Friday, November 23, 2012
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...
Sunday, November 18, 2012
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.
Kings, childless murderers!
Kings, though furious and pierced,
are protectors of a vicious act.
and the words thou shalt slay.
(answer in next blackout)
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.
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 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.
Monday, November 12, 2012
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...
"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.
Sunday, November 4, 2012
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.
-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.
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.
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