Just Leave
23.6.10
I Don't Know
16.2.09
Two pages from a notebook with robots on the cover.
As monsters emerge in distant lands, strange truths break and tear.
The cold of the ground chills the souls of feet as they try to walk. Nothing left to cause laughter or tears- just this and this the black abyss. The sides are slick and the air is dark. Tangible objects lose their form so no sight offers answers. Not a soul. Not a soul on the floor with the cold of the black abyss.
But now that I can breathe and think the scribbles become foul with unreal feeling and ideas. Sense is lost when the mind attempts.
Yeah, I'm slightly embarrassed.
As monsters emerge in distant lands, strange truths break and tear.
The cold of the ground chills the souls of feet as they try to walk. Nothing left to cause laughter or tears- just this and this the black abyss. The sides are slick and the air is dark. Tangible objects lose their form so no sight offers answers. Not a soul. Not a soul on the floor with the cold of the black abyss.
But now that I can breathe and think the scribbles become foul with unreal feeling and ideas. Sense is lost when the mind attempts.
Yeah, I'm slightly embarrassed.
Something Worth Your Time .9
16.2.09
Number 9, Number 9, Number 9
16.2.09
I'm not one to post entries simply about my life. But here's one:
I ended last year quite spectacularly. I watched three fantastic movies: Tri Orisky Pro Popelku, Pelisky, and Dr. Strangelove. Maybe that's symbolic of my year of laziness coming to an end?! Hopefully...
I started this year also quite spectacularly. I drank some tap water out of a champagne glass at midnight and promptly fell asleep at 12:09. The extra second at the end of the first minute threw me a little off balance, but I was thankful to have a second of unexpected time. It was like the gift of time! Maybe I used it to blink once. I woke up at 9:08 (my internal clock seems to be a minute off... probably because of that second). I proceeded to have a breakfast of Nutella on Whole Foods' Whole Wheat Bread (mmmmmmmmm). And then I did some math homework. All in all, this year is shaping up quite nicely.
The number 9 makes me excited. It's a perfect square!!! That hasn't happened since 2004, and four is not nearly as exciting since it's also even. Odds just have a naturally mysterious allure to them, no?
I ended last year quite spectacularly. I watched three fantastic movies: Tri Orisky Pro Popelku, Pelisky, and Dr. Strangelove. Maybe that's symbolic of my year of laziness coming to an end?! Hopefully...
I started this year also quite spectacularly. I drank some tap water out of a champagne glass at midnight and promptly fell asleep at 12:09. The extra second at the end of the first minute threw me a little off balance, but I was thankful to have a second of unexpected time. It was like the gift of time! Maybe I used it to blink once. I woke up at 9:08 (my internal clock seems to be a minute off... probably because of that second). I proceeded to have a breakfast of Nutella on Whole Foods' Whole Wheat Bread (mmmmmmmmm). And then I did some math homework. All in all, this year is shaping up quite nicely.
The number 9 makes me excited. It's a perfect square!!! That hasn't happened since 2004, and four is not nearly as exciting since it's also even. Odds just have a naturally mysterious allure to them, no?
Yellow
16.2.09
I have been told that the stories I write are too depressing. When I got the assignment to write a story for a college (or two), I decided that maybe depressing was not the way to go. So here's a story I wrote on the topic of "start a story with 'seventeen minutes ago'" and "write a story about a street" (I'm killing two birds, or schools, with one stone).
Seventeen minutes ago, Mr. Marigold decided to write a song about the beauty of childhood, but all he could recall was wondering what had happened to snow that was yellow. He had found an answer only after he had outgrown his interest, so the torment of ignorance was never resolved while it mattered.
The song began slowly, but quickly built up pace, expressing the wild current of thought that Mr. Marigold's brain had undertaken. He wrote the song in his garden on a hot summer's day. Thirst struck him before he had a chance to finish, so he left for the kitchen while the song was still unfinished. Unfortunately, something happened that he had not intended. A yellow finch swooped down and grabbed the paper off the table, beat his wings with a wild vigor, and soon was lost behind trees' branches, far beyond Mr. Marigold's garden. The finch flew and flew, down the street to his nest in the yellowing summer light. He crumpled the paper unceremoniously and thrust it into the mess of twigs of his nest. A few twitches of his head, a few movements of his beak, and the bright eyes lit upon the paper that he had stolen. His head bobbed sideways, and then he flew away again, twittering.
It was not often that Fred was allowed to strap on his boots and go sledding in the backyard. He knew he should go visit his sick friend instead, but a new layer of snow had fallen the night before and now blanketed the ground. The dog barked in excitement as it saw the child's eyes light up as the father opened the door to the world and stepped outside. A hop brought Fred closer to the door as he made to follow his father. His father returned quickly, however, closed the door, and said only, “Yellow snow.” The dog walked away as Fred looked after it with mingled disappointment and anger. He went to visit the Marigold's house, where his friend lay sick. On the way, a yellow finch sang him a song, lifted his spirits, and so Mr. Marigold's son received a jolly friend who made the cough seem like trifles. The finch twittered on and came to rest on a windowsill, where his song made a man's head shoot up in recognition. Mr. Marigold listened to his unfinished song, about the beauty of childhood as it related to yellow snow, sound dimly through a closed window sung by a misplaced bird.
The finch flew back to his nest among deep gold hues of leaves on the brink of death. The grass had yellowed and the paper in the nest had slowly washed away. The finch swooped to the ground, arbitrarily disoriented, not noticing the dog that came barking up behind him with an open jaw. Fred scolded his dog for the finch's unfortunate end and then took him for a walk down the street where the bird had sung of yellow snow and failed to see the implications.
Seventeen minutes ago, Mr. Marigold decided to write a song about the beauty of childhood, but all he could recall was wondering what had happened to snow that was yellow. He had found an answer only after he had outgrown his interest, so the torment of ignorance was never resolved while it mattered.
The song began slowly, but quickly built up pace, expressing the wild current of thought that Mr. Marigold's brain had undertaken. He wrote the song in his garden on a hot summer's day. Thirst struck him before he had a chance to finish, so he left for the kitchen while the song was still unfinished. Unfortunately, something happened that he had not intended. A yellow finch swooped down and grabbed the paper off the table, beat his wings with a wild vigor, and soon was lost behind trees' branches, far beyond Mr. Marigold's garden. The finch flew and flew, down the street to his nest in the yellowing summer light. He crumpled the paper unceremoniously and thrust it into the mess of twigs of his nest. A few twitches of his head, a few movements of his beak, and the bright eyes lit upon the paper that he had stolen. His head bobbed sideways, and then he flew away again, twittering.
It was not often that Fred was allowed to strap on his boots and go sledding in the backyard. He knew he should go visit his sick friend instead, but a new layer of snow had fallen the night before and now blanketed the ground. The dog barked in excitement as it saw the child's eyes light up as the father opened the door to the world and stepped outside. A hop brought Fred closer to the door as he made to follow his father. His father returned quickly, however, closed the door, and said only, “Yellow snow.” The dog walked away as Fred looked after it with mingled disappointment and anger. He went to visit the Marigold's house, where his friend lay sick. On the way, a yellow finch sang him a song, lifted his spirits, and so Mr. Marigold's son received a jolly friend who made the cough seem like trifles. The finch twittered on and came to rest on a windowsill, where his song made a man's head shoot up in recognition. Mr. Marigold listened to his unfinished song, about the beauty of childhood as it related to yellow snow, sound dimly through a closed window sung by a misplaced bird.
The finch flew back to his nest among deep gold hues of leaves on the brink of death. The grass had yellowed and the paper in the nest had slowly washed away. The finch swooped to the ground, arbitrarily disoriented, not noticing the dog that came barking up behind him with an open jaw. Fred scolded his dog for the finch's unfortunate end and then took him for a walk down the street where the bird had sung of yellow snow and failed to see the implications.
Comedy and Potatoes
16.2.09
I have had plenty of rather comedic things happen to me in the last two days, but I'm rather hesitant about sharing them. I really enjoy retelling stories, and the only people I would tell are the people that read this blog. So if I wrote it all out on here, they would read it, and I would have nobody to retell it to. That would mean that I'd only get to tell it once, which would be a huge shame.
I'm trying to stay in this quasi-depressed mood, though, because that's when I paint and write the best. I hope to get some good creative stuff down this weekend, so don't try to cheer me up! Unless you really want to, because I'm sure I'd appreciate it.
But seriously people. Life is not that bad. Except when it throws crap at you for 48 hours straight.
Not that it did that.
And I'm not complaining.
Allow me to leave you with something nice. These posters are actually really cool to look over.
And also this.
I'm trying to stay in this quasi-depressed mood, though, because that's when I paint and write the best. I hope to get some good creative stuff down this weekend, so don't try to cheer me up! Unless you really want to, because I'm sure I'd appreciate it.
But seriously people. Life is not that bad. Except when it throws crap at you for 48 hours straight.
Not that it did that.
And I'm not complaining.
Allow me to leave you with something nice. These posters are actually really cool to look over.
And also this.
Would This Be Stupid?
16.2.09
Should I put this one on my Christmas wishlist or would that be stupid of me? As stated before, I don't know what it is. But OH MY GOD IT'S LIKE A THING.
Something Worth Your Time .8
16.2.09
The End of an Era
16.2.09
On Thanksgiving one of my time-tested and truest comrades died. With the greatest glory this meme bid adieu to this world and went on to the next adventure in memedom. Farewell RickRoll, I will continue to commemorate you at top volume driving home at midnight.Rest In Peace my friend.
Something Worth Your Time .7
16.2.09
Now that I've written a poor attempt at humor that was most definitely not worth your time (the entry below this one), this is a pretty website.
Seriously.
Seriously.
