Thank You.

A special thanks to the following bloggers:

Thyne Sarcasm

Ann Ominous

Gene Wilder

Lucy Loveable

Ember Lilly

William Lee Barefield III

Erica

You have all amazed and inspired me throughout the semester. Your writing is equivalent to that of professional writers. I salute you all.  

                               While in Paris, I found my  crayons.

Simple and Accessible Complexity

Wisdom and War

We do not care-
That much is clear.
Not enough
Of us care
Anywhere.
We are not wise-
For that reason,
Mankind dies.
To think
Is much against
The will.
Better-
And easier-
To kill. 

-Langston Hughes

Simplicity and Accessibility are the hardest things to mesh. Add some Complexity of Depth and its practically impossibe to convey in the way desired. But apparently Hughes doesn't apply himself to the rules and complications of writing because almost everyone of his poems are all of these things and more. Like this poem.

Of Doors and Hell

No one will push the door the extra foot. No one will push it far enough for the magnet to hold it in place. No one will save their peers behind them from the burden of pushing the door open again, you think: "Who cares? They wouldn't push it the rest of the way for me.". And you're right. They wouldn't. Because no one cares enough about anyone else. No one cares about what hell a peer goes through every day. No one will push the door the extra foot.

Nothing good happens after 2am.

A little background: Basically I drank a lot of caffeine the other night and I decided to text some people. I sent this at like 2am. There are some spelling errors but I won't edit them cause heck, its funny. I sent this to a friend of mine whose birthday happened to be that same day (or morning). Within the text, it mentions some people that were at the party, these people were on posters that were hanging up in the room. Ali was not really there. Anyways, here it is:

"This is probably a little weird...but happy birthday! I've drank about 2 and soon to be 4 lieters of dr. Pepper and mtn. Dew. My head hurts, I can't stop laughing, and jimi hendrix is here, along with ali, vader, and batman is passed in joshs closet because he fell down. The rest of the star wars group is on stage rocking out. Wish you were here to enjoy the party, cause heck, its your birthday! Cordially Trace, Josh and Peter. Hope your birthday is awesome! P.S. (Post Script) nothing good happens after 2 am. So I sure as ghandi hope that this gets to you before 2. P.P.S. (post post script) gotta go, stinson just showed up with the rest of the How I Met Your Mother gang and georgio armani so it is time to suit up, and be awesome. Its gonna be legen- wait for it......................................................dary! Legendary! P.P.P.S. (post post post script) its after 2. Crap."

The post below this one is another text I sent. (it's even funnier)

Stu Peed

This one I sent to a friend that I invited to our party but he never responded. Once again, it has spelling errors, it was 2 am, and I was out of it.

"Too bad you didn't come to here at this place we all call home. It is a p a r t I. Up in here, in dis hood. So next time be good. I hope you understood, what I sayin to you, you big poo, I will sue, you cookoo, moo. Stu. Peed in the hot tub like a pig. Batman is dead. Apparently he fell to the evil clutches of the jokester. Called masking tape. #scotch. You are a jester, which is a joker so you are nice. You killed bagman. And also batman. You sneeeaaakyyy mom. Well played. you pink shorts attracted the lobsters of lying government agents. Including sara palin. And also bin laden. Yes, he works for the Internal Revenue Service.  The moon shown briight on this lovely christmas night and all felt right, I had a fight, with all my might in joshs sight, it was contrite and quite (pause) flight. The bottle is so far, I cannot reach, but to reach is to live and to bleach is to give...whiteness to the eternitys of all that is latino. -Trace & Josh (but mostly trace)"

We didn't realize until the next morning how racist that last line sounded.

Somewhere, out there, beneath the pale moonlight.

Confused? You should be.

                                     ^
This is the old look...


...and this (pretend as if I am spreading my arms, palms out, gesturing to the rest of my blog) is the New look.
(if you hadn't noticed the change in scenery) (or if this [heaven forbid] is your first time looking at my blog)

I mean look at how happy and light and bright the old one is! Now look at this new one...darker right?

It took me a long time...

I think I'm addicted...

My Mythology teacher told me to annotate this packet on Oedipus Rex...does this count?

 The citizens used the plot to identify the perfect tragedy.











ending god
God is modern psychology. We understand family conflicts have not dealt with the sins of fathers, but the curse is ended when the past approaches a spirit of humility.

We The Kings
Kings, childless murderers!
Kings, though furious and pierced,
are protectors of a vicious act.

 Die wild, survive great.

 Queen found uncommon beauty, and joyously celebrated the arrival of Prince.

 Manhood started the rumors that parentage was a vicious tale into rage.

The darkness veiled secrets,
and the words thou shalt slay.

Answer me this, " What animal goes slowly, cruel and cold?"

(answer in next blackout)

Murder replied, "Youth leans upon the city walls, the mortified pieces unaware."

How to be creative:

Creativity is the fiction we invent to persuade ourselves that poets are original and that authors aren't robbers in disguise.

As Barney Stinson once said on the subject of 'How to Run a Marathon': "Step One: Start running. There is no step two." The same can be applied to creativity.
Step 1: Start Writing: There is no step two. The best and most effective way to be creative in your writing is to write. Don't think. Write.

Step 2(If such a step existed): Be Completely, and On All Counts, Unoriginal: There is no possible way you will be able to come up with your own new idea, unless your new idea is stolen from someone else. Steal Stuff.
Step 3: Steal Stuff: Art is theft. Steal from the best to be the best, steal like an Artist.
Step 4: Be the Knock-Off Brand of Cereal: Be Tootie-Fruities, Cinnamon Toasters or even Krisp Rice. Be the cereal with the same ingredients as the original, but for some reason will never taste the same as it.
Step 5: MiX it UP!: Pretend there's only a little cereal left in each box and pour it all in the same bowl. Swap out milk for Orange Juice! Be DISGUSTING!

Even the opening sentence of this post is a remodeled fragment of a quote from Calvin and Hobbes. I know, it is pretty awesome, and all of you were like: "Whoa! That's a cool line! How did he come up with that?", but, it was stolen, ish. Creativity is stealing things and then changing them to fit your wants and needs. No need to waste energy in thinking, instead use your energy to write.

Consider Yourself an Omitted Needless Word

Newspaper Blackouts:

(unedited)

my                                                   biggest fear                                Is                  a  minor              mistake

I                                                             am                                  dealing with                                  people

so I guess                      mistakes                                    a             r          e                                           time

time,                                                    is                       challenging                             to                    mentor

names                        that will                                Keep your eyes                  on                       the horizon,                         need more funding.

Just some 6 worders I came up with:

It's no longer safe to hope. -ANN OMINOUS 


Space Splashed down into the water. -ERICA


Take you away with intertwining words. -LIZZIE MCGUIRE


Cover up. Hide. Only way how. -LUCY LOVEABLE


Bricks are used for torturing people.  -GENE WILDER


Masquerading a smile in your direction. -THYNE SARCASM


Pretty Colors, Pretty Poems, NON-Tourist. -EMBER LILY


I'm still breathing; bring it on. -NEVERSE O. GOODE

The REAL WORLD

Its pretty much the same as the last place we stopped; there isn't anyone on the street, there's only empty cans and drifting newspapers.
"For the last time, I am sorry, but home was unsettled and extreme."
Together we dreamt a single dream; that there was no one left in the world but us. We had to wake up at some point.

Every eye is upon us. It's too much for my broken limbs to handle. I sit at the table, my steaming cup sits untouched. Ten months here and we're still alive.
It's getting harder to dream. It's nearly impossible now.
"It's the end." she pronounced.
"The end of what?"
"This." She said.

I sit in my bed and stare at the blank page. My heart is full and sagging, my brain is empty and dull.
My throat is shut.
'Dear Diary,' the words find their way out of my pen, 'words were thrown, pain was aroused and I was less than thrilled.'
Heart. Head. Breath. All shut. Closed. Empty.

The game had just begun...

"It's the end." she pronounced.

...but it ended just as quickly.

     

I wouldn't touch me if I were you...

"I'll drag you to the backyard, use a brick to knock out your teeth; shove the corner of it in your eye. I'll use the brick to grind up your lousy teeth and pour the lousy powder in your ears, I'll keep it from spilling out by putting duct tape over your ears. That way you can't hear me reading my poems over and over again; yelling 'f*** off you dead star' to you and God"
                                                -Gene Wilder, "I'll cover your eyes, that way you have an excuse not to read my blog."

I feel cold. Cold-hearted, that is, I feel like listening to heavy metal and drinking a whole package of 'Monster'. I used to think that nobody could actually do this to another individual, then I read this thing...I feel ashamed...to be human, the fact that someone thinks like this, scares the heck out of me because what if this person grows up? What if they think like this all the time and they're just about to burst? I try to stop myself from looking around the classroom searching for the dark, painful eyes of a student cold enough to have this thought, to write this post but I can't help but wonder. I feel depressed now...

I've had nightmares of this post coming to life and crushing a brick into the eye of a helpless, trembling being. The part of the dream that makes it the scariest, the part that makes me shake and quiver down to my bones in the middle of the night in my cold, empty bed, is the reality that in the nightmare, I'm not the one lying on the ground, begging for mercy while my teeth get ground off my blood soaked face, I'm the one holding the brick.

Thanks a lot Gene wilder.

Edwardo, Our Lost Fish

I remember the question "How many days does it take a full-moon to get to a new-moon?" and answering "28" when in reality it was 14. I remember playing "Murderer in the Dark" when I suddenly appeared in front of you when the light came on.
I remember the fire that wouldn't start in your backyard. I remember smelling like smoke and remember my stinging eyes.
I remember mini-golfing at Trafalga and failing to impress you with my questionable climbing abilities.
I remember Edwardo.
I remember trying to choose a matching tux to go with your undecided dress. I remember eating strawberries.
I remember fishing with our hands in a freezing stream. I remember catching and losing Edwardo in the little side-pool we made for our catches.
I remember your porch step where we talked for hours, running my fingers through your hair while holding you close.
I remember flying shrimp. I remember the onion volcano.
I remember our walks through the park, that time when we jumped out of the car and pretended we had guns, rolling around with our spy-moves and seeing the bewildered faces of the confused teenagers sitting on the swings. I remember long nights, laying in my bed, texting you for hours on end only to end up with a pillow soaked in tears.
I remember the three way teeter-totter, sliding you closer and closer 'til you were an inch from my face. I remember the best day of my life. I remember your fear of the transients that live under the bridge.
I remember the reclining armrest at Cinemark and holding you close during "The House Down the Street".
I remember watching house while you did homework with your head on my shoulder. I remember feeling good, feeling happy, an emotion I seem to forget when your not around.

Setting You Free

Neverse O. Goode's Lyrics

Send "Setting Your Free" Ringtone to Your Cell

(not really)

"Setting You Free"

When the nights get cold

and your jackets home

and your fingers feel

like they're made of stone.

When your drooping eyes

take in all the lies

and your hearts weighed out

have to compromise.

Don't cry the strength will come

heavenly angels  from.

They came to lift you high.

Go spread your wings and fly.

You question in your mind

"Where do I truly lie?"

The weight has held you down

get up and be unbound.

I am bending the cage,

I am breaking you out.

These bars can't hold your soul,

no they can't hold your soul.

I am letting you go, 

I am setting you free.

No need to cry for you,

no need to cry for me.

When your weary heart 

it gets torn apart, 

and you don't know how

or what path to start.

When your pulled one way

to be yanked astray.

You get sores and tears

thoughts begin to fade.

Enlightenment is here.

It whispers in your ear.

Telling you where to go.

Been lost but now you know.

You question in your mind

"Where do I truly lie?"

The weight has held you down,

get up and be unbound.

I am bending the cage,

I am breaking you out.

These bars can't hold your soul,

no they can't hold your soul.

I am letting you go, 

I am setting you free.

No need to cry for you,

no need to cry for me.

We are bending the cage,

We are breaking you out.

These bars can't hold your soul,

no they can't hold your soul.

We are letting you go, 

We are setting you free.

No need to cry for you,

no need to cry for me.

Send "Setting Your Free" Ringtone to Your Cell

(not really)

If you didn't already notice, it can for the most part be sung to the Imagine Dragons' "Demons" tune. Go on, try it.

Something Missing

why

This word is a pathetic heap of letters without a question mark. Right now, it means nothing. Zip. Zilch. Diddly Squat, and its all because the half-a-squiggly with a dot under it is not trailing it. Now, what is this teaching us?

Some might say that it teaches us that good grammer and proper construction of words and punctuation is actually important, but I'm here to tell you it's not important because all of you understood me there when I said "grammer" even though it's spelled "grammar".

Are you kidding me?! Grammar is for Elementary and Middle School students cause they're all too young and immature to handle stuff that doesn't have order and direction.

e.e. Cummings was one of the best poets around and he didn't even capitalize the "e's" in his own name let alone any of the words in his poems.

So why in the heck does this word: "why" : need to have a question mark on it in order to amount to anything worth-while in the world of language?

The individual is nothing. The single mind is nil. Because without the "?", without the influence of others, or, in other words, without thieving ideas from other people, we are nothing but a meaningless pile of figures. We are not but a question word without a question mark.

Get up! Fight! Fight in the War on Touristism!!!

If this doesn't get you tourists writing nothing will.

You might be a tourist if:

1. All your getting is a black box cause you never look at any blogs at home on your own time and only look at blogs while at school in the writing lab.
2. Half the class knows which blog is yours.
3. You've never posted anything more than 4 lines long.
4. Any of your posts are about how bad a writer you are, cause the only reason your writing sucks is because all you write about is how bad you are.
5. You are just taking the class because Nelson is your football coach.
6. Your just taking the class because its an easy "A".
7. You have to have someone hold a carrot in your face to lead you to the water.
8. Nelson has ever yelled at you in front of the class.
9. Nelson has ever yelled during class because of your refusal to try on any of the writing prompts or any of the blog posts. 
10. You get offended by this post.

If any of the previous circumstances apply to you, then you are of no use to the class or the fight on touristism, and should therefore "get thee hence". Of course if you have realized your wrong-doings and would like a fresh start then please, write.

Direct Orders: Write a Blog Post

Write a post like you just got 20 comments on the last one.

Write a post like you just got off someone else's blog and they had you posted as one of their favorites, like their "quote of the week" is by you.

Write a post like like you can't breath and this post will be the last words you get to give to the world.

Write a post like you just fell in love and you can't seem to get any words out of your mouth that aren't poetic.

Write a post like you're a celebrity and therefore everything you say is considered genius.

Write a post like everything you say is completely original.

Write a post like you've got into the Writers Paris Hall of Fame three weeks in a row, like Nelson just used your writing journal as a good example on the board, like he just left a post-it note that says "extremely creative" on one of your extra 5.

Write a post like you haven't taken your eyes off the computer screen since your mom brought you a turkey sandwich for dinner 11 hours ago.

Write a post like your only desire in life is to inspire tourists to start writing for real.

Write a post like you are the last person on earth and the only way to keep yourself sane is to write.

Write a post like you're actually confident people will like it.

Write a post like you're stranded on an island with nothing but a laptop and 3% battery life.

Write a post like your hands are taped to the keyboard, like there's a gun to your head and the second you stop typing the trigger gets pulled.

Write a post like there's no grade attached.

Write a post like you've been writing drafts and notes and ideas for posts all week long and its time to submit the final draft.

Write a post like it means something, cause it does.

Mirror Lies

I look in the mirror, and I see me,
or at least something that looks like me.
But maybe its something else...

Maybe it's a my evil twin, seperated at birth into opposite dimensions where we played tag, went to school, and grew up far away from each other. When we see each other each morning we're just too stunned to say anything worth while so we just stare at each other and critique one anothers hair and face.

Maybe it's a robot, designed to copy my every move and by the time it processes my motions and orders its limbs to do the same, my eyes have already moved on, or are just to slow to see the spanse of time between my movements and his.

Then again, maybe it really is just a reflection of light, traveling thousands and thousands of miles per hour, that bends this way and that to form into the unique colors and shapes of my body. Nothing philosophical, just physical and scientific.

Maybe its a window to the real world. Where all the earth goes around at the same pace, where people are warm, polite, and caring toward each other, and where life is good. And all I get to see is a reflection of what life was meant to be, and who I was born to be.

Dear Executives,

Dear Duct Tape Executives,

      First off, I would like to congratulate you on creating a product to which I can turn to in dire times of broken household objects. I am very much a fan of your product and all that I can make from it; Wallets, vests, prom dresses. The various colors and designs invoke a feeling of innate ability to accomplish anything.

     While it may seem like your product is the perfect fixer of things, I, like many others throughout the world, have found that it cannot fix a countless number of problems found in our country and other countries around the globe. Below is a list of things you have yet to fix.

• A broken cat.
• A broken heart.
• The homeless situation.
• The national deficit.
• Tiger Woods' marital problems.
• Train live.
• Bill Clinton's marital problems.
• Donald Trumps hair issues.
• KKK members souls.
• Toyota accelerator pedals.
• Little children's broken dreams. (Santa Claus)
• The boringness of North and South Dakota.
• The temperature in Canada.
• My mom's clam chowder. (jk mom)
• Hitler's thought process 

While you have tackled virtually everything in the physical world, you have a long way to go before you become the company that everyone turns to for their emotional needs. What people need is something to turn to when something goes wrong, a hero if you will. Up until now you have been the closest thing to a hero that people have. In order to maintain your image, I think its time to step up your game.

                                                                    With Concern,
                                                                                     Neverse O. Goode

On life.

 On death.

When you accept that you will die, and you accept that all things, good and bad, will end. When you accept that people were meant to be more than 'only human' as we so excuse ourselves to be, only then, perhaps, will you finally learn to become yourself.

On life.

To truly live is to care not. To care not is to not worry. To not worry is Hakuna Matata which is a phrase made up for the sake a children's movie. Since 'Hakuna Matata' is made up, we can assume that 'not worrying' is made up and furthermore 'to truly live' is a false dream impossible to reach. A fake example for us to cast our attention to.

But then again, why do we see so many of us change the way we live when death is knocking on our door? Why do we become kinder, more accessible, and ultimately happier when we accept that life as we know it will end? Why is it that young people are so arrogant in their dealings with other human beings when the elderly tend to be humble and giving and grateful and happy?

What does it really mean to live?

I believe the answer becomes clear with the addition of a few simple words.

On death.

When you accept that you will die, and you accept that all things, good and bad, will end. When you accept that people were meant to be more than 'only human' as we so excuse ourselves to be, only then, perhaps, will you finally learn to become yourself. Only then, will you finally learn to live.

On life:

Air

High. On a mountain. Trees surrounding. New, clean air filling lungs. Its Cold. Feels Good. Feels good going down my throat, or wherever it goes down. 

 Sensation. Sensation never before experienced. Lungs expand to their fullest and embrace the richness of the lightness of the air.

A newborn baby's first breath. Feels like that. Completely new. Unexplored. Yet exhilarating. Thrilling. 

Can't stop soaking in all the air Surrounding. Making each breath fill my lungs to capacity and then some cause it tastes to good. Tastes light.

 Feels powerful, yet light.

I'd imagine this is what being immortal feels like.

Breathing in. Breathing out.

Immortality spreading through my veins. Filling every pore. Every crack, crevice, Every empty space within my soul.

Eyes Setting On You

Imagine the most beautiful sunset that you've ever seen.

Hand painted with vibrant colors of orange, pink, even green.

The pigments are composed in the most beautiful way.

Even the most worldly man would stop, perhaps stay.

We are perched together on the crest of a hill, 

Overlooking the valley. A warm blanket. A chill.

Beneath the vast skyline is a mirror of the skys.

A breathtaking lake, a masterpiece before eyes.

But sitting next to me, your face is burning bright.

The same vibrant colors are blinding my sight.

The lake, and the beauty, of the sun setting too,

are awe-inspiring, brilliant. Yet my eyes set on you.

Little White Scars

I've got a friend who can write unreal little poems. She doesn't think they're any good. So! I will be posting a poem by her each week. These poems will be found in the top of the right margin, just above "Links". I would love to here your feedback about these poems so please comment on this post to let me know your thoughts.

Now, why did I choose 'Little White Scars' as the name? Well everyone has scars on their body with stories from the past behind them. Take me for example, one of the scars on my hand I got when I was 8 while trying to saw a chocolate bunny in half with a steak knife so my friend and I could share it. The knife slipped and now all I have to remember that story is a little white scar on my hand. I feel that the poems she writes are remembered because of little white scars in her heart. Hope you enjoy reading them as much as I do.

Your Very Own Lullaby

(A poetic collection of song lyrics)
(Please Read From Top-Bottom, or Up-Down, in a sort of Zig-Zag motion. Thank You)

It's as simple as something that nobody knows
that her beauty will follow wherever she goes

and she don't want to go outside, tonight

This is how an angel cries,

I blame it on my own sick pride.

Its too cold out side, for angels to fly.

I want to shelter you,

and all the things you do.

If its the last thing that I do
I'm bleeding out for you.

Your eyes they shine so bright, 

I want to save their light.

Ripped Gloves, Raincoat.

Weary Eyed, Dry Throat.

The tears come streaming down your face

and you lose something you can't replace.

I will try to fix you.
Now, here's a riddle for you,

There's a reason for the world,

like a flag goes unfurled.

Well I know the feeling

and there ain't no healing.

Just when I think your gone

I can't get you outta my head.

Just like a simple song
I can't get you outta my head.

I had you living life like you should

you say you never had it so good.

We're having such a good time together

and its only just begun, 

my hearts never smiled so hard

you make me smile like the sun

and I don't know why,
I can't keep my eyes off of you.

Look how they shine

for all the things you do.

Well, look at the stars and we're together,

yeah, it's always better when we're together.

I've been waiting for my dreams to turn 

into something I could believe in.

And looking for that magic rainbow,

on the horizon, I couldn't see it.

All of the things that I want to say,

just aren't coming out right. 

So just close your eyes, well honey 

here comes a lullaby, 

Your very own lullaby.

Control

You walk through the door

and your coming home late.

Your head kinda hurts,

been a really long day.

Moms at the table

she looks pretty mad.

Starts interrogating

its turning out bad.

There's yelling and screaming

your fears begin to set.

She's angry, she's livid.

The circumstances met.

You lie in bed crying

trying to soak it all in.

Saying "God I'm trying,

but I just need a friend."

The buzz of the phone

rings through your ears.

"Hey, how you doing?

Seems like its been years.

Well I'm just calling

to let you know,

we're all here for you

we love you, gotta go."

Slowly surrounding

is a pool of your tears,

your heart stops its pounding,

your face slowly clears.

One day, it will be better,

the worries disappear.

You start to get control

of yourself and your fears.

Demons

On the outside, I'm normal...
enough to deceive.
Got 2 hands, 2 feet,
2 eyes, that can see.

My eyes, they are warm
with a welcoming hue.
You think I'm your friend,
I wish it were true.

Now, the eyes that you see,
are different from within.
On the inside, they're dark,
they're cold, full of sin.

Something is hiding
its kind of concealed,
from both of your eyes,
yet its eyes are peeled.

It waits for an opening
to unleash all its rage.
So leave, before I hurt you
Before he breaks his cage.

Love is Always Looking Up

Love is a piggy bank, You fill it with "I love you"'s and "You look beautiful"'s til its nice and fat, and eaten its fill. Then you get caught up in other things, and have to smash it with a hammer. Love is a fishing pole. Love is a Firebird, getting in trouble for going too fast, then slowing down and enjoying the ride. Love is a zip-line. Love is a waterfall, showering you with gifts and affection. Love is a tractor. Love is the bed of a jacked up Chevy, parked by the lake up the canyon beneath the dotted sky. Love is a citation. Love is Maverick, yes the one played by Tom Cruise on Top Gun. I guess it could be the gas station too, yes, also the gas station. Love is a gas station, filling you full of goodness. You run it 'til it's dry, then it fills you up again. Love is a Coldplay song. Love is a Clock. Love is a pair of Nickelback tickets. Love is a blue composition notebook titled Poems & Things. Love is Always Looking Up.

When We Stand Together

-We must stand together, that's when we all win.-NICKELBACK My most favorite lyrics of all time. It means more than it says. This world, is full of people, people on the fast track to success, and people who have broken down. This life isn't a race.  If we don't slow down and help others along the way, our lives are wasted. -We could feed a starving world with what we throw away, but all we serve are empty words, that always taste the same.- We are all full of it. -Not enough of is care, Anywhere. We are not wise, for that reason, mankind dies.-LANGSTON HUGHES If only anyone cared enough to make a difference. IF.

If

If I was an eagle...I would fly....fly away, above the skyline while people attempted to take pictures of me with there Kodak cameras. No one telling me where to go, what to do, what to take notes on for the test next thursday. If I was a whale, I would dive...dive into the deep, dark, ocean. Miles below the surface where no person can go. Into some underwater cavern just to get away from it all. If. If I was anything but human, I would get away from them. Go hide in the forests they so willingly destroy, conceal myself in the over-polluted sky, go and lurk in the oil-filled sea. If. But no. I'm only human, they say, as if its some sort of an excuse. They hold themselves to a low standard so they have an excuse for the low-down things they do. If only they could realize themselves. If only they could see what they could do. If. If only we would care. If. If.

Introduction

You are what you are,

You're not what you're not.

Singing in a different voice,

To a different tune,

Does nothing but confuse your friends from kindergarten.

During a tea party on the second day of class, a girl read me a quote. 'Sing in your own voice.' When she asked if I knew what it meant, without thinking, without trying to logically figure out what it meant, without telling my mouth to say some specific, genius answer, I found these words forming on my lips: "You are what you are, you're not what you're not." Surprised at the complete awesomeness that come out I decided I had to say something that defined where the outburst came from so I hurriedly told my mouth to say, "Wow, I just made that up on the spot." Put those two sentences together and....they rhyme. Some of you reading this are like 'what two sentences?' Well let me help you out. The two quoted sentences!

As I said these things to this girl I realized how stupid it sounded. Regardless of how odd a place it was to get inspiration I wrote a poem from the sudden outburst of words. A poem you read at the beginning of this intro.

 Genius comes from the most straightforward of things. It comes from simple bliss, a crescendo of rage, sudden outbursts of origins unknown. Regardless of where it comes, it came, and whether you raise it to brilliance or let it lay on the floor, it has the potential to be great. That's what I want to focus on for this blog.