My life on lined paper

Oh, Blog

2010-02-09T18:17:00.000-08:00

I've almost missed you. You used to be such an intregal part of my routine, but I never touch you anymore. I've actually done quite a lot of writing this year. Some almost successes were mixed in. And now I have a blog for Journalism which has been pretty cool so far. I kind of miss responding to quotes and doing little prompts and oneword.coms and pretending I have an audience on here. Maybe if I think about this more I'll revive it. I guess if requested I could post some things I've done in my abscense.

Charles

2009-10-15T20:50:00.000-07:00

Four in the morning. The town square had cleared. It was empty and full of cigarettes and beer cans. He stepped on one and it crunched beneath the toe of his boot. A breeze swirled by and spun in his misplaced curl. Meet Charles, he's an assasin. And I kickass one at that. If I were to continue this, it would be really dramatic and cheesy and go to shit. Funny how that happens, eh? However, perhaps he could be the guy in "He" remember that one? He sat behind a boulder and stared at his profusely bleeding leg and watched the scarlet fluid carefully trickling through the pebbles and seeping into the sand. It was only a matter of time now, only a matter of seconds or minutes until they would smell and come after him, ravenous; but he did not feel like running, he didn't feel like screaming or howling in pain. He felt no sudden rush of adrenaline that would be that would give him the strength to rush down the beach leaving only a trail of splattered blood behind him. No. Not a single ounce of him wanted to move from his current position behind that rock, even if that meant saving his life. He was at total peace with death. Not any amount of force could motivate him to move. He had tried being the hero, and he had failed. Miserably failed. He had run, and she had died. He saw her fall gracefully off the cliff in a perfect swan dive and he had run. Turned on a dime without looking back and ran blindly through the woods, lost in a blurry world of color splotches that changed wildly as he broke through the woods and blinked back the tears. They had stung at first, upon reaching the raw gash along his cheekbone. The salt water lay moist in it’s new found home, soaking back further only to be pushed out by the blood that ran to clot the gaping wound now etched in his face. Hahahhahahaha, its pretty ridiculous, yes? Whatever, they're fun for a bit.

Remember this one?

2009-09-29T20:14:00.000-07:00

Hey guys! Remember this old chestnut? Never finished it, and I'll tell you why, I never finish anything. I get bored, it gets stupid, and the whole thing goes to shit. It’s quite distressing and I don’t know how to fix myself.

Columbia
It was the first day at Madame Albright's School for Girls and Columbia had wasted no time in finding a new friend. Bobbie had just moved there from Arkansas and spent that morning tailing after Columbia, spellbound. Mrs. Sterling was explaining that year's curriculum when career day was mentioned. Columbia's face lit up and she leaned her chair over so that it tottered on two legs. She cupped her hand over Bobbie's ear.

“My father can't come on career day, because my father,” she paused for a dramatic effect, glancing around with suspicion, as if she thought the rest of the fourth grade might be maniacal villains like the ones on TV, just waiting for information to abuse. "Is a spy!" She leaned back to watch the effect. It was a good one; Bobbie's sharp blue eyes grew to a tremendous size, taking up most of her stout heart shaped face and she gasped loudly enough for everyone in the third row to glance over before she realized and clasped her hand over her mouth.

"Is there a problem Ms. Freidlind?" Mrs. Sterling asked, sharply turning to Bobbie. Bobbie's hand dropped.

"N-no, Mrs. Sterling." Bobbie shook her head earnestly.

"She just didn't realize we had a science fair, that's all. I don't think they have that stuff in Arkansas." Columbia added, winking at Bobbie. Bobbie beamed, proud to have such a great influence on her side, and on her first day too. Mrs. Sterling sighed and turned back to the blackboard to continue her list of projects and events. Columbia turned back to Bobbie. "No one's supposed to know, but I can tell you, since you're my new best friend." Bobbie nodded rapidly, her perfect brown curls bobbing around her ears, and she made a motion suggesting, 'my lips are sealed' before returning her attention to the teacher.
Columbia Idola Lewis was a terrific liar. She had the entire fourth grade on a leash and there was nothing anybody could do about it. Her fabrications were so incredible; you couldn’t help but believe them. Thus far, she had traveled the world, owned not one, but six white tigers but donated them all to a wildlife reserve on her mother's request. She had sisters in twelve sisters in different countries who all came home for Christmas, and had a mother who had tea with the first lady on Wednesdays. She was a very careful liar. She never contradicted herself and never had to prove herself. Everyone had to either believe her or not, not as if she cared or anything because it was all true, no matter what stupid, puny headed kids thought about it. The most lies, however, concerned her father. In the past year, he had four very dangerous jobs, twelve close, aristocratic friends, and brought her expensive sweets when he came home in the evening. Once, she even told Rebecca he was a Superhero.
Of course, some students resented this. There had been a few former friends who tried to sabotage her popularity by exposing her, but the class' captivation with Columbia Lewis was unshakable. Remarkably enough, Columbia's retorts of: “She's only jealous it's not her dad who's the Amazon explorer while Dr. Hendrickson is away.” were enough to keep doubt away from her mystical tales.
Columbia went home with Bobbie that day and introduced herself to Bobbie’s mother as ‘Sister of Jasmic, princess of Codomtown, in Africa.’ Bobbie’s mother smiled politely and said “I’m Mrs. Johnson, go on and sit down, I’ll get you both some juice.” Bobbie led Columbia into the kitchen and they hadn’t sat long before a streak of fur lighted itself a top the table. “Off my table, Persia.” Mrs. Johnson commanded as she whisked into the room, too glasses of juice in hand.
Persia glanced back and sauntered over to the edge of the table, contemplating obedience. “Off, Pershi! Off!” Bobbie added crossly. Persia looked rather angrily back and hopped off haughtily with perfect grace.
“What was that?” Columbia’s eyes, so used to smirking with superiority, looked as though they’d pop out of her head.
“My cat.” Bobbie said it as though it was inconsequential but Columbia was enthralled and spent the rest of the afternoon following the cat around.
“She has eyes like the moon!” Columbia announced after a careful study. Persia was a common calico with large grey eyes and an air of superiority. That day she skipped home and spent the evening doing careful drawings of Bobbie’s cat.
The next day, and the day after, and the day after that, Columbia and Bobbie walked, ran, skipped, hopped, and cartwheeled to Bobbie’s house and would arrive before Mrs. Johnson a heap of giggles.

ANYWAYS, what was supposed to happen, was that Bobbie would show Columbia how to live a normal life, and then Columbia would come clean and everyone would turn on her and she'd have to cope with real life and not having any friends. It was tragic. Also, there was gonna be something up with her dad. idk though.

Writing Excersize

2009-09-29T10:52:00.000-07:00

He’d been sitting on the bench for forty minutes. He wasn’t sure why, he just decided it was what he wanted to do, sit. His dog sat majestically but was confused. He was out of practice of people watching and his fur hung thick over his eyes. He had to strain now. He was an old dog, and the man watched as the dog’s senses and muscles slowly deteriorated. His owner watched as a young man pushed a baby carriage up the street, and as a young woman self-consciously stared at her feet and shuffled along. A woman in a pantsuit briskly pursued each step, moving faster with each bound as if trying to outrun herself. Everyone was moving, except for a little girl watched herself in a dark window, captivated as she blew a bubblegum bubble and let it pop, and blew another. She stood and watched, and the man watched, and the dog watched. Moments became eternities until a door creaked, and a mother came, dragging the girl with gum behind her. The man sighed and stood up. The dog waved his tail and stretched, his bones groaned upright and they to begin the climb up to the man’s small city apartment. “That’s enough people watching for now, eh, old boy?”

Writing excersize based off of a picture. I chose this picture

Inciting incident, what does the letter say?

2009-09-21T11:06:00.000-07:00

They swayed and spun and spat leaves in her face. The lady did nothing but stand and feel the rain splatter her back so hard and so fast that the water was plastered against her back, stunned and paralyzed. She sighed the storms would not leave the town and water flooded the streets. She once pretended she lived in ancient Venice during the rainy season, that everyone travelled by boat, and that it was normal She was past Venice. Her sister was carried away in a flood and now she stood, wading in the water with her hair just touching the surface. The trees were beginning to be ripped away. What happened she wasn’t sure of. She remembered once, long ago, a dry summer. She’d played in the sun and then came home to take a cool bath. That morning, a neighbor of hers had waded over with a letter. She didn’t know who it was from, she wasn’t sure where it came from, but it intrigued her. Quite frankly she had no idea why her neighbor brought it to her, maybe because he didn’t want it and most of the rest of the town had abandoned it for higher ground and drier places.

I was allotted ten minutes its not done.

>:

2009-09-11T10:15:00.000-07:00

I can't stick to anything. I don't like it and I give up. If you were to review my work, you'd have difficulty finding finished things. Its mostly the cliche wastebasket full of crumpled papers. Shoot me now.

The Necessity of College

2009-09-08T13:31:00.000-07:00

By AUBREY GRUBE

The real value of a college education is, arguably, one of the most crucial issues in our society today as people far and wide continue to add thousands of dollars in student loans to their debts. Last year, the total federal student loan payments increased a whole 25 percent. In many other countries, college is a free public resource, but in America, you have quite a bill to pay before you even step foot on campus. The problem is this, it's become very hard for graduates to get jobs. Since college is socially accepted as the right thing to do after high school, there is so many students are going and graduating that, according to Richard Vedder, a professor of economics at Ohio University, “It's becoming more and more difficult for new college graduates to get jobs, independent of the recession.” According to the National Center for Educational Statistics, in 2006, of the 195,982,000 Americans aged 25 or older 84.1% completed high school and 27.9% achieved a bachelor's degree or higher. That's 54,678,699 individuals who successfully went through college, and the number has raised since 2006. Does our job market have room for this many students expecting high paying jobs? Vedder comments, “Twelve percent of the mail carriers in the country have college degrees, and I have nothing against mail carriers with college degrees, but I don’t think it’s an absolute necessity to have a degree to carry the mail.”

Many refute this type of argument, using evidence such as data from Bureau of Labor Statistics which shows that the gap between the pay of college graduates and the rest of citizens has reached an all-time high. This actually suggests an undersupply of graduates, as logic dictates. If more people are graduating from college, then income inequality could not be nearly as high as it is. Also, history shows the more education that takes place in a society the better that country does. Thriving empires such as the Roman empire depended on education, while lack of education Europe's medieval time led it to be deemed “The Dark Ages”, and some argue more investment in education could help pull us out of the recession.

Still more people claim that despite the possibility of financial loss, college is still worth it. Boyce Watkins, professor of finance at Syracuse University says that the future returns of college education can be “financial, human, emotional or social.” He still offers the warning that, “This blanket notion that going to college will guarantee you a better economic future is not always true.” Watkins also suggests being “intelligent about what we expect to get out of our education.”

Due to this dilemma many are considering alternative choices, such as community college, career colleges and vocational schools, places that allow for good education but don't put such a dent in the wallet. Mr.Vedder comments, ““We still need truck drivers, for example. We need electricians. These are jobs that require some skills and some post-secondary schooling can be very helpful. But a lot of learning that is done for vocations, is done on the job itself, and so there are many jobs out there that do not require the standard college education. And some people, particularly those who are sort of, say, marginal academically anyway, perhaps it’s a waste of money to go to a four-year school and run up a huge debt.” To some, this seems extreme, Hunter Walker, a student at Columbia School of Journalism, replies “There are larger questions of reform here as to whether any degree should cost $50,000. The crisis that we’re having financially doesn’t mean the next generation should give up and become truck drivers.”

First of all, I'd like to thank....

2009-09-05T20:27:00.000-07:00

Ahh me, I've recieved an award and I can't tell you how honored I am. I've recieved this award from CatLadyLarew (her blog is the link there, in case you didn't catch that). I don't believe I deserve this award, as I squandered the summer not scribbling, but she was kind enough to nominate me anyways. Here it is, the Superior Scribbler Award.

I have the honor of presenting my own nominees, and they are *drumroll*

1. CatLadyLarew, a great blogger and a great friend, CatLady fully deserves the honor.

2. Khari Johnson, though sometimes odd and nonsensical, Khari is a great writer and thus I bestow this honor on him.

3. Adeline Ainsworth, another fantastic writer, and good friend, Addie gets the nomination

4. Alex, another friend, another good writer, Al, you deserve this award

5. Last but not least, Mark Grube, my father. He is not on Blogger, but he does have a blog, and therefore is qualified for this award. He uses interesting everyday musings to make connections to music.

Congratulations fellow blogsters, I hope you, in turn, pass on this honor. Here are the rules:

Each Superior Scribbler must in turn pass The Award on to 5 most-deserving Bloggy Friends.

Each Superior Scribbler must link to the author & the name of the blog from whom he/she has received The Award.

Each Superior Scribbler must display The Award on his/her blog, and link to This Post, which explains The Award.

Each Blogger who wins The Superior Scribbler Award must visit this post and add his/her name to the Mr. Linky List. That way, we'll be able to keep up-to-date on everyone who receives This Prestigious Honor!

Each Superior Scribbler must post these rules on his/her blog.

For more on the Superior Scribbler Award, go to The Scholastic Blog Site and read up.

P.S. I'm number 946! Yayyy!

The News (Also, quote of the day)

2009-09-05T15:03:00.000-07:00

I have to write an article. What news do you find interesting? What ideas for a great article do you have? Tell me please, ASAP

Quote!

"Outside show is a poor substitute for inner worth." -Aesop
Very much so agreed. Be yourself, no matter what that means, the very act of doing so earns you respect, at least from me.

"The Writing Process" (I don't know why it made the first bit big and bold)

2009-09-05T14:59:00.000-07:00

We're supposed to write about our writing process, particularly the process used for our “Baseline” pieces, in my case, Columbia. Here's the rough writing process given to us to compare our own to.

1. Coming up with an idea: Generating raw material free writing Journal exercises Reading Experience Choosing the gem among the rocks (expanding and exploring the idea) Getting stuck and moving on

2. Writing the first draft: Composing and structuring Experiment with technique Decide on a genre Decide on the best structure to tell the story

3. Revising: developing meaning, Rereading your work to look for a deeper meaning, Sharing your work in a readers’ circle/workshop, Getting feedback and response, Revision: transforming, rearranging, expanding, cutting

4. Editing: Fine cutting (cutting unnecessary words and paragraphs), Line by line editing, Reviewing word choice, Proofreading for errors

5. Publication: Preparing the manuscript for public perusal, Sending your manuscript out to publishers, The rejection letter/the acceptance letter, working with an editor/agent/publisher, Publication

With Columbia, an idea just came to me, and, with school starting soon, I sat down and started writing because I knew I could use anything I wrote in school. It was free writing, the first step. I started with a sentence of dialogue (“My father can't come to career day because my father is a spy!”) and let it grow and expand into a character. Now instead of moving to step two, I went right to three, I revised what I had until I was happy with it. Technically, I'm not supposed to do this. I'm supposed to just keep writing and get as many ideas I didn't know I had on paper before I went over the paragraph I just wrote meticulously, changing words and adding descriptors to make it just so, but I can't help myself sometimes. I didn't do much editing at all, besides word choice, I think I added too much and have to chop it down a bit, which I'm happy to do later when I have more. Since I never did step two though, I'm rather stuck in a rut. Oh well, hopefully, with your help, I can get out.

Hate letter to the Perfectionist.

2009-09-05T14:23:00.001-07:00

Darrel,
You don't deserve a dear, you don't even deserve this letter, you know perfectly well what you've done. I've been living with you for a good bit of time now and can't breathe anymore, you're always there. Even when you aren't you're in the back of my head and I imagine what you'd be saying. “What a stupid idea.”, “Why go on about that, you're just doing that to have something to write, it doesn't help the story.”, “You can't seriously let anyone read this piece of shit. Are you kidding me? What a joke. A freaking joke.” Even as I write this letter I can hear you saying, “Those quotes are inaccurate, and too long to have several in a row. Anyone with half a brain could write a better hate letter. You haven't even started swearing yet, or put in any sharp insults.” Every once and a while you'll make a helpful remark, I'll give you that. It isn't worth it anymore, though. You made me so uncomfortable with myself I'm constantly watching myself, freaking out when I do something wrong. And when I write, I can't have anyone see it. I turn off the monitor, I write in six point font because of your sorry ass. You never even apologize. You always have to be right. When I do something of value you grumble and never admit it, you keep on looking for flaws. You've put a damper on everything I do. How can you possibly be so jaded? How can everything I do be wrong? How is everything in the world bad? Don't bother answering, I never want to hear from you again. That's the point of this letter, I'm not taking you back. Live on the streets, for all I care, lets see how much food you get when that familiar sneer grows on your face and you turn away the imperfect kindnesses of strangers. Perhaps you can learn your lesson that way, learn to love the imperfect, learn to appreciate the flawed. There's a Chinese proverb, “Were I to await perfection, my book would never be finished” Perhaps I should hang out with more Chinese people, maybe I should hang out with anyone but you, they're sure to be more supportive. But I'm digressing. The point is, I'm done. I can't take it anymore and I won't,we're over, I hope you die a horrible death, or even better, never die at all. I hope you spend the remainder of existence stewing in your own discontent.
Here's to the rest of my life,
An adequate human being, despite your remarks.

Columbia

2009-09-04T10:15:00.000-07:00

It was the first day at Madame Albright's School for Girls and Columbia had wasted no time in finding a new friend. Bobbie had just moved there from Arkansas and spent that morning tailing after Columbia, spellbound. Mrs. Sterling was explaining that year's curriculum when career day was mentioned. Columbia's face lit up and she leaned her chair over so that it tottered on two legs. She cupped her hand over Bobbie's ear.

“My father can't come on career day, because my father,” she paused for a dramatic effect, glancing around with suspicion, as if she thought the rest of the fourth grade might be maniacal villains like the ones on TV, just waiting for information to abuse. "is a spy!" She leaned back to watch the effect. It was a good one; Bobbie's sharp blue eyes grew to a tremendous size, taking up most of her stout heart shaped face and she gasped loudly enough for everyone in the third row to glance over before she realized and clasped her hand over her mouth.

"Is there a problem Ms. Freidlind?" Mrs. Sterling asked, sharply turning to Bobbie. Bobbie's hand dropped.

"N-no, Mrs. Sterling." Bobbie shook her head earnestly.

"She just didn't realize we had a science fair, that's all. I don't think they have that stuff in Arkansas." Columbia added, winking at Bobbie. Bobbie beamed, proud to have such a great influence on her side, and on her first day too. Mrs. Sterling sighed and turned back to the blackboard to continue her list of projects and events. Columbia turned back to Bobbie. "No one's supposed to know, but I can tell you, since you're my new best friend." Bobbie nodded rapidly, her perfect brown curls bobbing around her ears, and she made a motion suggesting, 'my lips are sealed' before returning her attention to the teacher.
Columbia Idola Lewis was a terrific liar. She had the entire fourth grade on a leash and there was nothing anybody could do about it. Her fabrications were so incredible; you couldn’t help but believe them. Thus far, she had traveled the world, owned not one, but six white tigers but donated them all to a wildlife reserve on her mother's request. She had sisters in twelve sisters in different countries who all came home for Christmas, and had a mother who had tea with the first lady on Wednesdays. She was a very careful liar. She never contradicted herself and never had to prove herself. Everyone had to either believe her or not, not as if she cared or anything because it was all true, no matter what stupid, puny headed kids thought about it. The most lies, however, concerned her father. In the past year, he had four very dangerous jobs, twelve close, aristocratic friends, and brought her expensive sweets when he came home in the evening. Once, she even told Rebecca he was a Superhero.
Of course, some students resented this. There had been a few former friends who tried to sabotage her popularity by exposing her, but the class' captivation with Columbia Lewis was unshakable. Remarkably enough, Columbia's retorts of: “She's only jealous it's not her dad who's the Amazon explorer while Dr. Hendrickson is away.” were enough to keep doubt away from her mystical tales.

I need your help to decide where I'm going. I'm setting up a poll. To vote for C, leave I comment with your idea.
Directions:
A. Runaway Father
B. Learns her lesson
C. Something exciting I can’t think of
D. Gets to know Bobbie and learns how to live in reality

Summer Writing

2009-09-02T02:07:00.000-07:00

When's the last time I wrote? That's right, the last time I got credit for doing so. Yep, that's the kind of reward motivated person I am. And why am I writing now? That's right, school's back, and I'm getting credit. Sorry everyone, this is apparently how I work. In any case, here's a toast to the new school year. Let it be full of interesting, well written poems, stories, and other musings.

The Early Morning Train

2009-07-31T02:00:00.000-07:00

If I stay up late, I can always hear the train around five in the morning. It always surprises me, I tend to forget that I live so near a train when Rochester's locomotion system is so dead, but every morning, a long train whistle. I wonder where it's going, I wonder where it's come from. That's all, I know its a poor excuse for "summer writing" sorry guys.

YLNT (sorry I haven't written much this summer)

2009-07-31T01:44:00.000-07:00

<-- Real logo

An acronym. In this case meaning "You look nice today" it's a podcast of a bunch of guys, rambling on about silly things. I highly recommend it, very amusing if you have a lot of time to waste. However, all acronyms for me are also a challenge to come up with another meaning. Feel free to come up with as many as you can in the comments, it'll be a contest, and the one I like best I'll make a logo for. Go crazy. My personal favorite of mine is Your Lion, Nate, Terrifies. I've made a logo for that one. Here are some more I came up with:

Yell Like No Tomorrow
Yodel Lightly, Nicholas Theodore
Young Lee Never Tells
Yards Line Numeral Territories
You Locate Nature Tracks

100th Post Extravaganza!

2009-06-12T06:57:00.000-07:00

Congrats me! It's my 100th post. Woot!
It's also collection day for my journal for the last Marking Period of the year.
What to write?
Here's an installment on Vira, I may finish this eventually, like, over the summer or something.

She went to the back of the city instead of towards the terraces, toward the great stone wall that contained her world when she caught a glimpse movement over the wall and started to run.
Intia was terrified, she slid down from the wall into Vira’s arms and whispered about the men that marched through the forest, the mountainous vessels from which they came behind them, towards Montekazuma.
“They had the faces of the moon!” she squealed, still gasping for air, “They came through the vines, slashing them away with their blades. I was only out for a walk, sometimes if I can’t sleep I go through the forest but I heard a sound and climbed a great tree. They went past proudly speaking in strange tongues; their skin was of the moon," she repeated, "lost of all its color.” Vira frowned, she understood. They had also been in the dream, before the water and she shifted her weight and told Intia that she should wait with her until the sun was awake and they would speak with the leaders as soon as they could. “But unless they lose their way in the forest, they’ll be here when the sun rises, or even before.” Vira shook her head.
“They won’t be violent at first; we have to hope that the leaders can make a decision before, but alarming the town in the middle of the night will only make noise and draw attention to our walls.” Intia was uncertain but did as Vira asked and came to eat the bird.
***
Intia had never been more right, their pale faces mirrored that of the moon and their greedy pink hands snatched up hospitality offerings of gold with lust. The leaders had made no decision on attacking the pale-face but considered living along side them, Vira was outraged. She saw them tell the people of their God. They told the people there was only one God and he was to be revered in order to get to a welcoming afterlife. Vira was disgusted, but wasn't sure why. Her people had been fairly unreligious through the years, she can't remember the last time she'd been to the temple, the holy men only conducting ceremonies on holidays, but the core beliefs pulsed like a secret vein in the civilization and these men where butchering it.
She marched up the marketplace where the pale-face traded greedily their foreign goods for baskets of native fruit, collections of ornate artwork, and fantastic pieces of metal work. Gold in particular left the stands fastest of all and Vira wondered what these people saw in the gleaming sun colored metal. She stood at the middle of the market and looked among the sea of writhing bodies for some type of platform; she settled for the steps of the temple and shouted at the crowd until the roar was reduced to a dull hush.
"Friends and family," she began, fighting the merchants for attention "I realize that this is a time of wealth and prosperity as these men of the moon" she gestured toward a group of pale-face near her "come to trade their goods for our own. However, I implore you to save a cautious eye for them for they snatch up gold as if it were the substance of life and tell us of another God, who is not of our own, but still they push him upon us as if they were dependant upon spread of his belief." a low rumbling arose from the crowd and Vira had to call again for quiet. "I understand that we may not be the most devout of people, but the teachings of our ancestors must not be lost in times of turmoil and possibly invasion--" rumbling rose louder then before at the mention of invasion. "--quiet, quiet please. Let us be joyful for all our Gods have given us and not push them away when we may need them most, thank you."
Vira stepped down and viewed her work. Many of her people seemed to be in agreement, their heads nodded as they commented to their neighbors, a woman next to Vira said, rather loudly, how all along she knew these men were suspicious. It was then Vira noticed the pale ones. They seemed to understand enough of the native language to figure out the premise of her speech and didn't look all that pleased. They angrily noted the villagers' agreement. She felt a tug on her arm and was pulled away, unnoticed by the crowd.
***
She woke somewhere dark with the underlying tones of rotting wood. Her head hurt and she couldn’t breathe well in the damp room. She found that she had been tied to a chair and the splitting pain in her head didn’t seem as though it could have been caused accidentally. She groaned at the throbbing as her eyes adjusted to the gloom. A face, the face of a child, appeared like a lantern in front of her. The child gestured to her to open her mouth and his pallid hand dumped food into her gaping maw.
Within two weeks she had several companions: holy men, leaders, other villagers who protested the ways of the moon people. Some still had use of their hands, allowed to eat without the help of the child; others were in a worse condition, blindfolded and bound tighter than ever. The child came every day, always silent but Vira was grateful and found his solemn attitude comforting.
***
Intia broke through the brush with such a rush of energy that her she nearly ran straight into the water. It was a long way down to the beach and the gigantic structures that stood there were even more menacing so close up. There were five of them and she was searching for a way to tell which one held Vira when she heard a voice inside the one farthest to the left. She ran towards the voice, as she came closer she recognized her language and climbed on the side of the mammoth vessel using a net they had left lying in the water. Nimbly, she flipped over the railing and found her feet placed on a strange wooden floor.
***
Vira heard noise up above and squinted her eyes in the dark, looking for its cause when the door burst open. Light flooded in and for an excruciatingly long moment Vira couldn't see at all. She heard a gasp and yelling in her own language, vision faded into place and she saw Intia yelling at a pregnant woman, the boy stood by the door, unsure of what to do. Intia drew a blade and the pale woman shrank from Intia, Intia returned her reaction with a sneer and ran to cut away Vira's bonds.
The woman appeared to be the child's mother, Vira noted, their wide eyes mirrored each other. She leapt from her chair and ran towards the other captives. As they completed their escape, Vira made a point of nodding at the child for his looming eyes and fistfuls of food, he nodded back.
***
Vira and Intia did not speak much on the way back. Vira was certain that the men would return to the water houses as soon as the sun set as they had done since she had been held there. She lead the captives into the forest with Intia to camp out. They would return in the middle of the night and speak to the families, they would escape from these people as they apparently did not accept outward opposition. Some of the men had learned the language Intia told Vira as they walked, Vira did not reply. When they reached a suitable campsite Vira expressed her dissapointment.
"You could have been hurt." Vira told her gravely.
"But I wasn't." Intia retorted.
"You could have gotten yourself in more trouble than it was worth."
"But I didn't."
"It was too reckless."
"But it worked." Intia smiled and offered some dried meat to Vira. Vira hesitated, she was stubborn, beyond stubborn, but she sighed and accepted it.
"Thank you." Intia smiled wider.
"Any day."
***
The midnight return was a success, the majority of the villagers resented the pale-men's sense of superiority and snuck out with them, abandoning the stone walls. No idea of direction was given in case traitors stayed behind but also because Vira was uncertain exactly where they were going, but she followed the brightest star and hoped for another dream. It came.
***The world was dark, the bright star that she had followed flickered and vanished from sight and she spun looking for direction. A great mountain rose from the darkness and she recognized Montekazuma near it's base, a ball of light appeared and wound a path up the mountain curving around it where she saw an incredible sight. There was a stream that ran around the mountain but it reached a place where the flat ground was not wide enough for the rushing water's body, it turned and fell like a silky stream over a cave and as the ball of warm light landed on the streams banks Vira awoke gasping in the dark.
***
The moon people had been following them for days, she caught glimpses of them between the trees and every once and a while she could hear murmuring in their language. The mountain proved treacherous and Intia had gotten a strange disease from which she was very ill. The moon people then were able catch up to them. They no longer feigned innocence, the clamored after her people like hungry dogs, starving for successful imperialism. Intia was weak and barely able to keep up, within the next couple days, Intia was dependant on the help of others to move at all.
“It’s nothing, Vir. Just keep moving, don’t worry about me.” She said, day and night. Vira, however, worried constantly. She barely left her side at all and the days before she died, the group stopped entirely. Intia flickered out of sight as the moon men made the last stretch and were upon them.
***
Negotiations were impossible; they did not understand each other well enough. Fighting was hopeless, they had metal dragons from which burst seeds which struck you dead, Vira saw them use one on a harmless forest creature.

Umm, quotes!
"Society bristles with enigmas which look hard to solve. It is a perfect maze of intrigue."
-Honore de Balzac

Yeah, life is quite the puzzle. I'm not sure that it's always so intriguing though. Right now I'm not at all interested in life. At all. Ughh.

oneword doesn't have a new word up today, which is kind of distressing. I want to put a lot into this 100th post extravaganza.
Well, I'll be writing over the summer. There's plenty more to come.

BYE!
(2009)

Troubles to the Moon and back

2009-06-11T20:45:00.000-07:00

I've been super stressed recently with finals next week and all the Creative Writing stuff due.
I've gotten to the point where I'm really sick of writing just for a grade, because it doesn't mean anything to me. I want to write when I'm inspired, to write what I feel. Otherwise, it's pointless scrawlings spewed out do better on the piece of paper that thinks it knows how smart I am.
Because I don't care, I cannot get anywhere in my writing. It's the first rule of writing, ever, 'If you don't care, neither does the reader.' which means not only is this crap meaningless to me, it's meaningless to everybody else. I need to catch a break, by Monday, or I fail.

There goes my creativity and my A, up in flames.
...I think forest fires are beautiful. The destruction of everything leaves nothing but ash and everyone waits for the first brave buds to push through the soot. I wonder if there's a picture of that... not a very good one. Look at this picture though!

It reminds me of this time I went across the country.

It was my dad, Robin, Nick, Jo, and I when we were all still a family. We went road trippin' across the country to visit my aunts, Camryn and Jamara, in California. It a long ride but I had some of the most fun I've had in my life.
Anyways, we were in Yellowstone, we'd spent the day there and it was night time and we were driving through it to get out (it's a really, really big park) and there was this tremendous glow over the trees. It looked a lot like the picture above except the trees were so dense you could only see it lighting the sky above. All I remember thinking was how beautiful it was but Robin was yelling about forest fires and how they'd close down the park and we might get stuck in the park and as the reality of a forest fire dawned on us, the rising moon cleared the treetops and took it's throne in the indigo skies.
We all had a laugh, but the fact that the moon had such power that it gave a firey effect was astounding to me. Ever since, I've been much more partial to the moon then the sun.

I love the daytime, but the night has an exhilarating tone and you can feel like the only person alive, doing as you please and as the moonbeams strengthen your step, you feel the darkness blocking out the worries of the day.

Brizard's budget cuts

2009-06-11T15:18:00.000-07:00

Hello All!
Boy have I got a lot to tell you!
Rochester City School District's superintendent Brizard has proposed budget cuts you can all read about else where on the web. The budget cuts were heavily focused on arts teachers and SOTA organized a protest. I went. There was news coverage, and this is a comment about it.

Mr. Skeptical says:
"It doesn't bother me at all. They should get laid-off, just like the rest of us during tough times. What?...because they're teachers, they get some extra job security??? screw em'. Sorry, I know a lot of you will disagree, but consider this:

Others loose their jobs, and they're totally screwed....no other jobs to be found. I keep hearing there's a shortage of teachers, so they should all get back on their feet pretty quickly. I'm sure the teachers' union gets them all very nice severence packages while they look elsewhere.....and they can take some time off with pay too!(Something people with 'normal' jobs don't get) Now they're going to whine about it and get the students to protest for them. BOO-HOO, What a joke. HEY KIDS, WHY DON'T YOU PROTEST KODAK OR XEROX WHEN THEY LAY OFF? Nope, you never see that, do you?

Before you all 'blast' me about "the children need their teachers", try doing some math. If you divide the number of students in a typical district by the number of teachers, it works out to be about 8 students per teacher. So why are there 30+ students to a classroom? I'll tell you why. It's because the teachers only teach for 1/2 the day, and only have to work 180 days a year. What a GIG! I know....they don't make much....at first! But by the time they're in their 40's...they're making good money for part time work!

Really, most teachers I know couldn't handle a real job. They're (mostly) all spoiled. There's only a few really good ones who actually care about their students. Great pay, benefits, easy hours and all summer off, and make $50,000/year by the time you're 50. I don't feel sorry for them at all. Students....understand, these teachers don't deserve your sympathy. You are all just pawns for their easy hours, and over-inflated pay and benefits at the taxpayers expense.

Why should they be immune from layoffs just because they're 'teachers'?"

Well, as outraged as I may have been, I know to make a decent argument that will be taken seriously, you have to remain calm and polite.

This was my response:
"I'm sorry but I have to disagree, I was one of the students protesting yesterday and I can tell you straight off, this was a completely student organized protest and the teachers had no hand in it, whatsoever.
Secondly, we weren't protesting the layoffs of teachers in general but the fact that the center of the layoffs was on arts teachers. This is unfair as arts are what bring out the greatest talent in a student and allow them to express themselves in a way which is healthy and allows them to grow. Also, most teachers do work full days, they teach the majority of the school day and spend the off periods and a lot of their time at home grading papers, creating lesson plans and assignments, and doing paperwork.
Personally, I believe that teachers should be some of the last to get layoffs because they do so much for the youth, who are, incidentally, the future."

Calm, polite, to the point. I was proud. Impressively, he actually responded back to me.

Mr. Skeptical
"Aubrey,
To your credit,(and your teachers credit) that was a very well thought out, well said arguement. I somewhat agree with you, however, I think Art teachers are less important that math or science teachers. It's just the way it is. EVERY STUDENT takes math and science, NOT every student is pursuing a career in the arts. So cuts there make sense from a practical sense.

So many of you HAVE made some excellent arguements that were well thought and said. I'm sure you'll have plenty of opportunities to pursue your career ambitions when you get to college. Many of you, I'm sure, will do well there!

Honestly, A lot of my gripes have to do with the teachers unions...who care ONLY about the teachers...not the students or taxpayers who foot the bill. I also had some AWFUL teachers in high school. They were only there to collect thier checks, and didn't get fired because of 'seniority' granted them by the union"

I replied to him but the website is failing to post the two comments I made for some reason.
In short, I said that arts, I feel, are actually more important then math and science for, as much as my math book may try, I cannot find a practical use for learning how to find the roots of a quadratic equation or how to mathematically prove that a circle is, in fact, a circle. I also mentioned arts courses were required to graduate with a SOTA diploma, and that while I agreed the problems with the 'seniority' system should be addressed, it was a whole different issue.

What are your views on these budget cuts?

Childhood!

2009-06-07T17:36:00.000-07:00

"One of the luckiest things that can happen to you in life is, I think, to have a happy childhood."
-Agatha Christie

I don't think I could agree more. childhood is the basis for the rest of your life and if you don't have a really good one, you could end up with problems that are a lot harder to address. In the basics of psychology, childhood formulates the template for which you will follow for the rest of your life. You pick up the most habits, learn the most, and begin to discover just what it is to be alive in your childhood and without it, no one could be anything.

Quotee

2009-06-04T07:25:00.001-07:00

"She felt like a chess player who, by the clever handling of his pieces, sees the game taking the course intended."
-Kate Chopin

Umm, quote people? I'm pretty sure this is excerpted from one of her works because this isn't really a quote like, about human nature or something. It's a great line though, the character seems conniving and very interesting. I'd like to know what this was from.

Fantasy Story

2009-06-04T07:18:00.000-07:00

I'm attempting to write a fantasy story based mainly on Incan mythology. My main character is like a Joan of Arc/Moses type character, she leads her people back to faith in their religion or something. It's not set in stone. Anyways, I need at minimum three events that test her as a character. I suppose to get good events I need to develop Vira herself.
Any ideas that can help me? She lives in Montekazuma where her people live in moderate wealth and luxury but she feels unfufilled or something after she starts getting these dreams (FROM THE GODS! OoOOoOOo haha) and she has to take her people to this promised land or some shturff. Help, please!

Oh, here's what I have so far, it's real rough, I haven't done any revision.

Vira woke up with a start. The cold night air had a grimy smell and the stone walls almost shivered with her presence. She was panting and the sleeping mat had been pushed a foot from the wall. Moonlight streamed from the window and clasped her stringy hair with ferocity, and she gasped, her eyes adjusting to the darkness.
She glanced outside and calmed her breath; it was a full moon and it shown above Montekazuma as brilliantly as the sun. She stood and paced, recalling the unsettling dreams that disturbed her calm, uneventful week. Angrily, she turned and walked into the kitchen, beginning to concoct breakfast. She started a fire to begin warming the pan and prepared slabs of meat from the fowl. She threw them on the metal and took a bucket from the cupboard. Walking down the starlight streets to the terraces, she bent down and allowed the water from the irrigation stream to flow into the pal. The dream, it had started with water, she remembered its cool flow over her skin as she passed… but you can’t pass threw water; it lies dormant on the ground. It’s all nonsense, she decided, nothing but silly fragments of her mind not suitable for the workings of the day, but her stomach disagreed. It contorted with disgust at her disbelief. She returned with the water to her home, now trying to block out the dream.
She focused on the fire, sparking and flitting under the warming metal work of her brother, Yurca. The meat spit out grease which hissed on the metal and smoldered in her skin. She stepped back cursing, trying to brush off the minuscule burn. She looked outside again; it was too early to be doing anything. Even the hens weren’t awake yet, nodding and clucking about the morning sun, but instead on their roosts peacefully. Judging by the position of the moon, it was just past it’s peak and she had approximately half the night to waste before the working hours. She flipped the meat and waited for the other side to acquire the ideal crispy golden brown. As it did she reduced the fire to coals and left the house to take a walk to clear her mind. She went to the back of the city instead of towards the terraces and climbed over the great stone wall that contained her world.

Ink (Short Story, NEEDS FEEDBACK!)

2009-06-04T07:16:00.000-07:00

Ink splatters to the ground as she scrambles across the floor, clutching the pen to her breast, a wild look in her eyes. She had to finish this, she had to kill this man, but he would not be killed. Her man was dodging out of impossible events; he wove through her maze of obstacles and came out laughing. The tides had turned, this was no longer about writing a story, the world of her mind was at stake, he was maniacal, insane, destructive. She searched the ground for the papers that had flown from her grasp, fleeing from her blood lust for this man. The twisting black vine, stemming from her cracked plastic Papermate®, splayed across her chest as she crawled frantically, she might have him…

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. It had been an innocent story; she had only created a single conflict, one within him and against society. It had gotten out of control anyway; he had stolen her words and ran like a man of free will to harm her. She had done what she could to stop him; she searched online for ways to kill a character. All she had gotten was gang fights, the mafia, and voodoo. She tried these, a misplaced step in the city late at night. He had hidden in the shadows and gotten away. He joined the mafia gladly, and became rich. He had, being a mafia member, shot the man holding the doll. She went to greater lengths, searching the top causes of death. Cardiovascular disease was at a high, he turned health freak and got on Plavix®. She started to become maniacal too, she tried deep vein thrombosis on a 22-hour flight to Mumbai, and he demanded the pilot make an emergency landing in Jamaica where he was treated. Explosions were sidestepped, avalanches were survived with brandy, tornados were given warning to, and the pile of crumpled papers grew.

She found her paper and returned to the desk, grabbing a new pen. She was having him followed, down the street into a diner. He had ordered eggs and sausage, at two in the morning. She paused to mention the temperature of coffee and the juxtaposition of the breakfast food before returning to the starlight street where a man, brandishing a pistol, awaited. Her man grinned at the darkness, revealing morsels of scrambled egg hiding shyly, like children, between his crooked teeth. He knew. She struggled to find a way to save her plan, he would forget his gun in the diner, and the hit man would shoot him before he could run. Or perhaps… perhaps he would be interested in the waitress and leave with her, allowing the hit man to follow him farther, more inconspicuously. Or she could get more and more hit men, so many that it was impossible to tell if he was or wasn’t being followed! She tried all three on a new sheet of paper.

His gun slipped from his bag, as he smiled ghoulishly at the waitress. Her slender hands fished towards the leather cased bill, her eyes focused on his. She wandered back behind the counter, still watching him, and counted the bills, her wide eyes falling on her tip as she counted the last of his debt, there was an extra zero on the tip and her eyes blinked three times to focus on the triple digits. The door swung closed as she stood still, shocked.

He could hear the rustling behind the bush and reached into his bag to grab his own weapon, warily eyeing the shadow that a streetlamp cast against the diner. His hand searched, and searched again and his eyes widened as he backed into the diner.

This wasn’t working. The door might have been locked but the waitress is still standing at the counter, “shocked”. She frowned, knowing he would escape through the back door of the diner without a trace. She crumpled her paper and flicked it away, grumbling about how murder should be easier.

He smiled ghoulishly at the waitress. Her slender hands fished towards the leather cased bill, her eyes focused on his. She wandered back behind the counter, still watching him, and counted the bills, her wide eyes falling on her tip as she counted the last of his debt, there was an extra zero on the tip and her eyes blinked three times to focus on the triple digits. She gasped in realization, her eyes flicking from man to bill, man to bill.

The man chuckled at her expression and his eyes combed her figure once more. She shifted under the weight of his gaze and shut her mouth.

“Well, uh, I need to close up shop if you want to…” The man nodded and they left through the ba—

No, no, no. If he could have escaped through the back before the hit man would have no clue where they went. She had her last idea to try, and as she pictured the spectacle she realized just how ridiculous this was. She flipped furiously through the pages to the very first one. She’d put in her setting and entered her conflict. He was criminally insane, the prize child of the richest family in the city was ejected as a teen when slight mental conditions were found, now he was attempting to return to his place in society or bring everyone else down with him. It wasn’t the best story, she thought it was kind of cheesy but she liked her man. He was so desperate, it was almost charming… but he’d gotten out of control. She had to stop him but he cared about no one… nothing.

The author jumped. Care, care, care, what if he cared? She furiously ripped up her twelve pages that were already in place, she created another character.

Her name was Lily. In his eyes, she was an angel. The milk white skin was all he had seen as they left the hospital but he knew she was his. He followed her from preschool to kindergarten, second to third grade. He watched her mousey brown hair grow to hold touches of honey, as it flew back and forward into her face. The in and out of the swing followed his breath as he watched her kick her legs forward, and back.. The bell would ring at the same time everyday, and at that same day his Lily would perform a graceful leap off of her swing and trot in doors and every day as she left him, the man would hold his breath until the swing stopped moving and the slamming of the doors stopped ringing in his ears.

Yes! She thought, giggling with success. She said it aloud. She screamed it; she opened the windows and screamed it at the street. A daughter, a daughter, why hadn’t occurred to her before! He escapes because he has nothing to lose but if he had to be a hero, well, it’s tragic but saving lives often is. She had him at last and there was no where he could run. She had him because he was human.

FEEDBACK PLEASEE
I know it's crappy but I had to finish it, I would appreciate suggestions for revision!

Ink

2009-05-18T20:02:00.000-07:00

It splatters to the ground as she scrambles across the floor, clutching the pen to her breast. She had to finish this, she had to kill this man, but he would not be killed. Her man was dodging out of impossible events, he wove through her maze of obstacles and came out laughing. The tides had turned, this was no longer about writing a story, this was the pursuit of a fictional man through impossible circumstances. She searched the ground for the papers that had flown from her grasp, fleeing from her blood lust for this man. The twisting black vine, stemming from her cracked plastic papermate, splayed across her chest as she crawled frantically, she might have him...

Discoveries in drafts.

2009-05-18T19:44:00.000-07:00

CORRUPTED

The innocence of childhood. Oblivious of wealth, race, class and superiority. Not understanding the rituals that stamp them on the head with a bullshit label. In their worlds, their parents are the examples of life, of normality, of what to do, and so quickly, they are corrupted. Have you ever looked at a bulletin board full of drawings from kindergartners, each of their hero? Look at the caption, over half will say Daddy, Mommy, Grandma, or Grandpa. Have you asked the political views of a second grader? They will, with little doubt rattle off some views, direct quotes from home. Soon, prejudices, racial slurs, curses and more tumble out of their small, absorbing mouths.

I guess I was angry at society that day? Found it among the drafts.

DROP

Drop to infinity

as you fly through this night

in your black trodden cloak

and bright blue eyes,

Drop as if the world was ending,

into my arms, and into my heart.

The world will always be ending,

our lives will always be fleeing,

the light of your eyes shines

in the face of reason like a flag.

I have no recollection of writing this so don't ask me, I found it in my drafts.

RABBIT HOLE

Silently, the words slip

away from me

hating me as they go to the

light of the deep dark night.

Farther down the rabbit hole of

obituary darkness.

Nowhere loves to stick

to my soul as the world passes me by.

Again, found in drafts. I'm not sure what was going on, pretty sure I was zoning out and just writing whatever came to me.

Balcony~OneWord.com

2009-05-11T07:14:00.000-07:00

From my balcony of life I view your pitiful existance along with my own. the world lollygags its laps of careless shame and cries towards what it is sure is a better future.

Short but to the point, again, I wasn't thinking, only writing.

Pretend~OneWord.com

2009-05-04T07:28:00.000-07:00

I pretend to be thinking in the sullen classroom, the teachers mindlessly bobbling around the room to see the present state of their so called kingdom. Where would we be without education, but where are we with it? The mindless wandering through the corridors of childish thinking pretends to have significance in my day.

Urmm, idk guys... I just started writing.

Random things

2009-04-30T07:16:00.000-07:00

Shivering down its tracks, the streak of polished metal takes my youth away from me.
Looking back I can see a child, thrilled as the sleek engine skitters by. The train follows its even path, grasping the edges of the world and sliding over mountains and valleys and fields of rice.
The world I knew flickers from sight as I scream, always looking back, trying to return. Some passengers smile knowingly, remember the frantic reaching as they touch their graying hair and continue reading. At moments I’ll sit down. Forget just for a second the past that I must reach and watch the forests I’ve missed.

Faceless the moon shines cruelly and takes her soul to feed its vain needs. Her face palled, and her pencil remained motionless. The paper was as blank as her pageless mind. Gravity shuddered and brought her hand from her head again and she rested the hollow appendage on her heavy desk.

I don't know, poorly written poem.

2009-04-30T06:55:00.001-07:00

An inch of scorn, a cradle of beliefs
a bucket of sidelong glares
that implies, superiority.

An inch of scorn, a cradle of beliefs
they grip tenaciously to
the things they believe
they breathe the stories told by
those they trust and cling to these
Outdated things
that they can’t give up.

An inch of scorn, a cradle of beliefs
which are nurtured and raised to create
hatred and prejudices and share them

An inch of scorn, a cradle of beliefs,
that still bring people through.

2009-04-29T07:06:00.000-07:00

We exaggerate misfortune and happiness alike. We are never as bad off or as happy as we say we are.
Honore de Balzac (1799-1850)

I don't feel like responding right now. I am far too tired. I suppose I agree, not much translating to do, I just felt bad I hadn't posted anything in a long time.

The Qualities.

2009-04-16T07:02:00.000-07:00

Today we looked at a couple of passages from a book The Book of Qualities by J. Ruth Gendler. The book personifies characteristics such as Imagination, Confusion, and Loneliness. The assignment was to do a similar project, just a couple paragraphs of our own. Here we go!

Perfection
Perfection was raised in a small, buggy city by her aunt, Beauty, and uncle, Charm. Perfection is a whimsical and optimistic girl. She always enjoyed trying to create the best of everything. An only child, Perfection was pampered and urged to do the best at everything she tried. This urging caused her to find joy in materialistic pleasure and self-admiration.
Mistaken to be arrogant, uptight, and nit-picky, she leads a lonely life. She needs guidelines and direction to be her best, but society has driven her to riches rather than charity. After her cousin Innocence died, Perfection has been at a loss for contentment.

Uncertainty
Uncertainty was born into poverty and illness. His mother, Confidence, died in birth and his shaky father, Fear, raised him in their shack of a home. Always belittled by his beginnings and meek appearance, Uncertainty’s conviction was quieted quickly and he became shy and quiet. He never did very well in school, second guessing himself on tests, not participating in discussions, and then found that job interviews didn’t go through very well either. He sits in the same little shack he grew up in, lost in doubt and self-deprecation.
Once he thought he would be changed. He met Imagination who opened his eyes to new possibilities, however when she left on one of her ambitious escapades and Uncertainty grew bitter and depressed, returning to his shack never to venture away from the known again.

Boredom
Boredom is a person that can never find any interest in life. He goes through the motions but can never find zeal or luster in living. He finds his brother, Excitement, obnoxious and misguided. He finds friends in Detachment and Apathy.
He was lived in a house of exhilaration growing up and found that life turned out to be a bitter disappointment. Finding that life had little to offer, he’s let himself go. He has no hobbies, and avoids eye contact with Motivation at work. Though there is always interest surfacing in Boredom, but he suppresses it, knowing the world is simply not worth his effort.

Boooooooring Quote

2009-04-15T15:37:00.000-07:00

"Court not the critic's smile nor dread his frown."
-Sir Walter Scott

This is pretty boring, I mean, it's important to do thing your own way and be proud and accept feedback without freaking out and stuff but come on, this is why I never do quotes anymore. There's nothing to respond to! Ugggg, as usual, I'm avoiding homework right now. If someone can think up a cure for procrastination they'll become the richest person on earth. Now there's a person with a quote I'd like to respond to! How would that work, you just are suddenly motivated to do productive things? Meh, it could backfire. I mean, what if suddenly you no longer found zeal in random, spontaneous, pointless things? That's what I call a nightmare. *shudders*

I was just looking through old things on my computer, I was one funny kid. I did the randomest things. See, if that was an exisitant drug I would not have those fond memories! HAH. God, I want summer, right now. I want the calander to read "June" Ahhh, no more school, no more coats, no more overseas sister! I cannot WAIT. Honestly, if I could have one selfish thing right now, summer. And not really warm weather but the date is the same, I mean school's out, eighty-degree, stay up all night reading, wake up at noon to go to a sleepover, make a cheesy lemonade stand and end up drinking all your lemonade cuz no one walks down your street summer. Ahhh! It's soo far! All right, I'll shut up. G'bye!

Random things you probably don't want to read.

2009-04-15T07:07:00.000-07:00

I'm bored, I haven't posted in a while...
Maybe I'll look for stuff to post.
Haven't done a random question for a bit... alright.
When was the last time you ate lime jello at a diner or buffet?
Haha, lets look for stuff...
Hey! Some 11 word poems!

Hollow
The paper stares, blank
as my hollow mind screams for inspiration.

Play
Spilling with costume jewelry,
she parades her imagination free of fear.

Ummm, there's this...
I don't like it but it's there.
Katrina
Katrina sat at the coffee shop in the corner of Eleventh Street and During Avenue. It was a cold October morning and the wind briskly hurried away, blowing leaves and twigs down the tired streets. The sky was a thick, creamy gray giving the city an oppressive tone. Her mahogany hair lightly brushed her arm as she turned to look back from the window. The coffee shop was mainly empty, save herself, the man behind the counter, and a jittery woman with frazzled hair, who seemed less than the best of company. She glanced at the clock, 5:13. The door creaked, opening to allow a flustered man to rush into the room, and ask for a cup of plain coffee. He was in a hurry; his finger seemed to automatically tap the counter with impatience as the man behind the counter poured the lukewarm coffee into the cheap Styrofoam cup. The flustered man eyed the frazzled lady warily, who happened to be very absorbed with the arrangement of brownie crumbs on her plate. He rushed out, sloshing some of his beverage on the filthy carpet.
Her attention turned back to her own situation. She had had, to say the least, a rough week. She was kicked out of her house… no, she was cast out from her own home after she had told them. She had had no where to go to and no where to stay as he had left town for a while and all her friends had actually gone to college. She sighed heavily drawing unwanted attention from the brownie crumb enthusiast. She took another miniscule sip of her coffee. The street lights cast long, dim shadows in different directions, their location lost without the blinding sun. Her bracelets clinked against the counter and she lost herself in her mind, the coffee shop disappearing.
She was back at the convenience store, shoving her money at the intrusive old woman, forced to get a minimum wage job as her retirement became worse and worse, while she looked at her feet, slashing hair over her dark eyes. The unbearable pink plus had scarred her mind moments later; it dissolved into her reality slowly and surely and stuck, marking her face with embarrassment and fear. She thought of throwing it out, disposing of the evidence, waiting for the smoke to clear and make her getaway. She sat in the stall and tried desperately to lie to herself, if she ignored it, it would go away, but knew that this lie would only grow. Grow bigger and bigger until the whole world would know, despite what she told herself, so big that she would no longer would be able to look at her feet to avoid the cashiers piercing defiant stare, only her stomach. Annoyed and terrified, she walked from the bathroom, leaving the insufferable pink plus hidden beneath a brown paper towel.
She still hadn’t told him. He had called her as she was deciding when she would pick up her phone. He called her to tell her he needed a break, he would only be gone a few weeks, he said, just a few weeks. She was speechless as his words spilled out of his mouth. And so she told her sister. They cried and hugged each other and lied and said that everything would be alright. Her mother didn’t lie. Her mother told her this was the absolute worst thing that she could have done. This brought shame to their doorstep, this brought trouble to her life, and this was the end of Katrina’s student life because the only one that can take care of that, she screeched, pointing, was her.
She stirred the remains her coffee lamely with her finger. The world faded to darkness as she was left. The tears countless she had found her way among the weaving streets, the catacombs of night. She’d chosen her favorite places to rest. She had managed to still look alright after the first couple days but the grease had begun to spread over her head, making her head glossy with filth. She had slowly let go of this discomfort and. The sidelong glances at the young girl wandering the roads over and over again, retracing her steps until she stopped once again to savor a coffee or apple bought with her diminishing stack of currency, the money running out. She had to stop buying these things. She had to call her boyfriend. She had to return home and beg for forgiveness, but she was afraid and alone. She had no end of indecision within her wrenching heart and—the screeching chair of the frazzled woman startled Katrina. The woman emptied her carefully arranged plate of crumbs and left, jittery, from the coffee street, passing Katrina’s window to continue down During Avenue. Katrina looked down at the shallow ring of remaining coffee in her mug that her finger had been tracing in mindless circles. She reached at her jacket, pulling it over her and pocketing an extra cream before heading to the phone-booth on Twelfth.

I never did post the last article I wrote for the newspaper.

Flying Spaghetti God Scientifically Proven
April 3, 2009
A rush of news has come on new religions, the more far-fetched the better. However, one we all read about in the New York Times has now been scientifically proven. Yes, it’s true folks, 90% of scientists agree the Flying Spaghetti Monster, an intelligent god, is real.
After this announcement, Pastafarianism boomed, 10,000 new members just this week made the migration to Oregon to meet Bobby Henderson, the founder and prophet of the first, and presumably only, correct religion ever made by man.
“You know, now that we’ve got the scientists on our side, Pastafarianism will grow to the largest religion ever, as it is the only truth of beliefs thus far." Jackie Clemens, our belief specialist and newly converted Pastafarian told us. "There used to be such a fuss, proven fact, deep belief, a tag of war of some type. But now, we have that all settled and everything is set up for a greater future under our lord and savior with meatballs."

I'll do a quote later.

2009-04-07T14:42:00.000-07:00

"A large income is the best recipe for happiness I ever heard of."

Jane Austen (1775-1817)

>:( NO, JANE, BAD. MONEY HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH HAPPINESS.

Didn't you ever here the story about the sore old man up in his castle, rolling in money but never content? You know why? YOU WANT TO KNOW WHY THE POOR OLD MAN WAS SAD?! Because he was lonely!

Connection is the best recipe for happiness I've ever heard of. And you can quote that.

Connection with anything really. You know what you can't connect with though? Money. No connection there. You know what you can't buy with money? Connection!

The most important things cannot be bought or touched or seen.

Money is bought, touched and seen.

Untrue, pessimistic, materialistic, superficial quote, Ms. Austin, really truly.

Parody Newspaper Articles

2009-04-01T06:55:00.000-07:00

Environmentalists demand everyone goes blue.
We’ve all heard the cries of enragement, seen the public service announcements, read the proposals that we all unplug our toasters when they are not in use. All day long we are barraged with demands of “GO GREEN!” We know this was tolerable enough, knew that they were just trying to care, but now have environmentalists gone too far? The newest campaign now insist that the public “Go Blue.” People wander the streets, calling to innocent bystanders and commanding they go blue.
“What does it mean?” Asks harassed mother of three, Ann Markley, who was simply on her way to the grocery store when she was stopped by one of these extreme activists. “They ask these things from us but do they know the consequences?” Ann told us directly how she feared a loss of respect at work and home if she went blue. “They say it will make the future better for our children but at what cost? To go walking around like a freak?!”
Many have similar concerns. After viewing the aftermath of the first outbreak, I found that many had comments such as “Just a bunch of crazy people, they are.” and “They had the nerve to ask me, but I didn’t see an inch of blue skin on them!” How long will this go on? How much longer will we fear our ventures into the city? How much longer shall we be afraid in our own houses and neighborhoods? Or maybe, just maybe, they’re right. Could it be that these outrageous demands be, in fact, the right thing to do? Until further news on this quickly unwinding story, we will simply have to wait for these desperately needed answers.

Facebook users outraged "Causes" application does nothing
Today at 12:15, a mob of angry Facebook users protested at Joe Green and Sean Parker’s homes, demanding answers. At first their purpose was unclear, but it soon became exceedingly obvious that they had just found out the “Causes” application did absolutely nothing. We turn to our public outlook specialist for more answers.
“Well, they obviously didn’t realize inviting their broke friends to join ‘Stop Child Abuse’ would do nothing if someone didn’t take the initiative to donate any money.” Clive Evans told us, “The fact that they have 12,000 Facebook users supporting them doesn’t help a whole lot, besides maybe self esteem.” We interviewed several protesters too. It seemed a general consensus that this was the first active protest they had been to, and that they would have simply joined a Facebook Cause, but now knew it didn’t do anything.
“To think I bothered all my Facebook friends for nothing, I really had wanted to help stop the extinction of polar bears.” Heather Wainly told us, before mildly reciting a poorly made chant, presumably the first one created by these lazy activists. Green and Parker, overwhelmed with irritation finally made an apology to the crowd before talking to us.
“They are oblivious to the reality of the internet. Just because you’ve joined up something doesn’t help if you’re as broke as they are!” They added later on, “Lets just hope the Myspace users don’t find out.”

One to come, it's not finish.

Illustrations

2009-03-15T11:24:00.000-07:00

DR. SEUSS STYLE! They aren't all done but...

One word- Specific.

2009-03-15T11:22:00.000-07:00

Specifically, I'd like to climb to the top of my mountain, to swim across the sea of enriched culture. I'd like to conquer the world, and myself. I'd like to be spontaneous, more than anyone in this world. Specifically, I'd love to challenge my doubts, along with yours. I'd like to jump into life without testing the water, I'd like to laugh in the rain for no reason and not feel silly. Specifically, I want to travel the world and break my ties with this town. I'd like to win the lottery and give it ALL to a charity. I'd like to live in a hut I made myself for a year, just to see how Laura Ingalls felt. Specifically, I'd like to buy a bus and trip across the country, defying society's idea of responsibility and commitment. Specifically, I'd like to do anything but what I'm expected to. Rise above the world's watchful, scornful eyes that keep you "in your place". Specifically, I'd like to not be me.

Quote-- Fri. March 13th (Dun dun dunn)

2009-03-13T17:38:00.000-07:00

"Friendships are discovered rather than made." -Harriet Beecher Stowe (1811-1896)
Haha, still trying to beef up my journal, see, I kinda dropped the ball with work this marking period, there's been a bunch o' stuff that has happened recently, preventing efficient progress with school work. Anyways, I agree with this quote, you can build on a friendship, but they are not made. They have always been discovered for me.

Friday the Thirteenth

2009-03-13T17:18:00.000-07:00

OooOooooOoooo
hahaha, superstition is crazy. Who cares? Nothing happened to anyone I know today. I'm sure someone is blaming their bad day on the date (Stoopid!) Anyways, I'm pumping up my journal for credit before the end of the marking period... hmmmm, what haven't I posted...? Oh! Stargirl Report! hahahaha, okay, no one wants to read that, go on, stop reading, I'm putting it up now because its LONG. hahaha STOP, seriously, I don't wanna put you through this. ...No? okay, you've been warned.

The book Stargirl by Jerry Spinelli is a short fiction novel which discusses the issues of conformity. Though this novel is a quick read, its message is powerful none the less. I would recommend this book to anyone looking for a quick read, colorful characters, and the subject of conformity, because it is exactly that.

This book is classic Spinelli, he writes in a fluent, easy to read manner. He writes in the first person from the perspective of an average, easy to relate to junior at Mica High, Leo. Leo holds commentary while the other characters play out the story. He uses a lot of thoughts and dialogue to keep the story moving rather than drag out long descriptions of things. This makes the situation more real, simply because of how typical Leo’s tone is throughout the book. Through Leo’s eyes, we meet a host of vivid characters, the most brilliant of which is of course, Stargirl. In my opinion, the best character was Archie. Archie is a likeable old paleontologist who was something of a mentor to both Leo and Stargirl. He liked to relate things to bones but his complex message came through the strange comparisons unscathed and true. His wisdom and eccentricity made him both interesting and admirable. My personal least favorite character was Leo. Though he was nicer to Stargirl, in an appalling plot twist, what I find to be the most important event of the book, he convinces her to conform to the other students at Mica High and foolishly begins to refuse interaction with her. This changes the entire mood and is the most dramatic time throughout the span of the book. I’m not sure that I was meant to dislike Leo as whole, perhaps only nearing the end, but the attachment to Stargirl’s quirks made his decision extremely repelling. I believe Stargirl was Jerry Spinelli’s favorite character too, despite his decision to tell from the perspective of another character. When a writer creates a character, especially a quirky one, the writer tends to become attached to that character. Stargirl has high potential to be a favorite character; she was unique beyond belief, living in her own world. She wore long, old-fashioned dresses and played the ukulele; she did secret good deeds, and cheered for the whole world. Stargirl’s attitude was uplifting and pleasant, her view of the world cheery if not ignorant. I would be surprised to find that she was not his favorite character, her peculiarity intrigues and involves the fantasist while Leo and other schoolmates involve the realist, which brings me to the audience.

This book could be aimed at both the realist and the fantasist. The peculiarity of Stargirl and her actions along with other events and characters brings the outside their world while at the same time, the realist enjoys the conventional school setting and common emotions and views. This book could be read at many ages, its ease makes this book a possibility for third to fifth graders, at this level, I would assume it would be elementary reading. By sixth grade on, this book would mostly be surface reading maybe with a small amount of analysis. This was where I was though certain individuals may find this book an excellent analytical read.

This is the situation in many Spinelli books, though you could analyze them, they are simple enough to understand and retract a message from without deep analysis. This holds true for books like Loser_, Maniac McGee, and Crash all by Jerry Spinelli along with others like Blue Heron by Avi and Because of Winn-Dixie by Kate DiCamillo. For me, Stargirl was less interesting then Blue Heron, Loser, Because of Winn-Dixie, and Maniac McGee. There was nothing wrong with Stargirl, the plot was alright, the characters well defined, and the message clear. However, I thought the plot was a bit dragging, the characters extreme, and the message less original than I might have hoped. These things brought it below the level of books such as Blue Heron, Because of Winn-Dixie, Loser, and Maniac McGee.

In that vein of thinking, some may ask what I would do, if writing a similar book, to make this book better fit my standards. The answer is, I would not write a similar book. My writing style tends to be quite opposite from Jerry Spinelli's. In fact, the only thing I can think of that would be the same is that we both tend to write from the perspective of, or centered around, a highly relatable character. Other than that, I prefer to write with more description and tell stories about internal conflict while he tends to write with minimal descriptions and tell stories about external conflict. His relatable person tends to be a narrator outside the immediate action, while mine tends to be the main character. If I were to write a Stargirl, which I already said I wouldn't, I might have had more description and perhaps had a twist on this very common message of teenage conformity. I might have gone into more detail about the true feelings of Stargirl, rather than leaving it to a "happy wagon" to interpret what she held inside. Though the mystery left the reader to decide how Stargirl functioned, getting inside her mind as the author intended would have been fascinating.

Reading is always a learning experience, even if you learn things you . I think I learned to give a second chance to a book I didn't think I'd like. In writing, I've learned more about how to make an extreme character relatable, through surroundings and emotions. I was surprised that Spinelli ended the book the way he did. The ending left a sort of mystery around Stargirl that lead the reader to do what they wanted. There was a slight saddened tone over the ending when Leo found what he had done, but I found he deserved it. Though some writers might find the need to put a more well rounded ending on such a book, I think that it worked very well with the novel, because Stargirl was mysterious herself.

Stargirl by Jerry Spinelli is a quick read, but stuffs in vivid characters and a powerful message about conformity. Spinelli's work is easy and enjoyable, almost always hitting home, Stargirl is no exception.

Wow, you actually read that? L A M E. You fail, you MUST have had something better to do. Well, have fun, Good luck surviving The Thriteenth Dun Dun DUN!

Quote Machine!

2009-03-12T08:14:00.000-07:00

"Dogs are wise. They crawl away into a quiet corner and lick their wounds and do not rejoin the world until they are whole once more."
-Agatha Christie (1890-1976)
WOOOOOOOT! I liked this one... if we did this, things would be a lottt easier. Anyways, thought I'd share.

Let me explain something about my brain

2009-03-11T15:13:00.000-07:00

Cypracona [si ˈpruh kon nuh] n.- A small but overbearing section of my brain (see location in image above). A ficticious village of sorts, Cypracona has large population of characters. It can be any type of city I wish, normally containing a majority quirky, young, female protaganists. Cypracona has seemingly indefinite amount of characters I have not yet met; but pop right up, full of personality, and then walk off with my idea and do what they please. The residents of Cypracona have no intention to obey me, nor do they have any incentive to even hear me out. Though they tend to ignore it, I do have slight power over them. I can alter them as I please, pull them up at any moment, plop them into my settings and situations, and so forth... you'd think they'd listen to me more.

George!

2009-03-07T16:01:00.000-08:00

"Great art is never produced for its own sake. It is too difficult to be worth the effort." -George Bernard Shaw
Not at all! Art may be difficult but it is so worth the effort! Especially for its own sake because it is then a unbiased decision to make art. That art is almost always best, the self-inspired kind.

Dr. Seuss Style! ...kinda

2009-03-04T07:54:00.001-08:00

On The Isles of Leet
By Aubrey Grube
On the Isles of Leet
Lived princess Marguerite
Who was single and happy,
Much to the sorrow of her pappy.

They wanted her married away with great speed
“Always marry young!” that was their creed.
But all of the suitors repulsed Marguerite
And she went to hide from the palace of Leet.

On one of these many frightful escapades
Bloomed the flower child of Leet, McDades.
McDades was somewhat of a legend on Leet
He came out of no where and surprised Marguerite.

He was quite renowned, he still is today.
In fact, there was a fairly famous play,
With McDades right in the middle-- What a display!
McDades was a plant boy, who bloomed every hour,
In bright sunshine or a thick snow shower.
He was rarely seen but when he was,
The Isles of Leet became abuzz.

And so when McDades approcheed Marguerite,
She nearly fell faint, on the farthest corners of Leet.
He called to her quickly, before she could do such
(And with good reason, she didn't look well much)
He called to her, "I know of your trouble!
"And quite frankly, I think you live in a bubble."
"But how?" Asked the astounded Marguerite
"They cannot control you, the king and queen of Leet,
"You are your own person, that's just what you are,
"And no one can tell you that you can't be a star,
"Or can't play the guitar!
"You go on now, and do what you dream of,
"And that doesn't need to include shoved love."

"You're right! Oh, my! How right you are, kind McDades!"
Cried delighted Marguerite, "Thank you, good sir, for all of your aids!"
And so McDades wilted back to the shadows,
And Marguerite lived happily for the rest of tomorrows.

Illustrations to come. What do you think?

Happy Birthday Dr. Seuss!

2009-03-02T07:16:00.000-08:00

The birthday of one of the greatest and most nonsensical authors to publish a book, today I'm celebrating Ted Seuss Geisel's 105th birthday! Yay for Mr. Craddock's children's book unit!

1. When and where was he born (and with what name)?
March 2nd 1904 as Theodore Seuss Geisel.
2. When did he die?
September 24th, 1991
3. What was his childhood like?
Ted had a childhood of moderate hardship. Prohibition threatened his father's livelihood and World War 1 caused discrimination due to his German heritage. But he surpassed these things, his parents were strict yet loving, Dr. Seuss credits his mother in his rhythmic rhymes and style.
4. What important events occurred in his life?
Ted went to Dartmouth and and became chief of its humor magazine (the first record of the pseudonym "Seuss", and also Oxford where he met his furture wife and discovered his worth in art, becoming a cartoonist. He became involved in World War 2. in 1937 he wrote his first children's book, And to think that I saw it on Mulberry Street.
5. What brought him to write children's books?
The rhythmic M.S. Kungsholm (luxury liner) inspired the style of his first children's book. The continuation of writing children's books was caused by the call for something new and interesting in children's literature.
6. Make a list of some of Dr. Seuss's works (books, films, etc.)

The Cat in the Hat

The Cat in the Hat Comes Back

The Lorax

Sneeches on Beaches

Wocket in my Pocket

Mr. Brown Can Moo, Can You?

Oh, the Places You'll Go!

The Zax

How the Grinch Stole Christmas

Bartholomew and the Oobleck

Daisey-Head Mayze

Horton Hears a Who

If I Ran the Zoo

Dr. Seuss' ABC

Fox in Socks

Green Eggs and Ham

Hop on Pop

One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish

Amatuer Quote of the week.

2009-02-26T17:59:00.001-08:00

"It was crazy before, but now this is just psychotic. Telling people to deny science because it doesn't fit with your faith, telling people that it's evil and trying to refute evolution with more science? It just doesn't make sense, it doesn't add up. And this is when I was younger which is why I can't understand adults who deny evolution, I cannot understand it, it's just a very immature way of thinking to me. And even then, when I was twelve I was like 'Why don't these people understand it? What is so hard to get about this? Why are you so, so intolerant and so dogmatic and so closed minded? Why must you keep your mind in this little tiny box?' And that's when I stared to realize 'Wow, religion is a drug. Religion is a drug.'"
- Laci Green

This is a excerpt from a youtube video by Laci Green. A deconverted devote Mormon, Laci (now an atheist activist) makes many good points. I liked this section especially, being religiously agnostic (meaning not knowing) I'm interested in all points of view spiritually. I was thinking about this sentance, orginally my favorite sentance was "why must you keep your mind in this tiny little box?" because I tend to agree but thinking about the last statement, "religion is a drug", got me thinking. I think she may be right, people be come obcessivly concerned with thier beliefs, as you become more involved, it slowly will take over your life. I just wanted to share this view with you all, bye now!
Also this "Amatuer Quote of the week" may become a new segment. Keep your eyes open for it.

The Album Game

2009-02-23T13:01:00.000-08:00

I found an interesting activity on facebook it's called *drumroll* the album game! Here's how it works:
The Album Game

1 - Go to "wikipedia." Hit “random”
or click http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special:Random
The first random wikipedia article you get is the name of your band.

2 - Go to "Random quotations"
or click http://www.quotationspage.com/random.php3
The last four or five words of the very last quote of the page is the title of your first album.

3 - Go to flickr and click on “explore the last seven days”
or click http://www.flickr.com/explore/interesting/7days
Third picture, no matter what it is, will be your album cover.

4 - Use photoshop or similar to put it all together.

I've made several as you can see, expect them in the future as well, I'll post favorite new ones from time to time.

Holden Caufield Style

2009-02-23T07:56:00.000-08:00

That’s the thing about writing classes. There’s always some hotshot writer who thinks they’re the shit and then takes a red pen to your paper and writes all these crumby notes about how you should have used alliteration here and allusion there and stuff. It kills me, it really does. These professors marking up your papers like they’re the smartest guys in the world, what a bunch of phonies. And then in about any art class you go into, there’s a bunch of people telling you the how-to of the craft. They’ve always got some snooty expression on their face “No, no, you have to do it my way.” As if their way was the only way in the whole goddamn world. God, that makes me mad. I don’t even want to think about it. But then the whole world is full of these lousy bastards, the ones who think they’re the only people in the entire universe or something, there’s about a thousand of them in this shitty town alone for chrissakes.
Of course, it’s kinda fun to chuck the crap around with them. They can never tell, they get so enthralled with hearing about what a hotshot they are and how great everything they touch is, they’re too dopey to notice you’re making fun of them, it depresses me. It really does, God it depresses the hell out of me.

New Favorite Quote Ever.

2009-02-20T23:12:00.000-08:00

Okay, it's not from the quote machine to the left or anything. I found it and had to share it.

"And you, liar, tellar of tall tales: you trample all the Lord's commandments underfoot, you murder, steal, commit adultery, and afterward break into tears, beat your breast, take down your guitar and turn the sin into a song. Shrewd devil, you know very well that God pardons singers no matter what they do, because he can simply die for a song..."- The Last Temptation of Christ by Nikos Kazantzakis

Isn't that amazing? I have little to say about it, it speaks for itself, but I wanted to share it with my small circle of readers.

Discouraging.

2009-02-17T10:17:00.000-08:00

Paper back writer (paperback writer)
Dear Sir or Madam, will you read my book?
It took me years to write, will you take a look?
It's based on a novel by a man named Lear
And I need a job, so I want to be a paperback writer,
Paperback writer.

It's the dirty story of a dirty man
And his clinging wife doesn't understand.
His son is working for the Daily Mail,
It's a steady job but he wants to be a paperback writer,
Paperback writer.

Paperback writer (paperback writer)

It's a thousand pages, give or take a few,
I'll be writing more in a week or two.
I can make it longer if you like the style,
I can change it round and I want to be a paperback writer,
Paperback writer.

If you really like it you can have the rights,
It could make a million for you overnight.
If you must return it, you can send it here
But I need a break and I want to be a paperback writer,
Paperback writer.

Great.

Fake Book Report.

2009-02-13T07:08:00.000-08:00

Alright, it's not exactly polished or anyhting but...

Persephone by Juliana Roswell (2008, Random House) deals with one girl’s struggle against loneliness. With her much loved grandmother dead, Persephone Leroy Gilman finds she cannot relate or talk freely with anyone around her. Her parents cannot find time for her, nor do they understand her. Due to her frequent moves across the country, she has eventually gotten a tutor that travels with them, cutting her off from the social aspects of education. She seeks company with her eccentric neighbors but finds herself lost in their tarot card and tea leaf readings. In her isolation, Persephone starts to create her own world. She imagines friends and company for her to spend time with, but finds that soon her world is too much. She begins to actively quarrel with her characters, and they begin to turn on her. She finds herself completely alone, misunderstood and ignored by her parents, bewildered by her neighbors; Persephone seems to be isolated beyond revival. Persephone panics as her pieced together version of reality collapses and she struggles to find herself among palmistry and fabrications.

The main characters are Jeremy and Melinda Gilman, Persephone’s parents, Maxine Storm, Persephone’s eldest neighbor and a former physic, Ananya Rose, her imaginary best friend, and of course, Persephone Leroy Gilman herself. Persephone has long mahogany colored hair and strait cut bangs, she has brilliant green eyes and is nine years old. She is extremely creative but thrives on human interaction, making her isolation all the more difficult for her. Ananya Rose has crimped, flaming red hair. She mirrors Persephone’s personality in many ways but has her own quirks that make her who she is. Maxine Storm is an elderly lady, she has flowing silver hair which she wears up and prefers floral to any pattern ever put on cloth. However, though she seems like a normal old lady, Maxine is wildly eccentric. A former physic, Maxine likes to tell wild stories of her youth to anyone who will listen and read anything ranging from palms to stars to Tolstoy. Maxine entertains Persephone but Persephone finds that spending too long a time with Ms. Storm can be perplexing. Jeremy and Melinda are perfectly acceptable people who like to think they are very important and busy. They misunderstand their daughter and Persephone finds that she cannot relate with them at all even if they had anytime to spend with her. This book deals with loneliness, identity and conflicting realities and though almost mystical, is very applicable to today.

Juliana Roswell is a young author living in New York City, she likes to avoid interviews, preferring to share herself through her works. Normally writing realistic fiction and fantasy, this is one of her greatest works. I would recommend this book to everyone I know, I found it very entertaining.

EXCERPT FROM THE BOOK:

Persephone Leroy Gilman was born on her feet. This she knew to be truthful, her parents had told her so. She had landed in an upright position in the hospital, the fact she fell down immediately after, her parents told her, was beside the point. Persephone disagreed. It was her personal opinion that her parents knew nothing about her personality, and thought that falling down was the key point of this story, showing she could not stand alone. Her grandmother, Anna Marie Gilman, agreed with Persephone.
“You’re a people person; you need people to be complete.” She would tell her, “Without having someone to share yourself with, you could never be truly happy.” Anna Marie was right, and Persephone knew it. Her parents did not, they would speak to their friends as if they knew her, ‘Oh, she’s such an independent soul.’ They would say, normally within obvious earshot of their only child. She said nothing, knowing they wouldn’t properly hear her.
Persephone was nine years old (nine going on thirty, her mother told her) and had a tutor. She had a tutor because her parents were constantly moving and couldn’t stand to see her friendships turn to dust as they pulled her out of school after school after school to go somewhere else while also being too busy (Persephone suspected simple laziness) to home school her. We can’t quite be sure what urgent jobs Jeremy and Melinda Gilman had that they needed to be constantly moving, for Persephone herself was unsure. Persephone told everyone she met a different profession. These jobs spanned from modern-day minstrel to circus director to Greco-Roman sculptors.

Ragslirt by Pens Jerililyr

2009-02-11T06:43:00.000-08:00

An anagram for Stargirl by Jerry Spinelli, the last name is a little iffy but oh well.

*Spoiler Alert*

Anyway, I'm kinda mad. This stupid kid in the book made Stargirl conform to normal, obnoxious people and now she's just like everybody else. :( I was just angry last time that I knew the plot, I didn't know the entire plot however and this surprised me and made me angry. Stupid Leo. Alright, back to reading.

Quote of the Day!

2009-02-09T08:42:00.000-08:00

Whens the last time I did one of these? Huh? I thought so, had to check the archive, didn't you? Well, it's a new year! Haha, okay, it caught my eye today so...
"Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover."-Mark Twain (1835-1910)
YES! Please and thank you! Live, people! L I V E! I could have done without all the boat references but yes Mr. Clemens! (In case you didn't know, Mark Twain was a pen name, his real name was Samuel Clemens) The correct message is there, in order to enjoy life, you have to live it! Who'da thunk it? I live by this philosophy, at least I try to. I live for the spontaneous, the fun, the not thought out. These are the things that lead to stories that last a life time,these things enrich and make a life. I encourage you to right now, as you read this decide to, this week, do something spontaneous. It can be with friends or family or by yourself, just yesterday I decided to get up at quater to seven in the morning and take a walk to the creek. My orginal intention was to watch the sunrise but the sun rose around 7:20 and so I sat with myself in the cold. This time was fantastic, the world was asleep as I sat there and watched the water rush from underneath it's frozen crust to the outlet of the big pond area.This lead to the idea for my book report, Yayy!

I've done it!

2009-02-08T11:28:00.000-08:00

Now, the other book ideas may have worked out but with a combination of quiet time and whats been happening around me recently, I came up with a book I didn't immediately shoot down. Hooray! It's Persephone by Juliana Roswell. I'll tell you more about it later but it's basically about conflicting realities in a young girl: Persephone! It's like Coraline and Shadow Baby and my thoughts in a blender. I even came up with a cover! See?

Imaginary Book

2009-02-06T07:45:00.000-08:00

I'm supposed to write an imaginary book report on a imaginary book that I imaginarily wrote under an imaginary pen name. This involves coming up with a decent plot and not fanciful discription. I have no problem with titles and pen names but plots are difficult to do, especially without the reward of discripition. Help!

Possible titles and Pen names:
Rain
Amber McKenzie

Yellow Fish
Violet Meyers

Summer in the City
Alison Radner

Dreaming of Sleep
Amanda Sellers

Stargirl.

2009-02-05T07:09:00.000-08:00

I'm pretty angry. I will soon have a total of 4 books I'm reading, two for creative writing, two for English. Three of which I know the entire plot, one of which I've already read. Fun. This entry is about the second book I have received thus far in this barrage of reading, Stargirl by Jerry Spinelli. I know the entire plot line already, though I have not really read it (I read CRASH while the other group did Stargirl and we occasionally shared, revealing the plot to me.) I do, however, know Jerry Spinelli. Spinelli books normally take a total of 1-2 hours to finish. For this, you think, I should be glad. Well I am, partially. I'm glad I don't have to dwell to long on this but because I am above this level of reading and already have the plot spoiled, I don't really want to read it. Now that I have adequately rambled, I'll start with the journalling assignment.

1. THERE IS NO TEXT EXCEPT THE AUTHOR ON THE FRONT COVER! OMG! *Sarcasm*

2. He draws inspiration from his childhood, his children and grandchildren. He doesn't want to define himself by his writing alone, he does other things too, such as "touch ponies" This short biography is very informational.

3. What background information?

4. This book smells musty and gross. The typing is Times New Roman, double spaced, probably 10 point font. The page numbers are in the lower outside margin on Arial. Occasionally there is bold font, aligned center, "headlines"

5. As I know the entire plot line, I expect this book will be about being an outcast or different and it's effects.

6. No, I don't think I will enjoy the book, because the plot is spoiled and I'm going to be reading better books at the same time, making this book perspectively worse.

I'll continue later.

Shadow Baby Disscussion Questions

2009-02-04T06:59:00.000-08:00

1. One of the underlying themes in Shadow Baby is art, what it is, the people who make it, the people who appreciate it. (Think about, for example, Clara’s soliloquy on book reports vs. actual books.) Clara believes that the old man has taught her the “art of possibility, and the possibility of beauty.” What do you think the book is saying about the process of creating art? What are your own feelings on that subject?

I think the book speaks to the reality that as far as art and imagination, everything is a possibility, everything is an opportunity, and everything can be beautiful. I also believe this, though it can be difficult to live by.

2. In many ways the novel is a study in opposites. For example, Clara lives for words, while the old man is illiterate. In what ways do such contrasts serve to illuminate and deepen Clara’s understanding of life?

Contrasts and contradictions enrich life to know end. They deepen the understanding of life as we know it by turning upside down what we believe to be true. Without opposites life would be two-dimensional and there would be nothing to learn or discover about the way things work.

3. In what ways do Clara’s fake book reports mirror her world? In what ways do they represent her inner psyche? Why does she burn them all up in the end?

Clara’s book reports are her creations of imagination, since they are from her mind, they mirror the way she sees her life and the people in it, the situations and emotions are very similar to the ones she experiences. Her fake reports mirror her world just as any writer’s work mirrors what they know, along with imagination. Because Clara lives in a world of imagination, her book reports even further mirror her life and represent the way she expresses the problems and emotions her life contains. In the end, however, Clara comes to terms with reality and can no longer hold onto this world of stories and hidden trouble. That’s why she burns them up.

4. Shadow Baby opens with this line, “Now that the old man is gone, I think about him much of the time.” Clara is twelve years old as she narrates the book, looking back on the past year of her life. Because she is still very young, she is not capable of having a long perspective of time, yet the book ends with this line, “But I was a child then.” Think about other fictional child narrators, e.g., Holden Caulfield in A Catcher in the Rye and Laura Ingalls Wilder in the Little House books, and discuss the events behind their transition into adulthood. Compare and contrast to Clara’s.

Clara grows up by the appearance and disappearance of elements in her world (Georg, C. Winter, chickens, Daphne, Hermit Grampa, etc.) These appearances/disappearances teach her about life and reality and draw her further from her world of imagination. Laura’s journey is similar, she grows as she experiences difficult things in life but these things are different from the experiences of Clara. Laura experiences certain appearances/disappearances such as the death of their dog but the things that really force growth on her are things like the loss of her sister’s vision and the constant moving and financial problems.

5. Clara’s mother Tamar practices weekly in a church choir. Yet Tamar never attends church, nor do the old man or Clara. Is there nonetheless some religious significance in the book?

I don’t think so. There is very little religious other than choir practice. I suppose that there are points that you could relate to religion but I found that there was little religious significance in this book.

6. What is the significance of the title?

The entire book, Clara struggles with the “what could have been” of her stillborn twin, Daphne. She creates reality through her imagination and with that she creates Daphne, this “shadow baby” becomes part of her and follows her thoughts and feelings for the majority of the time. Daphne the shadow baby is a crucial element of the book and that is the significance of the title.

7. While it is true that the mother-daughter relationship in the novel is difficult, did you find it believable and real? Why does Tamar refuse to answer Clara’s questions?
Yes, while some of the relationship is rather strange, the emotions and ways of Tamar are very believable. She explains her refusal to answer Clara’s questions well, thinking she would only cause her child pain with her answers and what she has gone through and still goes through explains her behavior. I think this makes her character believable, along with her parenting.

8. To Clara, “real life” is often indistinguishable from her fantasy life. What purpose does her wild imagination serve?

Clara likes to escape into this world of imagination to soften the pain of reality. With a missing father, dead twin, and mysterious grandfather along with being isolated at school, Clara needs not only answers, but pleasant ones that only her imagination can supply.

9. The story of Clara’s relationship with CJ Wilson is intertwined with the story of her chickens. How do the two stories both reflect and enlarge each other?

The chickens and CJ shun her from where she should belong. They just build on each other as more and more happens, and she reacts the same way to both, making the least amount of interaction possible. This develops not only Clara's character, but also her situation.

10. In the book, one person looks at a dented tin can and sees garbage, another looks at the same can and sees the possibility of beauty in the form of a lantern or cookie cutters. How does the book play with ideas of how individual ways of seeing influence one’s experience of the world?
The book deals a lot with the way you see the world, Georg's sight of possibility of beauty, Clara's of words and stories, Tamar's closed off and concise view and so on. This is, I think, the main idea, theme, or motif in the book. Mcghee relates this through situations (like the one referenced in the question), dialogue, comments, and thoughts.

11. Clara is obsessed with pioneers, their stories of incredible hardship and triumph over adversity. Can the book in some ways be viewed as a metaphor (or possibly an anti-metaphor) for the traditional American mythology surrounding its immigrant past?
Most definitley! Clara is constantly comparing her own life to those of the pioneers, making the book an extended metaphor, in some ways. Clara finds that her troubles relate to the problems of the pioneers. For example, in the fake book report shown in the book, Clara tells of a pioneer girl who loses her baby sibling to a blizzard. Though only minutes old at the time, Clara had the same thing happen.

12. Think about the opening scene of the book, in which Clara glimpses the old man hanging lanterns in the woods. Think about the ending scene, in which she is burning her fake book reports in the snow. How do these two scenes, which ‘bookend’ the novel, mirror each other? What do they tell us about how Clara has changed in the interim?
The beginning shows the old man hanging lanterns in the dark woods, so that people can see their way and travel on their way. This is when Clara herself begins her journey to reality, she meets the old man who shows her a different way of seeing life. In the end, this results in her coming to terms with the reality of her life, and she decides to burn the works of her imagination, emitting light herself.

Art

2009-02-03T07:23:00.000-08:00

Today in Craddock's class we read a comic on Art by Scott McCloud. Scott states in this comic that art is ANY action that is not based on survival or reproduction, anything. He says that art has six steps: 1. Idea 2. Form 3. Idiom (or genre) 4. Structure 5. Craft 6. Surface. He compares these steps to an Apple, idea being the core, surface the skin. It was a really interesting comic, look up Scott McCloud "Understanding Comics" and keyword Art and you might be able to find it.

We're now supposed to answer 2 questions.

1) What is your 4-year goal concerning creative writing and the arts. Why did you enter this program (be honest, the idea is to "discover" truth through writing about it) and where do you want to take your writing in the next four years? (i.e. what is your long term goal concerning creative writing?)

I hope to become a better writer, that would be the basic answer which you are probably hoping to hear. However, though this is true, I DO want to become a better writer, learn about different forms and genres and so on, I entered the creative writing program at School of the Arts because this seemed to be the best school for me, the only school that particularly peaked my interest, and I can write. I came because I hope to better myself, but more so to spend the next for years of my life in approximate enjoyment.

2) What is your relationship with reading? What sorts of literary genres do you prefer? If you don't read, why not? If you do, what helps you read? If you are a skilled reader, what do you think caused you to be skilled? If you are a weak reader, why do you think you are a weak reader? Explore the concept of reading.

I love to read. I always have, stories are my favorite pastime. I like genres that can allow me to escape into a different world, realistic fiction and fantasty are among my favorites. What helps me read? Um, a desire to escape, to learn, to experience without having to leave my bedroom. My hunger for stories and characters and settings drives me to tear through books in a night, or less. I've gained skill in reading by reading and reading and reading until I had to hunt out interesting looking books in the depths of my bookcase. The concept of reading is simple, authors have an idea and desire to share it, and then, in pursuit of knowledge, escape, or simple enjoyment, readers read it.

Change- oneword.com

2009-01-21T13:57:00.000-08:00

Change in the eyes of a new born nation soars like a bird let out of a cage. Already you can feel the pulsing of hope through the veins of the city sidewalks and rural skies. The people babble excitedly, an extra shot of energy has been injected into the eyes of a wery nation, blinded with lies.

Happy new president America, in honor, I'm postin some of my favorite Bushisms.

1. "Our enemies are innovative and resourceful, and so are we. They never stop thinking about new ways to harm our country and our people, and neither do we."—Washington, D.C., Aug. 5, 2004

2. "I know how hard it is for you to put food on your family."—Greater Nashua, N.H., Chamber of Commerce, Jan. 27, 2000

3. "Rarely is the question asked: Is our children learning?"—Florence, S.C., Jan. 11, 2000

4. "Neither in French nor in English nor in Mexican."—declining to answer reporters' questions at the Summit of the Americas, Quebec City, Canada, April 21, 2001

5."You teach a child to read, and he or her will be able to pass a literacy test.''—Townsend, Tenn., Feb. 21, 2001

6."I'm the decider, and I decide what is best. And what's best is for Don Rumsfeld to remain as the secretary of defense."—Washington, D.C., April 18, 2006

7. "See, in my line of work you got to keep repeating things over and over and over again for the truth to sink in, to kind of catapult the propaganda."—Greece, N.Y., May 24, 2005

8. "And so, General, I want to thank you for your service. And I appreciate the fact that you really snatched defeat out of the jaws of those who are trying to defeat us in Iraq."—meeting with Army Gen. Ray Odierno, Washington, D.C., March 3, 2008

9. "We ought to make the pie higher."—South Carolina Republican debate, Feb. 15, 2000

10. "There's an old saying in Tennessee—I know it's in Texas, probably in Tennessee—that says, fool me once, shame on—shame on you. Fool me—you can't get fooled again."—Nashville, Tenn., Sept. 17, 2002

11. "And there is distrust in Washington. I am surprised, frankly, at the amount of distrust that exists in this town. And I'm sorry it's the case, and I'll work hard to try to elevate it."—speaking on National Public Radio, Jan. 29, 2007

12. "We'll let our friends be the peacekeepers and the great country called America will be the pacemakers."—Houston, Sept. 6, 2000

13. "It's important for us to explain to our nation that life is important. It's not only life of babies, but it's life of children living in, you know, the dark dungeons of the Internet."—Arlington Heights, Ill., Oct. 24, 2000

14. "One of the great things about books is sometimes there are some fantastic pictures."—U.S. News & World Report, Jan. 3, 2000

15. "People say, 'How can I help on this war against terror? How can I fight evil?' You can do so by mentoring a child; by going into a shut-in's house and say I love you."—Washington, D.C., Sept. 19, 2002

16. "Well, I think if you say you're going to do something and don't do it, that's trustworthiness."—CNN online chat, Aug. 30, 2000

17. "Families is where our nation finds hope, where wings take dream."—LaCrosse, Wis., Oct. 18, 2000

18. "You know, when I campaigned here in 2000, I said, I want to be a war president. No president wants to be a war president, but I am one."—Des Moines, Iowa, Oct. 26, 2006

19. "There's a huge trust. I see it all the time when people come up to me and say, 'I don't want you to let me down again.' "—Boston, Oct. 3, 2000

20. "They misunderestimated me."—Bentonville, Ark., Nov. 6, 2000

21. "I'll be long gone before some smart person ever figures out what happened inside this Oval Office."—Washington, D.C., May 12, 2008

22. "I think that the vice president is a person reflecting a half-glass-full mentality."—Speaking on National Public Radio, Jan. 29, 2007

23. "I know the human beings and fish can coexist peacefully." —Saginaw, Mich., Sept. 29, 2000

That's all folks, Happy 2009!

Caller Number Three

2009-01-21T06:58:00.000-08:00

I forgot I never posted this, it's not done though...

Caller Number Three

Caller One

Naomi stared ahead at the road. Road trips are great but breaking the first thirty miles or so is a drag, especially in the middle of the night, she spent a few minutes thinking, she had made a mental checklist. I told Phoenix where I was going and for how long, said goodbye to Donny, McKenna‘s son, I asked Mr. Richards to watch my apartment and call me if anything strange happened, told my landlord to have a great weekend and the snacks were in the back seat. She had everything. She glanced at the clock, 10:08… pretty soon it would be Columbus Day. Scarlet loudly snored in the passenger seat, waking herself up. Naomi burst out laughing as Scarlet blinked into the darkness, dumbfounded.

“Huh?” Naomi laughed again. “No, seriously, what happened?”

“Nothing Scar, you just look funny when you wake up.” Naomi decided against saying anything about the snoring because Scarlet would just deny it.

“Oh,” Scarlet said, still looking pretty disoriented “where are we anyway?”

“Still Wisconsin;” Naomi said sighing “the traffic was terrible those first eight miles and you were only asleep a half an hour. We are ten miles away now. The traffic going back is completely free though.” Naomi said, grumbling now. Scarlet laughed at her.

“Lighten up! We got all the time in the world.” Naomi started to laugh at herself when the little silver cell phone buzzed, practically jumping up and down in the anticipation of her answering it. The bluish LCD light filled the little shelf where she put it in the truck.

“Hmm, I wonder who would call…”

“Who is it?” Scarlet asked, grabbing at the phone to try and she for herself.

“I don’t know. It’s restricted.” Naomi replied, curious. Pulling away from Scarlet’s hand which was still trying to catch the phone, she flipped it open.
***
The thundering sound of footsteps rumbled up the metal stairs and shook the flimsy floor below his feet and making the little green range rover tremble in the presence of the stomping he moved his lever hurdling it left, towards the stairs to see who was there, the miniature firestone tires spinning along, bouncing above the uneven reddish carpet.

“Who’s there Donny?” McKenna’s voice rang above the booming footsteps and the TV, which was turned to a channel that he was forbidden from.

“I don’t know mommy.” Donny returned to directing the little truck to investigate further as if it were his own eyes. There was a thud followed by cursing. The buzzing of the TV snapped off and McKenna was at the door, pulling Donny up and brushing off his shirt, Donny glanced at his plastic Thomas the Train watch, 10:00 it said. Someone heaved themselves off the floor in the metal stair case and a deliberate crunch followed and the steps continued, toward the hallway this time. The man stepped into the hall, a flattened truck in hand.
***
“Hello?” Naomi asked, confused.

“Help.” A cracked whisper breathed into the phone.

“Excuse me?” Naomi asked, was this a joke? This person had called her on a restricted phone number and in an unrecognizable voice asked for help?

“The big man came and mommy is in trouble, help!” The whisper whimpered softly into the phone, muffled fumbling could be heard in the background. Naomi began to feel this was no joke, the hairs on her neck prickled as she devised what to do.

“What’s the big man doing?” She whispered back. Glancing at the bright red 10:10 on her radio, announcing the time.

“He’s gonna hurt her.” The choked voice cried softly into the phone. The phone line cracked off and the call ended before she could find out who it was. Naomi pulled over and rubbed her temples. Who? Mommy, mommy they said, a child… who does she know? McKenna. Could her old boyfriend be back? She had to make sure before she went back through to her apartment again for nothing though. She slowly dialed McKenna’s number.

“Well? Who was it?” Scarlet inquired.

“Hold on, just one more call.” Naomi said feebly as the phone rang for the second time. It rang four times and Naomi was about to hang up relieved when it was picked up.

“Hello?” A gruff male voice answered the phone. That was all it took, Naomi lost it. She hung up immediately, wheeled around and stepped on it speeding down the other side of the street, past the traffic still inching along on the other side of the road.

“Hey!” Scarlet screamed as they weaved through the honking cars at ninety miles an hour “What do you think you’re doing? Trying to get us killed?” Naomi ignored her, she had to keep her eyes on the road but Scarlet persisted for minutes on end, “Naomi! Hey Naomi! Where the hell are we going at over ninety miles an hour? Huh? Hey, Naomi, do you hear me?” Naomi shot her an irritated glance, past the 10:16 on the clock still glaring against the darkness, and that was it, the truck crashed into a fellow reckless driver, speeding from the other direction in a Ford Focus and crashing into the side. The truck was big enough that they weren’t harmed, they totaled the other car. Naomi opened her door and jumped out, starting to run as an eighteen wheeler laid on the horn and swerved out of the way, clipping the back wheel—“Naomi!”— in the spontaneity of the movement and pulling over to check it out. Scarlet followed her a second later. “Hey, what is wrong with you? That guy could be hurt! Hey, Naomi! Come back here!” Scarlet slowed down, exasperated, before realizing Naomi wasn’t going to stop. “Fine, I’m coming but you better have a good reason!” Oh I have a reason…Phoenix. Oh my god, Phoenix! McKenna’s old boyfriend hated Phoenix, oh god, oh god Naomi thought reaching the other side of the road at last and raced even faster towards the hill which was still half a mile or so away. Adrenaline pumped through every molecule of her being as a glint of red caught Naomi’s attention, a bike, Scarlet had almost caught up.

“Scarlet! Quick, the bike,” Naomi yelled wildly shoving the kickstand up “jump on the handlebars!” she was all the sudden out of breath, heaving, panting, she can’t slow down as every muscle groans in distaste of each movement, her body was mush and would have collapsed if it was not for the adrenaline throbbing in every muscle, forcing work upon them. Come on, let’s go Scarlet. Run, run, run. Scarlet was out of breath too.

“God—” she wheezed “Naomi—” she wheezed again. “What’s the rush?”

“Jump—handlebars—now.” Naomi gasped between breaths. Scarlet was still bewildered but followed her friend’s instruction, leaping the white line to the grass and hopping up on the handlebars. The world around Naomi was fuzzy; it whooshed by as she flew toward the hill and the trees that bordered her relatively small town of Janesville, Wisconsin. Scarlet’s carrot hair whipped back in Naomi’s face, forcing her to lean to the side to see. They were climbing the hill, they lost balance and fell. Naomi cried, unsure for the moment and then, jumping back up and running to the bridge watching the eighteen wheeler approach. She jumped in surprisingly perfect timing. Scarlet wailed and ran to the other side, just able to catch the end as it came out from under the bridge.

“What are you doing?!” Scarlet demanded. The truck began to turn. Naomi looked franticly the other way as she realized that the truck wasn’t going her way.

“This is our stop.” Naomi gasped and jumped, rolled, got up and began racing the other way. “Naomi!" Scarlet screamed her name "Fine, keep going, I’m staying here ‘til this thing stops. Naomi? Did you here me? Naomi!” Scarlet shouted in vain as Naomi plowed ahead toward 912 McKinley Street, her home. Scarlet's scarce supply of will power that she worked up dwindled as Naomi bounded purposefully ahead. "Do you not care?” She paused, thinking. “Fine. I'm coming, hold up." Naomi didn't hold up but Scarlet did come, and ruined her green jacket in the process. She stumbled as she got up and ran toward her friend. "You need tell me what was going on. Are you okay?"

"Nope." Naomi wheezed throwing her a lacking crooked smile, but terror and determination played behind her eyes unhidden despite her attempts.
***
She had made it to the bottom of the metal stairs. She hesitated for the longest time this morning. Naomi gazed, panting up at the unpainted walls that lead up to her apartment with more indecision than ever before.

“Shouldn’t we tear up the stairs now?” Scarlet whispered, still in confusion as Naomi had saved her breath to breath the entire run back here.

“It might make too much noise.” Naomi was still panting, hands on her knees, deciding. “Okay, try to go quietly.” Naomi crept as quickly as possible up the stairs.

“Can I know what’s happening yet?” Scarlet whispered into her ears, and glanced at the old analogue clock that was ten minutes fast, 10:39 it said.

“You’ll see. There’s no time to explain.” Naomi seemed to have come back to her senses. Since that morning and the strange phone call, Naomi had gone crazy, she had adrenaline that could take down a mountain if it got in her way and could put her in an insane asylum simultaneously. Scarlet pondered what could have triggered such an enormous reaction as Naomi crept towards the hallway of the first floor.

“Naomi, wrong way. Your apartment is still up,” Scarlet told quietly her grabbing hold of her arm to escort her higher up. “No, McKenna’s.” Naomi said lowly, yanking her arm free and almost throwing Scarlet off balance.

“McKenna’s?” Scarlet was really confused now.

“You’ll see.” Naomi hushed her and crept into the hallway. Scarlet was tempted to start humming the Pink Panther theme but if Naomi was serious enough to almost kill herself, that probably wasn’t the best of ideas. They approached McKenna's apartment almost soundlessly. They got to her apartment and stood there. Again Naomi was at a loss as to what she should do. she stared at the doorknob with her mouth open.

"Well?" Scarlet whispered, "Are we going to go in?" Naomi snapped back into focus.

"Yes." She didn't bother knocking. She quickly turned the doorknob and kicked the door open.
***
The scene was far from what Naomi had expected. Donny was at his mother's feet, hugging her leg. She was tied up and in a chair. Beside her was Mr. Richards, their neighbor who lived across the street. He too was tied up and gagged. The most disturbing to Naomi however, was Phoenix, her boyfriend and McKenna's best friend, tied up but not gagged, he looked terrified. In front of those tied up was a very big man with a very loaded gun, which was very much pointed at Naomi's head. It was not however, Garry, McKenna's old boyfriend. It was her landlord, Mike.
***
"Listen, Mike. We can work this out. Just put the gun down and stop pointing it at people." Naomi carefully closed the door as she was instructed.

"No. Not anymore Doris. We are far past negotiations." Mike's were eyes glazed over scarily and he didn't seem to be there, but somewhere far away.

"Who's Doris?" Scarlet whispered to Naomi, shocked at the hostage situation at hand.

"I don't know but apparently, I'm her." Naomi whispered back eying the shiny black gun pointed towards her, shaking as it's owner's hand trembled.

"No scheming!" The gun locked it's aim on Scarlet now. Her hands shot up and her eyes widened. Guns were probably Scarlet's least favorite object in the world. "No funny stuff! Now then Doris," His eyes returned to focus on Naomi but the gun remained intently smirking at Scarlet, the barrel glistening in threat. "You have crossed the line. Allowing you to live here was a bigger mistake than I had ever imagined. You have not changed as I had hoped and I cannot allow you to continue traumatizing your neighbors. What you have done to these poor people is beyond me, especially this poor little boy here. I suppose you beat them when they point out you may be wrong too—"

"But I love Aunt Nao—" Donny began

"Shut up, boy!" Mike snapped the gun towards him now, Scarlet took a deep breath relieved to have it's glare off of her as McKenna gasped and writhed in her tight binds in attempt to break free and protect her little boy. Mike eyed Donny's wide-eyed innocent terror warily before returning it's position to Scarlet who drew up, tense again. "So tell me 'Mrs. Carter'," He began again mockingly "Did you think you could continue terrorizing students and people when your faults are pointed out. That day before Columbus day weekend when you said, "Have a great weekend, Mike." with that great big smirk across your face, did you think you would ever get away with it, acting so innocent after beating me? I swore I would kill you for it. You can't win. Evil can't win." Naomi raised her eyebrows "Oh please, don't act innocent. Abuse is against the law! You were brutal enough for 50 years or more in jail, but that's not enough for me. No, not even death row is good enough. You will watch every single one of these people die because of your brutality, I could have died in one of those stunts of cruelty you know." Everyone's eyes had grown wide at this point and the gun shakily pointed here and there always ending back at Scarlet though. Naomi thought quickly.

"I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry. Please Mike, these people have nothing to do with it." Naomi gushed frantically as she dialed 911 on her cell phone behind her back and waited. "Mike. Please, 912 McKinley Street, apartment number 312 has no criminal record, don't shoot these innocent people." She practically shouted trying to get the message across to emergency on the other line.

"Quiet down! As I said Doris, we are far past negotiations." Mike said nervously looking towards the door behind Naomi and Scarlet, who was rigid in the presence of the small pistol which was still pointed at her. Scarlet's eyes could not possibly get any wider or more terrified. Naomi flipped her phone closed and shoved it in her back pocket. Silence fell for a moment and then Scarlet snapped, screaming and flying back and opening the door. Mike was jumped with surprise at the sudden panic and pulled the trigger accidentally. The gunshot was excruciating as the bullet whizzed by Naomi's ear and hit Scarlet's back.
***
Naomi wailed over the body of her best friend, the wound still soaking the muddy green jacket with the scarlet fluid weaving excitedly through the fabric. It was all her fault. Scarlet was dead because of her. The tears streaming down from her eyes to her friend's terror stricken face. Phoenix cried with her as their landlord was pulled down the hallway shouting.

"No. No, no, no. It can't happen this way...no." Naomi murmured to her friend.

Caller Two

Naomi stared ahead at the road. Road trips are great but breaking the first thirty miles or so is a drag, especially in the middle of the night, she spent a few minutes thinking, she had made a mental checklist. She had told Phoenix where she was going and for how long, said goodbye to Donny, McKenna‘s son, she had asked Mr. Richards to watch her apartment and call her if anything strange happened, told her landlord to have a great weekend and the snacks were in the back seat. She had everything. She glanced at the clock, 10:08... pretty soon it would be Columbus Day. Scarlet loudly snored in the passenger seat, waking herself up. Naomi burst out laughing as Scarlet blinked into the darkness, dumbfounded.

“Huh?” Naomi laughed again. “No, seriously, what happened?”

“Nothing Scar, you just look funny when you wake up.” Naomi decided against saying anything about the snoring because Scarlet would just deny it.

“Oh,” Scarlet said, still looking pretty disoriented “where are we anyway?”

“Hmm, I wonder who would call…”

“Who is it?” Scarlet asked, grabbing at the phone to try and she for herself.

“I don’t know. It’s restricted.” Naomi replied, curious. Pulling away from Scarlet’s hand which was still trying to catch the phone, she flipped it open.
***
Mr. Richards sat in his reclining chair and gazed through the dirty bay window into the dusky street at the apartment building across the street. The lonely old man didn’t have much to do apart from tending to his garden and when the nice young girl who lived in the apartment building asked him to watch her apartment building he really put his all into it. He had been watching for the whole forty minutes or so that she had been gone. Nothing much had happened. A man had left his house two minutes ago at 10:05 and driven towards Center Avenue in his cream colored Volvo. He returned now, jerking towards the curb and parking unaligned. He slams the door and angrily stomps toward the doorway, not of his house but of the apartment building. This peaked his interest. He refocuses and watched the windows as they lighted slowly progressing, floor by floor until the lights stopped moving up and a room light flicked on. Nothing happened for a minute and the old man was about to call it a night but then there was a scream. He stood up and moseyed over to the phone.
***
“Hello?” Naomi asked, confused.

“Hello, Naomi? This is Mr. Richards.”

“Who is it?” Scarlet asked quietly.

“Mr. Richards.” Naomi whispered back before answering Mr. Richards. “Oh, hi Mr. Richards, What’s up?”

“That creepy old guy? Put it on speaker phone.” Scarlet whispered to Naomi. Naomi rolled her eyes but did it. “Um, well I don’t think anything is really happening but I heard a scream and I think I’m gonna go check it out.” He said in his gruff, most business-like voice.

“Oh, okay. Thanks Mr. Richards.” Naomi replied, surprised. She glanced at the clock, 10:11, she left just over a half hour ago and was already getting a call, how many would she get over the weekend? “No problem, I’ll call you back in a minute or so. Talk to you soon.”

“Bye.” Naomi hung up and turned to Scarlet. “He is not creepy!”

“Um, yeah, he really is.” Scarlet returned.

“He is not. He’s…“ Naomi paused, searching for the right word. “nice.”

“Oh yeah, very nice. I’ll bet you twenty dollars he’s been sitting in that old chair, staring at the building since we left.” Naomi laughed in agreement and they continued down the dark road.
***
Mr. Richards turned into the hallway and looked at the poorly painted walls as he strode purposefully to the door from which he believed the scream came from, McKenna Simmons's apartment, and knocked loudly on the flimsy ply wood. Fumbling behind the scantily isolated wall stopped and there was a pause.

"McKenna?" Mr. Richards said loudly, his voice echoed down the pale blue walls and down into the metal staircase. "McKenna Simmons, this is Mr. Richards from across the street. I heard something and I thought I would come see that everything was okay." The door cracked open and a hand shot out from behind it, a hand with a pistol in it. Mr. Richards gaped at the sleek mechanism and, hands on his head, allowed it to escort him into the room. "Not everything's okay than?" he murmured too low for anyone else to hear.
***
Naomi glanced nervously at the clock, it was 10:15.

"Scarlet, didn't he say he would call back in a minute? It's been like four minutes now..." "Since when is it a good thing to have creepy old men calling us back?" Scarlet was unconcerned.

"Scarlet! I'm serious, what if something happened to him?" Naomi was getting upset, she was a very anxious person.

"Honestly Naomi. What could have happened? He probably heard McKenna scream 'cause Donny was gonna fall down the stairs or something and got over there and stayed there to have a chat about rain or lawnmowers."

"Yeah but what if something did happen. No one would know! I think we should go back and see."

"To find out that Donny was gonna fall down the stairs and go back through that traffic? I don't think so."

"Look, five minutes. If the phone doesn't ring in the next thirty seconds, we're turning around." Scarlet sighed.

"Lets call his house, maybe he just forgot to call back."

"Fair enough, if he doesn't pick up though, we're turning around."

"Fine." Scarlet frowned, still unconcerned. The phone rang four times and the phone picked up. "Hello, this is Mr. Richards."

"Hi Mr. Richards, I was just--"

"I am not available but leave a message and I'll get back to you as--" Naomi flipped the phone closed and made a U-Turn.
***
An eighteen wheeler crashed into a Ford Focus up ahead and made a big mess in the road, slowing down traffic. They passed it by 10:19 and speed up. Scarlet sighed and gazed out the window.

"You know it was just Donny." Scarlet lifted her eyes as something caught her attention. "Hey, look at that bike! It's just sitting there, no one locked it up or anything."

"We are so not taking it." Naomi said, glaring.

"I think that we so are." Scarlet replied, edging to the corner of her seat, ready to jump out and get the bike. "I'm driving and we are so not." Naomi said, her eyes returning to the road. "The way back then?" Scarlet was unrelenting.

"Maybe." Naomi continued driving down the darkened road to Janesville, Wisconsin. 10:22 the radio gleamed at her.

***

He looked at the clock again, 10:35. Where was she? This is terrible Mike thought to himself. He turned to the row of prisoners now. The number had grown since last he counted. Four, four faces, appalled and mangled with terror. The half-crazed man ran his eyes over each of his hostages. There was there girl. Her round, Hispanic face and deep brown eyes were full of wild and unbridled horror. He looked down at the little boy clinging to her leg; his tiny, trembling face shook the glistening jet black hair, his wide eyes filled with pure terror. Next to them was an old man. He looked grim but nothing more, there was no fright to be found in his wrinkled face on in his steady hands, he must be a veteran. There wasn’t fear to be seen in the other man either, his face was too full of anger, his blazing green eyes glowered, spitting daggers as his entire body trembled in rage. He spent the most time with her, so he glared back.
“You are running out of chances. Tell me where she is or none of you will live through the night. No? No one knows where she is?” He skimmed across the faces, there was no recognition or sign of speaking. “You,” he shot his finger at the young man “you spend the most time with her. Where is she?”
“Naomi?” He is acting innocent. He won’t play that game with me! Mike told himself .
“Don’t play dumb. I don’t know who Naomi is but I’m not looking for her, I’m looking for Doris and I know you know where she is. In fact, I bet you found out I was coming for her and tipped her off, didn’t you!” Mike fumed in wrath.
“Who is Doris?! You’ve been in here yelling about Doris and I don’t even know who she is!” He scooted forward an inch in his chair and leaned over to face the girl. “McKenna, do you know a Doris?” The gagged girl only turned her head and shook it.
“Doris is always around you and that girl with the red hair!” Mike was becoming unsure, these people seem sure of themselves…but I’ve seen her around, watched her slowly return to her old ways, she had told me just today to “Have a great weekend” just as she had so many years ago. Of course they know her, they are buying themselves time, trying to confuse me! It’s already 10:38 “This is ridiculous, If no one speaks up with a sufficient by the end of two minutes or if she doesn’t show up I’m going to… I’m going to shoot all of you, starting with…him.” He indicated to the young man, shock instilled in every face and Mike could see their minds working with new enthusiasm. The young man was the first to speak.
“Nao-- I mean ‘Doris’ is on a road trip to Waterloo.” Mike thought about it for a moment. “No she’s not, she would have turned the other way if she was going to Waterloo.” He smiled broadly at his logic. The young man scrambled to regain control of the conversation. “She…um…she had to pick up Scarlet.” Mike frowned at him.
“No, the redhead’s house is the other way too.”
“She got snacks first.” The young man smiled, having won this battle of wits. Mike frowned. “Your lying. If she isn’t here or someone doesn’t tell the truth by…” He glanced up at the clock, 10:39. “50 seconds, you’re all dead.” The tension grew and everyone looked sufficiently distressed. Mike smiled again.

Writer's Block and External

2009-01-21T06:45:00.000-08:00

Writer's Block
Inspiration is fleeting,
and Time? Too much meaning,
and topics are cheating
by being too broad.

There's a dark fog called poetry,
that demands far too much, soetry,
I have to make up words and use long ones too.

You demand that we write on the spot with conviction,
With energy, imagery, and whats more, Perfect Diction!
While writer's block sanctions our minds with tight bonds,
you demand we be churning out more! It might take eons!

External
People used to care about souls,
As in who you are, in what you do,
In the reality of inner beauty and inner light,
Now everything’s external,
It’s about sunglasses or shoes
Or guns and drugs, you choose.

And living’s impossible
When emotion’s improbable
Because BIG Boys – Don’t – Cry.
And in this world in which we’re living
The standards set so tough,
That the toughest of us are the weakest
and the softer are left shoved in a locker.

And we pretend that everything’s alright,
but that's only to shield us from what is really wrong.
The media pumps images of popularity and six packs
Into our minds; while bullies convince us that we have to bury our
Feelings with self hatred and “cool” clothes.
And sometimes, (hah) even I’M convinced with my own charade.

Veins

2009-01-14T06:57:00.000-08:00

Today's word, I don't know what inspired this, I might add on later

Through the stained glass eyes she peered slowly down at her old woman's hands, veins rolling over them like vines creeping over a old brick house and her spindle like legs wobbled as she stared "over the hill" in the face and woke up crying.

This is old...

2009-01-14T06:56:00.000-08:00

The Journey
Out the door and down the street she left; walking quickly and quietly into the dead of the night. She left silently turning her heel on the family that she hated and loved.
“Keep going. Keep on going.” Katrina muttered under her breath. She whipped around the corner and ran. The tears flew off her face as she dashed from her home. Four blocks and a half she had sprinted when she collapsed on the sidewalk.
She woke up to the orangey glow the rising sun and gasped. She glanced around. The hard concrete and grass and dew had disappeared and there was now a mattress and sky blue sheets. The cool night breeze was gone and the smell of cheap coffee replaced the city stench of gasoline. She had no time to stop herself, she screamed. Katrina screamed louder and clearer than she had ever before. Her scream surprised her. She sat straight up and pulled the blanket up around her.
She was hoping that no one was home, that no one had heard her, that no one would come to check on her. Then again though, it wasn’t Katrina’s lucky day. The smell of cheap coffee increased as she looked at the door cautiously. It was a crummy door, made of cheap plywood that was not sanded or painted. The tarnished knob turned shakily and the door opened. The unfamiliar figure backed in the door and turned quickly to get a good look at Katrina.
“You’re up!” The old woman said; smiling widely as her frizzy afro-esque carrot colored hair bounced around her head. Her expression made it look as though she thought this dump was a castle and her ratty green bathrobe was a ball gown. Her brilliant smile faded just a bit. “Perhaps you were about to tell me why I found you passed out on the sidewalk at three in the morning?” Katrina kept staring; her back rigid against the wall where there would have been a headboard, had there been a bed frame.
The red-haired woman sighed, her smile disappearing as she bowed her head to look at the floor. She meekly looked up again “Did my big entrance leave you speechless?” She shuffled her feet nervously and returned to looking down at the cheap wooden floor then snapped her head up suddenly yelling, “Well what was I supposed to do then?! Leave you there on the street? First of all, when you woke up you would have had the worst back ache and secondly what if someone took you!” She caught her breath and realized what she said when she received a quizzical look from Katrina. “Well yeah I took you but I’m different…I’m… I’m exempt!”
“You’re…exempt?” There was a small pause before they both burst out laughing realizing how ridiculous the situation was. The laughter faded out and the awkward silence retuned.
“So, do I get to know why you were passed out on the sidewalk at three o’ clock in the morning?”
“Do I get to know who you are?”
“Oh. I guess that should come first. Okay,” She said the smile returning “I’m Jackie. I own this dump of an apartment and pretend it’s a mansion; I also quite possibly saved your life. Who are you?”
“I’m Katrina. I was running away.” Katrina suppressed a chuckle as she said the next part. “I also quite possibly had my life saved by you.”
“Ah, a runaway… I’m nosy, I hope you won’t mind me asking why, will you?” Jackie looked apologetic but wildly curious. Katrina felt strangely at home with her, more then anyone she had met before and she sat there and told Jackie everything, everything that had every happened to her and her hopes and dreams and anything and everything there ever was or is or will be.
“I can’t live there anymore, they drive me crazy! They scream and run and jump and rush and cry and throw stuff around and never pick up after themselves and…” Katrina concluded upon reaching the end of the story and was rapidly running out of breath. “and…and…”
“Calm down Katrina” Jackie said rather sternly, looking at her cautiously and picking up more friendlily. “I think you have to collect your thoughts; I’ll leave you to that. You might want to get some more sleep too, you look pretty dead.” Katrina glanced across the room at the dirty glass and ran her finger through the knotted mess of her hair and felt her face, Jackie was right. She looked terrible. Katrina groaned and Jackie laughed “You don’t look that bad,” Jackie announced looking sheepish now and rushing to explain herself, to rid herself of the glare she received upon laughing “you look pretty good for someone who ran until they couldn’t and collapsed on the side walk in exhaustion.” Katrina laughed too.
“Alright, I’ll think about it.” Katrina said yawning “I do feel pretty tired.”
“Good. I have to go run some errands. Think about it; are you ready to be on your own? Last time you decided to leave safety you ended up unconscious on a side walk at three in the morning.” Jackie said smiling. Katrina smiled with her until she got out the door. After that she frowned, Jackie was right. She wasn’t ready. She jumped up and scurried around the room trying to find a pen and a scrap of paper and left it on the pillow. Jackie returned to find the sky blue sheets on the floor and a message on the pillow ‘You were right.’ Jackie smiled widely and continued with her day.

He and Rose

2009-01-14T06:55:00.000-08:00

Have you guys heard these before?
HE
He sat behind a boulder and stared at his profusely bleeding leg and watched the scarlet fluid carefully trickling through the pebbles and seeping into the sand. It was only a matter of time now, only a matter of seconds or minutes until they would smell and come after him, ravenous; but he did not feel like running, he didn't feel like screaming or howling in pain. He felt no sudden rush of adrenaline that would be that would give him the strength to rush down the beach leaving only a trail of splattered blood behind him. No. Not a single ounce of him wanted to move from his current position behind that rock, even if that meant saving his life. He was at total peace with death. Not any amount of force could motivate him to move. He had tried being the hero, and he had failed. Miserably failed. He had run, and she had died. He saw her fall gracefully off the cliff in a perfect swan dive and he had run. Turned on a dime without looking back and ran blindly through the woods, lost in a blurry world of color splotches that changed wildly as he broke through the woods and blinked back the tears. They had stung at first, upon reaching the raw gash along his cheekbone. The salt water lay moist in it’s new found home, soaking back further only to be pushed out by the blood that ran to clot the gaping wound now etched in his face.
ROSE
Ninety-three year-old, Rose Therdarbee sat on the corner of her mattress with the milky white sheets. The sickly smell of artificial 'Evening Iris' emitted from the air freshener and wafted softly through the air. It mixed into a strange odor with the potent 'highland lilac' perfume that exuded through her floral blouse. However, today Rose was not in actuality the 93 year-old at room 302 in a nursing home in Rochester, NY. Today Rose was 20; in a Mayflower coffee shop in New York City, a young and eager woman with her entire life and a copy of her favorite book, The Postman Always Rings Twice by Raymond Chandler, in front of her in 1936. The day before she and her friend Sylvia Sidney had both auditioned for a part in the new movie Fury that was going to be directed by Fritz Lang; who hadn't made an American movie before. She and Sylvia grew up together in The Bronx; their mothers had been friends and had set them up even though they were four years apart in age. She knew she wouldn't get the part since Sylvia was not only six years a more experienced actress but had also had auditioned and had practically just walked off the set of Sabotage directed by Alfred Hitchcock, Hitchcock! Sylvia had always been the perfect one. She got into the prestigious 'Theater Guild's School for Acting' and was praised for her tremendous young talent while Rose was ignored as a simple side cast. Rose had no idea how the jealousy hadn't pulled them apart or turned them to enemies but it hadn't, probably because Sylvia was a big sister and an idol to Rose. Also because Rose found it difficult to be mad at someone because they were lucky. Sylvia continued to be to lucky one to this brisk March day, she was married to Bennet Cerf and seemed to be happy while Rose was single and starting to be thought of as a failure and persnickety because she was a beautiful and talented actress with no career and no husband. Of course, no one thought of blaming Sylvia for her botched career; they were too busy congratulating Sylvia and scolding Rose. She was wishful about getting the part in any case because if you didn't remain at least slightly optimistic in times like these you might as well take a knife to your throat right then and there. It was one of the reasons she acted, it was a way to loose herself and forget the depression that had folded over the U.S. like the pitch black night without the moon or the stars or the neon lights of Times Square.
“Gosh, that sounds good!” she thought “Maybe I ought to try my luck as an author!” Today she had her hair up in a bun that told people 'I don't have the slightest care about what I look like right now.' and was wearing a simple sky blue dress she had bought last spring; it had a small floral pattern and a coat and hat that went with it, both of which she had lost.

Christina

2009-01-14T06:53:00.000-08:00

From lit. mag

“And what’s your name?” I was asked for about the seventy-ninth time since I had left the car ten minutes ago. The asker had a big, sticky smile that could have made me throw up, if I had eaten breakfast. She was stout and reasonably wide and leaning over the desk, teetering dangerously to look down at me, her shoulder-pads and glasses sliding with gravity. I took a great step back, grimacing. “Christina.” I said, still eying the unstable woman as she turned to my mother. “What a beautiful little girl you have,” I sighed loudly as she turned back to me “Can I call you Tina?” She giggled, bursting with excitement. Some people never get past third grade maturity. “No. No you may not.” The woman took a long moment to process this answer and, crestfallen, her smile faded and she slunk back to a upright siting position that was perfectly safe for all parties. She cleared her throat and composed her appearance "Have a good day, Ms. Wilson." And with that, the lonely, isolated secretary returned to her dull and isolating paperwork. My mother continued on as if nothing had happened and passed expressionlessly a room full of angry, arguing politicians. "Ah, the beauty of democracy!" I commented coldly. "Hush, it is a beautiful thing." My mother retorted looking strait ahead but I lingered, and watched the face of each one get redder and redder, puffed up and round with rage. They looked like pigs. "And all of them thinking of no one but themselves, they look like lobsters in a tank and they've figured out how to escape but can't decide who should be cut free of their rubber-band first." My mother had no comment but continued down the hallway but I couldn't move. I was mesmerized by the revolting selfishness of it all. "There's no trust. Not one actually wants to free the whole tank, but they promise they will so that they'll be cut free." My mother, now a considerable distance down the hallway finally turned around and saw me still standing there in front of the dirty glass. "For God's sake Christina, they're people, not lobsters! Can we get to my office already, we have a long day ahead of us." I hadn't really been paying attention but she had rapidly come back down and was now dragging me behind her. After the shock of the sudden action had worn off, I angrily ripped my arm from her grasp. "I can walk..." I grumbled indignantly. My mother rolled her eyes and put the scorned hand in her pocket. "Alright, I wasn't so sure for a moment." Her office was the drabbest equilateral box of a room the world had ever known. It had dusty cream blinds about an inch wide that were never open to the little bit of sunlight in the hallway. They covered a filthy wall of glass that was supposed to light up her office because it was far from any walls that contained actual windows. Her walls were completely bare and egg-white, and glowed pallidly in the flickering florescent lighting. The '98 Windows PC took up half the desk, at a length of one and a half feet long, making the entire desk three feet long. The only personal item was a 2.5 x 3.5 picture frame which contained my third grade school picture, catholic school uniform and all. The picture made my chestnut hair look red, the only reason I liked it. Her office contained as well two chairs and a very large coffee mug. I would have gone crazy in here but there were only so many jobs in our town and my mom was good at this. I sat down in the stiff chair opposite her desk and leaned back, bringing the legs of the chair up off the ground and balancing the back on the wall.
"If you break that chair, you're paying for it." My mom told me, indifferent. I nodded, and continued to lean back, it was hard to be comfortable. I eyed the small jar of change on the corner of her desk, followed by my stomach.
"Can I go to the vending machine room? I need a snickers." Mom was reluctant.
"Do you know were it is, you won't get lost?" I rolled my eyes.
"I've been there a million times, yeah I know." My mom was unconvinced.
"I'll go get you a snickers..." I laughed.
"Alright mom, go ahead." She smiled at the submission, picked up the jar and left, her limp pony tail swishing behind her as she bobbed in her three-inch chunks. I closed my eyes and imagined the lobsters in the dark room. It was then that I realized where I was. I quickly got up and went over to the computer and opened up her documents. Skimming through them I discovered a bill. I quickly looked through to see the format and wording before opening up her email. The first sentence came relatively easily.
***
Time passes quickly when writing freedom-saving bills and, when a half hour passed, I realized something was holding my mother up. I had a rough draft of my first bill finished, and hurriedly revised and sent it when I heard footsteps approaching the room. The halls were full of echoes and so footsteps could be heard half a building away, where the vending machine room was. This is why I was surprised when the doorknob turned five minutes earlier than I expected. I had just sent the email as the door swung open to reveal the figure of whom I assumed was my mother. It was not. He was around six foot, half a foot taller than Mom and his top hat made him taller, he cringed, obviously lost in his mind, before turning to me with a vicious smile. He was wearing a trench coat, the kind you only see on the bad guys in Batman, he freaked me out. He approached quickly, muttering unintelligibly, and snatched me up. I heard the arm of my new shirt rip and I screamed, terrified. He screamed back, his eyes wild on his pockmarked face and I struggled to get free but his arms held fast. He wrapped my sleeve around my neck and I heard a shriek in the hallway before the world fell black.

Poem?

2009-01-13T18:04:00.000-08:00

I reaally don't like poetry, it's so difficult but I had an obligation to my group members so I tried, it's supposed to be a guy... I don't know if it sounds like one... It's meant to be spoken/performed.

People used to care about souls,
As in who you are, in what you do,
In the reality of inner beauty and inner light,
Now everything’s external,
It’s about sunglasses or shoes
Or guns and drugs, you choose.

And emotion’s impossible
When living’s improbable
Because Boys – Don’t – Cry.
And in this world in which we’re living
The standards set so tough,
That the toughest of us are the weakest
and the softer are left shoved in a locker.
And we pretend that everything’s alright,
but that's only to shield us from what is really wrong.
The media pumps images of popularity and six packs
Into our minds; while bullies convince us that we have to bury our
Feelings with self hatred and “cool” clothes.
And sometimes, (hah) even I’M convinced with my own charade.

Favorite-One Word! (random rambling...)

2009-01-12T20:04:00.000-08:00

Quote?

2009-01-06T19:51:00.000-08:00

Um, I'm far too tired to figure this out...
"A ruffled mind makes a restless pillow." -Charlotte Bronte (1816-1855)
I would, however, like a pillow. Mmmm, soft.

Steep

2009-01-06T18:42:00.000-08:00

Sitting in a mainly silent car for six hours is a bit like sitting by a lake by yourself, feeling grains of sand between your toes as you dig them into the ground, just to feel. You can't really see of hear the children running, the insecure teens tanning, the mothers complaining, they're all fuzz. Your reality exists only in what you feel and think; at leasy that's how I felt by hour two.
I didn't know Jim; he was from the company and had come to pick me up. He was nice enough but not very good at small talk. He had smiled and said hello and introduced himself. As the hour went on he made a meager comment about the weather and I nodded and said nothing. If I wasn't so tired I might have made more of an effort at conversation but... I was that tired, so I didn't. I sat and stewed in my thoughts, I was slightly drunk off of sleep loss and kind of giddy.

Bandage- Courtesy of oneword.com

2009-01-02T20:23:00.000-08:00

Bandaged like a sprained knee, Brian groaned from the other side of the hospital room. He was quite a sight, his legs raised like the arms of a joyous marionette and the only area of skin to be seen was a small rectangle, revealing two glaring, bitter eyes. He reminded my of the bad hat from Madelaine who was attacked by dogs, annoyed and begrudging towards the entire human race. You could feel the rays of disgust exuding from his being, even through the sheer plastic curtain.
No one liked him. The nurses, the doctors, even his visitors, they all shuddered or grimaced before entering his half of the room.
I don't feel like writing a story.
~To Possibly be Continued.~

A prompt from my dear friend Khari.

2009-01-02T15:07:00.000-08:00

"Write about a flower field, where a deer runs rampant through the wheat fields."
The shade was like a tall glass of lemonade in 90 degree weather and I closed my eyes and smiled and took a deep breath of the sweet perfumed air, full of honeysuckle and violets. The sun was nearly to it's peak but the dew was suspended in the air from this morning, making everything smell fresh. There wasn't a road for miles, the only sign of civilization was a broken down barn that smelled of sweet hay and alluded to mystery and excitement, though it was only filled with rotting lofts and overturned troughs. Behind the barn there was a great woods of evergreens which was neighbored by wheat fields that were overgrown and marked with deer tracks, like the tunnels of a rabbit, leading various, inconsequential places. The sun beat heavily on my face and, sighing contentedly, I rolled over onto my stomach.

That was boring.

Depleated

2008-12-27T13:54:00.000-08:00

My creativity has sunk below sea level as depicted by the light bulb to my left. I have little to no inspiration to write, hence the last comprehensive quote response. Help!

No MGs?

2008-12-27T13:49:00.000-08:00

"Dignify and glorify common labor. It is at the bottom of life that we must begin, not at the top." -Booker T. Washington (1856-1915)
Who'da thunk it?

Slam Poem?

2008-12-17T07:13:00.000-08:00

Inspiration is not easily found.

I hate writing poetry...

What should I do?

They demand too much of me. GRARH!

HOW DO YOU WRITE POETRY?!?!?!

Slamnation

2008-12-15T08:14:00.000-08:00

Today in class we are watching a show called Slam nation, here are my notes:
The topics are relevant and passionately read.
Spoken with a drawl pauses and tone used effectively
PACE!
This movie reminds me of the one about crosswords...
Confidence is everything
Funny and very passionate poems are best liked.
Energy is also important because it relays passion about the subjects.
Very little is mild and passive, extreme on either end, nothing "middling"
Physical humor is... well humorous.
Though gestures are nice, the voice should be more effective.
Choose an extreme and use the other sparingly
Sound effects add effectively to imagery but can be distracting.
Facial expressions rule all, except tone.
Find a rhythm and stick to it so that break outs and speed ups are used for emphasis.
Make up stuff if you need to.
Don't drag on, stick to the point.
Thousands of styles, anyone can be a poet.

Character Generator

2008-12-14T07:21:00.000-08:00

There is a Character Generator that I like to use as a prompt. These are my characters of the day:

This man is slender and ebony-skinned, with a sharp-featured face. He has long, rough, grey hair and green eyes. He is a storyteller who is greedy by nature, and melodramatic.

This selfish, snippy thief has olive skin, grey eyes, and black hair. She is lean, with a thin, sharp-featured face. Her main interest is cooking.

Hmm, I'm feeling lazy... how 'bout some names?
Lets see for the man, how about the french male name generator?
Jacques Meserve... alright.
For the woman: french female name generator?
Paulette Bayol...No.
Maude Jaillet...alright.

Now for a setting.... still lazy...
This small, bustling city beside a river is best known as a sink of iniquity. The majority of its inhabitants are involved in warfare, and it is considered noteworthy for its lush public gardens.
To name it, um...
Cyprycona
Okay...

Characters:
Jacques Meserve- This man is slender and ebony-skinned, with a sharp-featured face. He has long, rough, grey hair and green eyes. He is a storyteller who is greedy by nature, and melodramatic.

Maude Jaillet- This selfish, snippy thief has olive skin, grey eyes, and black hair. She is lean, with a thin, sharp-featured face. Her main interest is cooking.

Setting:
Cyprycona- This small, bustling city beside a river is best known as a sink of iniquity. The majority of its inhabitants are involved in warfare, and it is considered noteworthy for its lush public gardens.
I smell a completely "http://nine.frenchboys.net" generated story to come!

***To Be Continued***

Kindness

2008-12-14T07:01:00.000-08:00

"Kindnesses are easily forgotten; but injuries!—what worthy man does not keep those in mind?" William Makepeace Thackeray (1811-1863)

Judging by Will's middle name [Makepeace] and the way this is worded, I am inferring that he is sarcastic in the later of this quote. Sadly, in most all cases this quote is very true, a flaw the human race must try to work on. Secondly, what a GREAT middle name! It's not even in quotation marks such as Khari "Nastypants" Johnson and many other very fake names. I want to meet his mother, sadly she is dead.

Louisa May!

2008-12-12T07:01:00.000-08:00

I like responding to her quotes best...
"Money is the root of all evil, and yet it is such a useful root that we cannot get on without it any more than we can without potatoes."
-Louisa May Alcott (1832-1888)

See what I mean?
YES! It's more like oil than potatoes though, Louisa, but you aren't living through the oil crisis so, all is forgiven. Also, I think the Irish reference might have been a little vague... Anyway, I think this quote is easily decipherable and therefore will not offer a translation.

Mark Twain

2008-12-11T07:10:00.000-08:00

How funny, I backed up my argument against Mr. Wodehouse with a Mark Twain quote and who do you think wrote today's quote? Ding ding ding! You're correct! Tiffany, show 'im what he's won!
A quote response that is technically free for everybody! Tell me Mr. Smith, what do you plan to do first?

"Don't go around saying the world owes you a living. The world owes you nothing. It was here first."
-Mark Twain (1835-1910)

So true, people have wacky ideas about what they deserve. Just because you're here doesn't mean you're special.

Technical Difficulties.

2008-12-11T06:57:00.000-08:00

AHHHHHH! I was working yesterday on a Literary magazine that I will hopefully share pieces of with you eventually. Anyway, I was doing a story for it and it was on my flash drive and only my flash drive. However, the computer told me "This file is corrupt." crap. I lost all of that, so instead I started to work on the magazine itself. I had gotten a large chunk done and tried to save when the computer decided to not let me. It said "The disk is full." I thought, "Wow, I didn't think I had that much on my flash drive..." and tried to save it to the computer and email it to myself. What do you think it told me? "The disk is full." The hardrive of a desktop school computer is NOT full. I lost all my work! Why does this happen????? How aggravating.

Dear Mr. P. G.

2008-12-10T12:03:00.000-08:00

"Golf, like measles, should be caught young." -P. G. Wodehouse (1881-1975)
There's a couple meanings.

Golf should be caught young so you can lose it young.
Golf should be caught young so that it isn't as bad a case
Golf should be caught young so that you can become skillful and play your whole life

One: alright, obsessions are alright for awhile, though I'd hate to be the poor kid who loves golf, so much fun could be made of him...
Two: Ah, smart, this ties into number one. As Mark Twain says "Golf is a good walk spoiled."
Three: Why? Your golf ambitions aren't necessarily those of our children's Mr. Wodehouse! If they want to play golf, go for it! But the same amount of encouragement should be given in chess or soccer or skiing! Some people believe everything revolves around them and their interests, give it a break!

Rina Goldman writing excersize.

2008-12-09T07:33:00.000-08:00

This is very unrevised, spare me

I

I am violet, lilac
warm, light, dark, rich, thick, whole
A purple moon
in a glittering night of indigo.

I am a marsh,
alive, awake, thriving
dark, deep, covered
uninvited, unopened

I am jazz
original, unique, improv
slow, bright, quick
a jumble of horns and drums
and life

I am sand,
slipping, fleeting
blowing from the hand
of the laughing child

I am drizzling
on a warm spring day
ripe, fresh, new
and gray, uplifting and
down bringing
mixed.

I am crimson
flaming, furious
invincible
oppressed

I am a proud mahogany floor,
under a rug
swept beneath
but still there

I am angry and alive
beneath, below
emerald, amethyst, sapphire,
skin. I am hidden.

The Dragon's Lair

2008-12-09T06:52:00.000-08:00

I had to write a play for school. It got kinda drawn out but oh well, I'll revise it later.

Fredrick: Confused but valiant prince of Timberland, kingdom of lumberjacks. Wears royal, fine clothing but it has a subtle (or not subtle) similarity to lumberjack’s clothing.
Valerie: Down to earth, smart, independent princess of Luminocity, kingdom of light. Wears rich purple or blue princess dress which is torn along the bottom and side, her hair down and messy and hat tossed carelessly aside.

Setting: Curtain rises to dark cave and a great snoring can be heard, VALERIE can be seen in the corner, STAGE RIGHT, reading an old, large book, slightly slouched and apparently excited with the story. The snoring fades and FREDRICK enters STAGE LEFT and, spotting VALERIE in the corner and her hat, excitedly runs to the hat and snatches it up.

FREDRICK
Oh! But what awful beast hath snatched this splendid hat off of your exquisite head? (VALERIE pretends she hasn’t heard or seen him, FREDRICK rushes closer to her, hat in hand) And torn your lovely dress? (VALERIE still pretends she hasn’t heard him but FREDRICK continues attempting to get her attention, the snore fades back in and FREDRICK dramatically puts his hand to his ear) But hark! What is that yonder roaring noise? (VALERIE finally acknowledges his presence and responds, not looking up)

VALERIE
Dragon.

FREDRICK
Ah! A terrible dragon hath attacked you milady! Have no fear! I shall seek vengeance for this great misdeed! (FREDRICK starts to leave STAGE RIGHT, sword in front of him he marches forth. VALERIE is heavily annoyed and is very dramatic as she sets aside her book and takes hold of FREDRICK’S back, holding him there as he continues marching in place. She pulls him back a reasonable distance STAGE LEFT.)

VALERIE
Listen hear! (Annoyance turns to slight anger in her voice as FREDRICK stops marching) No one is “seeking vengeance” for anybody! (Glances around) You can’t tell my dad you found me here, alright? He’ll forbid me to go (large emphasis put on this word) anywhere. I did this (Gestures to torn dress) to myself while climbing out of my window, okay? (FREDRICK stares and her confused for a moment) No vengeance.

FREDRICK (Surprised)
No vengeance?

VALERIE
Nope. No vengeance.

FREDRICK
Oh. (FREDRICK sits down on nearby rock to ponder this as VALERIE returns to her book. After a moment or so, FREDRICK’S face brightens with epiphany) No! No, that cannot be true. As I came in I saw you cowering in that very corner, obviously afraid! (He stands up and again charges STAGE RIGHT, VALERIE lifts her leg and trips him and FREDRICK looks befuddled and scrambles to his feet, turning around suspiciously) Milady! This cave is haunted by evil spirits as well as a dragon! It is not safe! (VALERIE sighs loudly and rolls her eyes. Throughout the following, VALERIE must be listening, and making appropriate offended, amused, or disgusted faces and FREDRICK should be very dramatic and act as he could see it now, pointing and gesturing) Come with me milady. Come with me and we shall be wed. We will have the grandest wedding ever seen, provided by your father’s vast wealth and my mother’s fantastic cake expertise. Ah, I can see it now! White roses everywhere and a thousand guests, no more! Oh! But the cake looks superb... as well as you. Ah, but I out shine you both! I look fantastic. Then we shall leave on a grand honeymoon where you shall conceive our first son, for you shall bear me two sons and one daughter, each one more beautiful than the last. Our honeymoon is in a little cabin near a great wood and I shall catch you great beasts that you may have the honor of skinning and roasting. Then, after a grand meal, our bodies sluggish with food and lust, we shall commence in beautiful love-making. So happy we shall be, you with your fantastic cooking and I with my dashing good looks. Though your low point may be cakes, are you any good at cakes? Well it doesn’t matter; my mother will take over cake duties. Oh, but you would be a master with mending and washing my fine garb and I at hunting the local animals for sport. Yes, we shall be wed and then we shall set up housekeeping in your castle with my mother. There you can prepare my meals, clean my clothes, bear my children and feel forever grateful and happy for doing so! (VALERIE can look either amused, horrified, or embarrassed as FREDRICK cheerfully looks back, sees this expression and is a little crestfallen) Ah, but are you not pleased with our grand life?

VALERIE (Sarcastically and Dramatic)
I’m sorry kind prince, but whenever did I become engaged?

FREDRICK
Why, right now! But… are you not happy my beautiful bride?

VALERIE (Playing along)
I am elated dear prince, but have you not a ring? I should like something to be official. (FREDRICK is panic stricken for a moment and turns to his own fingers. He counts his rings and adlibs some type of choosing method such as enie-minie-miney-moe and muttering “No, no, not that one”)

FREDRICK
Milady, this romance is so sudden I had not been prepared. I’m afraid we shall have to go to the jeweler’s.

VALERIE (Seeing her chance out)
Ah. No, no. That will never do. I must call the engagement off.

FREDRICK
Off? Oh dear. But must we focus on the material things in life?

VALERIE (Snippy and retuning to her book)
Yes, I’m afraid we must. (FREDRICK sadly meanders to his rock and sits down, pondering his next plan of action. Happy for the quiet, VALERIE becomes involved with her book again. With no ideas, FREDRICK turns to small talk.)

FREDRICK
Nice weather, eh?

VALERIE (Doesn‘t look up)
Yep. (FREDRICK pauses)

FREDRICK
Say… what is your name?

VALERIE
Val. (FREDRICK waits expectantly. VALERIE sighs and gets up, curtseying dramatically) Valerie of Luminocity.

FREDRICK
Ah, a beautiful city. (VALERIE isn’t really listening, she’s returned to her book.) I am (Drumroll) FREDRICK OF TIMBERLAND, the grand kingdom of lumberjacks! (Turns back expectantly, after a moment VALERIE gives a weak round of applause. The snoring returns in the background) Say, I’ve forgotten to rescue you! (VALERIE looks up fearfully)

VALERIE
No, no you haven’t!

FREDRICK (Confused)
I haven’t?

VALERIE
No, you rescued me hours ago, and then carried me off, and we came upon this cave and thought to sit and rest awhile.

FREDRICK (Smiles proudly)
That’s right, I did! (VALERIE smiles with satisfaction, the snore fades back in and dramatically puts his hand to his ear) But hark! What is that yonder roaring noise? (Pauses expectantly and continues on himself when completely ignored) It is but another dragon! I shall slay the horrid beast before it harms anyone.

VALERIE
No, you shall not.

FREDRICK
I shan’t? I was certain I shall… (FREDRICK furrows his brow and counts backwards on his hands.)

VALERIE
No, not at all. The sleeping dragon is of no harm and it is pointless to wake him and cause trouble.

FREDRICK
But when it wakes…?

VALERIE
It shan’t wake, it is under a spell.

FREDRICK (Astounded)
A spell! Where is the criminal who enchanted the poor harmless creature? He shall have his vengeance!

VALERIE
No, he was a horrid beast, not harmless at all, deserved it.

FREDRICK
Than I shall slay him so he may not longer be horrid.

VALERIE (Sighs loudly)
Really dear prince, there is no need! Let us leave in peace, you to your home and me to mine.

FREDRICK
But I have not been valiant, brave, or gallant yet!

VALERIE
You don’t need to be a hero.

FREDRICK
I don’t?

VALERIE (Serious)
No, you don’t. You need only to be yourself, that’s all. Don’t waste your life being someone you’re not.

FREDRICK
A life heroically lived is not wasted, surely.

VALERIE
A life filled with unnecessary and unenjoyed heroism surely is.

FREDRICK
I suppose so… say, let’s escape this! Come with me and we shall be wed. We will have the grandest wedding ever seen, provided by your father’s vast wealth and my mother’s cake expertise…(Lights fade and curtains close on FREDRICK’S repeated monologue. He follows annoyed VALERIE out of “the cave” STAGE LEFT still speaking. The characters return to stand side by side in front of the curtain)

FREDRICK & VALERIE
Gu-ga-thu-That’s all folks! (Bow and Exit)

...Aaand we're back!

2008-12-05T14:53:00.000-08:00

Sorry, the term just ended and I wanted credit for everything I put up since it was graded. Hello and happy 6th day of Advent! We have twenty days 'til Christmas, seventeen days 'til Hanukkah, and twenty one days 'til Kwanzaa. This reminds me of a great Loudon Wainwright III song that goes a little something like this...

Suddenly it's Christmas,
Right after Hallowe'en.
Forget about Thanksgiving;
It's just a buffet in between.
There's lights and tinsel in the windows;
They're stocking up the shelves;
Santa's slaving at the North Pole
In his sweatshop full of elves.

There's got to be a build-up
To the day that Christ was born:
The halls are decked with pumpkins
And the ears of Indian corn.
Dragging through the falling leaves
In a one-horse open sleigh,
Suddenly it's Christmas,
Seven weeks before the day.

Suddenly it's Christmas,
The longest holiday.
When they say "Season's Greetings"
They mean just what they say:
It's a season, it's a marathon,
Retail eternity.
It's not over till it's over
And you throw away the tree.

Outside it's positively balmy,
In the air nary a nip;
Suddenly it's Christmas,
Unbuttoned and unzipped.
Yes, they're working overtime,
Santa's little runts;
Christmas comes but once a year
And goes on for two months.

Christmas carols in December
And November, too;
It's no wonder we're depressed
When the whole thing is through.
Finally it's January;
Let's sing "Auld Lang Syne";
But here comes another heartache,
Shaped like a Valentine.

Suddenly it's Christmas,
The longest holiday.
The season is upon us;
A pox, it won't go away.
It's a season, it's a marathon,
Retail eternity.
It's not over till it's over
And you throw away the tree.

No, it's not over till it's over
And you throw away the tree;
It's still not over till it's over
And you throw away the tree.
Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!

Quote

2008-12-03T02:34:00.000-08:00

"Keep your fears to yourself, but share your courage with others." -Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894)
Sure you should share your courage but why not share your fears, hell you'll go crazy if you don't! What a stupid thing to say! Shame on you Robert for putting that kind of idea in people's heads!

The Theif of Always

2008-12-03T01:48:00.000-08:00

Okay, some old journal entries from school:
Pg. 139. Start a story with the sentence: “He knocked on the door…” continue the story.
He knocked on the door, he didn't want this, he was embarrassed to even be there, he didn't
want to. He turned his head to the ground and stared at his shiny black shoes as they glinted from the light of the filthy window down the long, rickety, dismal, dusty hall. He looked up for a moment and knocked again, louder, and this time the din inside quieted and silence instilled. Everyone was listening, waiting and louder still the rapidly angrier policeman knocked again on the door of his ex-wife's apartment.

Chp. 23. Write about the war between two or more inanimate objects. What would they argue about? Who might win?
Time for a story told long ago...

Chapter 1:

The Beginning

“So what exactly happened?” Another reporter asked me. He was speaking loudly as everyone was yelling, shouting, crying, or speaking loudly, like the reporter,

because they couldn’t hear themselves think.

“Well, I’m not really sure. When I ran up to the parking lot everyone was screaming, I didn’t know what about until I heard the loudest sound I ever heard and when it was over the factory was in shambles and covered with gooey stuff.”

“Gooey stuff?”

“Yes, if you push through the crowd you can still see it. It’s all white but according to my trustworthy colleague it came from the sky. When it started to fall there was a crust and then the white gooey stuff inside and in the middle of that there was a ball of yellow explosives that well, exploded as soon as the tower pierced its surface.” No one knew what was going on. I decided to pull myself out of the crowd and see if I could get to home and make some calls without being stopped by more then ten people. I passed the streets and looked around everything seemed so silent. I guess since everyone was away from home at the factory as it was the only place anyone worked aside from Sharpener’s Hospital and Nursing Home and of course the paperboy who didn’t work at Sharpener’s or the factory. It was a cloudy day and the bit of sky you could see through the dismal clouds was a bland gray. You could see the smoke still rising from the remains of the factory and the flickering LLJ sign. I walked on and passed a stranger in the shadows, chuckling. Wait a minute a STRANGER? I stopped dead it my tracks. No it couldn’t be! In my town everyone knew everyone; no one is a stranger mainly because everyone works at the same place unless you work at Sharpener’s or are the paperboy and everyone knows them because at some point everyone has needed to go there because of a dull point or a bad eraser. Yes everyone knew everyone. I looked back, just to make sure I didn’t know him, no this person was a total stranger to me.

“Who are you?” I asked, I suppose it sounded weird because you don’t really go up to a random person on the street and ask ‘who are you?’ but that’s what I said. He stopped laughing and looked up at me. No, it wasn’t a look, it was more of a stare that hollowed me out as though my thoughts were no longer my own personal feelings but common knowledge to him.

“Now that, my friend is a very good question. I could ask you the very same thing and you would have no idea how to answer it besides your name and that you live here and perhaps a few thing about yourself but you would have no idea who you really are, don’t you agree?” He said with a sort of chortle, if that is it’s possible to have a sort of chortle. He kind of creped me out, his hollow stare in no way matched his forward attitude.

“I guess I should slim down my question then,” I replied “What is your name, where you from, and why are you here.” I tried to match his forward attitude but I think he saw through my act to my fear.

“Why should I answer you? Why do you care? I suppose the curiosity would be too much if I didn’t satisfy it a little. So if you must know I’ll tell you that I come here by command of Jimothy.” He gave a haughtily cool reply.

“Jimothy? What does he want?” It didn’t make sense; he hadn’t sent anyone to anywhere since the peace treaty. What would we have that this foreign ruler could want? My confusion knocked down my fear.

“I told you, one little thing.” His voice was hurried and not cool and calm and this time it didn’t give me chills. You could plainly see he was worried about me finding out something. I decided that although now he was worried and I could pry him for more information, I had stuff to do and would leave him alone for now bringing this awkward conversation to a close. I got home and locked my door, not knowing the trouble I had just got myself into. I made myself a cup of “Peach Passion” herbal tea and sitting down near the phone taking in the sweet smell of peaches and honey and feeling the strangely soothing steam rising and settling on my chin I started to digest what had just happened; I found that the bulk of my morning was a blur, when I got up I was running so late I didn’t bother with breakfast, I ran to work as fast as I could and found everyone screaming and looking up and then ‘BANG!’ After that, silence pierced the air and no one spoke for what seemed like ages. Then suddenly, as though everyone had just came to their senses after being knocked out, the air was full of voices, everyone was talking and soon everyone from Sharpener’s was there and then the Jennithiopian royal press swarmed around everyone and…wait…how did the press find out so fast? How did they get there so fast? Well, I suppose that doesn’t matter how they did. I decided to remove myself and while I was walking home I had a strange encounter with a complete and total stranger, something that had never happed to me before. I felt a bit like Alice in Wonderland, I was late, a bit like the rabbit, and ran straight into an explosion then met the Cheshire cat and his looming grin, what’s next? The Mad-Hatter? I giggled to myself at the thought, for that I suppose I should visit Sharpener’s nursing home section to celebrate my very happy unbirthday! No, I came home for a reason, to call people. I decided as a dedicated citizen I would report to her royal highness Queen Jennifer that there was a stranger in town who had come by command of Jimothy, I was a little worried at first that perhaps I would not be taken kindly but then again I had heard she was very nice so I gathered up my courage and picked up the phone. I was almost relieved when I got the answering machine, and felt I could easily leave a message.

“Hello…um…this is Aubrey from LLJ factory Number 174, and uh, um I would like to report a strange encounter and an explo-BEEP” it cut me off mid word but I suppose that didn’t matter because within the next 5 minutes there was a royal page at my door who wanted me to come to the palace immediately and…how did he get there so fast? Anyway I came and found myself in the throne room, in the same room as the beloved Queen Jennifer herself.

Chapter 2:

Meeting The Queen

When I looked up and saw the queen sitting there in glossy metal I felt sweat dripping down my face in buckets and I was so nervous I thought I was going to run out but I managed to hold my ground, bow deeply and sputter out the words

“Your-your hi-highness.” I was about to faint until I heard the warm reply

“Ah! The girl from Province 6, Factory Number 174 isn’t it?”

“Indeed it is your highness.” Said the page who had brought me to the palace.

“Good, now everyone clear out I shall have a private audience with the girl, no not you page, you stay in case we should need anything. Would you like some tea?” she said turning to me, I had finally stood up.

“M-M-Me?”

“Who else,” she laughed “my page?”

“I-In that case, your highness, yes I’ll have some tea.” I said, relieved that I was taken warmly. There was something so happy and almost…jolly about her. I guess jolly isn’t the best of words to use because when you think of jolly you think of Santa Claus and then a belly like a bowl of jelly and a cherry nose and then the deep ‘Ho Ho Ho!’ and 12 tiny reindeer but despite the fact that she didn’t have any of those things she was jolly in some way shape or form.

“Don’t bother with the ‘Your Highness’ it makes me sick!” She said rolling her eyes “I hear it all day long call me Jenni. Get us some tea please, good page. So, you said you wanted to report something?”

“Yes, your high- I mean Jenni. This morning I was running late so I ran to work, when I got there everyone was screaming and then there was a giant explosion. No one was killed but several were seriously injured. My friend said it came from the sky, when it started to fall there was a crust and then the white gooey stuff inside and inside that there was a ball of yellow explosives that exploded as soon as the tower pierced its surface. It reduced the factory to shambles.”

“Christmas! Another egg bomb has attacked another of the lead factories, where are they coming from!”

“May I continue?”

“Oh, sorry do go on.”

“Anyway I decided to remove myself from the situation because, as you can imagine it was getting quite hectic and while I was walking home I had a strange encounter with a complete and total stranger, something which never happened to me before because everyone knows everyone, well at least were I live. He was rather creepy; he had a hollow stare, a forward attitude and a looming grin which reminded me of the Cheshire cat. He said he came by command of Jimothy, what could he want?” Jenni’s jaw dropped. “What’s wrong?”

“JIMOTHY! Oh this means war, honey, this means WAR!

Chapter 3:

This means war

“Why?” I asked thoroughly and utterly confused.

“As you already know, when you’re a pencil your lead is your lifetime, when you run out of lead, you die, there’s no curing it. As you also know when you’re a mechanical pencil as all royal people are it’s different you can refill that lead but only I have the means to do it, you know what the Long Live Jennifer factories are for don’t you? Well apparently poor old Jimothy got jealous! Oh this burns me up!”

“Oh my gosh! You’re right, why didn’t he just ask?”

“I don’t know but it’s too late now we’re going to war!” her face was all red and she clenched her teacup so tightly it broke. “PAGE! Get me more tea! Hurry!”

“Y-Yes, your majesty.” Said the page and ran off hurriedly

“S-Should I leave now?” I asked a bit scared.

“NO! I mean, no. You stay here and help me organize the attack.” So we sat and talked for a while and by the time we had found how Jimothy had been collecting egg cartons saying they were for art classes and contacted him saying this was war, the queen and I were good friends. So we charted the attack through Jularia and I set out to join the force and support my dear friend.

***

We marched to the edge of Jennithiopia and looked down to the dreaded depths of the floor, one klutz almost fell! We climbed the ladder down to the chair and camped there for a week until we reached the shores of Jularia, chairs may be a slow way to travel but it’s the only way to get from land to land. The people of Jularia seemed very nice but they sometimes spoke in a language that they called ‘Science’ which we didn’t understand.

We learned of their god whom they called ‘Time’ and could be seen in the very high sky. This Time god was very different from our god who we called ‘Sarcasm’, Time for example was more helpful, say you had been tricked into a lunchbox during warfare that was to mold and kill you slowly with its fumes if you prayed to our god saying ‘oh lord am I to die here?’ he is most likely to respond ‘what do you think? You’re in a lunchbox!’ where as this Time fellow would stop the hours of the mold until you could find a way out.

Jularia’s queen, Julie, found out the plan of using her kingdom as a battlefield and we made a deal to recruit innocents to Jennithiopia till the war was over. Being a peacemaker, Julie just had to break her land in half so that we couldn’t go to the other side and Jimothy’s army couldn’t get to us making a gaping hole in the middle of our battleground! As you could imagine this did not serve a complementary battleground any more, seeing that all we could do is stand at the edge of our side and insult the other army! So now we had to camp out another week while the molasses like chairs went to get a little purple table that we saw in the distance to put in the center. When that was done and the war started to be a real war, many lives were lost but came to an abrupt stop every time the god of Jimothy’s people, Distraction who had a screen and the shape of a cube, turned on to ‘Friends’, ‘Grey’s Anatomy’ or in particular ‘LOST’ but the war always picked up again. Then one day the action stopped again and everyone looked up to see what was on but to everyone’s surprise, there was a fight atop the god!

Chapter 4:

The End

“I put my money on Jimothy!” another guy said.

“I’ll take you up, Queen Jennifer is all mighty!” said a Jennithiopian, bets were springing up every where, some people made cheers and were jumping up and down:

“Give me a Q! Give me a U! Give me an E! Give me an E! Give me an N! Give me a J! Give me an E! Give me an N! Give me an N! Give me and I! Give me an F! Give me an E! Give me an R! Goooooooo QUEEN JENNIFER! Go and get him! Give me a Q! Give me a U! Give me an E…”

One guy had the nerve to get popcorn! Anyway everyone was getting real excited about the fight between Jenni and Jimothy, how they got on top of Distraction is beyond me but the god gave us commentary the whole way. It lasted hours until those fateful words:

“The queen is revving up for a punch and oh my gosh, Jimothy is falli…” There was white noise and it switched to ESPN. It looked like Jimothy was done; his pieces of lead were falling out. it didn’t look hopeful but Time’s favorite show was on! Now if he let this guy and his lead fall he would get a big crash and it would distract him so he froze time around Jimothy which gave his people time to get the emergency dry-eraser and after the show Jimothy was safely retuned to earth. He spent the rest of his days fixing the LLJ factories, which he destroyed. The Jennithiopian Royal Press covered the war for the next month so everyone became accustomed to throwing the paper away since everyone was there. Jenni said she would have given Jimothy lead if he just said please instead of taking violent action. As for me? I am now the Queen’s chief advisor and we still have tea every day in memory of the day we met.

The End

The Lust Lizard of Melancholy Cove

2008-12-03T01:17:00.000-08:00

In school, I am reading a self selected book that I picked rather randomly from the school library. It is called The Lust Lizard of Melancholy Cove by Chris Moore. The name alone was intriguing but the sea creature on the cover popping pills kinda sealed the deal. It started cheerfully as a high constable looks into the suicide of Bess Leander. He goes to her psychiatrist and she, devastated with loosing a client, decides to put everyone on placebos. This, of course, leads to a business boom in the bar.. and that's where I am. Of course there is more, Chris divided the book into many sections throughout each chapter, each told by a different perspective. I haven't encountered this before but it is a very good way to be omniscient without really being omniscient and is very interesting to meet the characters. I like getting to know characters through their minds without having only one mind to see the others through but still have focus on one character. I think this is a very creative way to write a book. My favorite character so far is Estelle, a widow artist who paints cheesy seascapes for postcard and such. She is one of the first to be hit by the withdrawal and finds herself in a bar, a place she hasn't been to in God knows when. She is more isolated and, so far, has absolutely no ties with the plot besides the fact she lives in Pine Cove and meets Theo at the bar. Her mind is more interesting to me, the way she sees things, the way her life played out.
The beginning was a little hard to get past, I think a hook should have been used sooner in the prologue because of that.

One Word

2008-11-30T19:34:00.000-08:00

There's a website called One Word and everyday there is a word and you have exactly a minute to write about it. You don't think, only write. Today's word was aware and I wanted more time so...

Aware. Aware of life, the world, the night. He sits on the bench aware. The world circles in dizzying rounds and life moves on but the man sits. No place to stay, or go, or sleep. He sits perfectly still, angry at the world but understanding. his coffee cup of change sat by his feet and he had discovered that asking for food or nothing at all normally works out better for him than asking for money, and so the change cup rarely changed in weight or worth.
I'm bored okay, moving on.

Oh, another word. Hover:
Hovering, above the world and the sea and the sky. The sky is not longer the limit but your equal. Everything is high up and floating and your clothes are drenched with cloud, tugging at your skin and trying to bring you down. And you laugh, you laugh at the very face of weight...and wake.

Gretchen gets out of bed depressed. The monotonous rain had begun to get on her nerves as she headed toward the shower and the haze of gray was thick enough to eat with as spoon, not that Gretchen wanted too. She had a routine. She didn't stop to check how she looked anymore, it only depressed her more and the fact that looking at herself depressed her, also depressed her. She thinks about the shadow of her dream she has left. She remembers laughter... laughter and wet and a free feeling. She couldn't remember the last time she laughed, when you work and live alone, little is funny and the world seems dead. Yes, dead. That was what the world was to Gretchen but this dream brought new light on her situation. She could be wet and laugh, she tried to remember the last time she felt free and, leaving her umbrella by the door, walked defiantly to her car and climbed in.

To be Continued!
haha, maybe.

Your quote for the Day

2008-11-30T14:44:00.001-08:00

"Perhaps it is impossible for a person who does no good to do no harm." -Harriet Beecher Stowe (1811-1896)
I think it would be hard to do NO good and NO harm. Happy mediums are hard on humans, we get bored. That would be awful boring because you wouldn't be doing ANYTHING, because everything has an effect. In fact doing nothing is still doing something so it is impossible to do nothing, there for this quote is true. Bravo! haha.

Undefined?

2008-11-27T06:07:00.000-08:00

Happy Thanksgiving everybody! I hope we all adequately stuff ourselves to revolting levels and forget what Thanksgiving is about. Actually, I hope we don't but we manage to every year and I'm not sure we'll change quite yet. However, today I came to today's quote:
"undefined"
Undefined? The quote people took a day off? Wow, this is surprising. You'd think they could put in in beforehand at least. How lazy is that? Really, you just can't count on some people.

Selfish

2008-11-23T13:14:00.000-08:00

"Selfishness must always be forgiven you know, because there is no hope of a cure." -Jane Austen (1775-1817)

Haha! That's so true! It's human nature to be selfish, and if you can't forgive someone else I don't know how you'll ever forgive yourself. I am very selfish myself and am not ashamed to admit it. It is something I must work on but don't see it as very high on my list of priorities at the moment.

RQ: Why or why isn't the hokey pokey what it's all about? Also, What is your favorite holiday and why?

RQ of the Day

2008-11-21T12:54:00.000-08:00

Is the Hokey Pokey really what it's all about?

A Questionnaire for a Drunkard

2008-11-21T07:32:00.000-08:00

Another school assignment.

1) Who sent this survey to you?
2) How well do you know them?
3) How long have you know them?
4) What color is their hair?
5) Eyes?
6) What is their favorite flavor of ice cream?
7) Why haven’t you ever had ice cream with them?
8) Why did you have to scroll to the top of this email to check their name for the first question?
9) Why can’t you remember their face?
10) Do you remember the moment you met?
11) Why not?
12) Do you really hate this person?
13) Are stupid chain emails a reason to hate some one?
14) Why did you never attempt to reach out to this person?
15) Why don’t you remember all the times you blew them off?
16) Why don’t you remember how friendly they were after you were continually rude?
17) Why would you deny that you were impolite?
18) When was the last time you saw this person?
19) If this person is as annoying as you say, why do they have your email address?
20) If you really wanted to get someone off your back, would you really give them contact information?
21) Then why did you give them your email address?
22) Why were you drunk?
23) Why did you go to their party if you didn’t like them?
24) Fine, why did you go to their party if you hated them?
25) How come you didn’t know them very well at the time?
26) How can you say you hated them if you didn’t know them very well at the time?
27) Do you remember that girl in the corner of the room, the one in the blue dress?
28) Would you have answered more truthfully and willingly if it was she who sent this to you?
29) Why is that?
30) Why doesn’t she have your email address?
31) Can you even remember her name?
32) Do you consider yourself the kind of guy who bases everything on looks?
33) Then why would you refuse to attempt to be friendly with the person who sent this to you?
34) Do you remember the girl with too much make-up and the little orange dress?
35) Why did you take your eyes off the girl in the blue dress to talk to her?
36) Why is intoxication an excuse for this?
37) Do you remember glancing back at the disgusted girl in the blue dress as the girl in the orange dress lead you away?
38) How long had you known the girl in the blue dress beforehand?
39) Do you remember the moment you met her?
40) Why does the moment you glanced back overshadow the moment you met her?
41) Can you even remember the girl in the orange dress’s face?
42) Why can’t you remember her face, only the feel of her chilled lips, smeared with waxy scarlet?
43) Did the footsteps that came behind you frighten you?
44) Do you remember the breeze nip the back of your neck and fall still as that silhouette appeared in the doorway?
45) Why were you ashamed?
46) Who was it in the doorway?
47) Did you think it was the girl in the blue dress?
48) Is that why you were ashamed?
49) Why did you feel relieved, the cool sweat evaporating, when you saw it was the girl in the red dress, the one who sent this to you?
50) Why do you think she dropped what she was holding as her jaw dropped?
51) What was she holding?
52) Why do you think she was so surprised?
53) Why did she hurry to scoop up the bag she was holding and scurry off?
54) Why did the girl in the orange dress smile?
55) Why did you run after the girl in the red dress, slipping your hand from her surprised grip?
56) Did you feel the relief slipping as you ran after the girl in the red dress?
57) Why did the girl in the red dress stare at the floor when you caught her?
58) Why did you stare at the floor when you caught her?
59) Why did you need to talk to her?
60) Why did you care what she thought?
61) Why were so rude if you so closely associated her with the girl in the blue dress?
62) Do you think the girl in the red dress ever thought she had a chance with you, or dreamed that she would?
63) Why had you never thought of her feelings and thoughts?
64) Why hadn’t you thought of the girl in the blue dress’s feelings before?
65) Why did you care now?
66) Did you really care, or were you selfish enough to try to secure your place next to her?
67) What is your definition of selfish?
68) Why wouldn’t the girl in the red dress talk to you?
69) Why didn’t you talk to the girl in the blue dress?
70) As you ambled toward the bathroom to wash make-up off your face, did you think of where the girl in the red dress ran off to, embarrassed and upset?
71) Did you not notice how upset she was?
72) Did you wonder why she was upset, when it was you who was in this predicament?
73) Do you see now how selfish you were?
74) How many times did you see the girl in the blue dress after that?
75) Why didn’t you try harder to apologize if you wanted to see her again?
76) Did you love her?
77) Did she love you?
78) How can you be so sure she didn’t?
79) Is she the reason you have a beer in your hand?
80) Why have you followed so many more girls in orange dresses when they have already caused you so much trouble?
81) Why do you drink so much?
82) Why does that cold night twenty years ago drive you to do this to yourself?
83) Do you see your life going anywhere?
84) Why not?
85) Why do you live off your parents and friends?
86) What does the girl in the blue dress twenty years ago affect this?
87) When will you stop wallowing in self pity and take charge?
88) Why won’t you allow yourself to blame you?
89) Why won’t you answer truthfully if you do blame yourself?
90) Why can’t you be truthful, even on a silly survey that no one else will ever see?
91) Are you ever honest?
92) Why not?
93) When will you stop using the girl in a blue dress for an excuse?
94) If you can’t move on, why can’t you at least move forward?
95) When will you pick up your life?
96) Why do you say never instead of not any time soon?
97) Why never?
98) How come nothing is possible?
99) How long will it take for you to realize she lives up the street?
100) You’re welcome.
P.S. Would you believe I still fit into that red dress?

Remember That Place?

2008-11-20T16:27:00.000-08:00

I wrote this for my friend Khari who demanded that I use a prompt he did so he could compare. I am aware of the stolen ideas from Patty Griffin and Broadcast News but couldn't resist, sorry all of you copyright crazed people.

Remember that place

The breeze chills my being
trickling down my jutting spine
in a winding thread of winter.
I'm standing at that place near the thing
where we met that one time
and we tied our yellow ribbons to the
black signpost and watched them flicker and
Fly, catching the wind as the birds carried them
away.

I shudder,
disgusted I could not resist
the delicious fragility of this travesty,
of what we had here.
The tears freeze within my eyes as
I tie the ribbon in a foolish way.
Flopping down,
it slips and falls into the snow.
I rush, scuttling to hide my face,
ashamed that I cry for the place
where we still laugh and wish,
if only in my dreams.

Where are all my well deserved comments?

2008-11-18T18:22:00.000-08:00

Why does nobody comment? Do you not have the time??? No, you obviously have time on your have time on your hands if your reading my blog. You must be rude, fine. If I don't get feedback on this reader-centered blog, I shall cease to write upon it. Haha!
Hahaha, no I don't really care that much, I enjoy blogging but a comment or two and some poll results would be nice from time to time, jeez people!

More quote and an RQ

2008-11-18T07:47:00.000-08:00

"When it comes to my own turn to lay my weapons down, I shall do so with thankfulness and fatigue, and whatever be my destiny afterward, I shall be glad to lie down with my fathers in honour." -Robert Louis Stevenson
This is more of a statement of character then a statement of the human race, or the way of the world. There is not much to respond to really. More like "Cool, good for you."

RQ of the Day: You are playing a game of twister in the Olympics and are becoming steadily less able. Your muscles are giving out but you think if you could only put you right foot on red you could win. You strategically see that your opponent has easy access also to a right foot red, do you decide to pray for a left foot yellow instead?

Quoteily Quotey Quote

2008-11-17T18:29:00.000-08:00

"We live as we dream—alone." -Joseph Conrad (1857-1924)
Why is that? I'm not sure that's true, in the first place, I am rarely alone in my dreams. In the second place, living rarely has much to do with dreaming. Dreams are simply muddled subconscious thoughts that relay, often, what we hide within ourselves. However, just because I dreamed that I was chased by a little angry troll on a hovercraft type thing when I was a little kid does not mean I am to live running away from trolls on hovercrafts and it does not mean I was suppressing thoughts of angry green trolls. I think we live, essentially, how we want to. If we want to live surrounded by friends, you go out and make friends, if you want to live more isolated, you don't make many friends. Though it is true that every individual lives in their own world and is alone in it, excluding mind readers. Anyway, short quote, long response. See you all next time on... Aubrey's mindless ramblings on quotes of dead people!

A Quote and The Poll.

2008-11-16T08:59:00.000-08:00

Hello all! Well, first things first.
"It is possible to believe that all the human mind has ever accomplished is but the dream before the awakening." -H.G. Wells (1866-1946)
Huh? Do you mean the world is asleep and having one helluva nightmare or that dreams are the only accomplishments? Or you could mean that dreams are not accomplished in the real world and you can only wishfully think of them. I know for a fact that is not true, but it is possible to believe that... hm. What do you think it means?

Secondly, my poll finally has some votes. Though there is one vote in every category, the turn out is undeniably pro-random questions. Therefore, I will begin to make polls with the most random questions I can think of but may also ask some on my posts, starting today. Without further a due...
RQ of the Day: You want to buy blueberry muffins, because it is national muffin day. Consequently, so do ten thousand other people. To clear the store and discourage muffin buying, the manager was cleverly creative and created a obstacle course to the large muffin aisle. Many are leaving but you really wanted muffins, are you willing to take on the humiliation of an egg race and sack hop?

Two Quotes! Gasp

2008-11-14T14:02:00.001-08:00

I know, I know, I haven't done quotes in forever. I'm working on an "Omnibus" because I saved most of them. Anyway, that'll take forever so in the mean time...

"Money is a needful and precious thing—and, when well used, a noble thing—but I never want you to think it is the first or only prize to strive for." -Louisa May Alcott (1832-1888)
So true. But money is always misused, it becomes ridiculous the amount of money spent on the stupidest stuff. For example, America is currently spending billions in Iraq, a country that needs help, it's true and it is a good thing for a country to help them but last time I checked, we have our own problems, a lot of them. We should be fixing ourselves before trying to fix others. In response to the second part, absolutely. Money is not only not the only prize, but it isn't really a prize at all. Sure it is nice to live in comfort but compared to prizes such as love, friendship, gratitude, and loyalty, it's nothing.

"Vanity working on a weak head, produces every sort of mischief." - Jane Austen (1775-1817)
I'm not quite sure I agree with every mischief, many certainly though. Conceitedness is an awful thing. Perhaps it should have a scientific disorder name such as osentatious pompuism.

Reaching

2008-11-13T07:15:00.000-08:00

I cut and revised the Ashen Twine poetic prose piece into a poem and tought I'd post it. I like both still but the poem cuts free of the fifteen sentance structure.

Reaching
No one is here.
Not even you; you are transparent,
a mist in the ashen, gloom of this world
The dark gray fog pointless, the demise is clear in your pallid face.
No life, laughter or sorrow peering through your half-closed vacant eyes,
empty as a brick wall, no recognition.

It is disturbing to see you as such.
I close my eyes, shaking my head and turning around;
to a different scene, where the lush jade
is more vivacious than I ever knew you to be;
you are there too, this time very alive, vibrant, flourishing in the color,
your face flushed.
I wish I could take this you back home
come to know you far better,
lead you home.

I reach out to take you hand,
but you turn away though; shaking your head.
Why won’t you return?
You do not explain.

I turn back to the lifeless, the vacant,
the dead; turn back
to the dismal decay and gray aroma.
Then back to that other you—
your eyes as cobalt and cold sapphire,
and understand. Your time is over,

so I take death by the hand
and I race back to the earth,
The misty ashen twine that is our relationship is broken.
It is as well as it could be.

Performance Word & Text

2008-11-12T06:43:00.000-08:00

In school I have a class called Performance Word & Text, today's assignment was the following:

2 - Minute Oratory
Sometime in your life, you will probably need to deliver an original speech. Most speech topics are given because you have a specific interest. Speeches are meant to be spoken to a specific audience. Knowing who you are speaking to, is an important component to delivering an effective speech.Use the handout directions to brainstorm ideas for a short informational speech. Check above for examples of speeches. The 2 minute oratory is due next class. Your outline (note cards) and speech are also due next class. Turn in your note cards and draft of speech at the end of that class.

The handout told us to brainstorm a topic of personal interest, okay...

Animals
Retro Stuff
The Bizarre
Holidays
Sleep

Wait a minute, lets read ahead, It says "select one from your list and prepare a two minute speech..." Oh. I'm gonna need a different list then, I'm not about to write a speech on Retro Stuff.

Body Image (Media)
Violence
Animal Cruelty

Aw, that enough. Okay, I choose body image. After that it says "You should explain or define the topic to an audience who may know much about the topic and explain why you are interested in it. Write a short attention grabbing introduction, a body that explores the topic, and a conclusion for your speech. Use note cards if you'd like. Be prepared to present in class next period." Whoa! Next period, oh god. Um okay I think everybody knows what body image is. I'm interested because it's a huge problem that can lead to complexes, self hatred, eating disorders, and even suicide. Okay planning time:

Intro:

We've all seen it, but do we know the extent.
*Throw mortality Stats at them:
- Eating disorders have the highest mortality rate of any mental illness
- A study by the National Association of Anorexia Nervosa and Associated Disorders reported that 5 – 10% of anorexics die within 10 years after contracting the disease; 18 20% of anorexics will be dead after 20 years and only 30 – 40% ever fully recover
- The mortality rate associated with anorexia nervosa is 12 times higher than the death rate of ALL causes of death for females 15 – 24 years old.
- 20% of people suffering from anorexia will prematurely die from complications related to their eating disorder, including suicide and heart problems

Body:

**- "The media create this wonderful illusion-but the amount of airbrushing that goes into those beauty magazines, the hours of hair and makeup! It's impossible to live up to, because it's not real."- Actress Jennifer Aniston. - Your television is showing more and more unhealthily thin actresses. Bones are jutting out and implants are taking the place of real breasts. Most of these supermodels and actresses are so unnaturally thin that they risk infertility, osteoporosis and, ultimately, kidney damage.
- Jennifer Aniston's former trainer says "[Jennifer's] new figure did not come from working out with me. She lost body fat (seemingly all of it) by drastically reducing carbs in her diet - a way that's not healthy in my books." - The idea of the media's (and consequently, everybody else's) "ideal" woman often makes "normal" woman self-conscious -- even if they have nothing to be self-conscious about. - "I think women see me on the cover of magazines and think that I never have a pimple or bags under my eyes. You have to realize that's after two hours of hair and makeup, plus retouching. Even I don't wake up looking like Cindy Crawford."- Cindy Crawford
*Throw some more Stats at them: - It is estimated that 8 million Americans have an eating disorder – seven million women and one million men
- One in 200 American women suffers from anorexia
- Two to three in 100 American women suffers from bulimia
- Nearly half of all Americans personally know someone with an eating disorder (Note: One in five Americans suffers from mental illnesses.)
- An estimated 10 – 15% of people with anorexia or bulimia are males - Anorexia is the 3rd most common chronic illness among adolescents
- 95% of those who have eating disorders are between the ages of 12 and 25
- 50% of girls between the ages of 11 and 13 see themselves as overweight
- 80% of 13-year-olds have attempted to lose weight

Conclusion

In conclusion, America has become beauty obsessed to a unatural and unhealthy point.
People are going to get plastic surgery to achive an unhealthy body even the models don't have.
Not only that but people develop very destructive eating disorders because of the media

*from South Carolina Department of Mental Health

**from Hillary Magazine

Okay now to draft.

Even Jennifer Aniston admits the illusion and trickery of our media "The media creates this wonderful illusion-- but the amount of airbrushing that goes into those beauty magazines, the hours of hair and makeup! It's impossible to live up to, because it's not real." Your television and magazines are showing more and more unhealthily thin actresses and models. Bones are seen and implants and makeup are taking the place of features. Also, these supermodels and actresses are so unnaturally thin that they risk infertility, osteoporosis and, ultimately, kidney damage. The media's idea of an "ideal" body often makes actual people self-conscious -- even if they have nothing to be self-conscious about. The age group most affected is teens, in fact 95% of those who have eating disorders are between the ages of 12 and 25 and 50% of girls between the ages of 11 and 13 see themselves as overweight. When it comes to a point were it is estimated that 8 million Americans have an eating disorder – seven million women and one million men, we know we have a major problem.

As you can see, America has become beauty obsessed to a unnatural and unhealthy point. People try to change themselves to fit this unrealistic "ideal" and not only that but people are developing very destructive eating disorders because of it.

And Draft Again:

In America, the media has become obsessed with unachievable physical perfection and it is a serious problem that triggers self hatred, possibly fatal eating disorders, and even suicide. In fact, according to the South Carolina Department of Mental Health, eating disorders have the highest mortality rate of any mental illness and a study by the National Association of Anorexia Nervosa and Associated Disorders reported that 5 – 10% of anorexics die within 10 years after contracting the disease. Actually the mortality rate associated with anorexia nervosa is 12 times higher than the death rate of ALL causes of death for females 15 – 24 years old.

Your television and magazines are showing more and more unhealthily thin actresses and models. Bones can be seen and plastic surgery and makeup are taking the place of real features. Also, these supermodels and actresses are so unnaturally thin that they risk infertility, osteoporosis and, ultimately, kidney damage. The media's idea of an "ideal" body often makes actual people self-conscious -- even if they have nothing to be self-conscious about. The age group most affected is teens, in fact 95% of those who have eating disorders are between the ages of 12 and 25 and 50% of girls between the ages of 11 and 13 see themselves as overweight. When it comes to a point were it is estimated that 8 million Americans have an eating disorder we know we have a major problem.

As you can see, America has become beauty obsessed to a unnatural and unhealthy point. People try to change themselves to fit this unrealistic "ideal" and not only that but people are developing very destructive eating disorders because of it. How will we deal with this mammoth situation? The answer is ultimately in your hands.

Time? 2:10. Hm, I'm pleased. Thank you for following this pointless creation of a speech.

-Aubrey

Hmmm...

2008-11-11T10:09:00.000-08:00

My mind is blank, is yours? I have no idea what to write. Hm how strange to have a blank mind. Though I suppose it's impossible to have one, you're always thinking something even if it's simply thinking that you're not thinking anything. Now I'm noticing random silly thoughts that fly through my mind, not worth writing. But is anything worth writing, really? I'm not sure it is. What do you think?