Paradox

Paradoxically speaking, nothing makes sense
Or maybe we never wanted it to
Fluttering around in my head is the emptiness of
A thousand suns that are hollow spheres
In flames
There are marbles rolling across the table as
Hands reach out to stop them but it is
Artwork we cannot capture, and they fall
Dizzyingly beautiful is the deathly silence
When all that is visible is the whiteness of
I’m falling please stop me just give me your hand
I gave you my hand
You broke the delicate digits one by one
With your sinister smile that caused me to see
Finally
What you truly are

Supernova

Watch me as I fly away, she said. I turned away. Circles of life aren’t meant for mere humans, but she was a goddess, and I was forgotten. Is beauty worth it? The eternal question that asks us for forgiveness every day, but we cannot see past our jealousy enough to appreciate it the way it needs. We are the shameless, we are the mortal, we are the fragile beings that both take tenderness from others and turn it into our rage. We hate others for showing us kindness, but we cannot see past ourselves to give it in return. We live by other rules, and as she flies, I fall.

A/N Random spewing of thoughts. I like it enough that I will think about doing more, but here's this anyways...

She Runs

She runs, she runs, as fast as she can,
Run little girl, as fast as you can.
Tell yourself that he’s not following you.
But he is. They are watching you always,
When you eat and when you sleep.
She runs because she likes the feeling
Of the wind threatening to rip the skin
Off her face. Of her splitting dry lips
And her achingly tearing muscles as she
Keeps going, on and on, into the pinpoint
Horizon that is really never reached.
But she is only a little girl, and she doesn’t
Want to think too much about what will
Happen once the iron bars of living catch up
To her, when she is too tired to keep going,
When her legs are no longer beneath her and
She is flying.
Know not where you go,
Know not what you see.
She sees me.

A/N Woah! An update! Haven't seen one of those in ages...yeah, sorry guys. Well, I don't really know what I was thinking when I wrote this poem, because it started as like, a creeper poem, with the guy following her and all, then I decided that the guy should just be life following her, and then the end...I don't even know what that is. It just sounded cool I guess. So basically it's a bunch of ideas splooshed together, and I don't really know if I like it or not. I guess I like parts of it, but I've written better. The inspiration for this was basically the Gingerbread Man story, from which the line "run run as fast as you can" kept playing in my mind, because I realized it's kind of really rythmic (sp?) and cool, and it kept playing like a stuck record in my mind, so I was like, might as well write something, maybe then it'll go away. Wow, I'm rambling. Anyways, comment please!

forse

XVI and she’s alive.
With a lovely, detached feeling from those who know her.
And a slow, fragmented realization that she doesn’t yet know herself.
So what should she do, other than become a child of the darkest night?
What can she do but lose herself in cheap alcohol and stolen cigarettes?
A drawn in, choked breath through a filter can only make her feel better,
Even if it is with the awful taste of guilt because this might be the only (first) thing she has ever stolen.
But maybe she was meant to live this way, to taste the vicarious nature of life on the tip of her tongue as if it were her own to be swallowed.
And it is with this that she knows for the first time what it means to live through death, and see through the ghostly mask of something in your system that makes you feel and forget.

She’s so high…

It is with this that she knows for the first time the feel of someone else’s body too close to her own, and the helplessness that cannot be fully expressed through the burden of speech.
So she forgives and forgets, although she does feel regret at the sinking truth that she has just gifted away some small part of herself to someone who won’t even be back tomorrow.
It is now that she discovers that thrill seeking is not truly worth the result, because most of the thrill was lost in the seeking.
It is here that she knows what life is, but can only wistfully reminisce and wish that she had craved then what she craves now.

A/N This poem...has a very cliche idea and is not so unique, but for some reason, I really like it. The title is "forse", which means "perhaps" in Italian. Enjoy...all I want for Christmas is some comments!

For You

It's always better to be alone
Don't let anybody tell you differently
Maybe loneliness is the solution to your problems
Because you know it's not your fault you can't stand
The sound of her name
The thought of her face
The remembrance
The forgotten
Maybe it's because loneliness doesn't judge you
Maybe because loneliness will always be there
Waiting for you
Because it doesn't turn it's back on you like the day
Turns its back on the night
Because it doesn't discriminate against who it finds
Against the people looking for it, looking for something
Because it doesn't see you the way everyone else does
It sees past the fact that you have an ugly face
And at least pretends for a while that you are beautiful
Because it's always better to be alone

Is that a bird? A plane? No! It's an FAQ!!

Ahem. Me posting again does not give you an excuse not to comment on the last one, even if it sucked and you hated it. If you are reading this post, scroll down right now and write a comment...it can be a bullshit comment if you want...for the previous post.

Frequently Asked Questions:

Why are you such a comment whore?

Maybe it's because I have nothing better to do than sit at my laptop and continously wonder why nobody has commented on my post. Maybe it's because I'm too pathetic to actually do what I'm supposed to be doing, so I'm sitting at my laptop wondering why nobody has commented. Maybe it's even because I need some kind of reassurance that my existence does not go completely unnoticed. Maybe I'm just that sad. It's possible.

Why do you only write depressing things?

Let me put it this way. I'm inspired by my depression. That sounds awful. Let me explain. When I am feeling down (gods, that's corny), I decide that I should write a nice, sad poem, and in this way I am healthily expressing my feelings, if you catch my drift. Therefore, I write a nice sad poem, and then I feel better about myself, because generally I like to think of myself as a poet-in-the-works, and writing another poem always makes me feel a wonderful sense of accomplishment.

Why do you attach yourself to people? Do you not have your own body?

Unfortunately, I do have my own body, and it is strangely lumpy in areas that I wish it weren't. So, the answer to the first question is that I honestly just am clingy beyond belief. Me attaching myself to people is my way of saying "I have friends!", to myself even, if no one else is listening. Sometimes I wonder if people I think of as friends just put up with me because they have to, or if I honestly have a likeable personality. That last statement was me wondering to myself, please don't think of it as me asking you to comment saying that you love me oh-so-much. Don't comment saying you love me oh-so-much. Come on, be a little creative.

Why do you complain all the time? Does nothing happy ever happen in your life?

Yes, happy things do happen in my life, believe it or not. I don't know if I'm unique in thinking this, or nobody else has noticed or something, but happy things just aren't very interesting to talk about. I could bitch for hours about something or someone that I really don't like, or even someone I do like and am just slightly angry with, but it is very difficult for me to have a happy conversation. Happy-happy-joy-joy just really isn't my style. What is my style? A question to be answered by the gods. Or God. Depending on your religious belief (or lack thereof) of preference.

Why don't you talk to me anymore?

Believe it or not, I don't actually avoid people (with some obvious exceptions) intentionally. If I'm not talking to you, it's probably because I don't see you very often, or because I'm insanely busy with work, as I will be far too often this year. So honestly, don't worry about it, it's not like I hate you or something...usually...

Well, that's all the questions I can think of right now, so enjoy yourself reading and re-reading them, and most of all, commenting!

Lost it

And then found herself
Am I a record that can only repeat itself
Am I a pen which has only so much ink
And I'll turn myself inside out
So you can see the rawness I have
IN me, not OUT there where no one
Seems to notice that every person they pass
On the street is not whole
Is breaking
They are breaking
They are broken
Where are they going
Where am I going
I'm dizzy from spinning around and around
On my kitchen floor and then stopping to see
How blurry everything looks now

Tribute

While I normally shy away from sports related poetry, yesterday's event deserves something from me, regardless of how much it sucks. A tribute, no matter how small, to yesterday's incredible match - the Wimbledon Men's Singles Final, Federer vs. Nadal. It is full of subtle and not-so-subtle references, and some puns! woot!
By the way, if you didn't see the match, I pity you, it was the match of a lifetime...

He knew what he wanted
From the day he learned the
Rules of the game
And he loved it
He learned to
Love – All
He saw the gold
On his fifteenth birthday
And he knew it was more than the game
It was love at first sight
Fifteen – Love
He knew he didn’t have
Much time at eighteen
The time was now
He couldn’t wait until
Thirty – Love
It wasn’t about the gold now
But he could still see it out of
The corner of his eye
Five years was long enough to wait
But much too sudden, missing one ace
Deuce
Advantages are nonexistent for second-best
But who is the first?
And soon he is prising the gold crown from
Cold fingers, reluctant even in defeat
Game
Set
Match

Resignation

Now that I have resigned myself to the fate of only getting three (ooh! four!) comments on every post, I will post again. Here are two poems, with completely nothing in common, complete with additional commentary!

This poem has no title, so for now we can call it "Goddamn F-ing Rain"

I want to go outside and dance in the rain
But I know truthfully that it would end
Only in bitterness as my clothes stuck
To my skin and my hair would be damp
Making my discomfort a show for all to watch
Rather than take notes in Physics

A/N This is one of my really ADD poems...when I was like, why the hell is it raining in the summer, and then I was like, wow, I'm a hypocrite, because I pretend to like the rain so much, but then I was like, I DO like the rain, just not all...the...time...
Also, fun fact - the place in the United States that gets the most average rainfall per year, as well as seeing the least sun, is a town just north of here called Forks. Woohoo!

Passive Aggressive

you are passive
i am aggressive
you are still the one
that ends up killing me
i am passive
you are aggressive
together we make a bitch
who doesn’t know what is
good and what is bad
and so we decide that
the correct path is
destruction
mutilation
if only because it feels
so damn good

A/N I'm back to experimenting with simplicity here, mostly because I had some time on my hands, and I really wanted to write some poetry, but I had no inspiration whatsoever. So, I was listening to a song called Passive (by A Perfect Circle - check it out, it's frickin' awesome), and I was like, passive makes me think of aggressive...and here's where we ended up. I'm curious to know, do you think it's one person, or two people? I don't have the answer, but I want to see how people interpret it.

Poetry is so jokes

In English, we wrote poems today. They were written looking at different paintings. Here are the poems (yes, multiple poems) I wrote, along with the paintings they were based on. (ARGH! I'm having so many formatting issues with this post!)

3 Worlds - M.C. Escher





The branches of the trees only tickle the fish
But the leaves trap it in water
Imprisoning the creature in a world
That is only one of three

Nighthawks - Hooper

Sitting at the bar, each has their own story
The woman with a dress as red as her eyes
Recounts over a drink the story of her divorce
While the handsome man beside her moves closer
As if to comfort her, but only succeeding in comforting
Himself

And the mysterious persona sitting alone
Hears the tragedies of the others
Only to add his own, about the theft
Of his identity, along with his collection
Of solid gold Buddhas

The bartender only dreams of the day
When he is not required to provide comfort
For those who don’t know how to take care
Of themselves, but he remains quiet
And in his mind knows that he, also, would be
As they are now

Friedrich Rugen (I'm not sure what the name of this painting is)

She glances down the depths of the cliff
Wondering whether she should or should not
Take the leap of faith, faith that she will die
While he watches her with the eyes of a murderer

He is not a murderer, and she is only killing
Herself, but he does not take a step in her direction
Not to save her, and not to push her
Because he is only an observer, there to report
The scenes of tragedy that merely exist and are unimportant

Hotel - Hopper

She holds the directory loosely in her hands
Forgetting which page his number is on
She almost wants to call him and scream
Into the receiver because he did this

But it is all too familiar and she cannot bring
Herself to blame him too much for it is not him
That is sitting in a hotel room with nowhere
To go, and wondering where his lover went

He knows exactly where he is, and knows exactly
Who he is, because he only has to be the man
That left her in an unfamiliar hotel room

The People are Rotting, Not the Fruit

Once again, I am drawing inspiration from other people rather than trudge down to the depths of my own brain, which has been denying me ideas far too often.

Upon reading "she who goes by her last name"'s article, I was inspired to write a lengthy and opinionated comment. I will post it here for the benefits of you all:

I don't agree with the fact that boys do worse or better at school than girls. I understand perfectly physical limitations of gender, but I think that stays limited to athletics. My honest belief is that people need to stop finding reasons for these problems, and fix them instead.

Example: stop wondering what is wrong with our education and why China and India are pwning right now, and just fix the stupid education system. Example: stop complaining about outsourcing to other countries and get off your lazy arse and do the work yourself.

My dad told me about a New York Times edition in which the front page featured two articles. The first was about how in a few years the fruit is going to start rotting on the trees because illegal immigrants won't be allowed to be hired to pick the fruit. The second article was about a plea for funding because teenagers didn't have enough jobs open to them.

My point has been proved.

(end comment)

I also recently saw, at Folklife, a man playing the saxophone with a sign that said "Homeless, but not sitting on my arse shaking a cup." Although I appreciate that this man was doing something about his situation, the honest question comes to mind whether there are really not enough jobs to cover people like this.

I can't really believe that there are so many illegal immigrants working in America right now, and we still have a homeless person around every street corner with a sign. I guess I can understand disabled people, because their physical limitations don't allow them to get a job. However, there are a lot of people I see that would have no issues getting a job as a busboy, or a housecleaner, or something of the sort. There exists physical labor that you will get paid for, but people are so lazy nowadays that they are refusing to do it.

I suppose part of me is scared that there actually aren't enough jobs in America and I'm completely wrong. Another part of me feels extremely hypocritical, because regardless of where I end up going to college, and what I end up doing, I would still be reluctant to get a job as a busboy (girl). But that's not to say that I would sit on a street corner holding out my hat, waiting for people to take pity on me and feed me out of their own wallets. When it came down to it, I would take the job, however hard I would have to work.

The honesty of the situation is that there are jobs in America, but not a lot that people want to take. And a lot of jobs have been outsourced, to countries in which they are taught that they don't have a choice but to take what they can get, and that nothing is beneath them. We have a lot of underlying opinions about things in America, making us amazingly arrogant, but I suppose we all already knew that.

DeviantART

I got a DeviantART account, so here's the link. All the stuff on it so far I think I've already posted here, but who knows, maybe someday you'll see some art on there that most certainly will not be posted here.

http://follow-the-rainbow.deviantart.com/

YourLipsMyHips

Sorry about the failure to post, but here's a poem!

YourLipsMyHips

I lick my lips they’re your lips
I kiss your lips they are candy dancing in my mouth
I hug your hips they’re my hips
Connected why are we connected
I look into your eyes they’re my eyes
Music is in my ear but it’s your voice my voice
My fingers raise goosebumps on your stomach
It’s my stomach
I look up and stare at you but I’m staring at me
I’m looking at myself and wishing I had someone
To look into my eyes and I look into theirs
Not just the shallow glass that shows me a reflection
Of myself and what could be

Also, a really awesome picture I found that I thought goes with this well...it's the x-ray of a kiss, in case you can't tell.

An Explanology

This is a mix between and explanation and an apology, in case the title didn't make sense to you. It has become clearer than ever that we need to be safer...so here is my addition to the ring of safety to rule them all.

Obviously, only a select few of you can read this blog now...apologies for the somewhat intense process...

I have also gone through all my older posts and eliminated any names that were mentioned. Hopefully you will all understand the vague references to your names that are made (see the appreciation post for evidence).

I'd also like to make a plea to all of you to please try and keep the existence of this blog amongst yourselves, I'd really appreciate that.

rapunzel.in.black

Two Angry Women

I had a debate with my mother last night. For those of you who know my mother, she is a very sweet individual, and easily appreciates everything she sees, even if upon seeing it I cringe in ways I have not done since the song "It's Hard Out There for a Pimp" won an Academy Award. My mother especially likes to appreciate things that are amazingly cliche. This is what last night's debate falls under the category of. Not the debate itself, but the subject matter.

It started when my mom was showing me and my dad a slideshow of profound quotes. About 8 quotes into the slideshow, I made a comment, quite casually, about how the quotes would never have been remembered if the people who said them had not already been famous.

She immediately launched into a tirade about how the people who said these quotes had more experience and had acheived more than the rest of us, therefore they could think up of these profound quotes. I obviously begged to differ, as it was my opinion that many of these quotes were not profound at all, and I or she, or anyone for that matter, could come up with such things, but nobody would remember them since we are not famous.

Now, here is the best part. My mom spent the rest of the night arguing with me. This is okay. What is not okay is that she spent the whole night arguing my point. She debated with me to prove my own opinion. I don't know if this has ever happened to any of you, but it is extremely hard to argue with somebody who keeps defending your statements, because you end up having nothing to say.

She then ended the debate saying that I have become far too cynical, and I should stop hanging around Jake so much. She was also under the impression that I was very angry, perhaps because I was arguing back rather than sit there and nod at everything she said. Usually, I am too tired or busy to argue back with my parents, so I just take everything they give me, because usually they shut up faster that way.

It was most certainly an enlightening debate, not on why the quotes were profound, but rather why I should continue to avoid arguing with my parents. I think I will continue to keep up the facade of a personality that they think I have.

Also, a note about the previous post: I know I said I was going to post the final draft of the poem next, but upon editing it, I didn't change anything major, so I decided to write this lovely pointlessness for you instead.

The Twelve Days of Romance

The effects of my attempts to fulfill my homework for English, which consisted of: write a rough draft for a love poem that tells a story, and never mentions outright the concept of love itself. A little bit of a longer poem, compared to what I usually write. After we do peer editing, I'll give you a final version of it:

The Twelve Days of Romance

The first day I saw you it was unexpectedly dark
So maybe I didn’t really see you at all
It was raining down pollution and the raindrops
Didn’t only taste bitter, they were my bitterness

The second day I saw you it was far too early
And my eyes had not adjusted to the light
The sun was blinding and I saw spots behind my eyes
Which were closed, so still I didn’t see you

The third day I saw you it was for the first time
My eyes were open, I could see,
And I walked right by, not sparing a glance
Because really you just blended into the crowd

The fourth day I saw you I knew I had seen you before
And maybe I had even been looking for you
We did an awkward dance around the topic of
Conversation, then we turned around and decidedly left

The fifth day I saw you I knew it was not
A coincidental meeting that we could pretend to
Avoid, so I walked up to you and I said
“Goodbye” and didn’t give you a chance to say hello

The sixth day I saw you I did a double take
I thought my message had been perfectly clear
But then you looked in the other direction
And I walked the other way

The seventh day I saw you we knew it was fate
So we talked and you got me a cup of
Lukewarm coffee and I knew that it had
Truly and really begun

The eighth day I saw you I shook my head
Despairing at the preplanned qualities of
My life that seemed to fall into place
Just as I had wanted it not to

The ninth day I saw you we went out to lunch
I had a salad, with honey but no dressing
You had a sandwich, which looked a little dry
We both had a conversation, it cost $12.40

The tenth day I saw you we got coffee again
This time it was quite warm, and my insides
Were feeling a little jumpy that day
But ignoring them I continued on my way

The eleventh day I saw you, I began to wonder
Why neither of us had yet made a move
We amiably chatted about the effects of
A mother’s diet on the sex of a newborn baby

The twelfth day I saw you we shook hands
And I detected the glint of something on
The fourth finger of your left hand
I don’t recall ever seeing you again

The Appreciation Post

Well guys, we have 36 more days of school left. In honor of this number seeming so small, even though I know it will feel very large, I am writing the post of all posts. Since we are nearing the end of another year, I decided to appreciate all those who have made a difference in my life, namely everyone who reads this blog (I hope). So, I am going to write a small little note of appreciation to each of you, and thank you for improving the quality of my life. If you read this blog and I didn't appreciate you, I apologize, but I didn't know you read it, since you never COMMENT!

'Do:

Me and 'do have been pretty much joined at the hip this year, and I don't know how much she has enjoyed this (probably very little), but I have enjoyed it a whole ton. It's a great feeling to have a free and know that there is no possible way you have no friends in it, because 'do is waiting for you in the counseling center. We have had many deep and philosophical conversations, ranging from topics such as faces like a happy pizza, to how much life matters in the long run. So, thank you 'do, for making my year a happy pizza.

Turtle (you know who you are):

I still find it hilarious that a few years ago we were practically at war. You have made my evenings infinetely (I don't know how to actually spell this) better this year by always (ALWAYS) being on gtalk, so I always know I have someone to bitch to. Because this is what I do with turtle, I bitch. Thank you for listening to all my stupid and idiotic complaints, mixed in with a good and healthy slice of drama beyond dramas. I do love you so...

She who goes by her last name:

I don't think I will ever be able to think of you as your first name now... I think I got to know you a lot better this year, strangely, even though I probably saw you more in 8th grade. My favorite aspect of you is how you always seem to be unfazed by my drama queen nature, offering me a rational solution to all my problems. Thank you for being my problem-solver, I need one more than you know.

Tranny Mess of Fierceness:

It kills me to admit this, it really does, but I actually think you are brilliant writer. You have the right mix of humor, sarcasm, and angst. And somehow you seem to have the best experiences to write about. I mean, come on, the pleasure chest! What are the chances any of the rest of us would discover something so magical? I also enjoyed having arguments with you (yes, I enjoyed it), because you are really good at arguing. Thank you for making me see that you are always right, and I am always wrong. Even if I'm right.

Fwahe:

I have gotten to know Fwahe a lot better this year as well (as far as I know), and I realized that he is very different than my first impression. He is actually really sarcastic and cynical, but in a way that makes me not realize that he is being sarcastic or cynical. Also, I love your ability to seem more spazzy than all the rest of us put together but at the same time actually be a lot more normal than we are. I'm glad I got to talk to you more this year, and as my brother would say, "it was fun".

Cool-and some:

I love you. That pretty much sums it up. You are the most spazzy person I will ever meet, and you are an amazing organizer of events. I know we didn't get to hang out a lot this year, and I hope next year makes up for that, because you are really awesome to be around. I would love to go back to living at your house, so we can set that plan into action next year as well. God, every time I say "next year" it scares me...anyways, Cool-and some, you are amazing.

I think those are all the people that read this blog, and if I missed anybody (like the weird poetry person), I apologize. If you comment angrily, I will add an appreciation note in my next post.

Gracias to all of you...
rapunzel.in.black (and thank you to tranny mess of fierceness for giving me that name)

Grounding

It's amazing how one experience can send you crashing back down to reality. I've been living my life lately, not thinking about how I was living, just going through the same basic routines over and over. I kept wishing something new would happen. It did, but it wasn't good new. I know better than to offer sympathy, because it never makes me feel any better, but I do want to take a moment to acknowledge the impact Mark Sheppard had on my life.

I never thought of him as a mentor, or an inspirational figure, but I realize now that I should have had more respect for him than anyone. He was truly devoted to his passion, and I realize now that I truly did enjoy Drama because of him. In the same way Mr. Brandon's "Brandonisms" are used all over the school, Mr. Sheppard was a fully integrated part of our community, and although I thought of him only as a teacher, I realize too late that he did have an impact on my life. He inspired me to continue taking Drama, and to specialize in it. He encouraged me to let go of the numerous inhibitions I had made part of myself when I was acting, allowing me to do any number of things.

I never imagined that it would affect me the way it did, but I spent most of today in tears, the rest of it on the verge of breaking down. I realized that although I might get used to having Carys teach our class, some part of me would always remember Mr. Sheppard. I owe him for all the play reports that I didn't send in on time, not bothering to think of whether he had other things to be doing than reading them. And I also owe him a lot of respect, which I wish I had showed more often. I truly hold him in the highest regard for what he has done.

rapunzel.in.black

It Wasn't Love

If I put my writing into genres, this one would be HORROR. I don't know what came over me when I wrote this, but here it is. Also, there is some hinted schmexy-time. Nothing explicit...

That night was as good as any, even though the couch might have been a bad decision. My back was sore from the arm of the couch, did you not know that I was lying on it? Or did you like the flush of my cheeks when you realized I was in pain?
Maybe I did let you hug me and kiss the base of my neck. Maybe I didn’t want you to stop. Maybe the goosebumps on my skin were really from my pleasure.
But too bad it wasn’t love.
Lust is a terrible thing, really. It’s what makes me keep coming back, every Friday night. I’m giving you a false sense of security, and you’re giving me one too. But maybe I won’t come next Friday, and what will you do then? Will you still want me, just as badly? Or will you turn me away the next time you see me?
We both know it isn’t love.
We are very similar in many ways, perhaps the most intimate of ways. Like how fascinating blood seems to be. You are beautiful in life, imagine how beautiful you will be in death, when the blood stains your face. When your restless eyes are blank, and they fulfill my wishes to look me in the eye.
And even in death, when you are beautiful.
Even then it won’t be love.
But at least there will be beauty, if nothing else.
So don’t worry, I will be there next Friday. I will still be waiting on your doorstep. I’ll be coming every Friday, until I can no longer control these darker desires of mine, and I finally bring my three sided, antique dagger to your house. And somewhere amidst the thrashing of limbs, there will be a wonderful scream, and it won’t be one of happiness. And horror will set across your face, transforming it in those last moments. For the first time, it will be beautiful.
Too bad it wasn’t love.

Doubt

I've been half working on this for a long time. It's not horribly long, but it's about as long as my writing gets (that's a complete lie). I actually have just been writing it on and off, and finally got bored of it, so I wrote the ending. The story of my life. So here it is....

Doubt

The fire danced behind her closed eyes with spots of purple contrasting the violent flames. She opened her eyes again and took a long drag from the cigarette in her hand, then stabbed out the cigarette on her arm. A gasp, the sting, and then it was over.

Life sucks, she mused, wishing she had another cigarette to ease blows that she should have seen coming. Staring out at the waves it looked like each one was beckoning her, but at the same time warning her away from the vast emptiness of the ocean. She could hear the cars rushing behind her, but she found that for the first time she didn’t care who was driving behind her, wondering what she was doing, sitting on a bridge staring off into the horizon. Damn it, she couldn’t even see the horizon, another sharp reminder of how far she had gotten off track with her life.

She had always wanted to be an individual, unique, and different from those around her. All that got her was an identity that was wonderfully boring and exactly the same as every poser who walked down the streets, because in reality, they were all posers, trying to manipulate life so that it fell into their own hands, trying to play hide-and-seek with fate. Hell if they didn’t realize at some point or another that it was useless trying to play hide-and-seek, because fate didn’t have to seek. It was carried around in your pocket every day, and didn’t wash out with soap and water.

Fate was what told her to become an artist. It was what told her that she would be successful, rich, and famous. At least, that’s what should have happened. In reality, she had been blind to fate’s actual intentions, making them fit her own parameters. And thus, fate had caught up with her, leaving her with almost no money to her name, no house to call her own. Fate had left her eating off the McDonald’s Dollar Menu every day, and at nights, sleeping on the floor of the room she was renting, but couldn’t afford furniture for.

She didn’t quite know when it had become too much for her to handle. For a long time she had just been following routine, so it wasn’t too much pressure. But the routine had also created an aura of meaningless existence, which soon enveloped her in an uncomfortable blanket of worthlessness. Her life no longer had a direction, a goal, or a point. But they were all the same thing, because when having a direction there had to be an end, a goal, and to have a goal there had to be a point.

Biting back tears was pointless now, so she let herself cry, first out of sorrow, then out of anger, and then just because it felt good. What did it mean now to be strong, and hold back the tears. What did it mean now to grin and bear it, to suck it up. Nothing, it meant nothing, because there was nothing left to bear. No more weights on her shoulders, not allowing her to continue with her life in peace. No more anything, because the decision was made.

Standing up, she looked back towards the waves. They only looked beckoning now, no warnings in the shadows of the white crests. Climbing over the railing, she heard a car behind her screech to a stop, and wondered with a smile if they were stopping for her. She was over the railing now, but still holding on to it, waiting for something, but she didn’t know what. Five minutes passed in silence, until she heard the murmur of a crowd behind her. It was now or never. She let go of the railing. There was the faintest flicker of doubt. A gasp, the sting, and then it was over.

Religion...is useless (for lack of better wording)

I haven't written anything new in a long time, thanks to my preoccupation with the stupid para entregars for Spanish that I haven't done. But the good news is, I am working on them right now (in between writing this post). The even better news is that I have some older writing that I might as well post, because I am rather fond of it. So, here is an essay that I wrote a little while ago for English class. As a summarization if you aren't going to read it, it is a criticism of religion, in response to an essay by Salman Rushdie.

RELIGION

Religion is considered by many a necessity to life. But Rushdie disagrees, and I disagree along with him. Religion is not a necessity, because it does not contribute value to life. It is not successful in uniting people, in fact it is only successful in separating them. It is true that all members of a certain religion do have some bond, but it is also true that they lack this bond with members of another religion. Why stratify society more than it already is? To make matters worse, some religions consider themselves above other religions, better people, with a better God. They also try to convert other people to their religion. In all, this causes more trouble than there would be if religion was non-existent.

On the other hand, there should be no boundaries to belief, and I disagree with Rushdie’s idea that a greater being does not exist. He states: “They didn’t get it right. There was no celestial churning, no maker’s dance, no vomiting of galaxies, no snake or kangaroo ancestors…” (518). But he offers no alternative to these beliefs. He offers no “right” answer, and in this he negates his argument. People don’t believe in these stories because they actually consider them possibilities, but rather because there is a need for explanation, and a thirst for knowledge about how we did come to be. So, if we cannot find the true explanation, we settle for stories, which do not only exist to explain, but also to entertain.

But while there are no boundaries to belief, there can be no religion. Religion sets these boundaries by stating in firm law that these specific rituals must be completed, that those specific prayers should be recited, and in general, that this God should be believed in. Perhaps it would be alright if people could choose which God to believe in, which religion to believe in. But more often than not, we are born into a set of beliefs, and blindly follow them until they become our reality. We have no opportunities to step out of the cycle, and find out for ourselves what truly is and isn’t. Rushdie is right in saying that when you are not trapped by a set of beliefs, “at once the sky’s the limit” (519). Once you are not guided and spoon-fed by parents and the community of loving but smothering adults around you, opportunities are endless.

I also agree with Rushdie’s idea that some religions are too radical. It is even possible to take it a step further by saying that being a religion, all religions are too radical, because they offer no escape from traditions that have lasted centuries. They seek to change the world with what they offer, but they all offer these ideas, so it is impossible to know which one is right. To make matters even more confusing, every religion proposes itself as the right religion, either through violent force, or through subtle messages. Some religions are more obvious than others in doing this. Islam is known for being a more forceful religion than many, Muslims known for being strongly set in their beliefs. But Buddhism and Hinduism on the other hand are more peaceful religions, preferring to allow other religions to coexist with them without putting up a fight. However, they still project themselves as the “correct” path to choose, in fact using their peaceful approach as propaganda.

There is no right or wrong to an argument to which there is no correct answer. Each person must see for themselves which side they choose to take. As for me, I choose a path in the middle, to believe in a greater being, but not to constrict myself to only one way of believing. I don’t choose a religion, but rather just believe for the sake of belief, and not for the benefit of my family or my community. I would rather believe for the benefit of myself.

The Gates of Hell

Slowly, he approached the gate that was wreathed in fire, he could feel the heat from where he was standing. Just beyond it he could make out the people (were they people?) arising from sleep, and getting up from their beds of nails. A horned demon awaited his arrival eagerly, with a list ready in hand, to check off his name. For these were the very gates of hell.

He desperately tried to remember all the sins he had never confessed, but could not think of any. Was God not listening to his confessions? Had he not been forgiven? He had recited countless verses in hopes for forgiveness, but now it all seemed pointless. He reached the gate.

“What’s your name?”, the demon asked, as rudely as he could. But buried in his thoughts, Ashraf didn’t hear him.

“Your name!” the demon shouted again.

“Ashraf” he stated with confidence he did not feel.
The demon flipped through his list quickly, then scanned it again slowly. Ashraf watched his tiny red eyes repeatedly look over the piece of paper.

“It’s not here! Your name isn't here.” Ashraf glanced up in surprise.

“You're in the wrong place, aren't you? You're supposed to be up there.” He pointed towards the sky, where for the first time Ashraf noticed there was a small circle of light. As if on cue, a staircase descended, and without any questions, Ashraf began climbing towards the heaven where he knew he belonged.

The HAPPY Post

Yes folks, you read that right. My blog is turning into a Wanda. No, that's a complete lie. My blog will still be exactly the same as it's always been, with the exception of this post. For once in my life, I am inspired by something that isn't completely and utterly depressing. So, I give you a list, no ordinary list, a list of life's best feelings. May we always ignore how painful life is.

1. The feeling when you hit an overhead, and the racket connects so perfectly with the ball, sending vibrations up your arm, and the tennis ball goes slamming down on the court, with no possible way that your opponent could return it. For those of you not tall enough to slam dunk (most of the world's population), you should try out this feeling, it's pretty much as good.

2. A nice, steep slope, with no moguls, waiting for you to speed down on your skis, and you can hear the wind rushing through your ears, and you are blissfully ALONE.

3. The stoned feeling you get after an hour spent listening to music, and doing nothing else. Then you walk around for like three hours, not knowing where you are. Best. feeling. ever.

4. When you wake up, squirm around for a bit, look at the clock, and realize it's 1:00 in the afternoon, then freak out until you realize it's Saturday. SATURDAY.

5. The simple pleasure of looking at the TV menu and noticing that three or more of your favorite shows are on right after one another, syncing up perfectly.

6. The feeling I, you, and 50% (or more) of the world gets when looking at Johnny Depp.

7. Realizing that you have all your homework done, and you didn't slack at all. Then you notice that it's only 8:30, and you do a little happy dance and immediately hop on the internet.

8. When you remember that it's Sunday, and you run to the computer to check the updated PostSecret.

9. Finding a new, GOOD, band. So jokes.

10. The fuzzy feeling you get when someone gives you a genuine complement. Like telling you that you are very pretty. I wish that happened to me more often.

Well, this is all for now. I will possibly make another one, since there are *gasp* a number of happy things that I didn't put on this list. Isn't that strange? I spend all my time writing depressing things, and then come to the realization that there are good things about life. Siiiiigh....

Mix and Match

A little break from my series, since, as usual, I'm feeling uninspired to finish what I started. Here is a little game I played, mix and match song lyrics. Songs are at the bottom, you can guess what is from which song. And maybe I'll throw in a line or two of my own, just to leave you guessing at how much of a genius I actually am.

As morphine tears through deadened veins
I'm numbing in these days,
Safe outside my gilded cage
A wraith with an angel’s body.
A demon with a smile of gold.
Velvet burns,
The wrists while restraining
With an ounce of pain
I wield a ton of rage
One at a time, conscious becomes surreal
Damning evidence to the depths of hell
Parched throats, cry me a river
She walks the line into her deathbed rings
Steal the glamour from death,
And before you die,
Just like suicide
Call the angels.
This razor blade was meant for me
Call the angels.
We'll mutilate insanity

Songs:
Bleed Black - AFI
The Missing Frame - AFI
Kiss and Control - AFI
We Sleep Forever - Aiden
Bleeding Mascara - Atreyu
Like Suicide - Soundgarden

Here you are...

Here is the next story. You may have to wait a while after this for the next stories, because I haven't actually written the next stories. I've kind of run out of ideas for extremities, so if you have any ideas, please tell me.

Too Scared

I know that there are people who lie awake at night and toss-and-turn and can’t go to sleep but really I can’t help them so why try? After all, if I let my thoughts get to me I probably would be just as scared as they are, which makes it hard for me to help them when they ask for it. They need to learn to block out those thoughts and to numb themselves to everything around them I don’t care how. There aren’t any reasons to be scared unless you think about the next day and the light shining into your eyes and blinding you in the morning or maybe just the darkness swallowing you up in your sleep as soon as you close your eyes.

And then...

The next one:

Too Bad

Some people just look bad to me, I hate to use stereotypes but ever felt like you can see through that bag and just know, just know that there is some kind of weapon in there? Ever felt if you talk to them they will turn around and kill you with just the look in their eyes, and next morning the news will be telling everyone that you were found dead on the sidewalk with no signs of damage. Pop you were gone, just like that, you were gone. And that person, that bad person would walk away, maybe laughing, thinking that they got away with murder. And they did.

The Deal:

Here is the deal guys:
I am going to wait for at LEAST 2 comments on a post before posting the next story. So, get off your asses and start commenting. Well, I guess you wouldn't have to get off your ass to comment, but do it anyways. Otherwise, your loss. I've written the next stories, but it's up to you if you want to see them...he he he.

I guess there should be a warning for this story, although if you ask me I don't need it. But if you are homophobic, don't read it, or pretend I'm a guy...

Too Beautiful

She thinks life is beautiful like herself because her pale skin and full hair just make me want to lay my lips to sleep on hers they just look like a bed to me. Soft-feather-pillows hush little baby I can’t say a word all that comes out of my mouth are statements (not questions) like “I love you” that don’t mean anything. But when I look into her eyes I feel like crying because really there is nothing there nothing there at all, so I focus on the rest of her so I won’t have to taste bitterness on my tongue.

The Next Installment...

Here is the next installment of my series...
I have actually written the next 4 installments, but I need posting matter, so I'll only give them to you one at a time. I apologize. At least it means I'll be posting more frequently...

2. Too Happy

Optimism has always been one of those qualities that I can’t appreciate because there’s this little part of me that is hate-hate-hating it if only because I can’t see life that way. Maybe she’s breaking underneath but she doesn’t show it like I do with my rawredskin exterior. It never-never fades, and parts of me don’t want it too, there is no happiness for me only that empty blackness that I keep diving into (cannonball).

A Series

I have begun to write a series of short....I don't know what to call them. Drabbles, I guess, but that term sounds so unprofessional. Not that I consider myself professional. Inspired by extremities, here is the first of the series.


Too Thin

She keeps telling me about her problems but should I pretend I care? Really I don’t, even though I feel her pain through her perfectionexterior that keeps pissing me off so much. I can see her ribs through her back and it’s scaring me-scarring her just a bit, maybe I should tell someone who cares more than me because why can’t I care? She smiles at me and tells me that she’s gone down three sizes and this doesn’t impress me it just makes me feel worse about hating her, and a little worse about myself why do I feel that? It’s not like she’s cool because she’s stupidskinny and losing weight by the millions, but this little part of me that doesn’t feel sorry for her feels sorry for myself for not looking as good as she does why do I think she looks good?

Regret

This is just something I was randomly inspired to write. So, don't expect too much, but please comment!

Regret? Sure, I feel regret sometimes. I’m only human, right? I suppose I feel it less than some other people, but it’s still there. Regret that I didn’t go somewhere, do something with my life. Regret that I spent those precious years of teenage wallowing away in my own misery and darkness, swathed in black, blocking out the rest of the world with a pair of headphones. But if you get to know me, you will realize that I shouldn’t regret these things, because I did go somewhere, and I did do something with my life. Just not the right thing.

There are explanations for everything, but I haven’t yet found the explanation for why I did what I did. Maybe it was because they looked so tempting, in my hand like that. Maybe it was because I couldn’t deal with overwhelming pressures around me. Maybe it was because there weren’t any pressures, and I’m still a liar.

They call it throwing your life away, but I am unsure of what to think of this. Sometimes I think that really, it’s just another part of living, and that there are things beyond this life. Most of the time, I fervently hope that there isn’t, because I doubt I would be able to take much more. Imagine if you just kept killing yourself, over and over, just to find yourself alive again, in the next world. You should at least be allowed some period of recovery, where you can just shut everything out and be gone for a while.

Or forever.

Then again, sometimes I really want a second chance, and want to live as someone who loves life, and doesn’t want to get rid of it.

They always wonder why murderers and thieves do what they do. In my opinion, their crimes are much worse than mine, but I am still paired with them in the same cell of misinterpretation. They were harming others, I only myself. Is this as much of a crime? Don’t I have the right to do what I want with myself?

And yet, there is nothing so cruel or horrible as taking away what humanity considers most precious. In my opinion, there are things far more precious than life, but it isn’t what I think that matters. Freedom of speech, freedom of thought, those are all lies, because when it comes down to it, you have to be like everyone else.

And yet, why does everyone try so desperately to be original, to be different? An inner struggle that perhaps everyone goes through, except those who are most comfortable with themselves. But what is comfort? Can you ever be truly comfortable living with yourself? Is there not always some guilt, regret, or shame that you are feeling? Or is that just me?

A Review of Mankind

In response to much uproar over my New Year's blogolution, I have decided to not stop making random posts. I knew this was going to happen even before I wrote up that blogolution, so I shouldn't have even said anything. Oh well, I guess I need some small form of entertainment. Or some sign that people still love me. And that's just how sad I am. So, in celebration of not keeping resolutions, here is a post as random as random can be.

A review of mankind:

People write reviews for movies, and for albums, and songs, and art, and everything. So why shouldn't there be a review for people? So, I was going to take this opportunity to bitch about everyone I know, albeit anonymously. But then I decided that that would be far too offensive to be coming from my mouth. Or...hands. So instead, I'll just bitch about how humanity is going absolutely nowhere.

If you still consider this offensive, I will make you feel a little better by putting this in a format so you can pretend that it isn't about humanity at all. Pretend it is a review for that new album from your favorite band, whatever it may be.

1. Womankind

This song has one of the worst openings I have ever heard, and the vocals were incredibly whiny. The lyrics would have been okay, but it seems that the band took every opportunity possible to put in some backstabbing comment about anyone and everyone they could. The melancholiness of the interludes in the song can be related to PMS, which is a good comparison, because I dislike this song almost as much as I dislike PMS.

2. The Mans

Good instrumentals, and good vocals. However, this was taken away from by the fact that the song dragged out for about 8 minutes, and there was absolutely no substance. It meant...nothing! I also could have done without the repeated swearing, which there was far too much of. But overall, a better song than the first one, although it could have done with some more emotion, and sensitivity.

3. Teenagers (yes, I am aware that there is actually a song called Teenagers. I love that song, but for the purpose of this list, ignore the fact that the song exists.)

Generally, music has to have....music. But I was disappointed to find that this song had virtually no instrumentals, and rap just doesn't cut it when I listen to music. This song lacked any thinking whatsoever, and this drove me crazy. The only part of it that I actually enjoyed was the guitar solo in the middle of it, which was overshadowed by the fact that the guitarist didn't actually know how to play guitar.

For anyone who doesn't understand the above comparison: The teenage pop culture today is a stupid, hip-hoppy generation that lacks the ability to use the brain. There is the occasional awesome person you meet, but it is overshadowed by the millions of wannabes.

4. Babies

A song with a cutsie, happy opening. However, the entire middle of it was so irritating that I hardly noticed the quiet, peaceful, ending. A day in the life, I suppose...

5. OLD

As far as classical music goes, it wasn't all that bad. But, there was a tone of desperation in the music, and the song seemed like it would never end. All in all, it was a pretty useless number in this album, since it didn't really add much.


And thus concludes my review of humanity. I guess a lot of it was offensive to many people, but I find myself caring oh-so-little. Just consider it the bluntest of ways to put anything, and everyone's happy. Maybe.
Now, just to make something clear, I have nothing against old people. I just felt like dissing on everyone today.

And so, good day to you all. I'm going to go see a stupid and pointless play!

Resolutions

As my New Year's Resolution for this blog (I don't make resolutions for myself), I promise to try and actually use it for what it's here for. In other words, my poetry. I know that some of you are crying right now and actually love my lists/ramblings (insert random name here), but the reason I made this blog was actually to make my writing (actual writing) somewhat publicized. Obviously, since my friends are the only ones (I think) that read this blog, this didn't work out too well. But just in case there is anybody (ANYBODY!) else that reads this, here is an actual poem.

P.S.
I put all those parentheses in just for a special someone who knows exactly who he is.

Corruption

lieslieslies and that’s all you ever tell me
don’t go don’t go I will miss you I promise
promises lies and more promises more lies
no promise is a true promise but I’ll miss you
fall away crawl away
don’t listen to those seducers whispering in your ear
you lovemelovemeloveme I hope you do
kisses and poison, more poison than love
revolving alone on the same spot
dizzydizzy tumbles of words
hug me kiss me caress me and love me
don’t go don’t go I will miss you someday
promises are killers and killers are lies
feel the sugar melting on your lips
DELiverance
DELiciousness

rapunzel.in.black