, entwine our fingers, feel our hearts as eyes linger, for just a moment longer feel your arms around my waist, pulling me in for one more kiss. Feel your breath just before you kiss me, feel your heart beat against mine; listen to the soft whisper of the sheets around us moving, feeling each kiss intensify my breathing. The way your lips tickled my ear and brushed across my nose, the way you made my heart stop and start— sending butterflies throughout my body, made me smile. Opening my eyes to see you looking right at me, seeing deep into my thoughts, reading every movement, every sound, every kiss, you are too good to be true.
From Such Great Heights
From such great heights
Oh the world! How it looks so perfect!
From up on high
In the clouds that float the waves of the skies
I can see the true beauty that great men wrote of.
From upon the twinkling beauty of stars
Ah, the loveliness of silence.
From such great heights
Oh the world! How it looks so perfect!
From this bird’s wing
The tree tops dance to singing winds.
From inside this ray of sunshine
The prairies, flowers, mountains, and waters
Shine forever pretty in warmth.
Oh but from this lowest of lows
Oh the world! How it looks so ugly!
From this blade of grass grown in the city sidewalks
I see the footsteps of many who have forgot.
From this falling raindrop
Pollution and dirtiness fall; no longer fresh.
From the many eyes of the fly swatted away
Garbage, annoyance, and impatience I see and feel.
Oh but from this lowest of lows
Oh the world! How it looks so ugly!
From here upon the wings of the moth
No longer attracted to natural fire,
I feel the cold yet dangerous burn of the unattainable.
From behind the steam and smoke
Felt the burn of nuclear plants and coal-run factories.
But from behind the iris of hazel
Inside the palm of skin only months old
Under the toes of feet learning balance
Heard from the inside of new canals
Felt deep within the beating rush of life
Oh the world! How it looks so hopeful!
Oh the world! How it looks so perfect!
From up on high
In the clouds that float the waves of the skies
I can see the true beauty that great men wrote of.
From upon the twinkling beauty of stars
Ah, the loveliness of silence.
From such great heights
Oh the world! How it looks so perfect!
From this bird’s wing
The tree tops dance to singing winds.
From inside this ray of sunshine
The prairies, flowers, mountains, and waters
Shine forever pretty in warmth.
Oh but from this lowest of lows
Oh the world! How it looks so ugly!
From this blade of grass grown in the city sidewalks
I see the footsteps of many who have forgot.
From this falling raindrop
Pollution and dirtiness fall; no longer fresh.
From the many eyes of the fly swatted away
Garbage, annoyance, and impatience I see and feel.
Oh but from this lowest of lows
Oh the world! How it looks so ugly!
From here upon the wings of the moth
No longer attracted to natural fire,
I feel the cold yet dangerous burn of the unattainable.
From behind the steam and smoke
Felt the burn of nuclear plants and coal-run factories.
But from behind the iris of hazel
Inside the palm of skin only months old
Under the toes of feet learning balance
Heard from the inside of new canals
Felt deep within the beating rush of life
Oh the world! How it looks so hopeful!
Good Morning
I push the toothbrush across my teeth
Each bristle moves across molars, incisors, canines, etc
I bend down and spit
I watch the water sweep up the watered down paste and foam
Swirl into the drain and disappear forever
I look up to only look straight into my medicine cabinet
Top shelf: pills
Middle shelf: toothpaste, toothbrush, water glass
Bottom shelf: the washers – face and mouth
I put the blue toothbrush on the middle shelf
In front of the toothpaste, next to the cup
Brush head on right side facing me
I reach for the first bottle
Propranalol: take two twice a day
I reach for the second bottle
Omeprazole: take one once a day
Placing three pills on the second shelf
I grab the glass and turn on the cold water faucet
Fill glass half way, pop pills, drink just one gulp of water
Dump the rest out
Drying off the cup so it doesn’t leave a ring I place it on the shelf
To the right of the toothpaste, with the blue toothbrush head to the right facing me
Sighing, I close the door, completing my daily routine
Looking into the mirror I am confronted with dark curls
Dark, almost black, eyes staring back from the big reservoirs they are hosted in
Inspecting my teeth and return to my eyes’ reflection
Staring at myself, running confidence boosting lines through my head as I was taught
I run my fingers through my hair, feeling the twist of each morning curl
Turning around on the purple mat just big enough for two pairs of feet to stand on
One pair stands
Light switch flips and only the morning sunlight enters the bathroom
Streaming one ray through the window and spotlighting all the dust specks
I turn to the left, walk past the toilet; hesitate slightly at the change of floor
White to dark oak
First step into hallway followed by many
Bare feet making the daily walk.
Each bristle moves across molars, incisors, canines, etc
I bend down and spit
I watch the water sweep up the watered down paste and foam
Swirl into the drain and disappear forever
I look up to only look straight into my medicine cabinet
Top shelf: pills
Middle shelf: toothpaste, toothbrush, water glass
Bottom shelf: the washers – face and mouth
I put the blue toothbrush on the middle shelf
In front of the toothpaste, next to the cup
Brush head on right side facing me
I reach for the first bottle
Propranalol: take two twice a day
I reach for the second bottle
Omeprazole: take one once a day
Placing three pills on the second shelf
I grab the glass and turn on the cold water faucet
Fill glass half way, pop pills, drink just one gulp of water
Dump the rest out
Drying off the cup so it doesn’t leave a ring I place it on the shelf
To the right of the toothpaste, with the blue toothbrush head to the right facing me
Sighing, I close the door, completing my daily routine
Looking into the mirror I am confronted with dark curls
Dark, almost black, eyes staring back from the big reservoirs they are hosted in
Inspecting my teeth and return to my eyes’ reflection
Staring at myself, running confidence boosting lines through my head as I was taught
I run my fingers through my hair, feeling the twist of each morning curl
Turning around on the purple mat just big enough for two pairs of feet to stand on
One pair stands
Light switch flips and only the morning sunlight enters the bathroom
Streaming one ray through the window and spotlighting all the dust specks
I turn to the left, walk past the toilet; hesitate slightly at the change of floor
White to dark oak
First step into hallway followed by many
Bare feet making the daily walk.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Preview Time!
So, since I am unemployed and have nothing to do all day/night aside from dealing with my schooling, I have been writing. Now, I have never in my life felt a pull to write like I do now. One day in Italy I had a writing idea and I decided to go with it. This is taking me forever because I can actually see, clearly, what I am writing about and I have tried my hardest to put in as much detail as I possibly can. My protagonist is an old woman at the end of her life and what I am writing is slowly evolving into her life story, which flashes back and forth between past and present. Now, I have one problem: I want this story set in a foreign country, not the states, and I'm not sure how to use some language without actually defining which country she is from. For instance: If I was basing this in the states I would say mom, mother, mama, etc. But for another country? I don't want Mum. Ideas?
I.
She kneels in glow of the candle light that flickers across the aged walls with peeling paint, the virgin, the son, and the cross. In the shadowy creases of her wrinkled face, years of wisdom and wrong doings leak out of every pore, filling the rough and used pews and ancient hymn books with confessions of mistakes. Arthritic hands grasp each other as knuckles turn white and the lips- dry and cracked- rustle against each other as whispered words quickly leave her mouth, pushed out by the lash of her tongue. Silvery hair with touches of black hangs on either side of a long and narrow face, disheveled and wind-blown on a no-wind night. Eyelids closed so tightly they wrinkle and the eyeballs underneath can be seen darting back and forth as if reading a line of confessions that spew from her mouth. A sudden gasp of air, eyes snap open and pierce the dark touched by candle light with eyes the color of ice- blind, but seeing. Shudders escape her and the tiny frail body shakes. Collapsing at the altar, she stares into darkness, into blind faith.
II.
She stands up feeling the joints in her knees start to move, groaning from the pain, the joints bracing themselves for the weight of the frail woman’s body. As her back straightens and her hand instantly and instinctively reaches around to grasp her lower back, her other hand adjusts her dark shawl- velvet?- and she turns. As she crosses herself during her first few steps away from the altar, she pauses and turns around. Bending her head towards the virgin, she slowly raises her eyes, brow furrowed, and a single tear falls from the outside corner of her eye, soon followed by many more. One weak, unsteady step after the other, using the pews as her canes, she makes her way towards the door. Tears stream down her wrinkled and weathered face; as they drip, hands as old as the Church grasp the pew backs- blue veins creating maps of her life cover her hands and knuckles protrude from the almost transparent skin. As she makes her way towards me, the door, she stops at the last pew, straightens, and walks towards me, a look of sadness, cool reserve, and time lost covering her once beautiful face.
III.
The cold of her fingertips as they brush against the outside of my cold, hard, yet embracing wood would send shivers up and down each crack and each sliver of me if I could shiver. I can almost feel the rigidness and hardened shell she puts on as she enters the world of hardship and suffering, leaving the safety of the Church. With the brush of those fingertips is the loss of hope and trust and faith left behind, one last time. She stops just short of the first step and pulls the dark shawl tighter around her frail body, ties a dark gray veil around her head, and braces with the little bit of strength left, her against the wind. The last day of summer passed long ago, taking with it the greens and sunny skies, leaving in its wake instead the reds and oranges and browns, the clouds, and the cool days. Her first step onto the stairs is unsteady, staggering, weak. But as each step is taken, the veiled head slowly rises, the slender, slightly crooked with time shoulders pull back, and by the last step just before the sidewalk lined with gas lamps shining small circles of yellowish light on the cobblestone streets, she has pulled all her remaining strength from the depths inside of her ancient and stolen body. She turns to the right and slowly makes her way down the uneven sidewalk, looking up only once when a gentleman walks by and tips his hat her way.
***
“Mama! Mama! Look at what I caught, Mama! Look! A firefly. Isn’t it beautiful, Mama?”
“Hush, child. The baby is sleeping. Now run along with your little lighted bugs, do not bother me with such insolent things. Go!”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
Slowly making her way out of what was once a happy room for both her and her mother, the child’s face is rigid and cold, steeled against any emotion. As soon as she closes the heavy wooden door with a click she lets her tears fall. As tiny tanned fingers with nails outlined in a few days’ dirt quickly and harshly rub the almond shaped brown eyes, a tight curl of black hair falls out of place. Frustrated with the new baby, hatred boiling inside of her, the young child feels a tinge of guilt and once she is outside the rickety old house with a slanted roof and missing floorboards, dust and the musky smell of time are behind her, she falls to her knees in the dirt, a little cloud of dust lightly jumping into the air around her torn woolen skirt. Praying to the Father to forgive for her hatred of an innocent child that does not know better, the child allows herself to ask for one selfish favor: “Please Father, let my mother love me once again.” Standing up and dusting off what little dirt she can from the woven fabric, the little girl runs out into the prairie which surrounds her little shack. With wind blowing and the moon shining brightly above her, the child forgets her rough life for just a few moments and enjoys the feel of the breeze as it lightly caresses her untamed, curly hair, pulling more curls loose of the braid she daily wore.
***
I.
She kneels in glow of the candle light that flickers across the aged walls with peeling paint, the virgin, the son, and the cross. In the shadowy creases of her wrinkled face, years of wisdom and wrong doings leak out of every pore, filling the rough and used pews and ancient hymn books with confessions of mistakes. Arthritic hands grasp each other as knuckles turn white and the lips- dry and cracked- rustle against each other as whispered words quickly leave her mouth, pushed out by the lash of her tongue. Silvery hair with touches of black hangs on either side of a long and narrow face, disheveled and wind-blown on a no-wind night. Eyelids closed so tightly they wrinkle and the eyeballs underneath can be seen darting back and forth as if reading a line of confessions that spew from her mouth. A sudden gasp of air, eyes snap open and pierce the dark touched by candle light with eyes the color of ice- blind, but seeing. Shudders escape her and the tiny frail body shakes. Collapsing at the altar, she stares into darkness, into blind faith.
II.
She stands up feeling the joints in her knees start to move, groaning from the pain, the joints bracing themselves for the weight of the frail woman’s body. As her back straightens and her hand instantly and instinctively reaches around to grasp her lower back, her other hand adjusts her dark shawl- velvet?- and she turns. As she crosses herself during her first few steps away from the altar, she pauses and turns around. Bending her head towards the virgin, she slowly raises her eyes, brow furrowed, and a single tear falls from the outside corner of her eye, soon followed by many more. One weak, unsteady step after the other, using the pews as her canes, she makes her way towards the door. Tears stream down her wrinkled and weathered face; as they drip, hands as old as the Church grasp the pew backs- blue veins creating maps of her life cover her hands and knuckles protrude from the almost transparent skin. As she makes her way towards me, the door, she stops at the last pew, straightens, and walks towards me, a look of sadness, cool reserve, and time lost covering her once beautiful face.
III.
The cold of her fingertips as they brush against the outside of my cold, hard, yet embracing wood would send shivers up and down each crack and each sliver of me if I could shiver. I can almost feel the rigidness and hardened shell she puts on as she enters the world of hardship and suffering, leaving the safety of the Church. With the brush of those fingertips is the loss of hope and trust and faith left behind, one last time. She stops just short of the first step and pulls the dark shawl tighter around her frail body, ties a dark gray veil around her head, and braces with the little bit of strength left, her against the wind. The last day of summer passed long ago, taking with it the greens and sunny skies, leaving in its wake instead the reds and oranges and browns, the clouds, and the cool days. Her first step onto the stairs is unsteady, staggering, weak. But as each step is taken, the veiled head slowly rises, the slender, slightly crooked with time shoulders pull back, and by the last step just before the sidewalk lined with gas lamps shining small circles of yellowish light on the cobblestone streets, she has pulled all her remaining strength from the depths inside of her ancient and stolen body. She turns to the right and slowly makes her way down the uneven sidewalk, looking up only once when a gentleman walks by and tips his hat her way.
***
“Mama! Mama! Look at what I caught, Mama! Look! A firefly. Isn’t it beautiful, Mama?”
“Hush, child. The baby is sleeping. Now run along with your little lighted bugs, do not bother me with such insolent things. Go!”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
Slowly making her way out of what was once a happy room for both her and her mother, the child’s face is rigid and cold, steeled against any emotion. As soon as she closes the heavy wooden door with a click she lets her tears fall. As tiny tanned fingers with nails outlined in a few days’ dirt quickly and harshly rub the almond shaped brown eyes, a tight curl of black hair falls out of place. Frustrated with the new baby, hatred boiling inside of her, the young child feels a tinge of guilt and once she is outside the rickety old house with a slanted roof and missing floorboards, dust and the musky smell of time are behind her, she falls to her knees in the dirt, a little cloud of dust lightly jumping into the air around her torn woolen skirt. Praying to the Father to forgive for her hatred of an innocent child that does not know better, the child allows herself to ask for one selfish favor: “Please Father, let my mother love me once again.” Standing up and dusting off what little dirt she can from the woven fabric, the little girl runs out into the prairie which surrounds her little shack. With wind blowing and the moon shining brightly above her, the child forgets her rough life for just a few moments and enjoys the feel of the breeze as it lightly caresses her untamed, curly hair, pulling more curls loose of the braid she daily wore.
***
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Whover Said Applying for Scholarships Was Easy Was So Wrong
I recently was accepted into Scuola Lorenzo de'Medici in Florence, Italy. I will be studying the Italian language and taking two courses - Travel Writing and The Age of the Heroes: Iliad, Odyssey, Aeneid, and the Origin of Western Literature. I'm really excited for my classes and to be back in Italy. Since I will not be living on campus at my current university in Wisconsin, I have lost almost half the financial aid I normally get. I am not someone who comes from a background of a lot of money, nor do my parents pay for my schooling. I am a scholarship student and I only usually take out two loans totaling only $7,000 a year. I do not have a job as the economy sucks and its even worse for college students. Jobs are available, but no one wants to hire a college student for only two months when they can hire an unemployed mother/father who has mouths to feed and bills to pay. Don't get me wrong, I think those people deserve a job more than I do, however it would be nice for someone to hire me, even if it is just a few hours a day. Today I have been online searching for scholarships since 2pm. It is now 5pm. I have found nothing. No scholarships from my school, no scholarships for English majors studying abroad, no grants. Where is all this money that is available? I'm starting to get very angry and very annoyed. I have two weeks to come up with $650 for a deposit and two months to come up with $15,000 for tuition, not to mention at least $5-6,000 for misc. expenses. I'm becoming worried that my dream of studying abroad is about to slip right through my fingers.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Around the World and Back
Hello!!!
I haven't posted in so long but every day I think about my blog...kind of sad. Haha. BUT I have been busy with school (well I was busy at the beginning of May) with finals, then I went home for one week and unpacked and packed again because I left for Sicily/Italy on Friday 15th! What a beautiful place!!! The people in Sicily are gorgeous and so kind and the cultural is beautiful! I decided that I really don't like America too much after being overseas. I mean really now, Americans are so driven that they don't really take the time to do anything, like smell the roses. I mean that literally, too. The flowers in Sicily: I wanted to breathe in that air all day, every day for the rest of my life. I stayed in this town in the cliffs above the Mediterranean (of course, right? A small, cliff side town in Sicily) called Taormina. Talk about ancient! Est. in 550 BC. I felt blessed. Though I'm atheist, haha. Anyway, then, I stayed a week in Rome. I did not like it. Rome was too commercialized, too American. I felt like I was in New York City again. All the Italian I had learned wasn't used at all in Rome and I forgot most of it. However, I am currently applying to school in Florence for the fall and I hope I get in!
I haven't posted in so long but every day I think about my blog...kind of sad. Haha. BUT I have been busy with school (well I was busy at the beginning of May) with finals, then I went home for one week and unpacked and packed again because I left for Sicily/Italy on Friday 15th! What a beautiful place!!! The people in Sicily are gorgeous and so kind and the cultural is beautiful! I decided that I really don't like America too much after being overseas. I mean really now, Americans are so driven that they don't really take the time to do anything, like smell the roses. I mean that literally, too. The flowers in Sicily: I wanted to breathe in that air all day, every day for the rest of my life. I stayed in this town in the cliffs above the Mediterranean (of course, right? A small, cliff side town in Sicily) called Taormina. Talk about ancient! Est. in 550 BC. I felt blessed. Though I'm atheist, haha. Anyway, then, I stayed a week in Rome. I did not like it. Rome was too commercialized, too American. I felt like I was in New York City again. All the Italian I had learned wasn't used at all in Rome and I forgot most of it. However, I am currently applying to school in Florence for the fall and I hope I get in!
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Outdoors Collection
Woken up by shaking hand
Pulled outside into the night
Sky so black and vast
Millions of stars dot the sky
Already feeling like one in a trillion
Feeling insignificant
Staring at the skies above
Never ending darkness swallows whole
White sheet of shimmer
Banner waving across the sky
Rainbows in the dark
Terrified to keep looking
Too awed to look away
Standing at the end of the drive
Staring at the fields that go for miles
Watching this banner wave
Swallow up my sky in unearthly beauty
Glad that you woke me up for this
I’m happy to have shared it with you.
There is this place that I went
once as a child in the mountains.
I had to hike to the top of the first peak
and on my back I carried bear spray and
trail mix and a wind jacket.
Thousands of feet up I took a rest and
I looked out over the wilderness.
The fog covered the little town below me
and part of the ocean was covered too.
If I looked up the horizon I saw the volcano
surrounded in clouds just like in the pictures.
But I climbed on to the second peak and
when I reached the top I saw the world.
I wasn’t going to go further to the third peak
for that would take a day to do.
I saw a square rock ahead of me
as I walked to it I saw another hiker come up
the other side and place a smaller rock on the big stone.
I looked to my uncle and I was handed a rock—
small, black, smooth, oval.
I was told to place it there
I wish I could remember why.
Maybe I was leaving my mark
and telling others of my journey up.
Maybe I was participating in an
Alaskan native tradition.
I don’t know.
I remember turning around
sitting on a stone and eating my sandwich.
I remember the fog slowly disappearing
the little town below with tin roofs appearing
out of nowhere and the ocean becoming visible.
I remember feeling refreshed
privileged to be a part of something so beautiful.
I wish I could remember where they were
those mountains with smiling faces imprinted
that only smiled in the summer time.
I think they were in the same area
with the mountains that had dinosaur fossils
that I could see in the side of the mountain wall.
I wish I could remember more clearly my trip
to the top of a mountain with my aunt
when I was younger.
I can recall the flowers, the sun, the trees, the heat,
the sweat, the sweet smell of tree bark and new grasses.
I remember the breeze, soft and warm
and I can still feel the lightness I felt
when I reached the high point.
I can taste the trail mix and grapes
the crispness of water and
I can still see clear as day
the city that lay below us as we
knelt on a fallen tree.
I wish I could go back to the time
when I climbed the big tree in the backyard
or when I swung on the tire swing up in the hills.
I wish I could go back to that park with white trees
and sit in the river and lay in the sun
with my mom and brother.
I wish I could go back to the river in the mountain
where the water was teal and so clear
and the rocks were white
like crystals and there were even aquamarine-colored ones.
I wish I could go back to the swimming pools
that were heated and tasted like salt
and were green and the hotel was famous
I think because a president stayed there.
I wish that I could go back to the playground
back to the swing set
back to the slide and back to the merry-go-round.
I remember being terrified of the vastness
the grandeur
the majesty
the height
the danger
of the mountains I lived in.
I was only afraid in the dark
when I would ride in the window seat
and I would not be able to see the mountain.
I just knew it was there
looming over our car
as if it were going to eat me up.
I always imagined scary cavemen running
out of the woods at our car screaming.
I remember the roads without the guardrails
or the tunnel we always passed through
with too many lanes.
I remember being scared to get stuck in the tunnel
blocked from the world by a landslide.
I remember the mountains.
I remember the beauty.
I remember them.
I remember almost everything.
Pulled outside into the night
Sky so black and vast
Millions of stars dot the sky
Already feeling like one in a trillion
Feeling insignificant
Staring at the skies above
Never ending darkness swallows whole
White sheet of shimmer
Banner waving across the sky
Rainbows in the dark
Terrified to keep looking
Too awed to look away
Standing at the end of the drive
Staring at the fields that go for miles
Watching this banner wave
Swallow up my sky in unearthly beauty
Glad that you woke me up for this
I’m happy to have shared it with you.
There is this place that I went
once as a child in the mountains.
I had to hike to the top of the first peak
and on my back I carried bear spray and
trail mix and a wind jacket.
Thousands of feet up I took a rest and
I looked out over the wilderness.
The fog covered the little town below me
and part of the ocean was covered too.
If I looked up the horizon I saw the volcano
surrounded in clouds just like in the pictures.
But I climbed on to the second peak and
when I reached the top I saw the world.
I wasn’t going to go further to the third peak
for that would take a day to do.
I saw a square rock ahead of me
as I walked to it I saw another hiker come up
the other side and place a smaller rock on the big stone.
I looked to my uncle and I was handed a rock—
small, black, smooth, oval.
I was told to place it there
I wish I could remember why.
Maybe I was leaving my mark
and telling others of my journey up.
Maybe I was participating in an
Alaskan native tradition.
I don’t know.
I remember turning around
sitting on a stone and eating my sandwich.
I remember the fog slowly disappearing
the little town below with tin roofs appearing
out of nowhere and the ocean becoming visible.
I remember feeling refreshed
privileged to be a part of something so beautiful.
I wish I could remember where they were
those mountains with smiling faces imprinted
that only smiled in the summer time.
I think they were in the same area
with the mountains that had dinosaur fossils
that I could see in the side of the mountain wall.
I wish I could remember more clearly my trip
to the top of a mountain with my aunt
when I was younger.
I can recall the flowers, the sun, the trees, the heat,
the sweat, the sweet smell of tree bark and new grasses.
I remember the breeze, soft and warm
and I can still feel the lightness I felt
when I reached the high point.
I can taste the trail mix and grapes
the crispness of water and
I can still see clear as day
the city that lay below us as we
knelt on a fallen tree.
I wish I could go back to the time
when I climbed the big tree in the backyard
or when I swung on the tire swing up in the hills.
I wish I could go back to that park with white trees
and sit in the river and lay in the sun
with my mom and brother.
I wish I could go back to the river in the mountain
where the water was teal and so clear
and the rocks were white
like crystals and there were even aquamarine-colored ones.
I wish I could go back to the swimming pools
that were heated and tasted like salt
and were green and the hotel was famous
I think because a president stayed there.
I wish that I could go back to the playground
back to the swing set
back to the slide and back to the merry-go-round.
I remember being terrified of the vastness
the grandeur
the majesty
the height
the danger
of the mountains I lived in.
I was only afraid in the dark
when I would ride in the window seat
and I would not be able to see the mountain.
I just knew it was there
looming over our car
as if it were going to eat me up.
I always imagined scary cavemen running
out of the woods at our car screaming.
I remember the roads without the guardrails
or the tunnel we always passed through
with too many lanes.
I remember being scared to get stuck in the tunnel
blocked from the world by a landslide.
I remember the mountains.
I remember the beauty.
I remember them.
I remember almost everything.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
2050
Did you know that currently the human population is around 6 billion people? The earth's crust can only hold so much weight before it breaks. The more people we add, which is three people born per second, the more weight we add. Why do people insist on having such big families? I understand the religious values of procreation, but honestly people! Get your heads out of the sand! Look around! Do you really need more than two children of your own? There are thousands upon thousands of children that need to be adopted all over the world. Stop being so selfish.
Every second, three people are born > every day 1/4 million people are born > every year 77 million people are born. It is estimated that by 2050, the human population with be between 8.5 and 10 billion people. 10 BILLION PEOPLE. That is crazy! Yet, here we are, congratulating people who have 10 kids or more. Why? I look at those people and think "What are you doing?!" Can these people afford those kids? Not just financially, but emotionally...can these people give love to each child equally? I don't know. Our birth-death rate used to be equal. Now, our birth rate is higher than the death rate. Actually, the death rate does not even come close to matching the birth rate.
If humans continue to grow then we will take over the planet. Natural habitats will disappear. Our food sources will disappear. Our oxygen sources will disappear. Our lands for agriculture will become land for cities and housing developments. Smog will not only be in the biggest cities, but will cover the entire planet. Our planet will look disgusting. Our water undrinkable.
What are we doing? What are we thinking? What kind of world are we preparing for ourselves? For our children? For their children? What will we do to save the planet? What will we do to save our lives?
Every second, three people are born > every day 1/4 million people are born > every year 77 million people are born. It is estimated that by 2050, the human population with be between 8.5 and 10 billion people. 10 BILLION PEOPLE. That is crazy! Yet, here we are, congratulating people who have 10 kids or more. Why? I look at those people and think "What are you doing?!" Can these people afford those kids? Not just financially, but emotionally...can these people give love to each child equally? I don't know. Our birth-death rate used to be equal. Now, our birth rate is higher than the death rate. Actually, the death rate does not even come close to matching the birth rate.
If humans continue to grow then we will take over the planet. Natural habitats will disappear. Our food sources will disappear. Our oxygen sources will disappear. Our lands for agriculture will become land for cities and housing developments. Smog will not only be in the biggest cities, but will cover the entire planet. Our planet will look disgusting. Our water undrinkable.
What are we doing? What are we thinking? What kind of world are we preparing for ourselves? For our children? For their children? What will we do to save the planet? What will we do to save our lives?
Sorrow
Growing up being told no.
Hearing that he can’t.
Knowing that he could.
If only he had the support.
Slowly losing the ability to believe.
In himself he loses his heart.
His eyes lose that spark.
He becomes dead inside.
No longer caring about life.
Little boy and young man.
No hope for what lies ahead.
Pain and suffering never expressed.
Growing up being told no.
Hearing that he can’t.
Knowing that he could.
If only he had the support.
If only we had known.
Our words and actions say so much.
We play such big parts in a child’s life.
Never noticing the influence we have.
Knowing that it could hurt.
Not caring if it does.
Learning lessons is hard for us.
Children know more than we think.
Saying no and saying can’t.
Breaking down a child’s dreams.
If only we had listened.
If only we had seen.
Our words meant so much.
Our actions told so much more.
If only he had the support.
Hearing that he can’t.
Knowing that he could.
If only he had the support.
Slowly losing the ability to believe.
In himself he loses his heart.
His eyes lose that spark.
He becomes dead inside.
No longer caring about life.
Little boy and young man.
No hope for what lies ahead.
Pain and suffering never expressed.
Growing up being told no.
Hearing that he can’t.
Knowing that he could.
If only he had the support.
If only we had known.
Our words and actions say so much.
We play such big parts in a child’s life.
Never noticing the influence we have.
Knowing that it could hurt.
Not caring if it does.
Learning lessons is hard for us.
Children know more than we think.
Saying no and saying can’t.
Breaking down a child’s dreams.
If only we had listened.
If only we had seen.
Our words meant so much.
Our actions told so much more.
If only he had the support.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Poet
Every moment of my day a thought crosses
I write it down as soon as I can
Every conversation is inspiration
I write about it later
Every ray of sunlight streaming through the trees
I create a line or two instantly
Every person I know
I write about in some way
Every feeling felt
I portray here on paper
Every feeling not felt
I imagine and then write it here on paper
Every sound and touch
I remember through my pen
Every thing
I write.
I write it down as soon as I can
Every conversation is inspiration
I write about it later
Every ray of sunlight streaming through the trees
I create a line or two instantly
Every person I know
I write about in some way
Every feeling felt
I portray here on paper
Every feeling not felt
I imagine and then write it here on paper
Every sound and touch
I remember through my pen
Every thing
I write.
Spot of Time
I knew going in I was taking a risk
I can’t believe I’m about to do this
But I did it anyway
Just take the dive
The sensations…
I feel like I could fly away
Were amazing
My stomach is tickling inside
I sensed immortality
Oh my god this is life
I felt my feet touch the ground
Is it over already?
I felt mortality surround me
No regrets.
I can’t believe I’m about to do this
But I did it anyway
Just take the dive
The sensations…
I feel like I could fly away
Were amazing
My stomach is tickling inside
I sensed immortality
Oh my god this is life
I felt my feet touch the ground
Is it over already?
I felt mortality surround me
No regrets.
Sky Fire
I looked up at the sky
waiting for the moment
when the sky would fall
and fire would rain down.
I stood in the same spot
feeling the breeze sweep by
and I waited patiently as
my heart pounded excitedly.
I waited to be a part of history
for a special moment of life
to become a spot of memory
and watch beauty appear.
I stared with a silly smile
as I grabbed your arm
and I pointed to the sky
to the stars above.
I laughed out loud
jumped for joy
and laid down on the grass
staring intently at falling fire.
I fell in love with the sky
that night in the country
just out of reach of the yard light
while watching the beauty of the universe.
waiting for the moment
when the sky would fall
and fire would rain down.
I stood in the same spot
feeling the breeze sweep by
and I waited patiently as
my heart pounded excitedly.
I waited to be a part of history
for a special moment of life
to become a spot of memory
and watch beauty appear.
I stared with a silly smile
as I grabbed your arm
and I pointed to the sky
to the stars above.
I laughed out loud
jumped for joy
and laid down on the grass
staring intently at falling fire.
I fell in love with the sky
that night in the country
just out of reach of the yard light
while watching the beauty of the universe.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Update
I haven't posted anything for quite sometime now, but I haven't forgotten! I have somethings I could post but I'm tweaking them and I am working on a short story-type thing. It is kind of like a journal but not really. I am writing about love and the types of love seen everyday in the world. Hopefully I can finish it soon. Let me know if you like it or not when I put it up! Happy Spring!
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Meh R's Dos
Be my heart’s keeper, my rain maker, my umbrella holder, my sunshine commander, my goodnight kisser, my I-need-to-lean-on-you shoulder, my lover, my breath taker, my tear wiper, caregiver, my one-and-only dream maker, nightmare catcher, my butterfly creator, my side tickler, laughter buyer, my true inspirer.
I clearly had rhyme schemes on my mind all day yesterday. haha.
I clearly had rhyme schemes on my mind all day yesterday. haha.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Meh R's
Just a funny poem that I made up sitting here...
I’m a coffee drinker
Cigarette smoker
I swear like a sailor
Risk taker
I’m a partier
I’m a dancer
Laugh maker
Smile creator
I’m a non-believer
Orgasm faker
HAHAHAHAHA
Had to throw that one in there
Joke maker
Big scene taker
Legalize it supporter
Sad movie sucker
Not a Spanish speaker
I’m a picture taker
Not so much a baker
I heart tators
Auto-correct hater
Spell-check lover
Not a studier
Or a Shakespeare taker
I’m an English major
Not a follower
Own path builder
Clarinet player
Shower singer
Lover not a hater
Fountain wisher
A communicator
Ok mediator
LGBT Rights supporter
Dislike the mumbler
All-day sleeper
Playground swinger
The world my inspirer
Pretty good kisser
Hug giver
I’m a cuddler
Journal keeper
Poetic seeker
That’s enough of me in here.
I’m a coffee drinker
Cigarette smoker
I swear like a sailor
Risk taker
I’m a partier
I’m a dancer
Laugh maker
Smile creator
I’m a non-believer
Orgasm faker
HAHAHAHAHA
Had to throw that one in there
Joke maker
Big scene taker
Legalize it supporter
Sad movie sucker
Not a Spanish speaker
I’m a picture taker
Not so much a baker
I heart tators
Auto-correct hater
Spell-check lover
Not a studier
Or a Shakespeare taker
I’m an English major
Not a follower
Own path builder
Clarinet player
Shower singer
Lover not a hater
Fountain wisher
A communicator
Ok mediator
LGBT Rights supporter
Dislike the mumbler
All-day sleeper
Playground swinger
The world my inspirer
Pretty good kisser
Hug giver
I’m a cuddler
Journal keeper
Poetic seeker
That’s enough of me in here.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
What is a great writer?
There are many responses to this question. If I ask my professors, they will list off the classics: Shakespeare, Coleridge, Wordsworth, Keats, Shelley, etc. Yes, these men are great. I love reading their stuff, except Shakespeare. I think he is a genius, but honestly, just say what you mean! (haha) But I'm not asking "who is a great writer" I am asking "what is a great writer." To this, I don't know what they would say. My friends say that a great writer is someone who can write with feeling, can take something bland and make it beautiful. I agree, this would constitute a pretty good writer. However, i think that a great writer can write something without feelings too. I write about things that I do not experience, most likely will not experience. But I try to put myself in that person's shoes, in that moment, and I write what I would think I would feel. Usually, when I write, I cannot write when I am emotional. I have to wait awhile. To me, a great writer is someone that can make you think that they are feeling everything that they write on paper, when in reality, they may not have felt or experienced this at all. I believe a great writer can write about anything. They can look at a pencil and write 50 lines about its "beauty." They can hear a conversation and take just a few lines and turn it into a story. To me, these are great writers. My friends don't necessarily agree. I guess the question still stands: What is a great writer?
Monday, February 16, 2009
My Friend is in Iraq
Currently, I have one friend in Iraq, another in Nigeria, one in Germany, and another getting ready to leave for training in Georgia. I got two letters from my friend Chris in Iraq, a response to my last letter and a Valentine's Day card. Staring at these two items on my desk, I thought about those out there that have had to lose someone close due to war. My ex is getting ready for training in Georgia and I am so nervous that he will be sent out right away. I'm not happy about him joining. I'm not very happy with the war in general.
I.
A note.
No.
A telegram.
My fear.
A single shed tear.
Love lost.
Memory left.
War.
My heart.
Broken.
You.
No.
A flag.
Triangle.
Stars and Stripes.
Guns shooting.
For memory.
For honor.
Pain.
Too deep.
Torn.
Numb.
Soldier.
Brother.
Father.
Husband.
Mine.
Good bye.
II.
What did he do?
What did he do?
He moves on.
He moves on.
What he did do
moves on.
Shot through the heart.
Shot through the heart.
Telegram at the door.
Telegram at the door.
The telegram shot through the door
At the heart.
Soldiers and funerals full of tears.
Soldiers and funerals full of tears.
Fallen flags are folded.
Fallen flags are folded.
Folded flags are fallen tears
And funerals full of soldiers.
Mother and Father weeps.
Mother and Father weeps.
The Medals for honor held in hand.
The Medals for honor held in hand.
In hand and honor weeps
Medals for the Mother and Father.
What Father did do, Mother weeps for
In hand and honor are
Of the fallen soldiers
Shot through the heart
The telegram full of tears
At the door he moves on
Funerals, medals, and folded flags.
III.
Fill an envelope with your words
And just a few grains of sand or dirt.
Let me know that you’re ok
That you can feel my love far away.
I wait for your letter to arrive
Days and days go by.
Someone at the door
Is it me they implore?
The floor falls away
Becoming free fall.
Men in suit
Letter in hand.
Sorry Ma’am
Walk away.
Children come running
See the yellow paper.
Tears fall down little faces
Within their hearts empty spaces.
Lay in bed
Sleep and dream.
Birthdays and anniversaries
First times and baby kisses.
Shake with every shot
Men and guns in suits.
Watch as two little hands
Drop the dirt.
Not understanding
That Daddy won’t come back again.
I.
A note.
No.
A telegram.
My fear.
A single shed tear.
Love lost.
Memory left.
War.
My heart.
Broken.
You.
No.
A flag.
Triangle.
Stars and Stripes.
Guns shooting.
For memory.
For honor.
Pain.
Too deep.
Torn.
Numb.
Soldier.
Brother.
Father.
Husband.
Mine.
Good bye.
II.
What did he do?
What did he do?
He moves on.
He moves on.
What he did do
moves on.
Shot through the heart.
Shot through the heart.
Telegram at the door.
Telegram at the door.
The telegram shot through the door
At the heart.
Soldiers and funerals full of tears.
Soldiers and funerals full of tears.
Fallen flags are folded.
Fallen flags are folded.
Folded flags are fallen tears
And funerals full of soldiers.
Mother and Father weeps.
Mother and Father weeps.
The Medals for honor held in hand.
The Medals for honor held in hand.
In hand and honor weeps
Medals for the Mother and Father.
What Father did do, Mother weeps for
In hand and honor are
Of the fallen soldiers
Shot through the heart
The telegram full of tears
At the door he moves on
Funerals, medals, and folded flags.
III.
Fill an envelope with your words
And just a few grains of sand or dirt.
Let me know that you’re ok
That you can feel my love far away.
I wait for your letter to arrive
Days and days go by.
Someone at the door
Is it me they implore?
The floor falls away
Becoming free fall.
Men in suit
Letter in hand.
Sorry Ma’am
Walk away.
Children come running
See the yellow paper.
Tears fall down little faces
Within their hearts empty spaces.
Lay in bed
Sleep and dream.
Birthdays and anniversaries
First times and baby kisses.
Shake with every shot
Men and guns in suits.
Watch as two little hands
Drop the dirt.
Not understanding
That Daddy won’t come back again.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Worldy Order
Sister Sun and Mother Moon
Brother Earth and Father Time
All four sat in their respective positions
Watching as intruders destroyed
What they had created.
Sister Sun shined down on Brother Earth
Telling him of what she saw
And as Brother Earth shed his tears
Upon the dark, black dirt
Attempting to clean what had been made dirty
He became angry and wiped away the buildings
The cars, the power lines, the houses, even some intruders.
And Sister Sun shined brighter
Burning those that took advantage of her light
And those that took advantage of her brother.
Mother Moon came out and sadly draped her son in dark
As Sister Sun went to sleep
Mother Moon put the creatures to rest
Calming Brother Earth.
And Father Time and Mother Moon
Conversed of the past when all was right
Between Brother Earth and Sister Sun.
Mother Moon tipped her face to Brother Earth
As Father Time sadly, reluctantly moved on
Waking those that made Family Life miserable.
And Brother Earth was mad again
As he was mad everyday
And Sister Sun shined on
Brighter and brighter
As Mother Moon rested
And Father Time kept moving.
Brother Earth and Father Time
All four sat in their respective positions
Watching as intruders destroyed
What they had created.
Sister Sun shined down on Brother Earth
Telling him of what she saw
And as Brother Earth shed his tears
Upon the dark, black dirt
Attempting to clean what had been made dirty
He became angry and wiped away the buildings
The cars, the power lines, the houses, even some intruders.
And Sister Sun shined brighter
Burning those that took advantage of her light
And those that took advantage of her brother.
Mother Moon came out and sadly draped her son in dark
As Sister Sun went to sleep
Mother Moon put the creatures to rest
Calming Brother Earth.
And Father Time and Mother Moon
Conversed of the past when all was right
Between Brother Earth and Sister Sun.
Mother Moon tipped her face to Brother Earth
As Father Time sadly, reluctantly moved on
Waking those that made Family Life miserable.
And Brother Earth was mad again
As he was mad everyday
And Sister Sun shined on
Brighter and brighter
As Mother Moon rested
And Father Time kept moving.
Violins
Have you ever watched a violin?
the slow glide that slips over the strings
the waving of the wrist to sustain a note
the sharpness of the bow when struck into the air
like the instrument has a mind of its own
making a point to the audience
Have you ever watched the violinist?
how they sway to the music
feeling and caressing their instrument
closing their eyes during the slowest moments
the most beautiful moments
and suddenly opening them
staring intently at the score as
they move their rigid arms so fast
sliding the bow up and down
in every angle
I have watched a violin
seen the music become an instrument
and the instrument become the music
I have watched a violinist
seen the body become the instrument
and the instrument become the body
And I have watched them both become one
And I have seen beauty.
the slow glide that slips over the strings
the waving of the wrist to sustain a note
the sharpness of the bow when struck into the air
like the instrument has a mind of its own
making a point to the audience
Have you ever watched the violinist?
how they sway to the music
feeling and caressing their instrument
closing their eyes during the slowest moments
the most beautiful moments
and suddenly opening them
staring intently at the score as
they move their rigid arms so fast
sliding the bow up and down
in every angle
I have watched a violin
seen the music become an instrument
and the instrument become the music
I have watched a violinist
seen the body become the instrument
and the instrument become the body
And I have watched them both become one
And I have seen beauty.
Believing
What if each soul was a star?
That every glimmer in the sky at night
was a new soul added to the collection
of Eternity.
What if it is true that each person born
already has a past life
and that past life has a past life?
Every smile was already smiled
every laugh, laughed
every tear shed.
What if our entire life is a dream?
That every moment, every person
doesn’t exist yet, hasn’t been met yet.
What if all this were true?
Every life had a past
and every life has already experienced
everything
and when we look to the skies for comfort
look to the stars for advice
we are really just looking into ourselves
we are really just listening to a dream.
That every glimmer in the sky at night
was a new soul added to the collection
of Eternity.
What if it is true that each person born
already has a past life
and that past life has a past life?
Every smile was already smiled
every laugh, laughed
every tear shed.
What if our entire life is a dream?
That every moment, every person
doesn’t exist yet, hasn’t been met yet.
What if all this were true?
Every life had a past
and every life has already experienced
everything
and when we look to the skies for comfort
look to the stars for advice
we are really just looking into ourselves
we are really just listening to a dream.
My Secret
Some people know exactly who they are.
Knowledge of themselves makes them strong.
Others seem to just drift around the world.
Float between persons.
Float between lives.
Float between distinction.
I do not know who I am.
I do not know who I was.
I do not know who I am becoming.
I do know who I want to be.
True.
There is no right.
There is no wrong.
Just like there is no such thing as perfection.
My life is not perfect.
My life is incomplete.
Puzzle pieces.
Troubled minds seem to search.
Look back and forth.
Seek what is not there.
Digging for a truth.
Breaking boundaries.
Transcending mental barriers.
Acceptance is not gained.
Rejection is retained.
I’m sorry for being me.
I’m sorry for being the truth.
I’m sorry for lying.
You do not know me.
You did not know me.
You will not know me.
You will reject me.
You will forget me.
You will remember me.
Riddles are human nature.
Sarcasms seem to rule our dialogue.
Forget your values.
Forget your truths.
Forget everything.
Except for today.
Remember today.
Remember what I told you.
My truth.
Knowledge of themselves makes them strong.
Others seem to just drift around the world.
Float between persons.
Float between lives.
Float between distinction.
I do not know who I am.
I do not know who I was.
I do not know who I am becoming.
I do know who I want to be.
True.
There is no right.
There is no wrong.
Just like there is no such thing as perfection.
My life is not perfect.
My life is incomplete.
Puzzle pieces.
Troubled minds seem to search.
Look back and forth.
Seek what is not there.
Digging for a truth.
Breaking boundaries.
Transcending mental barriers.
Acceptance is not gained.
Rejection is retained.
I’m sorry for being me.
I’m sorry for being the truth.
I’m sorry for lying.
You do not know me.
You did not know me.
You will not know me.
You will reject me.
You will forget me.
You will remember me.
Riddles are human nature.
Sarcasms seem to rule our dialogue.
Forget your values.
Forget your truths.
Forget everything.
Except for today.
Remember today.
Remember what I told you.
My truth.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Pieces of Michael
I.
I realized our chests were rising and falling
at the same time
during the movie at the good parts
when the sad parts came his breathing changed
suddenly we were out of sync
I don’t know why this is important
this moment of our time together
somehow I think it is
somehow it is all connected.
II.
He didn’t know it at the time,
but everything he said
I was tucking away into my memory.
He didn’t know it at the time,
but every time I met his eyes with my own
I had to remind myself to not fall for him.
He didn’t know it at the time,
but when he kissed me
I wanted to cry.
He didn’t know it at the time,
but when he held my hand
I wanted to be his.
He didn’t know it at the time,
but when he finally fell asleep
I had accidentally fallen for him.
III.
And when I looked up
I saw this boy playing his guitar
Singing songs I could not hear
Reminding me of the last time
I listened to him sing a song
About a girl that was his sunshine
Like the childhood tune
And I smiled at this boy playing his guitar
Like it was nothing
As I sat there in awe of nothing
Watching the music flow out
Changing into beautiful lyrics
That I could barely hear
And I smiled because this boy had a beard
And shaggy blonde hair
And it was like sitting with the past
Reminding me of good times
And then I smiled because
I saw out the corner of my eye
The one I came to see
Looking at me.
IV.
This movie was sad.
I didn’t cry, but he did.
He tried to hide it, but I told him not to.
I thought it was cute.
I actually thought it was probably
the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen from a man.
Tears.
Silent tears.
I wanted to kiss them away.
V.
He asked me what I was thinking about.
You, I replied.
He asked what about me?
And I said everything you say, every touch;
I tuck it away into my memory so I can write about it.
It is what I do.
Weird, I know.
Yeh kinda.
That was his reply.
I realized our chests were rising and falling
at the same time
during the movie at the good parts
when the sad parts came his breathing changed
suddenly we were out of sync
I don’t know why this is important
this moment of our time together
somehow I think it is
somehow it is all connected.
II.
He didn’t know it at the time,
but everything he said
I was tucking away into my memory.
He didn’t know it at the time,
but every time I met his eyes with my own
I had to remind myself to not fall for him.
He didn’t know it at the time,
but when he kissed me
I wanted to cry.
He didn’t know it at the time,
but when he held my hand
I wanted to be his.
He didn’t know it at the time,
but when he finally fell asleep
I had accidentally fallen for him.
III.
And when I looked up
I saw this boy playing his guitar
Singing songs I could not hear
Reminding me of the last time
I listened to him sing a song
About a girl that was his sunshine
Like the childhood tune
And I smiled at this boy playing his guitar
Like it was nothing
As I sat there in awe of nothing
Watching the music flow out
Changing into beautiful lyrics
That I could barely hear
And I smiled because this boy had a beard
And shaggy blonde hair
And it was like sitting with the past
Reminding me of good times
And then I smiled because
I saw out the corner of my eye
The one I came to see
Looking at me.
IV.
This movie was sad.
I didn’t cry, but he did.
He tried to hide it, but I told him not to.
I thought it was cute.
I actually thought it was probably
the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen from a man.
Tears.
Silent tears.
I wanted to kiss them away.
V.
He asked me what I was thinking about.
You, I replied.
He asked what about me?
And I said everything you say, every touch;
I tuck it away into my memory so I can write about it.
It is what I do.
Weird, I know.
Yeh kinda.
That was his reply.
Michael
Everything goes the way you want it to eventually. Sometimes, like me, you just have to stop trying and let whatever it is come to you. I learned this last week and experienced something beautiful last night. I met this boy last spring, a year ago exactly. He was nothing I knew and everything I did not. He was special. He had something about him that I could not, and cannot, explain. He might have liked me, I don’t know. I’ll probably never know. I liked him. I have no idea why. He hurt me and I told him to have a nice life. I forgot about him for awhile, and then he popped into my mind one morning. He was my first thought and my last of that day. I saw him once this past fall. I never saw him again. I talked to him randomly. Then last week it happened. What I’ve wanted to happen for so long. He asked me over. Last night he picked me up. I forgot how much I liked his voice; not deep, not high, just right. I had forgotten how much his eyes made me want to kiss him every time I looked at them. I never forgot his smile though. Not once. His smile always seemed to start out as a smirk and turn into a full smile. We watched TV and he laughed so hard he cried. Then we went in his room and watched a movie. He cried then too. This movie was sad. I didn’t cry, but he did. He tried to hide it, but I told him not to. I thought it was cute. I actually thought it was probably the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen from a man. Tears. Silent tears. I wanted to kiss them away. I remember that in part of the movie, I realized that we were both breathing in perfect rhythm. I could hear him swallow. I could hear his heart. I wanted to feel his heart, so I put my hand over his chest and watched my hand move up into the air and back down; felt his heart beat against my hand. I felt life run through him. Exquisite. We watched TV with his friends some more. They all made me watch a show. They all thought it was funny when I asked if that was it, no more? I don’t know why. I didn’t think it was funny. I wanted to know. I was being serious. I listened to his roommate play music. It was beautiful, the guitar. I wanted to hear more, but then I caught his eyes watching me and he rolled his eyes towards the bedroom and I agreed with a smile. His roommate caught us and smiled knowingly. I grabbed the blankets off his couch and threw them onto his bed. He lay down next to me and held my hand while he watched the TV a little. I could have lain like that forever. Then he rolled over and stared at me, smiling. I could barely see him in the dark, but I could see his eyes and I stared back. He kissed my forehead, like he did before. He told me I was cute. He said he liked short hair in pony tails. I had short hair; it was in a pony tail. He asked me what I was thinking about. You, I replied. He asked what about me? And I said everything you say, every touch; I tuck it away into my memory so I can write about it. It is what I do. Weird, I know. Yeh kinda. That was his reply. I wanted him to look at me the way he looked at me right then for the rest of my life. Strange. Then his eyes smiled, because his smile faded as he leaned in to kiss me. I took his kiss and gave him mine in return. I’d forgotten the way his lips fit mine; so tender. I had forgotten that he took my breath away; that he made my heart beat too fast, like a hummingbird’s wings. Every few kisses we paused, our mouths open, just before our lips met, against each other, breathing; exchanging hot air. I forgot how much I missed kissing him. I had forgotten how much I wanted to be his; only his. When he rolled to be above me, I had never wanted anything more. I knew I was going to give myself to him. He kissed me with passion. Kissing my jaw line, my cheek, my lips, moving down my neck and to the top of my shirt. He kissed my lips some more, and I opened my eyes, staring at him, holding him, not wanting to let go. He pulled my shirt just high enough to kiss each side of the top of my pelvic bone, where I am most ticklish. I sat up and unzipped my sweater, slipped off my tank top, and became vulnerable to his eyes. His stare. I kissed him and pulled him down over me. Each kiss trailed down my neck and over my chest. I closed my eyes and relished every moment. Every touch of his sent chills down my spine and made my breath catch. As he kissed my cheek I whispered I’m nervous. Why? I’m with you. I’m nervous too. It will be okay. Just tell me if it is too much. I will. And then I watched him remove his clothes. I never watched a man get undressed before. I usually looked away. He was beautiful. Before he leaned down to kiss me, he said wow. I was so aware of every part of my body being exposed to someone else. I thought my heart was going to break my ribs beating so hard and fast. He kissed me and asked are you sure? I answered with a smile and a kiss. When he became a part of me, I…I can’t even explain what I felt. I just wanted to kiss him more. I wanted more of him and I wanted him to know. I wanted to be a part of him like he was of me. I tried to remember every touch, every kiss, every breath, every bite of the lip, every sound. I let all thoughts escape me and I let the moment over take me. I wanted to cry. I didn’t want to scare him though, so I just held it back. He stopped and asked if I was okay. I would never tell him I wanted to cry, so I said nothing and pulled him towards me for a kiss. Something built inside of me; something that felt like a tickle but was full of pressure. I had never felt anything like it. I clung to him, not knowing what to do. I was almost afraid. I figured out what it was and I smiled. I covered him in kisses, his neck, his cheek, and finally his lips. I wanted to be kissing him when it happened. I quickly wrapped my arms around his back and hugged him like I have never hugged before, letting all sound escape through my kiss and into him. He asked me if I was okay. He must have thought he had hurt me. I laughed and smiled and pulled him into another kiss, falling into an abyss of white. He knew. And when his time came shortly thereafter, I wanted to hold him again and I just stared at him as he was in his own world for moment. When our eyes met I wanted to kiss him and I did, over and over. I wanted to cry for this moment; this memory. I wanted to stay with him forever. And when he rolled over next to me, I lay my head down on his chest, syncing my breathing to his, listening to his heart, kissing his chest. He apologized for being done so soon, but said it was good. Was it good for you? Yes it was. I’m sorry again. It’s okay. I wanted to tell him that I had never had an orgasm before that night. I didn’t want to freak him out or anything. I probably wouldn’t have. He would have understood. We didn’t kiss again. We talked. We got dressed. We talked for a few more hours. I caressed his back, tracing his tattoo. I told him that he smelled the same. I love that smell. It reminds me of home, but mostly of him. He said I still smelled the same too. I reminisced spending the night with him last year. I didn’t sleep at all last night. I couldn’t keep my thoughts from slowing down. I kept looking at him. My feet got cold, so I pushed them between his calves and his feet started to tap my own. He was still asleep though. I wanted him to hold me, but I held him instead. I breathed in the smell of his skin, I tried to remember what his skin felt like against mine. I didn’t want to forget this amazing man that I don’t really know. He astounds me, inspires thought in me. I fell for him that night. I fell for him and I hope that he may feel even half of what I feel for him.
Monday, February 2, 2009
my next poem
I'm probably going to write a poem about this later, but currently, I am about to go out with this guy that I have wanted to go out with forever. Since I met him basically, a year ago! I can't believe it has been a year...wow. I have never been so nervous in life. omg...
Zimbabwe
Yesterday a friend of mine and I participated in a fast for Zimbabwe. The point of this fast was to feel what it is like to be "hungry" like those in poverty; to feel what it is like to want something that you can't have. Apathy. It is amazing, the feeling of hunger. I did not get hungry right away, in fact, I did not become hungry until mid-afternoon. Suddenly, I could not eat what I wanted to. I could not drink my daily cups of coffee, eat my clementine, have some cereal, make a sandwich. Nothing. The only thing that I allowed myself was access to water, as much as I wanted. Which I know that in not only Zimbabwe, but any country, those people do not always have water at arms reach. I even turned on the Zimbabwe radio broadcast via internet and listened to them speak of their government and the problems and daily suffering their people face every day and what they are or are not doing about it. This is amazing. This made me want to fast for a week. To really, truly start to feel "hungry." I read the organization web page, and I had to sign my name electronically, put where I'm from (country) and if I wanted to, to write a few words. I read through others' comments and found a site to go to. A song for Zimbabwe. It was beautiful. One woman singing, hoping, caring. At the top of the page, it said to light a candle every evening and think about those in Zimbabwe, to pray for those in Zimbabwe. I do not believe in god and religion, however, I do believe in feelings, true, pure feelings, and if I felt them strong enough, I could send them to those in Zimbabwe, those children, the mothers, the fathers. Everyone. I could send my love. Being a part of this fast was beautiful, in a way. Those people and their lives, listening to the radio broadcast, it was surreal. And for a day, forever, I will know, if only a little, what it is like to be at a disadvantage and be able to do nothing about it.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Love Is Old
I wrote this last semester, it is a little out there, I know. But I like it because it is open to whatever interpretation you want. My professor last semester, however, did not like it.
Love is old, love is new
Love is all, love is you
but all is old
And you are new
how old in age
But all so true
Love is old, love is new
Love is all, love is you.
You, the love that is new
And I, the love of old
Will all but dance the lovers’ tale
Though I have given the chance to
You, the love that is new
And I, the love of old.
But as hands intertwine
As the words spoken divine
Hushes of ‘I do’
Ring ah, but true.
Love like the old,
But embrace the new
All is you, as all is I
Like love’s new and old truth
All which in you now rings.
(Based on The Beatles piece, Because)
Love is old, love is new
Love is all, love is you
but all is old
And you are new
how old in age
But all so true
Love is old, love is new
Love is all, love is you.
You, the love that is new
And I, the love of old
Will all but dance the lovers’ tale
Though I have given the chance to
You, the love that is new
And I, the love of old.
But as hands intertwine
As the words spoken divine
Hushes of ‘I do’
Ring ah, but true.
Love like the old,
But embrace the new
All is you, as all is I
Like love’s new and old truth
All which in you now rings.
(Based on The Beatles piece, Because)
I haven't titled this yet...I can't seem to decide what to call it. It is a little rough but I like it the way it is. I think it should stay rough like it is, since this is a "in the moment" poem. However, I played with writing one poem from two angles.
I told her to close her eyes
I ran the tip of my finger across her eyelashes of black
feeling each one graze the print of my finger
watching as her eyes frantically moved under her lids
slightly flinching
I let my finger run down the bridge of her nose
from the middle of her brow to the tip
and then down to the bend in her lip
forming the curve of her mouth
her lips opened just a little
my finger an explorer feeling the intake of breath
and as I explored her lips
so soft and full not plump
she kissed my finger
if I had not been paying such close attention to her mouth
I would not have noticed
so soft was this kiss of breath
I continued my journey
down her chin
over the slight cleft
which she lifted
exposing her beautiful neck
dark because of light
but also because of who she is
and I felt her swallow nervously
my finger tip was joined by the rest of its companions
my hand glided down the plains of her chest
feeling the softness of the skin
until I felt the music beating from inside
and I rested my hand
concluding my journey
He laid me down and kissed my face
whispering to me to close my eyes
nervously I let my sight become veiled
and he ever so gently grazed my eyelashes
I could barely feel this loving touch
like when a petal is rubbed against the skin
barely felt except for knowing that it is happening
and he traced my nose from the top to the tip
and when he reached my lips he paused ever so slightly
I felt as his finger tip glided across my lip
over the curve and across the bottom
I have never felt anything with so much care
I inhaled suddenly
and I followed with a kiss to his finger
my lips tingled and wanted his own
as his finger left my mouth and slowly
climbed over my chin
I tilted my head slowly
exposing my bare neck
my vulnerability
and he traced adding to this feeling more fingers
and then he placed one finger after the other
across my chest
tracing my collar bone
gliding to my breast
pausing over my heart beat
resting over my love
I looked at her face and whispered open your eyes
and when she did she stared at the ceiling
as a smile slowly started to form
and she lowered her gaze to me
and when our eyes met
I saw my life begin
As I took a breath I heard him whisper to open my eyes
and when I did I stared at the ceiling
joy over taking every thought
I looked down at him
and when I looked into his eyes
I knew he was the one.
I told her to close her eyes
I ran the tip of my finger across her eyelashes of black
feeling each one graze the print of my finger
watching as her eyes frantically moved under her lids
slightly flinching
I let my finger run down the bridge of her nose
from the middle of her brow to the tip
and then down to the bend in her lip
forming the curve of her mouth
her lips opened just a little
my finger an explorer feeling the intake of breath
and as I explored her lips
so soft and full not plump
she kissed my finger
if I had not been paying such close attention to her mouth
I would not have noticed
so soft was this kiss of breath
I continued my journey
down her chin
over the slight cleft
which she lifted
exposing her beautiful neck
dark because of light
but also because of who she is
and I felt her swallow nervously
my finger tip was joined by the rest of its companions
my hand glided down the plains of her chest
feeling the softness of the skin
until I felt the music beating from inside
and I rested my hand
concluding my journey
He laid me down and kissed my face
whispering to me to close my eyes
nervously I let my sight become veiled
and he ever so gently grazed my eyelashes
I could barely feel this loving touch
like when a petal is rubbed against the skin
barely felt except for knowing that it is happening
and he traced my nose from the top to the tip
and when he reached my lips he paused ever so slightly
I felt as his finger tip glided across my lip
over the curve and across the bottom
I have never felt anything with so much care
I inhaled suddenly
and I followed with a kiss to his finger
my lips tingled and wanted his own
as his finger left my mouth and slowly
climbed over my chin
I tilted my head slowly
exposing my bare neck
my vulnerability
and he traced adding to this feeling more fingers
and then he placed one finger after the other
across my chest
tracing my collar bone
gliding to my breast
pausing over my heart beat
resting over my love
I looked at her face and whispered open your eyes
and when she did she stared at the ceiling
as a smile slowly started to form
and she lowered her gaze to me
and when our eyes met
I saw my life begin
As I took a breath I heard him whisper to open my eyes
and when I did I stared at the ceiling
joy over taking every thought
I looked down at him
and when I looked into his eyes
I knew he was the one.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
My Soul Mate Stranger
I met this guy at my friend Renae's party back in November, I think. I was unaware we had exchanged numbers that night until a day or two later I noticed his name in my contacts list. I then logged onto Facebook and realized that we were friends on there, too. I did not recall becoming friends with him. We didn't talk, ever, until this week, January. We chatted on Facebook first, and he said that I should read Cats Cradle. I said that I would have to get to B&N to read it. That I would "grab a comfy chair, a coffee, the book, and read it but not buy it." He said that he did the exact same thing and that he thought that he was the only one. I thought I was the only one, too. This got our conversation going. Last night, I was talking to him on the phone for five hours. Five hours! I asked him a book he would recommend, Cats Cradle. We talked about our favorite shows, which just happen to be the same; about our favorite foods, Apple Jacks vs. Life. He asked me what Beatles album I liked the most, White Album and Revolver of course, and he liked the same. We liked the same Beatles songs, we like the same bands. And if I didn't know a band that he was talking about, he recommended songs. I am now in love with Sigur Ros. He is burning me Zaireeka, which I am so jealous he has! I just couldn't believe it. He is the kind of guy that I would totally go after. We have so much in common, including, yes, our love of Harry Potter. But I would not, am not, going to go after him. He is just too cool. It just really sucks, because he is my soul mate, and a stranger.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Latest News!
This just in:
My article that I wrote on the President of Viterbo University and the current financial status is going to be front page news of the newspaper!
My next article will be on Dorothy Leonard, a Professor of Science running for Mayor. Another front page story for the next issue of Lumen.
My article that I wrote on the President of Viterbo University and the current financial status is going to be front page news of the newspaper!
My next article will be on Dorothy Leonard, a Professor of Science running for Mayor. Another front page story for the next issue of Lumen.
The Best Times
Inhale...
Exhale...
TENSION leaves and becomes
relaxation.
Thoughts disappear into nothing
while eccentric ideas begin to form.
Feelings of utter happiness blossom
from the inside like little butterflies
tickling the lining of the body.
Smiles spread across faces expressing
sheer joy over nothing.
Laughter fills the air around heads
rolling lazily from side to side.
Inhale...
Exhale...
Fall into bed.
Exhale...
TENSION leaves and becomes
relaxation.
Thoughts disappear into nothing
while eccentric ideas begin to form.
Feelings of utter happiness blossom
from the inside like little butterflies
tickling the lining of the body.
Smiles spread across faces expressing
sheer joy over nothing.
Laughter fills the air around heads
rolling lazily from side to side.
Inhale...
Exhale...
Fall into bed.
Lupus
Mom, I don't want to have kids.
The fact, the idea, of being told that I could die,
Just by being pregnant, or giving birth, like you almost did?
I - I just can't.
Why did you have to tell me?
Why would you think to tell me this?
Who are you? Who are you tell me such a terrible thing?
A common cold could kill me.
I could get pneumonia like you,
Almost every year.
Yes, because this makes me want to have kids, Mom.
I could cough blood on a daily basis,
I could have a heart attack when I'm 30.
Stress could kill me. Could weaken me.
Like it does you. But how do you do it?
You still live on.
You still face everyday no matter how grim or stressful,
Knowing that it could be your last if it need be.
Are you ready to die, Mom?
Are you ready to leave me? And Brady? And your husband?
How can you say you are?
I just don't understand. I'm more worried than you.
I want to have kids, my own kid. Like you did.
But I don't want to find out that I am like you.
That I could die...like you.
The fact, the idea, of being told that I could die,
Just by being pregnant, or giving birth, like you almost did?
I - I just can't.
Why did you have to tell me?
Why would you think to tell me this?
Who are you? Who are you tell me such a terrible thing?
A common cold could kill me.
I could get pneumonia like you,
Almost every year.
Yes, because this makes me want to have kids, Mom.
I could cough blood on a daily basis,
I could have a heart attack when I'm 30.
Stress could kill me. Could weaken me.
Like it does you. But how do you do it?
You still live on.
You still face everyday no matter how grim or stressful,
Knowing that it could be your last if it need be.
Are you ready to die, Mom?
Are you ready to leave me? And Brady? And your husband?
How can you say you are?
I just don't understand. I'm more worried than you.
I want to have kids, my own kid. Like you did.
But I don't want to find out that I am like you.
That I could die...like you.
Wonderment
Sometimes I wonder about things.
Do you? No. Oh. Okay.
Sometimes I wonder about the future.
What is my life going to be like in five years?
I hope I am in graduate school.
I hope I'm not engaged or pregnant or married.
It's weird, I know, to wonder these things.
To wish those three to happen.
But I would like them to happen
In order, of course.
I like the idea of being engaged.
I think I would be a cute pregnant lady.
I would be the one that puts big headphones
On her belly filled with classical music
So her baby is filled with music,
Just like her mother did when she was pregnant.
I am keeping my last name.
Did you know I am the last of my family name?
No. Really?
Yes, I am. Kind of crazy, don't you think?
I want a contemporary wedding.
I want to wear a crimson gown but with a lacy top and sleeves.
I'm not good with white colored clothes.
Sometimes I wonder about where I will be when I am old.
Like 50, maybe 55.
It scares me. I get all nervous inside. My heart races.
Will I be who I want to be? Will I have done what I wanted to do?
Seen what I wanted to see?
Or not? Will I have just slept though my life and then one day,
One day too soon, I'll wake up and say "Shit, what is this gray hair?"
Though I doubt I will have gray hair, very few people in my family do.
Ok...
I'm just saying, or rather trying to say, that I think of these thoughts,
These random moments in a person's life, my life.
I think about the day I die. I don't want to die.
If I could, you know, I would live forever.
I'm afraid of death. The thought of the unknown.
I live for not knowing, but that's just it, I live meaning I won't be dead afterward.
But to leave, to sleep forever, to never again see, smell, hear, taste life.
It's scary. And I can't wrap my mind around it. How do people say they are ready?
How can you be ready for the unknown?
I usually stop thinking about here, because it's too much to bear.
And I'm scared.
Do you? No. Oh. Okay.
Sometimes I wonder about the future.
What is my life going to be like in five years?
I hope I am in graduate school.
I hope I'm not engaged or pregnant or married.
It's weird, I know, to wonder these things.
To wish those three to happen.
But I would like them to happen
In order, of course.
I like the idea of being engaged.
I think I would be a cute pregnant lady.
I would be the one that puts big headphones
On her belly filled with classical music
So her baby is filled with music,
Just like her mother did when she was pregnant.
I am keeping my last name.
Did you know I am the last of my family name?
No. Really?
Yes, I am. Kind of crazy, don't you think?
I want a contemporary wedding.
I want to wear a crimson gown but with a lacy top and sleeves.
I'm not good with white colored clothes.
Sometimes I wonder about where I will be when I am old.
Like 50, maybe 55.
It scares me. I get all nervous inside. My heart races.
Will I be who I want to be? Will I have done what I wanted to do?
Seen what I wanted to see?
Or not? Will I have just slept though my life and then one day,
One day too soon, I'll wake up and say "Shit, what is this gray hair?"
Though I doubt I will have gray hair, very few people in my family do.
Ok...
I'm just saying, or rather trying to say, that I think of these thoughts,
These random moments in a person's life, my life.
I think about the day I die. I don't want to die.
If I could, you know, I would live forever.
I'm afraid of death. The thought of the unknown.
I live for not knowing, but that's just it, I live meaning I won't be dead afterward.
But to leave, to sleep forever, to never again see, smell, hear, taste life.
It's scary. And I can't wrap my mind around it. How do people say they are ready?
How can you be ready for the unknown?
I usually stop thinking about here, because it's too much to bear.
And I'm scared.
Abeo
She was my idol, my star, my future self.
Though I met her when I was only eight
And she 87,
I knew she was a great woman, an amazing woman.
Culture, wisdom, wealth, stature, life itself leaked from
every pore in her body
enveloping me in its sweet smell.
This woman was an artist, a Southern High Society woman,
brought up in a well-to-do Sicilian family out east.
She was the 'it' girl of her time.
Her trunks of fine clothes and jewelry,
her boxes of paintings that hung in galleries,
all of this was hers.
Eyes that shone so bright hid a dark past just out of sight.
She called me Mary once, though it's obviously not my name.
As the years went by, so did she.
The time stole her away from me.
Her hair, once gray, was now thin and white like her silk blouses.
Her eyes dyed slowly, faded to a dull blue-green.
Her eyes lost recognition, her body shut down.
Now all I have of a brilliant woman,
are some dusty paintings in an attic-
an ocean with seagulls flying in the blue sky,
a pink and peach sunset behind the trees,
a vase of dark flowers on a black canvas,
and of a cabin chimney smoking in the pine forest in the
dark of night with the white moon reflecting in the lake's surface.
Hat boxes filled with feathered and furred things,
silks and cashmere, the rest of her fine clothes boxed up and taped.
Jewelry from around the world, like her black onyx ring from Africa,
or her rosary from her childhood, and all her pearls and diamonds and gold.
Though I met her when I was only eight
And she 87,
I knew she was a great woman, an amazing woman.
Culture, wisdom, wealth, stature, life itself leaked from
every pore in her body
enveloping me in its sweet smell.
This woman was an artist, a Southern High Society woman,
brought up in a well-to-do Sicilian family out east.
She was the 'it' girl of her time.
Her trunks of fine clothes and jewelry,
her boxes of paintings that hung in galleries,
all of this was hers.
Eyes that shone so bright hid a dark past just out of sight.
She called me Mary once, though it's obviously not my name.
As the years went by, so did she.
The time stole her away from me.
Her hair, once gray, was now thin and white like her silk blouses.
Her eyes dyed slowly, faded to a dull blue-green.
Her eyes lost recognition, her body shut down.
Now all I have of a brilliant woman,
are some dusty paintings in an attic-
an ocean with seagulls flying in the blue sky,
a pink and peach sunset behind the trees,
a vase of dark flowers on a black canvas,
and of a cabin chimney smoking in the pine forest in the
dark of night with the white moon reflecting in the lake's surface.
Hat boxes filled with feathered and furred things,
silks and cashmere, the rest of her fine clothes boxed up and taped.
Jewelry from around the world, like her black onyx ring from Africa,
or her rosary from her childhood, and all her pearls and diamonds and gold.
The Foreigner
I sat there
Facing the front
Staring at the chalkboard
Waiting for class to start
Nervous for the year ahead
But excited for what was waiting
I wondered if this was the year
The year I would stand out and become
Exactly who I wanted to be
And then I heard it
It was nothing really
Just a cough
But even his cough sounded foreign
I could hear his accent through his cough
And shit was it sexy
I wanted to turn around and look at him
This guy with the foreign cough
But instead I just sat there
Knowing that I would see him again
On Thursday
Facing the front
Staring at the chalkboard
Waiting for class to start
Nervous for the year ahead
But excited for what was waiting
I wondered if this was the year
The year I would stand out and become
Exactly who I wanted to be
And then I heard it
It was nothing really
Just a cough
But even his cough sounded foreign
I could hear his accent through his cough
And shit was it sexy
I wanted to turn around and look at him
This guy with the foreign cough
But instead I just sat there
Knowing that I would see him again
On Thursday
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Social Security
We are all just a number in the government’s eyes.
Just a social number, no one knows where the security lies.
We are the people, yet we have no say
In what goes on from day to day.
We live our lives in crime and passion
Sending our boys to die, old fashion.
Nouvelle mode: everyone is a number.
No names or personalities,
No faces. Random heart places.
Misdeeds and dishonesty,
Who is here for us whole-heartedly?
United we stand,
We have fallen victim to the break of the hand.
Watch as the rich get rich and the poor get poor,
No dollar to hand out, no more, no more.
We are the free,
Yet we are chained despite our destiny.
We are all just a number in the government’s eyes.
A social number, no one knows where the security lies.
Just a social number, no one knows where the security lies.
We are the people, yet we have no say
In what goes on from day to day.
We live our lives in crime and passion
Sending our boys to die, old fashion.
Nouvelle mode: everyone is a number.
No names or personalities,
No faces. Random heart places.
Misdeeds and dishonesty,
Who is here for us whole-heartedly?
United we stand,
We have fallen victim to the break of the hand.
Watch as the rich get rich and the poor get poor,
No dollar to hand out, no more, no more.
We are the free,
Yet we are chained despite our destiny.
We are all just a number in the government’s eyes.
A social number, no one knows where the security lies.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Most Important as of Yet
Yesterday President Artman held a forum about the financial budget for the next school year. This was sort of an emergency meeting to calm nerves and to set stories straight. Viterbo is a private school, which means we receive no federal/state funding. Amazingly, our school, unlike some other private schools, is not going through a financial crisis of its own. I am happy to hear this, since I know that some schools are thinking about closing, cutting faculty, and having a hard time to help the students on scholarship and loan to continue their education. I am a student on scholarship and lucky for me, my loan company has not pulled out for the sake of saving their own asses.
This is important for me not only because now I can rest assured I am financially supported still in the economic downfall of this great country (hint of sarcasm) but that this is my first very important article I've written for the paper. Kudos to me! I am very excited, I bought a voice recorder just for this event and I felt like true reporter when I sat down in the President's office for a private interview. I very much enjoyed this and that moment will always be a very important moment in my life. It may seem minuscule to someone else, but since I normally write about tutoring offered at the learning center or who won an award, a story like this, an important story that answers many a person's questions...well it is very important to me.
This is important for me not only because now I can rest assured I am financially supported still in the economic downfall of this great country (hint of sarcasm) but that this is my first very important article I've written for the paper. Kudos to me! I am very excited, I bought a voice recorder just for this event and I felt like true reporter when I sat down in the President's office for a private interview. I very much enjoyed this and that moment will always be a very important moment in my life. It may seem minuscule to someone else, but since I normally write about tutoring offered at the learning center or who won an award, a story like this, an important story that answers many a person's questions...well it is very important to me.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Random Files On My Laptop
These are just a few random paragraphs. Sometimes I just write an idea down and then I forget about it. Yesterday I went through my files, looking for something else and found these.
I saw you. I saw you walking by my window. Once on a cold, fall day. I heard you talking on your cell phone. You laughed, so full and loud. I smiled. I smiled because I hoped that hone day you would be on your cell phone laughing with me on the other line. Though I know that day may not come, it was just a thought of a distant and unrealistic future. Just a hope. A dream. A passing thought of a past memory. You with that smile, that perfect smile. The fall leaves blowing past my window, which was framing my mind on that fall day. Full of rain and dreariness, you passed and suddenly the day was brighter, if just for a second. It was better. I know nothing of you; I don't even know your name. But you passed by my window, laughing, smiling, talking on your cell phone, and my day was good.
I am not always a good person, but I try my hardest to always set good examples sot hat others may not be me, but have the chance to be better. I have learned that parents lie, but only because telling the truth is not always the way to go with kids. I know that parents try, and I know that I have tried. But I can only try so hard before I can try no more. Life is hard. It's the truth. I do not like to admit my faults, my failures, my inabilities, and my unsuccessful life. No matter, I have continued to push myself past all obstacles nd do not give up so easily.
Some days the sky is falling. It's falling away. The stars only shine bright for so long, and then they fade away. The sky seems to be falling and it is falling on me. The wind is blowing its blowing and its blowing my mind away. All my thoughts are being carried on the windy waves away, away, away from me. The sky is turning dark as black and the wind is rising, it's rising. I stand here on this bluff and I wait for the time to fall. To fall, fall way with the sky and fade into the darkness like the stars. I would be carried on the windy waves and my thoughts would travel far.
Some days, you make me want to fly away. You make me want to fly so high, where the stars collide. Where the Moon and the Sun control the darkness and the light. I want to soar into the unknown and glide along the Milky Way of life, into another. You can come along too if you would like. I want to feel good inside, full of butterflies and sparkles and delight. I want to feel light and float through my life. I am me, and you are whoever you are. I feel light headed and free, full of happiness and elation and joy. I can't stop this smile from spreading across my face. Laughter escapes me. And I am drifting my way across this empty space of time and times times. I am.
These were originally ideas to start poems or short stories. One of them, though not posted, actually turned into a short story that I decided to continue and finish, using it as a piece for my portfolio last semester.
I saw you. I saw you walking by my window. Once on a cold, fall day. I heard you talking on your cell phone. You laughed, so full and loud. I smiled. I smiled because I hoped that hone day you would be on your cell phone laughing with me on the other line. Though I know that day may not come, it was just a thought of a distant and unrealistic future. Just a hope. A dream. A passing thought of a past memory. You with that smile, that perfect smile. The fall leaves blowing past my window, which was framing my mind on that fall day. Full of rain and dreariness, you passed and suddenly the day was brighter, if just for a second. It was better. I know nothing of you; I don't even know your name. But you passed by my window, laughing, smiling, talking on your cell phone, and my day was good.
I am not always a good person, but I try my hardest to always set good examples sot hat others may not be me, but have the chance to be better. I have learned that parents lie, but only because telling the truth is not always the way to go with kids. I know that parents try, and I know that I have tried. But I can only try so hard before I can try no more. Life is hard. It's the truth. I do not like to admit my faults, my failures, my inabilities, and my unsuccessful life. No matter, I have continued to push myself past all obstacles nd do not give up so easily.
Some days the sky is falling. It's falling away. The stars only shine bright for so long, and then they fade away. The sky seems to be falling and it is falling on me. The wind is blowing its blowing and its blowing my mind away. All my thoughts are being carried on the windy waves away, away, away from me. The sky is turning dark as black and the wind is rising, it's rising. I stand here on this bluff and I wait for the time to fall. To fall, fall way with the sky and fade into the darkness like the stars. I would be carried on the windy waves and my thoughts would travel far.
Some days, you make me want to fly away. You make me want to fly so high, where the stars collide. Where the Moon and the Sun control the darkness and the light. I want to soar into the unknown and glide along the Milky Way of life, into another. You can come along too if you would like. I want to feel good inside, full of butterflies and sparkles and delight. I want to feel light and float through my life. I am me, and you are whoever you are. I feel light headed and free, full of happiness and elation and joy. I can't stop this smile from spreading across my face. Laughter escapes me. And I am drifting my way across this empty space of time and times times. I am.
These were originally ideas to start poems or short stories. One of them, though not posted, actually turned into a short story that I decided to continue and finish, using it as a piece for my portfolio last semester.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
What the Future Holds
We all think about it, the future. Where will we be in a few years? Will something happen to me? Will I be in an accident? Will I die? Will I be engaged? Will I still be in school? Will I be successful? Will I be pregnant? Will I be happy? All these questions run through my mind, as I'm sure they do everyone else. The future is scary. How can we be ready for it? Then comes the question we ask ourselves years later: If I could go back would I do it all again? I think about this question all the time. Especially being a student in college, I think about this question daily. I usually think about certain times in my life that I wish I could redo. I also think about the last couple years in reference to my own education. For instance, when I think about times that I wish I could redo in my life, I have to remind myself that every experience, every person that I have met, every conversation I have had has had an impact on who I am today, or at least has had an impact on the journey to the person I have become thus far. I may wish to forget those things, but then I have to ask myself, would I be myself? My answer is always no, I wouldn't be the same. I would be someone else, either nicer or meaner, smarter or more naive. When I begin to think about my education, I wonder if I should have gone to a different school to study Clarinet performance instead of coming here to study vocal performance. Should I have changed my major to English, or should I have stayed in the Music Education field? Is making this choice in career paths smart? I know that my dream is to work for National Geographic. Always has been. But the road to that ultimate goal is rocky and full of disappointment. Can I handle that? Is English really the field that is me? Or is there something else out there that I have yet to discover and I will change all over again? Am I actually changing? Or am I just finding what fits me the most?
Of course, all this pondering could go on forever. I just have one more thing. Do you wonder about the very far future? The future that isn't actually the beginning of something, but the future that is near the end? I always wonder if I will be happy with my accomplishments, am I going to be scared, am I going to be ready, will I have family, or will I be the end, because I am the end of my family blood line. Obviously, I get a little skirmish trying to imagine what my last years, days, hours will be like. No one could possible know. I think my favorite question of all time is officially what does the future hold for me?
Of course, all this pondering could go on forever. I just have one more thing. Do you wonder about the very far future? The future that isn't actually the beginning of something, but the future that is near the end? I always wonder if I will be happy with my accomplishments, am I going to be scared, am I going to be ready, will I have family, or will I be the end, because I am the end of my family blood line. Obviously, I get a little skirmish trying to imagine what my last years, days, hours will be like. No one could possible know. I think my favorite question of all time is officially what does the future hold for me?
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
I Think I Loved Once
Last night I had a dream about an ex-boyfriend that I'd had the summer before my freshman year of college. Our relationship as a couple only lasted about a month, but we had been friends since my freshman year of high school. He is a couple years older than me and incredibly smart and charming. I never knew how much I liked him until my senior year rolled around after spending every moment of my summer talking to him and hanging with him. I remember that while he spent 5 months abroad in Germany for school I grew more fond of him every day. When he got back, a few weeks early and surprised me by pulling into my driveway, I do believe that it was the happiest moment of my life to that point. However, I think that we liked each other so much, too much, that our relationship was doomed at the beginning. We couldn't get enough of each other, our relationship was so intense, and we always talked about the future. I freaked and I believe that I intentionally ruined a perfect relationship. It has been years now, we recently talked for the first time in almost a year and it felt weird, but good. I realized after hanging up the phone that I probably loved him. I might still love him. I think that I compare every guy to him and that is why no one has met my standards, because no one is him, nor could be him. In my dream, he was in his army uniform and was at this shopping center. I gave him a hug hello and then we kissed and we kept kissing. He held me so tight and I told him I loved him and we ended up spending the entire day together, and then I woke up. Sometimes I wish that I hadn't done what I had to ruin such an amazing relationship and to break him like I did. I wish I had been brave and just let it run the course it was meant to run, see where we would end up. Sometimes I feel like if I had just let the relationship evolve, we would still be together, just as close, and maybe talking about our distant future together. I never thought about marriage that much, or kids. I never have seen myself with someone, just one person for the rest of my life. With him though, I constantly thought about everything in detail. The engagement, what the ring would look like, living together, the wedding, the gown, the honeymoon, being pregnant with his child, and growing old together. When I think about him and what I did wrong and how I feel now, I realize something. I think I may have loved this man once.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
The Loser In All Of Us
All of us has a bit of loser within. After watching Little Miss Sunshine for the upteenth time I have realized that everyone is a loser. Take me for example. In high school I was a band nerd and a choir geek, in the Drama Club, my favorite past times were going to either a hole-in-the-wall coffee shop or spending a day in a Barnes and Noble armchair with a stack of books. I also was on the dance team, well-liked, went to prom with my boyfriend, Mr. Popular, and had lots of friends. Everyone is a Loser. I think my brother is a loser, my parents are losers, my teachers and professors are all losers, my co-workers are losers, the president is a loser, the my friends are losers, and all the doctors at the hospital down the street are losers. I think those that think they are better than others are the biggest losers of all. They are the least liked, the most unhappy, and usually, the most lonely. I strongly believe that those who have failed the most and have nothing to show for themselves but themselves are the biggest winners. Those few people are kind, generous, and humble for they know they are losers, but they too know that they are happy with whatever they may have acquired in their quaint lives and therefore they are the true winners. Everyone is a loser. From the lawyer with the button collection, the rocker that listens to classical music, the teacher that works at Wal-Mart part-time, the doctor that will drive hundreds of miles for a Star Wars convention, to the football jock that wants to study art. All of us, no matter how successful, how beautiful, how intelligent, nor nerdy, geekish, or complete failure, we are all losers. I guess that also in a way, if someone is able to acknowledge these moments of "loser" in our lives, then we would be able to call ourselves winners. But only after we can accept being losers can we call ourselves this. Until then, we are what we are: Losers.
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