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
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Monday, March 24, 2008
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.
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.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
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 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.
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.
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