Wednesday, August 29, 2012

Monday, August 27, 2012

Amidst these bright stars

Just a little poem I wrote... :)

The universe is vast
Unimaginably wide
Edgeless in eternity
And mysteries inside

There’s an irrational human fear,
a need to be unseen,
But the universe will see you
As itself will still be seen

You can’t stop yourself from looking
The universe can’t hide
You’ll see it all through life,
a roller coaster ride

There’s truth inside these deserts,
plains and seas and skies,
each one its own real mystery
just waiting to draw your eyes

In the vastness of our world
And the epic scope of time
Nothing is invisible
Everything is sublime

Each life rivals death,
each death a cause for life
The universe sees our worth
Amidst turmoil and strife

And oh the brightness of these stars
we live our lives between
reminds us that the universe
sometimes wishes to be seen.

Wednesday, August 8, 2012

Procrastination and Boring Books

I procrastinate!
If you're looking for something to actually read, look below, because right now I'm (hey guess what) procrastinating! I'm supposed to be reading a book for school, but it's 440 pages long and despite the fact that I read nearly everything I can get my hands on, I do not want to cleave my way through 440 pages of a book called "Guns, Germs, and Steel: the Fates of Human Societies". Honestly. It's not even that bad. It's just that it's a textbook masquerading as a real book, and that's just not fair.
But hey, I read 60 pages today. I'm proud.
I just felt like complaining.
Hello people who I haven't spoken to (um, figuratively) in ages!
Hello Blogland!
*cries* please don't make me read this book.

Sunday, April 1, 2012

Look, here's one

Weird new Blogger format? Okay, then. I can deal with that. Bring it on, Blogger. Bring the change. I can take it.

I'm still not too terribly worried about posting a lot... But just so there's something here, I found this in my random archives of stuff. It's weird. I like it. I wrote it a long time ago. Well, like last year. Or this summer. So not that long ago. I'm rambling.

What Lies in Wait…

It’s getting closer. I swear, every day, that thing – that monster – gets closer to me. It’s like a lion, waiting to pounce. A big, gray, ugly lion with teeth like a whale. A metal whale.
I’ve prayed every day. Every day, morning to night. I mean, there’s not much else to do. I’m on the top. I’m the ugliest – the one with the most scribbles, the most notes. And all of the notes on me are completely irrelevant to Stacy’s writing. Oh the awful mess I’ve gotten myself into. When I was packaged, all I could think was, I can’t wait for what my life will be. And when I was opened by a writer – I can’t express the joy I felt! Stacy loves paper like me. But that thing, that evil thing she owns. I don’t know why such a kind girl would own one.
I’ve watched paper after paper go through it’s maw. It’s eaten them up, torn them asunder, killed them. Painfully, too. Stacy can’t hear them scream. But I can.
It’s awful. When I was young, when I’d only been written on once, I saw my Uncle Curtis descend into the grip of the beast. I couldn’t avert my gaze. It was horrible. Just plain horrible.
Stacy doesn’t think a thing of it. She just – pop! – sticks my friends and family in the shredder and down they go, down they fall, dragged to their deaths, agonizingly slow. Sometimes it breaks, in the middle of a paper, and Stacy has to walk over and smack the thing until it starts up again. It’s terrifying to watch.
But you know what’s more terrifying?
I’m right next to it!
I’ve been here for a week. She was looking for some old notes the other day, the ones with the ideas for the story about the subway and the Nazi, and she moved my pile, which was far away on the opposite side of the room. And she carried all of us, then put us directly next of the shredder, on the top of a file cabinet.
If only she would file me away. If only she had written something good on me. Not some stupid ideas about some kid named Leo and the adventures he has riding the world on his magic motorcycle. That may have been a valid idea, possibly, but the motorcycle talked. Who does that? Who writes a story about a talking motorcycle?
Insane people, that’s who. Not that Stacy isn’t amazing, she’s wonderful, but – oh no. No, no, no! Here she comes! Here she comes!
She’s reaching… reaching… oh. Okay. Not my pile. Albert’s pile, though. She won’t shred Albert. He has some good ideas on him. But – wait, no! There he goes! Oh, the horror! There he goes, sucked into the eternal scrap abyss.
What a waste of a good life. She recycles, mind you. But to shred, then recycle? It’s like beating someone up then giving them some painless poison… it’s so cold-blooded.
Poor, poor Albert. I’ll miss him.
Wait, she’s reaching again – what is it, cleaning day?
Is she headed towards me? She can’t be.
… Yes she is!
No – no, no! She’s picking us up! OH, THE HUMANITY!

You know what?

You know what?

I am terrible at being normal.

Now, normal isn't a thing I want to be, definitely. But I don't mean normal as in NORMAL vs. WEIRD (because I'd much rather be weird) I mean normal in the regularity of my writing. I started Fidgenwindle in what, September? October? I'm not sure, I didn't check and I'm too lazy to check now. :)

Anyway, I haven't posted since then, and I'm not promising I'll post in the next four months, either. But I'm here now, and if anyone is reading this - HI THERE!! HOW ARE YOU?! (the voice in your head just shouted right? Right.)

Blargh. I have written stuff, but most of it is in notebooks and scattered through various sections of my backpack or desk or bedroom floor bookshelf...
But it's not like I don't have a reason!! I've been busy. I'm in drama club at my school, and we just finished our production of The Who's Tommy (yeah, not a show I'd recommend doing at a high school) and so now I'm a lot less busy and I may be able to actually write! *knocks on wood*

I actually did knock on wood there. Just so you know.