I'm done I guess-- well sorta. I guess class is over and we've all revealed our pen names, but I feel bad for never posting some of my assignments. It's kinda lame, but if I find some time in the next couple weeks I think I'll end up posting them before I let this blog sink into the archives of Mr. Nelson's past writers.
Cheers guys. We made it.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Dawn
Well, this is it. Hopefully this is a beginning, not an end:
Dawn
My house is silent as the clock strikes 3:00, and I cannot help but sigh as I sing a familiar refrain that goes like... ♫ Three A.M., a boy sits outside his house lonely with his guitar ♫ The situation is almost funny, and so I laugh anyway and let the sound of my voice echo through the seemingly empty corners of my room. It's been a long night, but it's not over yet.
My eyes and my heart are as heavy as the open textbook before me, and so for a moment I raise my head to look around the room and see with my soul what my eyes cannot-- because I know that I'm never alone. At night fallen angels and devil's eyes patiently watch me in wait for the attack; the attack to pry at my mind and drain my soul of joy and peace and hope. The hope that is my last line of defense.
Now I should be afraid of their invisible touch, but I know they're there and I do not fear; for as the moon reflects the sun I know that I reflect the very light they wish to take.
So though I am surrounded, they do not dare touch me so long as hold onto that glimmer of hope. But if there's one thing I know, it's that the night is long and will not give up without a fight. And so the dark angels pace my room as I try to concentrate over the hum of my laptop.
The clock ticks on and on and it's 5:15 and I've just shut my laptop-- finished and exhausted. As my body sags and my eyes glaze over, the dark assailants signal the attack and descend upon me; falling on my ears with wholesome lies and sweet whispers of bruising thoughts. Without a touch they attack, eager to open the way to my soul, but a flicker of hope still surrounds my heart and so they still cannot have it.
As I lie awake too exhausted to sleep, and while my will-power ebbs away, I turn away from the attack and cling harder to the strand of hope that leads my eyes to the eastern horizon; Soon, I think. Soon.
The assailants slow, step away, and disappear altogether. Their time is up.
I look out the window relieved, watching quietly as the dimmest stars fade away, leaving only a dark smudgy sky behind. As light creeps slowly over the horizon foretelling the coming sunrise, I sink into bed and slowly descend to sleep. When I awaken I know I will be surrounded by guardian angels, and I will be guided by the hand of God. But when night falls and devil's eyes watch me once again, I will cling to that hope that ties my eyes to the eastern skies, where no-doubtedly a Dawn will live once again.
Dawn
My house is silent as the clock strikes 3:00, and I cannot help but sigh as I sing a familiar refrain that goes like... ♫ Three A.M., a boy sits outside his house lonely with his guitar ♫ The situation is almost funny, and so I laugh anyway and let the sound of my voice echo through the seemingly empty corners of my room. It's been a long night, but it's not over yet.
My eyes and my heart are as heavy as the open textbook before me, and so for a moment I raise my head to look around the room and see with my soul what my eyes cannot-- because I know that I'm never alone. At night fallen angels and devil's eyes patiently watch me in wait for the attack; the attack to pry at my mind and drain my soul of joy and peace and hope. The hope that is my last line of defense.
Now I should be afraid of their invisible touch, but I know they're there and I do not fear; for as the moon reflects the sun I know that I reflect the very light they wish to take.
So though I am surrounded, they do not dare touch me so long as hold onto that glimmer of hope. But if there's one thing I know, it's that the night is long and will not give up without a fight. And so the dark angels pace my room as I try to concentrate over the hum of my laptop.
The clock ticks on and on and it's 5:15 and I've just shut my laptop-- finished and exhausted. As my body sags and my eyes glaze over, the dark assailants signal the attack and descend upon me; falling on my ears with wholesome lies and sweet whispers of bruising thoughts. Without a touch they attack, eager to open the way to my soul, but a flicker of hope still surrounds my heart and so they still cannot have it.
As I lie awake too exhausted to sleep, and while my will-power ebbs away, I turn away from the attack and cling harder to the strand of hope that leads my eyes to the eastern horizon; Soon, I think. Soon.
The assailants slow, step away, and disappear altogether. Their time is up.
I look out the window relieved, watching quietly as the dimmest stars fade away, leaving only a dark smudgy sky behind. As light creeps slowly over the horizon foretelling the coming sunrise, I sink into bed and slowly descend to sleep. When I awaken I know I will be surrounded by guardian angels, and I will be guided by the hand of God. But when night falls and devil's eyes watch me once again, I will cling to that hope that ties my eyes to the eastern skies, where no-doubtedly a Dawn will live once again.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Monday, May 16, 2011
Songs with Stories
Song: Sk8terboy by Avril Lavigne
Plot: Once upon a time there was a punk, he was a skater and he was in love with "girl". Girl was secretly in love with Skaterboy too, but would never admit it because her friends thought he was yucky. Time goes on and Skaterboy becomes a big rock star and girl is a sad sad stay at home mom.
Characters:
Skaterboy
Girl
Girl's Friends
Narrator, Avril Lavigne, a.k.a. the girl who ends up getting the boy
Conflict: Girl and Skaterboy are in love, but girl is so overcome with her snobbishness and cares too much what her friends think so she stays away from skaterboy. Girl gets preggers, has children, and wishes she had gotten together with skaterboy but it's too late. He's with someone else now.
Theme: You need to follow your heart instead of listening to everyone else, or else you'll miss your chance.
Setting: Presumably a high school in the beginning, then girl's future house, and the rocking concert where skaterboy performs (and then the studio where Narrator and Skaterboy record the song).
Song: Farmer's Daughter by Crystal Bowersox
Plot: Narrator is a simple girl wracked with the grief caused by her father all throughout her life. All her life her and her brother have been neglected, ignored, and abused by their father. The girl is making her stand and finally telling her mother that she is disowning her father.
Characters:
Narrator, Crystal Bowersox, the daughter
Father
Mother
Brothers
Daughter's son
Conflict: All her life she's been abused by her father, and so finally she's making her stand and disowning him. She recounts how in the past he would come home drunk and beat her and her brothers, and so now all after this time she won't take it anymore. From now on he'll spend the rest of his life alone.
Theme: Breaking free, independence, overcoming traumatic things.
Setting: Assumed rural community, old run down house and simple looking school. A hotel room where the narrator stays with her young son.
Plot: Once upon a time there was a punk, he was a skater and he was in love with "girl". Girl was secretly in love with Skaterboy too, but would never admit it because her friends thought he was yucky. Time goes on and Skaterboy becomes a big rock star and girl is a sad sad stay at home mom.
Characters:
Skaterboy
Girl
Girl's Friends
Narrator, Avril Lavigne, a.k.a. the girl who ends up getting the boy
Conflict: Girl and Skaterboy are in love, but girl is so overcome with her snobbishness and cares too much what her friends think so she stays away from skaterboy. Girl gets preggers, has children, and wishes she had gotten together with skaterboy but it's too late. He's with someone else now.
Theme: You need to follow your heart instead of listening to everyone else, or else you'll miss your chance.
Setting: Presumably a high school in the beginning, then girl's future house, and the rocking concert where skaterboy performs (and then the studio where Narrator and Skaterboy record the song).
Song: Farmer's Daughter by Crystal Bowersox
Plot: Narrator is a simple girl wracked with the grief caused by her father all throughout her life. All her life her and her brother have been neglected, ignored, and abused by their father. The girl is making her stand and finally telling her mother that she is disowning her father.
Characters:
Narrator, Crystal Bowersox, the daughter
Father
Mother
Brothers
Daughter's son
Conflict: All her life she's been abused by her father, and so finally she's making her stand and disowning him. She recounts how in the past he would come home drunk and beat her and her brothers, and so now all after this time she won't take it anymore. From now on he'll spend the rest of his life alone.
Theme: Breaking free, independence, overcoming traumatic things.
Setting: Assumed rural community, old run down house and simple looking school. A hotel room where the narrator stays with her young son.
Film Analysis
Film: Hairspray
Ordinary World: Tracy Turnblad wakes up in her favorite city Baltimore and heads to school. After school she runs home with her best friend Penny Pingleton and watches the Corny Collins show.
The Call: Brenda, a member of the cast of the Corny Collins show, is taking a leave of absence ("Only nine months") and the show needs a new cast member.
Refusal: Tracy is excited to go try out, but when she runs the idea past her mother she immediately tells Tracy no. Tracy argues her best but her mother wants her to become a laundress.
Mentor: Tracy runs to her room, defeated and angry with her mother, when her dad comes in to talk to her. It looks like he's only going to comfort her, but instead tells her to buck-up and go for her dream, "you gotta be big to be big".
Threshold: Tracy goes to the audition, where the station's manager, Vhelma Vontussil, tells her she will never dance on television due to her size. Tracy returns to school late and is in turn sent to detention. In detention she catches the eye of the Corny Collin's Show's star Link Larkin and he tells her she should go to the dance and show off for none other than Corny Collins himself. Tracy goes to the dance, shows her stuff, and makes it on the show.
Tests, Allies, and Enemies: Amber Vontussil becomes extremely jealous of Tracy as she now has all of the lime light, and sets out to get revenge. Tracy on the other hand is more popular than ever, everyone wants to be her newest friend. With the detention crowd, Tracy, Penny, and Link Larkin all meet Seaweed, Lil' Inez, and then their eccentric mother "Motermouth" Mabelle. While at a dance at Mabelle's record studio, Vhelma Vontussil attempts to seduce Tracy's father and break up the family, but the attempt falls flat when Tracy's parents make up and reaffirm their love for one another.
Approach: The group at Mabelle's party all receive terrible news that Negro Day on the Corny Collins Show has been canceled. The group plans to protest the TV station and show they won't take this outrage. Tracy must debate whether or not to go with them.
The Ordeal: Tracy attends the protest, ruining any chance of her ever dancing on TV again, and the group marches on the station. The crowd of peaceful protesters meets a police barricade upon arriving at the station, and are told they cannot peaceably pass. Tracy losses per patience with the officer and smacks him gently with the sign. The officer takes the action as an act of violence and commands his officers to take them all in.
Reward: After Tracy flees, she escapes the police and hides at Penny's house. Penny and Seaweed admit their love for each other, and over long distance Tracy and Lark do the same.
The Road Back: The reformed group decide to crash the Miss Hairspray Pageant and get Tracy onto the stage to perform, they stage an elaborate break-in and let Tracy get in position for her big performance.
Resurrection: Just as Corny Collins is about to announce that Amber has won the Miss Hairspray Pageant, Tracy comes onto the stage from above in a smoking rocket ship and announces Amber is about to get out danced. Tracy performs and the show turns into anarchy as Link dances with Lil' Inez, Lil' Inez ends up winning the Pageant, and the show is integrated on a moments notice. The entire Corny Collins Cast, black and white, break out into one final dance number.
Return with Elixir: Tracy and Link are reunited, and in one final moment are caught up in a kiss that seals their love.
Ordinary World: Tracy Turnblad wakes up in her favorite city Baltimore and heads to school. After school she runs home with her best friend Penny Pingleton and watches the Corny Collins show.
The Call: Brenda, a member of the cast of the Corny Collins show, is taking a leave of absence ("Only nine months") and the show needs a new cast member.
Refusal: Tracy is excited to go try out, but when she runs the idea past her mother she immediately tells Tracy no. Tracy argues her best but her mother wants her to become a laundress.
Mentor: Tracy runs to her room, defeated and angry with her mother, when her dad comes in to talk to her. It looks like he's only going to comfort her, but instead tells her to buck-up and go for her dream, "you gotta be big to be big".
Threshold: Tracy goes to the audition, where the station's manager, Vhelma Vontussil, tells her she will never dance on television due to her size. Tracy returns to school late and is in turn sent to detention. In detention she catches the eye of the Corny Collin's Show's star Link Larkin and he tells her she should go to the dance and show off for none other than Corny Collins himself. Tracy goes to the dance, shows her stuff, and makes it on the show.
Tests, Allies, and Enemies: Amber Vontussil becomes extremely jealous of Tracy as she now has all of the lime light, and sets out to get revenge. Tracy on the other hand is more popular than ever, everyone wants to be her newest friend. With the detention crowd, Tracy, Penny, and Link Larkin all meet Seaweed, Lil' Inez, and then their eccentric mother "Motermouth" Mabelle. While at a dance at Mabelle's record studio, Vhelma Vontussil attempts to seduce Tracy's father and break up the family, but the attempt falls flat when Tracy's parents make up and reaffirm their love for one another.
Approach: The group at Mabelle's party all receive terrible news that Negro Day on the Corny Collins Show has been canceled. The group plans to protest the TV station and show they won't take this outrage. Tracy must debate whether or not to go with them.
The Ordeal: Tracy attends the protest, ruining any chance of her ever dancing on TV again, and the group marches on the station. The crowd of peaceful protesters meets a police barricade upon arriving at the station, and are told they cannot peaceably pass. Tracy losses per patience with the officer and smacks him gently with the sign. The officer takes the action as an act of violence and commands his officers to take them all in.
Reward: After Tracy flees, she escapes the police and hides at Penny's house. Penny and Seaweed admit their love for each other, and over long distance Tracy and Lark do the same.
The Road Back: The reformed group decide to crash the Miss Hairspray Pageant and get Tracy onto the stage to perform, they stage an elaborate break-in and let Tracy get in position for her big performance.
Resurrection: Just as Corny Collins is about to announce that Amber has won the Miss Hairspray Pageant, Tracy comes onto the stage from above in a smoking rocket ship and announces Amber is about to get out danced. Tracy performs and the show turns into anarchy as Link dances with Lil' Inez, Lil' Inez ends up winning the Pageant, and the show is integrated on a moments notice. The entire Corny Collins Cast, black and white, break out into one final dance number.
Return with Elixir: Tracy and Link are reunited, and in one final moment are caught up in a kiss that seals their love.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Greetings From Slackerville
Hello and salutations,
Coming back from my figurative vacation to Slackerville, I came to a startling realization. I'm behind, like seriously. Thanks for being patient with me, not everyone deserves the opportunity to redeem themselves after slacking off and thankfully I do. Check in later for new and awesome stuff!
-Love, hugs, and kisses,
George
Coming back from my figurative vacation to Slackerville, I came to a startling realization. I'm behind, like seriously. Thanks for being patient with me, not everyone deserves the opportunity to redeem themselves after slacking off and thankfully I do. Check in later for new and awesome stuff!
-Love, hugs, and kisses,
George
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Like a Pheonix....
I'm jealous.
I always know when I've found a good poem; a good poem haunts me long after I'm done reading. Like an angry ghost, the poem Still I Rise by Maya Angelou haunts me. It's not an unpleasant haunting, I will gladly entertain the ghost as long as it stays, but like an echo is reverberates in my memory. It repeats itself: "Still I rise, still I rise, still I rise." It repeats itself over and over again until I can't hardly forget it. As if Angelou saw the future, she knew that even in my memory, still she would rise.
I can't seem to forget the poem. She tells of the world stacked against her, how her enemies (some I assume reside within herself) want to see her defeated, but then how no matter what, she will rise above it all. Even the structure of the poem is set up to give the sensation of rising. One stanza will talk of the opposition, then the next will jump to how she reacts; she overcomes the opposition with grace and defiance, with an almost mocking tone in her voice. She wants one thing to be clear, you can't bring her down. Still she'll rise.
The poem moves forward, starting low and moving up, until it reaches the last stanza. She starts boldly:
Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
She reaffirms her determination:
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
She tells of the power behind her:
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I riseShe lays out the goal:
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
She conjures the voices of the past, the ghosts of all those who came before, and in climax seals upon me the words that will haunt me and echo within my memory forever:
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.I rise
I riseI rise.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Wanting to Begin Again
Hi guys,
It's now 12:35. My eyes are heavy, my back is sore, my mind is dull, and my heart is underwater. To be more clear, I feel like a complete failure.
I know that life goes on, this isn't the end of things, but how did I get to this point? Poor grades, no sleep, over-worked, over-stressed. I can't help but feel I'm doing it all wrong.
It reminds me of a song from the musical Rent, "Halloween". In the scene, the character, Mark, is thinking about his entire year and wondering how he got to such a bitter place. What sequence of events brought him here? What sequence of events brought me here. Is there a reason? I-- well, don't know.
"Why did Mimi knock on Roger's door? And Collins choose that phonebooth back where Angel set up his drums? Why did Morene's equipment break down? Why am I the witness? And when I capture it on film, will it mean that it's the end and I'm alone...?"
It's now 12:35. My eyes are heavy, my back is sore, my mind is dull, and my heart is underwater. To be more clear, I feel like a complete failure.
I know that life goes on, this isn't the end of things, but how did I get to this point? Poor grades, no sleep, over-worked, over-stressed. I can't help but feel I'm doing it all wrong.
It reminds me of a song from the musical Rent, "Halloween". In the scene, the character, Mark, is thinking about his entire year and wondering how he got to such a bitter place. What sequence of events brought him here? What sequence of events brought me here. Is there a reason? I-- well, don't know.
"Why did Mimi knock on Roger's door? And Collins choose that phonebooth back where Angel set up his drums? Why did Morene's equipment break down? Why am I the witness? And when I capture it on film, will it mean that it's the end and I'm alone...?"
Sunday, March 20, 2011
The List of Urg
There wasn't really much to this one-- no creativity, no inspiration. Just complaints (and a one liner I stole from the song below.)
The List of Urg:
"I've been tired of feeling weak, and I'm so tired but I can't sleep, this time this thing is deep. I'm lost in time and it's finally starting to show-- and i know you know."
I'm tired of working harder and getting payed less. I'm tired of unreasonable expectations. I'm tired of getting to bed late, of getting up early, of not sleeping at all. I'm tired of the snow. I'm tired of the clouds. I'm tired of sunless days and starless nights. I'm tired of my room, my house, of all of indoors. I'm tired of feeling tense-- I'm tired of the worry, the anxiety, and the stress.
I'm tired of feeling jealous. I'm tired of the secret that plagues my heart, of the dread that stains my soul. I'm tired of empty journal pages. I'm tired of being behind. I'm tired of being over-scheduled. I'm tired of apathy. I'm tired of being patient with people who aren't patient with me. I'm tired of people that think other languages and ethnicities are inferior to their own. I'm tired of racial jokes. I'm tired of not knowing what "my thing" is. I'm tired of nodding off. I'm tired of running out of ideas. I'm tired of not having ideas in the first place. I'm tired of not speaking my mind. I'm tired of being passive. I'm tired of people with no integrity. I'm tired of forgetting. I'm tired of remembering.
I'm tired of him. Of her. Of him and her. Sometimes I'm tired of them, and other times I'm tired of them. I'm tired of it, of those, of all that over there. I'm tired of thinking about all I'm tired of.
The List of Urg:
"I've been tired of feeling weak, and I'm so tired but I can't sleep, this time this thing is deep. I'm lost in time and it's finally starting to show-- and i know you know."
I'm tired of working harder and getting payed less. I'm tired of unreasonable expectations. I'm tired of getting to bed late, of getting up early, of not sleeping at all. I'm tired of the snow. I'm tired of the clouds. I'm tired of sunless days and starless nights. I'm tired of my room, my house, of all of indoors. I'm tired of feeling tense-- I'm tired of the worry, the anxiety, and the stress.
I'm tired of feeling jealous. I'm tired of the secret that plagues my heart, of the dread that stains my soul. I'm tired of empty journal pages. I'm tired of being behind. I'm tired of being over-scheduled. I'm tired of apathy. I'm tired of being patient with people who aren't patient with me. I'm tired of people that think other languages and ethnicities are inferior to their own. I'm tired of racial jokes. I'm tired of not knowing what "my thing" is. I'm tired of nodding off. I'm tired of running out of ideas. I'm tired of not having ideas in the first place. I'm tired of not speaking my mind. I'm tired of being passive. I'm tired of people with no integrity. I'm tired of forgetting. I'm tired of remembering.
I'm tired of him. Of her. Of him and her. Sometimes I'm tired of them, and other times I'm tired of them. I'm tired of it, of those, of all that over there. I'm tired of thinking about all I'm tired of.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Love is all.
Here's my "Love is..." prompt. I decided to take a slightly different outlook while writing: towards the beginning I'm writing of what love is usually seen as, then I move towards my own lost feelings towards love—as a teen who has no idea of what love is. While I may not know what love is, I do know one thing. Love is all. Here's what I feel. Enjoy.
Love is all:
Love is feeling complete; love is feeling whole. Love is being mad but never caring any less. Love is the power that binds nations, languages, and people. Love is a lonely thought shattered by thoughts of you. Love is one sundae and two straws. Love is a spark between four eyes eyes. Love is a chemical bond between two hearts; love is the gravity between two souls. Love is filling the silence with substance. Love filling the heart with joy. Love is a waking dream. Love is falling on purpose. Love is binding, being, and never ending. Love is a theory explaining everything.
Love is yearning. Love is looking for but never finding. Love is making a wish. Love is giving a gift from the heart. Love is letting the wind wash away your troubled thoughts. Love is a sunrise bringing new hope. Love is a quiet afternoon in the park thinking of you. Love is saying a silent prayer. Love is aching with care. Love is being there.
Love is a secret deep within my heart. Love is a heart that woke up too late. Love is a lie I declared but secretly believed. Love is a wistful thought, a look, a sigh. Love is the way it should have been. Love is a promise not to give up. Love is a memory, a hope, a dream of the future. Love is the way I find reasons to believe. Love is a hidden fear-- loving is hiding my tears. Love is giving up for the moment but finding a way. Love is waiting for the day.
Love is all.
Love is all:
Love is feeling complete; love is feeling whole. Love is being mad but never caring any less. Love is the power that binds nations, languages, and people. Love is a lonely thought shattered by thoughts of you. Love is one sundae and two straws. Love is a spark between four eyes eyes. Love is a chemical bond between two hearts; love is the gravity between two souls. Love is filling the silence with substance. Love filling the heart with joy. Love is a waking dream. Love is falling on purpose. Love is binding, being, and never ending. Love is a theory explaining everything.
Love is yearning. Love is looking for but never finding. Love is making a wish. Love is giving a gift from the heart. Love is letting the wind wash away your troubled thoughts. Love is a sunrise bringing new hope. Love is a quiet afternoon in the park thinking of you. Love is saying a silent prayer. Love is aching with care. Love is being there.
Love is a secret deep within my heart. Love is a heart that woke up too late. Love is a lie I declared but secretly believed. Love is a wistful thought, a look, a sigh. Love is the way it should have been. Love is a promise not to give up. Love is a memory, a hope, a dream of the future. Love is the way I find reasons to believe. Love is a hidden fear-- loving is hiding my tears. Love is giving up for the moment but finding a way. Love is waiting for the day.
Love is all.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Memory
I don't have a ton to say about this post, except that it struck a cord down in me somewhere; whether I did it justice or not, this is where "the impulse" took me today. As I began writing this post, I was reminded of a song from the musical Cats-- which I have attached at the bottom. It's a long song, but if you have the time, take a moment and listen for a moment or two until you get to about 1:30 where I found a lot of my inspiration. Enjoy.
Memory:
In my mind, there’s a box. It’s a small box; looking very plain and simple, it remains tightly packed away in the back of my mind where no one else can find it. When life gets rough and my soul needs a rest, I brush off the dust and look into the swirling mists of that box and pull out a memory: a memory of time long past.
First, a relaxed memory of lazy Sunday nights surrounded by family, popcorn and Chinese checkers sprawled across the floor. We play games, we tell stories, we laugh and love like it’s the only thing we can do. I pull out another memory and find a cold memory, filled with warmth: hiking through the mountains on a frigid winter morning. I am not happy at the early hour, but as the dawn fades into a mountain-view sunrise my heart melts and I am speechless. A new memory arises and takes hold, dispelling the image of the now bright horizon, and suddenly I’m in the park and not alone. We look into the night sky and laugh as fireworks explode just above our heads. There’s a crowd not far way doing just the same, but we pay no attention to them; for now it’s just us, and a summer that will last forever. Another memory wrenches my attention, and the scene changes—a funeral now. Family has just passed away. The atmosphere is sad, tears wet every eye, but among the tears is a surprise. A smile, a laugh, they are not filled with joy of the present, but rather joy of times past and joy for times yet to come. The scene fades away and sinks back into the box.
As I return the box to the shelf, I ponder on the last memory I have just relived. We all have crazy lives, and through it all there is always one place we can go. Memory. I knew it, they knew it too. For when life goes on, the past does not sink away. It becomes a part of us: a memory. A memory too.
Memory:
In my mind, there’s a box. It’s a small box; looking very plain and simple, it remains tightly packed away in the back of my mind where no one else can find it. When life gets rough and my soul needs a rest, I brush off the dust and look into the swirling mists of that box and pull out a memory: a memory of time long past.
First, a relaxed memory of lazy Sunday nights surrounded by family, popcorn and Chinese checkers sprawled across the floor. We play games, we tell stories, we laugh and love like it’s the only thing we can do. I pull out another memory and find a cold memory, filled with warmth: hiking through the mountains on a frigid winter morning. I am not happy at the early hour, but as the dawn fades into a mountain-view sunrise my heart melts and I am speechless. A new memory arises and takes hold, dispelling the image of the now bright horizon, and suddenly I’m in the park and not alone. We look into the night sky and laugh as fireworks explode just above our heads. There’s a crowd not far way doing just the same, but we pay no attention to them; for now it’s just us, and a summer that will last forever. Another memory wrenches my attention, and the scene changes—a funeral now. Family has just passed away. The atmosphere is sad, tears wet every eye, but among the tears is a surprise. A smile, a laugh, they are not filled with joy of the present, but rather joy of times past and joy for times yet to come. The scene fades away and sinks back into the box.
As I return the box to the shelf, I ponder on the last memory I have just relived. We all have crazy lives, and through it all there is always one place we can go. Memory. I knew it, they knew it too. For when life goes on, the past does not sink away. It becomes a part of us: a memory. A memory too.
The Aurora, or La Aurora. That is the question.
I find so much inspiration in nature; from beauty, to balance, I think nature's got the right idea. The two things I find most inspiring in nature is the idea of the sunrise (morning, dawn, night giving way to light), and the northern lights (mystical, magical, otherworldly). Imagine my surprise when I found out the two were connected across two languages.
In English, the northern lights could be called The Aurora Borealis, or just The Aurora for short-- while in Spanish, the word La Aurora means The Dawn. Two ideas, one word. That's the kind of thing that inspires me! With this discovery in mind I added two phrases to the inspiration page of my journal.
"I dream of the Aurora, espero la aurora (I wait/hope for the dawn)."
Now the next question, which idea do I want to take and use for the theme of my blog? The Aurora, or La Aurora.
In English, the northern lights could be called The Aurora Borealis, or just The Aurora for short-- while in Spanish, the word La Aurora means The Dawn. Two ideas, one word. That's the kind of thing that inspires me! With this discovery in mind I added two phrases to the inspiration page of my journal.
"I dream of the Aurora, espero la aurora (I wait/hope for the dawn)."
Now the next question, which idea do I want to take and use for the theme of my blog? The Aurora, or La Aurora.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Shout
Here's our Boulevard of Broken Dreams Prompt, it's been an interesting experience writing it. When we started in class I wasn't feeling the prompt at all, I couldn't decide on anything for a while until this weekend when I sort of found myself in a dark place. Here's what came out:
Not a sound, not a look, not a change. I walk this road alone. The streets are full but the crowds are empty, only the sound of their hurried footsteps through the rain break the ensuing silence. The road they walk is broken and uneven, tread by countless broken footsteps from countless broken people. I walk this road. With my eyes towards the ground I let the rain drip through my hair as I make my way without cover through the pulsing crowds. I see familiar places, I walk among the faces, but eyes don't meet, nor hearts collide; nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. The road is not one, it branches in every way: alleys, corners, paths, and passages, but few venture off in search of a way out. From the alleys between the broken, graffitied, buildings, empty eyes look out and watch the masses with transparent looks. I pass by and risk a glance, but there is no recognition upon their faces. So still I walk alone. I continue on and soon decide-- I'd rather be alone. For among the crowds, among the faces, I hear the beating of a universal human heart-- but all I feel is my own. I look into the eyes of those I pass, desperate to make a connection, but only meet the apathetic gaze of a life all spent. I stop in the road unable to take it any longer, the thunder rolling overhead and my heart on my sleeve, and do the only thing I can think to do. I scream. I yell towards the sky, I shout, I plead to be heard, but on everybody walks. Not a sound, not a look, not a change.
Not a sound, not a look, not a change. I walk this road alone. The streets are full but the crowds are empty, only the sound of their hurried footsteps through the rain break the ensuing silence. The road they walk is broken and uneven, tread by countless broken footsteps from countless broken people. I walk this road. With my eyes towards the ground I let the rain drip through my hair as I make my way without cover through the pulsing crowds. I see familiar places, I walk among the faces, but eyes don't meet, nor hearts collide; nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. The road is not one, it branches in every way: alleys, corners, paths, and passages, but few venture off in search of a way out. From the alleys between the broken, graffitied, buildings, empty eyes look out and watch the masses with transparent looks. I pass by and risk a glance, but there is no recognition upon their faces. So still I walk alone. I continue on and soon decide-- I'd rather be alone. For among the crowds, among the faces, I hear the beating of a universal human heart-- but all I feel is my own. I look into the eyes of those I pass, desperate to make a connection, but only meet the apathetic gaze of a life all spent. I stop in the road unable to take it any longer, the thunder rolling overhead and my heart on my sleeve, and do the only thing I can think to do. I scream. I yell towards the sky, I shout, I plead to be heard, but on everybody walks. Not a sound, not a look, not a change.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
I'm thinking of you...
Here's my response to our "I'm thinking of you" prompt, that, to be honest, I'm not very pleased with. Everything that came out of my mouth felt either overdone or cliche. Despite my grievances, it was an overall decent prompt. Let's title this little number "I'm thinking of you: Are you thinking of me?"
I'm thinking of you. I'm thinking of you like clouds think of rain. I'm thinking of you like hearts think of beating or lungs think of breathing. I'm thinking of you like plants think of sun, like trees think of wind, like flowers think of beauty. I'm thinking of you like rivers think of the ocean, like the ocean thinks of the tides, like the tides think of the moon. I'm thinking of you like the blind think of seeing. I'm thinking of you like writers think of the journal, like artists think of the canvas, like sculptures think of stone. I'm still thinking of you. I'm thinking of you like rain thinks of falling, like wind thinks of blowing, like lightning thinks of striking. I'm thinking of you like chefs think of ingredients, like firemen think of saving that one person. I'm thinking of you like dreamers think of the stars. I'm thinking of you like winter thinks of spring, like spring the summer and summer the fall. I'm thinking of you like dogs think of cats, like cats think of night, like nights think of dawn. I'm thinking of you like pages think of books. I'm thinking of you like fire thinks of air, like ice thinks of cold, like stone thinks of earth. I'm thinking of you like the heartbroken think of love. I'm thinking of you like eyes think of tears, like tears think of sadness, like sadness thinks of finding hope. I'm thinking of you like you were here, I'm thinking of you like you weren't. I'm thinking of how I'm thinking about you so much I don't know what to think. I'm thinking of you like it'll make you think of me.
I'm thinking of you. I'm thinking of you like clouds think of rain. I'm thinking of you like hearts think of beating or lungs think of breathing. I'm thinking of you like plants think of sun, like trees think of wind, like flowers think of beauty. I'm thinking of you like rivers think of the ocean, like the ocean thinks of the tides, like the tides think of the moon. I'm thinking of you like the blind think of seeing. I'm thinking of you like writers think of the journal, like artists think of the canvas, like sculptures think of stone. I'm still thinking of you. I'm thinking of you like rain thinks of falling, like wind thinks of blowing, like lightning thinks of striking. I'm thinking of you like chefs think of ingredients, like firemen think of saving that one person. I'm thinking of you like dreamers think of the stars. I'm thinking of you like winter thinks of spring, like spring the summer and summer the fall. I'm thinking of you like dogs think of cats, like cats think of night, like nights think of dawn. I'm thinking of you like pages think of books. I'm thinking of you like fire thinks of air, like ice thinks of cold, like stone thinks of earth. I'm thinking of you like the heartbroken think of love. I'm thinking of you like eyes think of tears, like tears think of sadness, like sadness thinks of finding hope. I'm thinking of you like you were here, I'm thinking of you like you weren't. I'm thinking of how I'm thinking about you so much I don't know what to think. I'm thinking of you like it'll make you think of me.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Hidden
So I was flipping through my math notes the other day and I stumbled across a poem I started at the beginning of the year. It was sitting there all sad and forgotten, but after looking at the single stanza for a little bit I became inspired to finish it. It's the melancholy-type poem, but I think it fits really well into what I'm going through lately. It's not perfect, but as a wise-man once said, "All bad poetry stems from genuine feeling".
Hidden:
Good and bad and truth and lies
Is what goes on behind these hazel eyes
Where thoughts begin and dreams roam free
But how often do people see that me?
When life gets fast I lose my way
And pass it off as just another bad day
But deep inside amidst my thoughts
I know that somehow I've been all lost
Though hard I try to hide my face
I cannot help but feel disgrace
For once I knew what road to take
But now I feel just like a big fake
I'm not myself but that can change
For next time life bears down I'll do something strange
I'll raise my eyes with courage and heart
And look destiny in the eyes and take on my part
I may be lost now, I may be naive
But does that mean I must give up and leave?
Behind my eyes my soul still remains
It's time to come out of hiding and empty my chains.
Hidden:
Good and bad and truth and lies
Is what goes on behind these hazel eyes
Where thoughts begin and dreams roam free
But how often do people see that me?
When life gets fast I lose my way
And pass it off as just another bad day
But deep inside amidst my thoughts
I know that somehow I've been all lost
Though hard I try to hide my face
I cannot help but feel disgrace
For once I knew what road to take
But now I feel just like a big fake
I'm not myself but that can change
For next time life bears down I'll do something strange
I'll raise my eyes with courage and heart
And look destiny in the eyes and take on my part
I may be lost now, I may be naive
But does that mean I must give up and leave?
Behind my eyes my soul still remains
It's time to come out of hiding and empty my chains.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
You are under direct orders...
Ohai there. Here's my response to our "Direct Orders" prompt, I don't know very much about rocking out but enjoy anyway!:
You are under direct orders to rock the ________ out like you just found a dollar bill in your back pocket, like you just skipped out the doors of your day job after seven hours of work, like you've just had the most amazing dream. Rock out like she said yes, rock out like she said yes again. Rock out like you rediscovered your favorite shirt, rock out like your favorite song just came on the radio, rock out like you could sing along without a care. Rock out like you got everything done, rock out like you didn't but gave it your all. Rock out like your body is weak, your mind is tired, and you still won't give up. Rock out like it's all you can do not to give up. Rock out like things are getting better, rock out like things did work out in the end. Rock out like you passed your tests, like you made up with your best friend, like you're starting a fresh chapter in life. Rock out like the sun in shining, the car windows are down, and the wind is blowing in your face and hair. Rock out like you're skipping school and going to the beach. Rock out like your team just won in double overtime, rock out like you nailed a performance, rock out like you stole the show. Rock out like you made it to heaven. Rock out like you made it at all. Just rock out.
You are under direct orders to rock the ________ out like you just found a dollar bill in your back pocket, like you just skipped out the doors of your day job after seven hours of work, like you've just had the most amazing dream. Rock out like she said yes, rock out like she said yes again. Rock out like you rediscovered your favorite shirt, rock out like your favorite song just came on the radio, rock out like you could sing along without a care. Rock out like you got everything done, rock out like you didn't but gave it your all. Rock out like your body is weak, your mind is tired, and you still won't give up. Rock out like it's all you can do not to give up. Rock out like things are getting better, rock out like things did work out in the end. Rock out like you passed your tests, like you made up with your best friend, like you're starting a fresh chapter in life. Rock out like the sun in shining, the car windows are down, and the wind is blowing in your face and hair. Rock out like you're skipping school and going to the beach. Rock out like your team just won in double overtime, rock out like you nailed a performance, rock out like you stole the show. Rock out like you made it to heaven. Rock out like you made it at all. Just rock out.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Introduction: Beginning a Crash Course
Writing is not a predictable thing to start doing. Within yourself and within your writing, there's so many different things that could happen. Things change, and as you create them, you change too. I have never seriously worked at becoming a writer, but it's about time that that changed. It's time to take a crash course on writing.
To begin this journey I have reinvented myself, my name is George Cooper and from now on I am a writer. George Cooper is a witty thief from a favorite book series of mine, and he is the perfect guise to assume as a reborn writer. After leaving his thieving days behind, he moves forward as a good man with a crooked smile and a crooked heart. Good, but still mischievous. That's how i want to write, good on the outside and just a little mischievous on the inside. Isn't that how we should treat life? Isn't that how I should treat my writing?
It's not going to be easy-- nothing really worth while is-- but I'm excited to give it a try. I hope that you can enjoy this journey with me. It's time to start a writing crash course, a crash course with Cooper.
To begin this journey I have reinvented myself, my name is George Cooper and from now on I am a writer. George Cooper is a witty thief from a favorite book series of mine, and he is the perfect guise to assume as a reborn writer. After leaving his thieving days behind, he moves forward as a good man with a crooked smile and a crooked heart. Good, but still mischievous. That's how i want to write, good on the outside and just a little mischievous on the inside. Isn't that how we should treat life? Isn't that how I should treat my writing?
It's not going to be easy-- nothing really worth while is-- but I'm excited to give it a try. I hope that you can enjoy this journey with me. It's time to start a writing crash course, a crash course with Cooper.
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