So, let's hear it.
This is an open mic.
I want you to tell me everything.
I want you to tell me about that one girl at work who slows everyone else down,
About that promotion you just can't seem to get,
About how no matter how hard you study, you can't get higher than a C
About the pretentious book you just finished reading.
I want you to tell me about the last time you even read a book,
Or the last time you fished
Or fought
Or fucked
Or, better yet, had sex
Or, even better yet, made love
Or made music with a stranger
Or made conversation with a stranger
Or made eye contact with a stranger
Or made eye contact even stranger.
I want you to tell me about your favorite X-Man.
I want to hear about the 3 chords you know how to play on a Piano.
Tell me about your favorite Bible passage,
Or the best place to get a burger around here.
I want you to tell me that you're a Werewolf.
And I want to hear you howl, because this is an open mic.
I haven't been able to scratch down a single word with this ballpoint pen
In the past two months, and you know why?
People haven't been talking.
Well, they've been talking...
But they never say anything.
I want you to say something.
So, let's hear it.
This is an open mic.
Just let me hear it.
Let us all hear it.
I haven't posted anything in a long time because of the holiday season, and I'm sorry about that. There's some spoken word poetry to cheer you up, maybe.
If you like my writing, you can join the site to the right of the page, like Speaking with Storms on Facebook or follow me on Twitter and Google+ . If you have questions or just want to chat, I'm on Formspring too!
Thanks for reading. Stay human, my friends.
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Monday, December 26, 2011
Thursday, November 17, 2011
A Brief Overview of Arcane Magic
In the novel I am writing, there is a lot of mention of different forms of Magic. For funsies, I'm going to show you how much work I've put into it!
The Arcana is the most commonly known form of magic, and Magi (Male Magister or Mage, female Magistrix or Mage) , Wizards, Sorcerers, Binders, and other Arcanists are heavily trained in the proper, responsible usage of the Arcane.
Arcane magic draws its power from a specific kind of energy called Ley, that envelops and penetrates all things. When the Ley energy is drawn into the individual and stored there, it is then referred to as "mana". The amount of mana one can store can be increased through rigorous mental training and intense focus.
The Ley is everywhere, but certain areas contain a higher concentration than others. These create"Ley lines" that crawl all over, through, above, and below the terrain, ocean, and air of the world that pulse with intense amounts of energy, quite similar to blood vessels of an animal. Indeed, through the eyes of the Arcanist, the world is a living thing because of the Ley.
The Ley governs many, if not all, of the natural world's laws, including (but not limited to) gravity, time progression, color perception, and heat. For this express reason, because Magic bends (but not breaks) the laws of physics, it is VERY risky to cast arcane magic around a Ley line.
Contrary to popular belief, very few people are completely incapable of learning to perform Arcane magic. Although it is more than uttering a few words and waving your hands around, simple spells can be learned by just about anyone, given enough time (and, of course, access to the information). The average spellwork requires a spoken component, a magic Circle, and in some cases certain hand gestures.
Arcane Magic can be divided into 7 separate Classes of magic.
-Etymology
Etymology is the study of the phenomenon of Language. Equal parts spellwork, linguistics, and philosophy, Etymology examines how bindings can be made between certain words or phrases and energy in order to construct a spell. Etymology is the most convoluted and complex of all the Classes.
-Illusion
The sudden fog rolling in, the black cat that just crossed your path twice, the wall your hand passes through... All are the work of the Illusionist. Illusion seeks to trick the senses in any way possible. This said, it's also the most fragile Class of the arcane because as soon as the subject realizes that a certain item of spellery is Illusion magic, it begins to fall apart quickly. However, the more skilled an Illusionist (and the weaker the mind of his target), the more unlikely it is.
-Biomancy
The most mysterious and, without doubt, most controversial Class of magic, Biomancy is the manipulation of mysterious Life energy, called "Qi" or "Chakra" by some. Skilled Biomancers can pull life from an ancient, thriving tree and transfer all of that life energy into small saplings to ensure healthy growth, into himself to heal wounds and cure disease, or even into dead animals to rewind the mortal coil. Biomancy requires a source AND a destination-- One cannot simply kill (using Biomancy) without giving life to something else. It is a very live question and the subject of many debates whether or not Life energy is completely separate and independent from mana.
-Sealing
Sealing magic involves binding certain aspects of an object or target and making it so that if any of those aspects try to change, it is considerably more difficult. For example, am exceptionally skilled Sealer could bind a lake in winter so that it doesn't thaw and melt come Spring, or even partway into Summer. Because such magic bends the Ley into pretzels, the more complex a Seal is, the more mana must be spent and the less time said Seal will last. In addition, Sealing is also heavily regulated, partially because it's the most familiar Class to non-Arcanists as many Sealers make livings binding Candles that don't melt, axes that don't dull for some time, and in extreme cases, they handle what could be perceived by the common man as "demonic possession".
-Transmutation
Transmutation is the most difficult of all Classes because it seeks to change the base nature of an item into something else. Not just magic, but also a science (and in some hands, an art), Transmuters are able to change pencil graphite into diamond, but also to forge an entire weapon out of a stone floor they sit on. Transmutation is often used as an art form, because the skilled Transmuter can sculpt whatever material they want into whatever shape they want, within reason.
-Warding
Though by definition it means to protect, any spell that enchants, ensnares, or shields is Warding. Certain Warders may learn to fend off Illusions, others may grant a weapon an unnaturally keen edge, and still others may set traps of certain viciousness forseen by few. Warding is the most practical form of manipulation of Mana because it seeks to infuse the mundane with the Arcane.
-Evocation
Some faerie tales speak of Arcanists able to breathe fire, call down Lightning, freeze a lake so cleanly it reflects as a mirror, and even screech like banshees. All of those tales are true-- At least in theory. They refer to Evocation, which is manipulation of raw energy to a form that comes most naturally to Ley energy: Natural disasters, phenomena of weather and elemental forces. Because the Ley pours energy into such things without being manipulated by the hands of arcanists, Evocation is either the cleanest or the messiest spells you can learn to cast. Because this Class has the capacity for the most destruction, Evokers have much lower life expectancies than other Arcanists.
If you like my writing, you can join the site to the right of the page, like Speaking with Storms on Facebook or follow me on Twitter and Google+ . If you have questions or just want to chat, I'm on Formspring too!
Thanks for reading. Stay human, my friends.
The Arcana is the most commonly known form of magic, and Magi (Male Magister or Mage, female Magistrix or Mage) , Wizards, Sorcerers, Binders, and other Arcanists are heavily trained in the proper, responsible usage of the Arcane.
Arcane magic draws its power from a specific kind of energy called Ley, that envelops and penetrates all things. When the Ley energy is drawn into the individual and stored there, it is then referred to as "mana". The amount of mana one can store can be increased through rigorous mental training and intense focus.
The Ley is everywhere, but certain areas contain a higher concentration than others. These create"Ley lines" that crawl all over, through, above, and below the terrain, ocean, and air of the world that pulse with intense amounts of energy, quite similar to blood vessels of an animal. Indeed, through the eyes of the Arcanist, the world is a living thing because of the Ley.
The Ley governs many, if not all, of the natural world's laws, including (but not limited to) gravity, time progression, color perception, and heat. For this express reason, because Magic bends (but not breaks) the laws of physics, it is VERY risky to cast arcane magic around a Ley line.
Contrary to popular belief, very few people are completely incapable of learning to perform Arcane magic. Although it is more than uttering a few words and waving your hands around, simple spells can be learned by just about anyone, given enough time (and, of course, access to the information). The average spellwork requires a spoken component, a magic Circle, and in some cases certain hand gestures.
Arcane Magic can be divided into 7 separate Classes of magic.
-Etymology
Etymology is the study of the phenomenon of Language. Equal parts spellwork, linguistics, and philosophy, Etymology examines how bindings can be made between certain words or phrases and energy in order to construct a spell. Etymology is the most convoluted and complex of all the Classes.
-Illusion
The sudden fog rolling in, the black cat that just crossed your path twice, the wall your hand passes through... All are the work of the Illusionist. Illusion seeks to trick the senses in any way possible. This said, it's also the most fragile Class of the arcane because as soon as the subject realizes that a certain item of spellery is Illusion magic, it begins to fall apart quickly. However, the more skilled an Illusionist (and the weaker the mind of his target), the more unlikely it is.
-Biomancy
The most mysterious and, without doubt, most controversial Class of magic, Biomancy is the manipulation of mysterious Life energy, called "Qi" or "Chakra" by some. Skilled Biomancers can pull life from an ancient, thriving tree and transfer all of that life energy into small saplings to ensure healthy growth, into himself to heal wounds and cure disease, or even into dead animals to rewind the mortal coil. Biomancy requires a source AND a destination-- One cannot simply kill (using Biomancy) without giving life to something else. It is a very live question and the subject of many debates whether or not Life energy is completely separate and independent from mana.
-Sealing
Sealing magic involves binding certain aspects of an object or target and making it so that if any of those aspects try to change, it is considerably more difficult. For example, am exceptionally skilled Sealer could bind a lake in winter so that it doesn't thaw and melt come Spring, or even partway into Summer. Because such magic bends the Ley into pretzels, the more complex a Seal is, the more mana must be spent and the less time said Seal will last. In addition, Sealing is also heavily regulated, partially because it's the most familiar Class to non-Arcanists as many Sealers make livings binding Candles that don't melt, axes that don't dull for some time, and in extreme cases, they handle what could be perceived by the common man as "demonic possession".
-Transmutation
Transmutation is the most difficult of all Classes because it seeks to change the base nature of an item into something else. Not just magic, but also a science (and in some hands, an art), Transmuters are able to change pencil graphite into diamond, but also to forge an entire weapon out of a stone floor they sit on. Transmutation is often used as an art form, because the skilled Transmuter can sculpt whatever material they want into whatever shape they want, within reason.
-Warding
Though by definition it means to protect, any spell that enchants, ensnares, or shields is Warding. Certain Warders may learn to fend off Illusions, others may grant a weapon an unnaturally keen edge, and still others may set traps of certain viciousness forseen by few. Warding is the most practical form of manipulation of Mana because it seeks to infuse the mundane with the Arcane.
-Evocation
Some faerie tales speak of Arcanists able to breathe fire, call down Lightning, freeze a lake so cleanly it reflects as a mirror, and even screech like banshees. All of those tales are true-- At least in theory. They refer to Evocation, which is manipulation of raw energy to a form that comes most naturally to Ley energy: Natural disasters, phenomena of weather and elemental forces. Because the Ley pours energy into such things without being manipulated by the hands of arcanists, Evocation is either the cleanest or the messiest spells you can learn to cast. Because this Class has the capacity for the most destruction, Evokers have much lower life expectancies than other Arcanists.
If you like my writing, you can join the site to the right of the page, like Speaking with Storms on Facebook or follow me on Twitter and Google+ . If you have questions or just want to chat, I'm on Formspring too!
Thanks for reading. Stay human, my friends.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
NaNoWriMo
November is one of my favorite months. Despite being the coldest month in Autumn, it always makes me feel warm with holidays like Thanksgiving and how much I get to see my family. However, every November something happens that I just can't bring myself to partake in...
That's a good question. NaNoWriMo is a little word for a big event: National Novel Writing Month. Basically, what it boils down to is that a bunch of writers from all over the States (and a handful from other countries) get together to encourage each other to write a legitimate, 50,000-word novel. Each November past since its beginning, I've thought "That's a great chance for me to squeeze out some good writing, but... I'm really busy. I'll do it next year." Well, I've done that for far too many years. This NaNoWriMo, I'm going to write a novel.
..Well, maybe not an ENTIRE novel. That's almost suicidal and the novel will almost certainly end up being utter shit. I am not suicidal, nor do I want anything I write to end up being utter shit. No, I decided I will START a novel and I will LOVE it.
So, the question arose. What shall I write of? I need a tale, I need a conflict, I need characters, I need a plot, I need an outline... I'm going to need a lot of coffee. I racked my brains for hours trying to think of something new, something I had never written before, when it hit me.
I've been writing Dungeons and Dragons shit for YEARS. I've come up with almost a hundred characters, my own complete setting, cultures, races, everything. It's all there. All I have to do is put it into novel form! So, with my newfound pool of inspiration to draw off of, I have finalized my decision.
I am participating in the Minneapolis branch of NaNoWriMo, and through this program I will write a Fantasy novel. Once I have a worthy excerpt, I will post it up here for everyone to see, and I will continue to write it. I don't have a title, and I only kind of have a working plot, so I'm kind of flying by the seat of my pants. It's the best way to do it, in my opinion.
So, wish me luck! I've never tried anything like this, so it's gonna be a huge challenge.
If you like my writing, you can join the site to the right of the page, like Speaking with Storms on Facebook or follow me on Twitter and Google+ . If you have questions or just want to chat, I'm on Formspring too!
Thanks for reading. Stay human, my friends.
 |
| "What the hell's a NaNoWriMo?" |
..Well, maybe not an ENTIRE novel. That's almost suicidal and the novel will almost certainly end up being utter shit. I am not suicidal, nor do I want anything I write to end up being utter shit. No, I decided I will START a novel and I will LOVE it.
So, the question arose. What shall I write of? I need a tale, I need a conflict, I need characters, I need a plot, I need an outline... I'm going to need a lot of coffee. I racked my brains for hours trying to think of something new, something I had never written before, when it hit me.
I've been writing Dungeons and Dragons shit for YEARS. I've come up with almost a hundred characters, my own complete setting, cultures, races, everything. It's all there. All I have to do is put it into novel form! So, with my newfound pool of inspiration to draw off of, I have finalized my decision.
I am participating in the Minneapolis branch of NaNoWriMo, and through this program I will write a Fantasy novel. Once I have a worthy excerpt, I will post it up here for everyone to see, and I will continue to write it. I don't have a title, and I only kind of have a working plot, so I'm kind of flying by the seat of my pants. It's the best way to do it, in my opinion.
So, wish me luck! I've never tried anything like this, so it's gonna be a huge challenge.
If you like my writing, you can join the site to the right of the page, like Speaking with Storms on Facebook or follow me on Twitter and Google+ . If you have questions or just want to chat, I'm on Formspring too!
Thanks for reading. Stay human, my friends.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Ash
I've been away for a long, long time, and I'm sorry you all have been waiting for so long. I'll be more regular in the future. (I say that, but I don't know that for sure. Oh well.)
On a previous post, Burning Letters, I posted a piece called (You guessed it) Burning Letters that I said wasn't finished. I recently fixed it up, gave it a few new themes, a new ending, and a new title and all of this plastic surgery has (hopefully) created a better piece! Tell me what you think in the comments.
On a previous post, Burning Letters, I posted a piece called (You guessed it) Burning Letters that I said wasn't finished. I recently fixed it up, gave it a few new themes, a new ending, and a new title and all of this plastic surgery has (hopefully) created a better piece! Tell me what you think in the comments.
Ash
I liked you better when you were alive.
I'm pretty sure you would say the same about me, but
You've been gone for so long that I would rather remember you with a heartbeat
Than with ash slowly drifting up from within your throat,
Caught by the late autumn whispers.
I've burned a few letters to send to you, but I know I won't get a reply.
Turning cinders to paper is harder than the reverse.
I remembered your name today, after weeks of forgetfulness.
I took a sip of water to wash it down, but it got caught on the knot in my stomach.
I tried to wash away the soot but I couldn’t get rid of it,
You’re like smoke from a cigarette that I just can’t exhale.
So I’ll work to sweat you out,
I’ll stamp out the butt of the cig,
I’ll strengthen my lungs,
I’ll write about you and spit about you and tell everyone what happened to you
And I'll burn one last letter for you before I wash you down for good.
I'm pretty sure you would say the same about me, but
You've been gone for so long that I would rather remember you with a heartbeat
Than with ash slowly drifting up from within your throat,
Caught by the late autumn whispers.
I've burned a few letters to send to you, but I know I won't get a reply.
Turning cinders to paper is harder than the reverse.
I remembered your name today, after weeks of forgetfulness.
I took a sip of water to wash it down, but it got caught on the knot in my stomach.
I tried to wash away the soot but I couldn’t get rid of it,
You’re like smoke from a cigarette that I just can’t exhale.
So I’ll work to sweat you out,
I’ll stamp out the butt of the cig,
I’ll strengthen my lungs,
I’ll write about you and spit about you and tell everyone what happened to you
And I'll burn one last letter for you before I wash you down for good.
If you like my writing, you can join the site to the right of the page, like Speaking with Storms on Facebook or follow me on Twitter and Google+ . If you have questions or just want to chat, I'm on Formspring too!
Thanks for reading. Stay human, my friends.
Thanks for reading. Stay human, my friends.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Community College Blues
I just wrote this about 5 minutes ago, a bit of freewriting to make sure I'm still exercising my brain.
If you like my writing, you can join the site to the right of the page, like Speaking with Storms on Facebook or follow me on Twitter and Google+ . If you have questions or just want to chat, I'm on Formspring too!
Thanks for reading. Stay human, my friends.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
42
I am fast approaching the 4200 view mark. That's exciting because it shows me all of the support I've received regarding my writing! I appreciate the support. To kind of commemorate, in a way, I've decided to write 42 things that not everyone may know about me. Sure, it's not the most original idea, but I've received a few suggestions through Formspring and Twitter to do a little something like this.
If you like my writing, you can join the site to the right of the page, like Speaking with Storms on Facebook or follow me on Twitter and Google+ . If you have questions or just want to chat, I'm on Formspring too!
Thanks for reading. Stay human, my friends.
 |
| Feraligatr |
- My favorite Pokémon is Feraligatr.
- My favorite movie is Zhang YiMou's "Hero".
- I love Tim Burton movies, most of all Nightmare Before Christmas. Who doesn't like that movie?
- My main WoW character was a Troll Shaman on Boulderfist (PvP) named Stormtongue.
- My Greek Zodiac sign is Aries and my Chinese astrological marker is Monkey.
- I am a Beta tester for Rosetta Stone and make a little bit of cash on the side testing for them. So far I've tested for Spanish, Swedish, and a few others.
- The specific school of Buddhism I follow is Zen, or Thiền Buddhism.
- The scar on my face was from a surgery I had to prevent skin cancer.
- I pretty much listened to only rock when I was younger, but now I'll listen to a wide, wide spectrum of music. Save for Country, if you play it, I stand a good chance of liking it.
- My biggest celebrity crush is for either Takeshi Kaneshiro or Felicia Day.
- I'm not a super huge anime or manga fan, but my favorite manga is Death Note and my favorite anime is probably Samurai Champloo.
- I have terrible circulation, so my hands and feet are either always hot and swollen or cold and stiff. I rarely have comfortable in-between moments.
- I'm a total crybaby. A good scene in a film or well-written music can (and will) reduce me to tears.
- I think Michele Bachmann is one of the most dangerous people we, the people, have allowed into office.
- My favorite food is phở,
- But I'll eat anything that tastes good.
- I love watching films-- I especially love foreign films and dramas, but I can enjoy something as shameless as the Hangover every now and then.
- My favorite season is Winter. I hate summer. At first, it's really nice, but I get tired of it very quickly.
- My favorite holiday is Christmas.
- I am capable of writing raps. I'm not really good, but if I practiced I knew I wouldn't be half bad.
- My favorite books are many, but my top 5 are Lamb by Christopher Moore, The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde, The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle by Haruki Murakami, Moby-Dick by Herman Melville and the Dao De Jing by LaoZi.
- Although I don't have any yet, I have plans for anywhere from 3 to 6 tattoos planned out, location and everything. When I get a bit more money to my name I'll get them done.
- I really like Marvel superheroes, especially Wolverine and Spider-Man.
- I'm planning on a major in Mandarin Chinese and Eastern Asian Literature with a minor in Philosophy if I can.
- Despite what some of my close friends may or may not think, I've dated more white girls than any other ethnicity-- And no, ethnicity plays no role in what kind of girls I'm interested in. Hahah!
- I don't always watch TV, but when I do, I prefer the USA channel. Or the Late Late show with Craig Ferguson.
- I don't trust a lot of the things I hear in media, but I do read the newspaper. Hmm.
- I want either a pet turtle or a pet potbelly pig.
- I love storms, blizzards, any extreme weather situation.
- I'm 6'1"/185 cm and 145 lbs/ 65 kg.
- If I shaved off my goatee, I would look like a lesbian.
- I am bad at sports. The only ones I enjoy watching on TV is soccer/football or baseball (when the Twins are doing well).
- I write down every dream I've had after I wake up.
- I always carry a notebook on me somewhere.
- I hate guns and everything about them, but I love fooling around with Nerf guns. Those things are awesome. If you never had one, your parents didn't love you.
- As uncomfortable as I can be around kids, I suppose I handle them well most of the time.
- I spell my family name with an Umlaut because that's the way the German word is spelled-- I'm not actually sure the German surname is meant to be spelled that way. Oh well, it sets me apart.
- I drink almost 100 ounces of water during the average school day.
- I participate in No-Shave November despite not being a hunter (and not actually being able to grow a full beard yet. But not to worry! My day will come).
- I think the most attractive part of a woman are her eyes. If I notice she has beautiful eyes, I have trouble making eye contact. Just a bit of awkward-ness.
- Despite always wanting to eat healthy, I have a bit of a sweet tooth, mainly for chocolate. I try not to eat too much. My father always warns me about diabetes.
- I was bullied a lot as a kid, but I learned how to deal with people by not dealing with people.
If you like my writing, you can join the site to the right of the page, like Speaking with Storms on Facebook or follow me on Twitter and Google+ . If you have questions or just want to chat, I'm on Formspring too!
Thanks for reading. Stay human, my friends.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Eloi! Eloi!
It's... A sad story. Most sad stories, you think it would be night time, or raining.
But no, it was hot and bright. A typical midday in August. A warm late-summer breeze was pushing the first few dead leaves across the pavement. I had gone out for a walk to take my mind off of Chinese studies for a while.
I saw the woman sitting, slumped on the ground. Her shoulders were trembling, and at first I thought she was laughing, but I wish that were the case.
She was wearing ripped jeans, with suntouched red hair falling over her brown-skinned shoulders and piercings in her nose and lip. Her white tank top was stained with dirt and what could have been makeup.
And then I heard her crying... No, weeping. Such bitter weeping. She was sobbing as though every good thing had been taken from her, and every loving person had either died or deserted her. I barely heard her words through her heaving and retching, and through her tears I heard her wailing,
"ELOI!!! Eloi, lama sabachthani?!"
Her eyes were shut so tightly that I thought I saw blood stream from them, but her makeup was running down her face. She was pounding at the concrete with her fists until they were bloody, with her face towards the sky, asking again,
"Lama sabachthani?! ELOI!!!"
In her words I heard years of pain, I heard the crying of children and the buzz of locusts. She was screaming so loudly that a small trickle of dark blood slipped down her upper lip, staining her teeth.
No one around seemed to hear her-- Only me. I screamed, "This woman needs help! Somebody HELP!" But I couldn't move my feet, I couldn't look away. The cars kept driving, the shoppers kept rolling their red little carts to their cars and unpacking their groceries. No one noticed-- Or no one cared.
She continued to scream at the clouds until a young man walked up to her slowly. He was wearing jeans frayed and ripped at the knees, with a black beater shirt shiny with blood pouring from his nose. His palms were dripping blood, chapped and raw from rubbing against the streets and as he knelt down beside her he left deep red hand prints on his pants.
He whispered some inaudible phrases to her before he walked away, leaving a single round, black stone in front of her.
She took the stone and rubbed it in her blood-covered palms, whispering to herself before she erupted into another fugue of agony. Again the old words spouted from her lips, and I could only watch as my own tears began pouring. After too long I couldn't take it any more and I stumbled home, breathing too heavily the whole way.
I never knew what blade had pierced that woman, but I will never be able to forget the agony in her wailing. Hell itself could have pitied her.
If you like my writing, you can join the site to the right of the page, like Speaking with Storms on Facebook or follow me on Twitter and Google+ . If you have questions or just want to chat, I'm on Formspring too!
Thanks for reading. Stay human, my friends.
But no, it was hot and bright. A typical midday in August. A warm late-summer breeze was pushing the first few dead leaves across the pavement. I had gone out for a walk to take my mind off of Chinese studies for a while.
I saw the woman sitting, slumped on the ground. Her shoulders were trembling, and at first I thought she was laughing, but I wish that were the case.
She was wearing ripped jeans, with suntouched red hair falling over her brown-skinned shoulders and piercings in her nose and lip. Her white tank top was stained with dirt and what could have been makeup.
And then I heard her crying... No, weeping. Such bitter weeping. She was sobbing as though every good thing had been taken from her, and every loving person had either died or deserted her. I barely heard her words through her heaving and retching, and through her tears I heard her wailing,
"ELOI!!! Eloi, lama sabachthani?!"
Her eyes were shut so tightly that I thought I saw blood stream from them, but her makeup was running down her face. She was pounding at the concrete with her fists until they were bloody, with her face towards the sky, asking again,
"Lama sabachthani?! ELOI!!!"
In her words I heard years of pain, I heard the crying of children and the buzz of locusts. She was screaming so loudly that a small trickle of dark blood slipped down her upper lip, staining her teeth.
No one around seemed to hear her-- Only me. I screamed, "This woman needs help! Somebody HELP!" But I couldn't move my feet, I couldn't look away. The cars kept driving, the shoppers kept rolling their red little carts to their cars and unpacking their groceries. No one noticed-- Or no one cared.
She continued to scream at the clouds until a young man walked up to her slowly. He was wearing jeans frayed and ripped at the knees, with a black beater shirt shiny with blood pouring from his nose. His palms were dripping blood, chapped and raw from rubbing against the streets and as he knelt down beside her he left deep red hand prints on his pants.
He whispered some inaudible phrases to her before he walked away, leaving a single round, black stone in front of her.
She took the stone and rubbed it in her blood-covered palms, whispering to herself before she erupted into another fugue of agony. Again the old words spouted from her lips, and I could only watch as my own tears began pouring. After too long I couldn't take it any more and I stumbled home, breathing too heavily the whole way.
I never knew what blade had pierced that woman, but I will never be able to forget the agony in her wailing. Hell itself could have pitied her.
If you like my writing, you can join the site to the right of the page, like Speaking with Storms on Facebook or follow me on Twitter and Google+ . If you have questions or just want to chat, I'm on Formspring too!
Thanks for reading. Stay human, my friends.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
The Trial
My friend called me up
and said that she had been attacked.
He came at her with a knife
And pushed up on her back
He forced her up against a wall,
Took her purse, ripped her blouse
And she screamed til she felt the edge
Of a knife against her mouth
And he said “Hey little girl, don’t worry now
You’re in good hands”
That’s when he licked his lips
And started unzipping his pants
You can see where this is going,
So I’ll spare you all the shit
But just know that when I see him
I’ma throw a fucking fit
!So I did what I never thought I’d do:
I went out,
And bought a gun—and tons of bullets,
Though I planned on running out
.“I’ma fill his body up with pain
The way he did to you.
Nothing you say can stop me,
This is what I have to do.”
She didn’t want me to go through with it
But I was in a trance
So I walked right out the door
To kill him with my own two hands.
And I walked out to find him
With the piece tucked in my jeans
And I found him in a driveway
Workin’ on his machine.
He saw me comin’, asked me
“Hey, what can I do for you?”
So I brought out the gun and said
“Here’s what I’m gonna do.
I’m gonna count to three, and in that time
You’re gonna say to me
How you could do just what you did
So fuckin’ easily.”
He knew why I was there
So he put his hands down
And stared at me, As his eyes crunched up
And lips turned to a frown.
It was then I saw the tears
coming down from his eyes,
But I could never cut him slack
No matter how hard he cried
.“It was fucking awful, man,
I can’t fuckin’ sleep at night.
I was drunk and angry at my ex
She was just in sight,
I was so far fucking gone
That I hardly remember shit
But I do know what I did
And I know I deserve this.”
Then an old man behind me
On the sidewalk stopped in shock.
“Young man, you do not want this.
Put it down, let’s just talk.”
But I was so far into it
That I couldn’t hear him speak
All I wanted was this fucker’s brain
Splattered against the street.
Then the old man put his hand
On top of my shoulder,
And said “Put it down, son.
This act is even colder.
What he did is awful, yes.
He was drunk in wrath
But are you any different?
Do we need a bloodbath?”
I was thinking miles in minutes
“I don’t give a fuck, Mister!”
I was not gonna listen,
Cause I know he hurt my sister!
I know he’s a terror
And he knows he’s got a twister
Coming his way, man,
Now let me bust this fucking blister!
Then the man looked at my gun
and yelled “GO ON AND DO IT!
I deserve this, and you’re the only one
To put me through it!”
And he cried and cried and sobbed and sobbed
and lost all of his shit
But I couldn’t pull the trigger
And go through with it.
I felt the old man smile at me.
“You know how strong the rage is.
But now that’s all over, yes?
It’s in history’s pages.”
I turned around to face him,
But there was no one to see.
So I turned back to the man and saw him
Staring back at me.“
You’re a lucky man, you know.
I was going to pull the trigger.
But I think it was an angel that
Told me I could be bigger.”
So I threw the gun into a drain
When I was walking back
And I realized the kind of pain
That went into that attack.
I found her back at my place,
asking, “Please, don’t say it’s true.”
I shook my head without a word
And hugged her so she knew.
and said that she had been attacked.
He came at her with a knife
And pushed up on her back
He forced her up against a wall,
Took her purse, ripped her blouse
And she screamed til she felt the edge
Of a knife against her mouth
And he said “Hey little girl, don’t worry now
You’re in good hands”
That’s when he licked his lips
And started unzipping his pants
You can see where this is going,
So I’ll spare you all the shit
But just know that when I see him
I’ma throw a fucking fit
!So I did what I never thought I’d do:
I went out,
And bought a gun—and tons of bullets,
Though I planned on running out
.“I’ma fill his body up with pain
The way he did to you.
Nothing you say can stop me,
This is what I have to do.”
She didn’t want me to go through with it
But I was in a trance
So I walked right out the door
To kill him with my own two hands.
And I walked out to find him
With the piece tucked in my jeans
And I found him in a driveway
Workin’ on his machine.
He saw me comin’, asked me
“Hey, what can I do for you?”
So I brought out the gun and said
“Here’s what I’m gonna do.
I’m gonna count to three, and in that time
You’re gonna say to me
How you could do just what you did
So fuckin’ easily.”
He knew why I was there
So he put his hands down
And stared at me, As his eyes crunched up
And lips turned to a frown.
It was then I saw the tears
coming down from his eyes,
But I could never cut him slack
No matter how hard he cried
.“It was fucking awful, man,
I can’t fuckin’ sleep at night.
I was drunk and angry at my ex
She was just in sight,
I was so far fucking gone
That I hardly remember shit
But I do know what I did
And I know I deserve this.”
Then an old man behind me
On the sidewalk stopped in shock.
“Young man, you do not want this.
Put it down, let’s just talk.”
But I was so far into it
That I couldn’t hear him speak
All I wanted was this fucker’s brain
Splattered against the street.
Then the old man put his hand
On top of my shoulder,
And said “Put it down, son.
This act is even colder.
What he did is awful, yes.
He was drunk in wrath
But are you any different?
Do we need a bloodbath?”
I was thinking miles in minutes
“I don’t give a fuck, Mister!”
I was not gonna listen,
Cause I know he hurt my sister!
I know he’s a terror
And he knows he’s got a twister
Coming his way, man,
Now let me bust this fucking blister!
Then the man looked at my gun
and yelled “GO ON AND DO IT!
I deserve this, and you’re the only one
To put me through it!”
And he cried and cried and sobbed and sobbed
and lost all of his shit
But I couldn’t pull the trigger
And go through with it.
I felt the old man smile at me.
“You know how strong the rage is.
But now that’s all over, yes?
It’s in history’s pages.”
I turned around to face him,
But there was no one to see.
So I turned back to the man and saw him
Staring back at me.“
You’re a lucky man, you know.
I was going to pull the trigger.
But I think it was an angel that
Told me I could be bigger.”
So I threw the gun into a drain
When I was walking back
And I realized the kind of pain
That went into that attack.
I found her back at my place,
asking, “Please, don’t say it’s true.”
I shook my head without a word
And hugged her so she knew.
If you like my writing, you can join the site to the right of the page, like Speaking with Storms on Facebook or follow me on Twitter and Google+ . If you have questions or just want to chat, I'm on Formspring too!
Friday, July 1, 2011
Definition Kills
Hey, readers. I know I haven't posted anything in about a week, but that's because I've been quite busy.
First, I went with my family up north to a place called Gooseberry Falls. It's probably my favorite state park in the whole of Minnesota, because of the forests, rivers, and wildlife there. I really enjoyed it, even though I was without a shower (willingly) for four days. Those who know me personally know that I had long curly hair, which is somewhat a pain to deal with and make sure that it looks fine. Therefore, four days without a shower pretty much rendered me out of the game for finding ladies up in Duluth and Grand Marais. That being said, I wouldn't pursue any ladies there anyway because it's just a mite too far north for me. The commute to see her would be brutal.
Anyway, speaking of my hair, it used to be nine inches long-- I've cut it down to one inch. My head feels a lot lighter and I'm enjoying the change of pace.
Also, I just the other night attended a little get together where I accomplished a lot. Normally, I'm fine with people reading my material when I'm not in front of them. As soon as I get in front of people to perform, however, I get a typical case of stage fright. At the party, though, I was able to get so into the moment that I didn't care. I was so focused and energetic that it was the farthest thing from my mind. The people there were so supportive and open minded, so being there was something I am grateful for.
My friends and I came up with a few big ideas that night, and I just want to jot them down before I forget about them. So, what better way than to share it with you all?
I've been writing a lot lately. I know I use that sentence a lot on this blog, but this is actually more true than ever. I have been spending time with a lot of creative people and that creative energy is doing a lot of good things for me. I'm going to go ahead and share something I wrote on my trip up north.
I always love writing, and I am happy each time I am able to share that with people.
First, I went with my family up north to a place called Gooseberry Falls. It's probably my favorite state park in the whole of Minnesota, because of the forests, rivers, and wildlife there. I really enjoyed it, even though I was without a shower (willingly) for four days. Those who know me personally know that I had long curly hair, which is somewhat a pain to deal with and make sure that it looks fine. Therefore, four days without a shower pretty much rendered me out of the game for finding ladies up in Duluth and Grand Marais. That being said, I wouldn't pursue any ladies there anyway because it's just a mite too far north for me. The commute to see her would be brutal.
Anyway, speaking of my hair, it used to be nine inches long-- I've cut it down to one inch. My head feels a lot lighter and I'm enjoying the change of pace.
Also, I just the other night attended a little get together where I accomplished a lot. Normally, I'm fine with people reading my material when I'm not in front of them. As soon as I get in front of people to perform, however, I get a typical case of stage fright. At the party, though, I was able to get so into the moment that I didn't care. I was so focused and energetic that it was the farthest thing from my mind. The people there were so supportive and open minded, so being there was something I am grateful for.
My friends and I came up with a few big ideas that night, and I just want to jot them down before I forget about them. So, what better way than to share it with you all?
- The "Greater Good" centers around selflessness. A "good" person is simply a generous person who puts her own benefit below that of others.
- Definition Kills. We only know what Beauty is because we label other things as ugly. The key to real wisdom is to refuse duality.
- This world is not real.
- Everything that is, is Alive.
- Everything that is, is Art.
I've been writing a lot lately. I know I use that sentence a lot on this blog, but this is actually more true than ever. I have been spending time with a lot of creative people and that creative energy is doing a lot of good things for me. I'm going to go ahead and share something I wrote on my trip up north.
From Highway 61 Overlooking Lake SuperiorI saw that scene as we stopped to look at the fog rising up from the lake, and I felt this surge of ideas coming into me, and warming me from the outside in, into my core. I had no choice but to write.
I see the Superior Gitche Gumee.
The clouds slowly descend after a lazy drizzle fills the air with grey.
From atop this hill I look down,
Upon the steely blue-grey waters
Churning with eagerness to throw themselves upon the rocks of the shore.
As my eyes trace the horizon covered by a soft cloud curtain,
A soft smile sneaks up on me as I realize
I can't tell where the skies meet those waters
As they drop off the edge of the earth
Into nothingness.
The determined flowers stretching up from the bushes press upon me
A scent unfamiliar,
And as I walk away, I look back to see one lone rock
Staring back at me from among the waves.
Across the highway, where the drivers speed past
(As they presumably do every day),
I view the mist-covered forests pouring over the hillside
Like some great verdant blanket.
A pair of older men stand along the rocky shoreline below,
Swapping stories and secrets
As they skip stones.
I always love writing, and I am happy each time I am able to share that with people.
Friday, June 24, 2011
The Origins of Phrenik
Phrenik is a Dungeons and Dragons (henceforth abbreviated to DnD) character I have been creating for a while now. I wanted to create a Wizard. Now, most people have a preconceived notion of what a Wizard should look like: Long robes, carrying a wooden staff with either a pointed hat with star patterns everywhere or a large hood. Big grey beard. Like Tolkien's Gandalf the Grey (or White) or J. K. Rowling's Albus Dumbledore.
When I designed this character, I wanted to pick that notion by the seat of the pants and the scruff of the neck and toss it out the window. So I searched within multiple genres while looking for inspiration, from Manga to fantasy to SciFi. I was actually quite delighted with what I gathered.
I had four major characters from my past experiences that I wanted to incorporate a small feel of. The first is Jace Beleren, a powerful mind-mage from the world of Magic: The Gathering.
Jace specializes in Blue magic and deals mainly with magic that manipulates the mind and memories. (Wow, there were a lot of Ms in that sentence.) His outfit is what I really wanted to emulate in designing Phrenik, because I really like the style of his sleeves, cape, pants, tunic, and especially his hood.
The next I thought about seemed at first to me like an odd choice. I honestly couldn't explain to myself why I wanted my character to emulate him: Doctor Who's 11th Incarnation of The Doctor, played by Matt Smith.
The Doctor has a police box that can move through space and time at will. He's lived for hundreds of years, and when he is grievously injured he simple "regenerates" which grants him not only a new look but a new personality. The 11th incarnation has a bit of a quick temper, but it's juxtaposed strangely with his old soul view of the world. I really wanted Phrenik to capture The Doctor's "Next Stop, Everywhere" attitude while being able to relate to the Doctor's shadowy past.
I thought for a while before deciding who next to capture aspects of, but when I thought of Rave Master's Sieg Hart, I was sold.
Sieg Hart is an Elementalist. He wields the arcane power of the elements in order to protect the continuum of time. He and Jace are both where I got the idea for Phrenik's tattoos from, though I took it to a greater extent than these characters have. Again, we see the obvious no-robe, no-staff, nothing but badassery happening. I wanted Phrenik to answer to a deeper call than personal revenge, and though the short story below doesn't show it, it's something he takes very seriously.
I had these characters chosen out, and I really liked them, but something seemed missing... A certain neutrality. Jace and Sieg are both technically neutral, but they both end up serving the greater good in the end. I wanted Phrenik to be more morally grey than that. Then I thought of World of Warcraft's Aspect of Magic, the Blue Dragon, Malygos the Spellweaver.
Age: Late 20s, Early 30s—Unclear.
When I designed this character, I wanted to pick that notion by the seat of the pants and the scruff of the neck and toss it out the window. So I searched within multiple genres while looking for inspiration, from Manga to fantasy to SciFi. I was actually quite delighted with what I gathered.
I had four major characters from my past experiences that I wanted to incorporate a small feel of. The first is Jace Beleren, a powerful mind-mage from the world of Magic: The Gathering.
 |
| "You should try to clear your mind of idle thoughts. And if you can't, I will." |
The next I thought about seemed at first to me like an odd choice. I honestly couldn't explain to myself why I wanted my character to emulate him: Doctor Who's 11th Incarnation of The Doctor, played by Matt Smith.
 | |
| "I wear bow ties now. Bow ties are cool." |
I thought for a while before deciding who next to capture aspects of, but when I thought of Rave Master's Sieg Hart, I was sold.
 |
| "Even one who masters the sword must bow to the power of magic." |
I had these characters chosen out, and I really liked them, but something seemed missing... A certain neutrality. Jace and Sieg are both technically neutral, but they both end up serving the greater good in the end. I wanted Phrenik to be more morally grey than that. Then I thought of World of Warcraft's Aspect of Magic, the Blue Dragon, Malygos the Spellweaver.
 | ||
| "What could you hope to accomplish, to storm brassily into my domain? To employ MAGIC? Against ME?" |
Malygos is the Aspect of Magic and the leader of the Blue Dragonflight , the family of dragons that have domain over all Arcane Magic (the kind of magic that mages or wizards use). He sadly went insane and eventually led what was dubbed the Azure Crusade to destroy all other creatures that use magic, because the thought the Blue Dragons were the only creatures powerful enough to use it responsibly. In the online game, players are required to slay him. I wanted Phrenik to embody his thirst for knowledge, his aristocratic view of the Arcane, and the ultimate moral neutrality and grey area that no one can actually prove isn't correct.
A bit of backstory: The campaign that Phrenik will be appearing in is the longest one I've ever written, and the main villain is actually an old PC (player character) that belonged to a former player in our group. He went mad for power, and while the other PCs were charged with destroying the people who had absorbed the essences of the 7 deadly sins, Immerall decided to absorb them for his own power. He became a demigod with black raven's wings, with a sword forged in the fires of the 9th hell. He killed most of the other player characters (with my full foreknowledge, as I decided I wanted to use him as a villain).
Without much further ado, I might as well just jump into the final profile that I devised for Phrenik.
Phrenik
“Immerall is one of many who would misuse magic. I will see to it that his taint will stain the spells of this world’s Magi no more.”
“If you remember only one thing you hear me say, let it be this: This world is an illusion. It is not real. And the only way I am able to do the things I do is because I have seen past it. Do not ever forget that.”
Titles: Phrenik (Taken Name), The Riddlesmith, The Eye, The Seeker, The Blue
Alignment: Neutral Good (With True Neutral Tendencies)
Race: Appears to be Human.
Age: Late 20s, Early 30s—Unclear.
Appearance: Phrenik is about 188 cm (about 6’2”) tall. His skin color deceives his ethnicity, and it is therefore impossible to tell what ethnicity he is. It is a very unique shade of brown, like coffee with far, far too much creamer. He has long caramel hair done up in natural dreadlocks, a result of many hours spent unwashed while studying and planning. He has a short Bob Marley-esque goatee the same color as his hair. His icy blue eyes set against his other darker, mellow features stand out peculiarly. He has tattoos from under and above his left eye that sprawl over his lean back, chest, and wiry arms of eyes, inscriptions, glyphs, and other arcane symbology, but one in particular stands out on his right forearm: a name, “Melodia” . His left ear and lip are both pierced with simple silver hoops. He wears a highly detailed cloth tunic that covers his biceps, strongly-threaded pants, shoes, and spaulders, with a very deep hood large enough to obstruct vision of his eyes.
Quirks: Seems unable to make eye contact. Is constantly looking through small notebooks he keeps on his person in pockets of his outfit. Smokes cigarettes. Normally has his hood up, but when it is not he wears black-rimmed glasses. Speaks with an unplaceable accent.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
When the demon came, I heard the towers that I had once guarded from all danger collapse onto their people. A laugh still hung in the air—Though I’m not sure how I could tell it was even a mortal voice. It was a sound, that’s for sure. A hideously arrogant, agonizingly powerful sound. Then I saw him. White hair, red eyes, long ears and black wings.
Those black wings.
A man I had known for half my life ran out of the house we had been visiting and shouted, “Immerall, the Arcane Consortium will not abide your presence here! Arrakum Eyya Shin Feiuru-“
I was not aware that someone could die that quickly. The sound he made as the final syllable of his spell was gurgled from his lifeless neck is something I will never forget.
When the demon came, I had done whatever I could for her. I had always been skilled in teleportation magic, so I formed the thoughts and spat out the words and drew the circle in midair as fast as I could. The portal opened, and I forcefully shoved her through, then closed the portal with all of my might, placing as many words of power I could to lock it shut so no one, not even myself, could follow.
“You’re very brave, young wizard. What is your name? And who was that pretty young thing?” the black-winged fiend inquired, showing his pointed teeth in a cold, mirthless smile I will never forget. He was looking at me like some hellish wolf gazes upon a rabbit that was misfortunate enough to jump into his den.
He did not kill me, as I expected. He left me alive and forced me with some chthonian magic to watch as he slaughtered everyone I had grown up with—the whole city of Raviuk, gone.
It was only until he left that I realized I couldn’t remember what I had answered his questions with.
I remembered everything else—My age, my abilities, my only family, the tragedy, everything… except the names that that beast had taken from me. I have the name of the girl I sent off branded into my skin, so although he tried to take her from me, I at least have her name… I now know I must find her to remember who she is to me and what name I used to go by.
Today I received a distress signal from the last few remaining members of the Arcane Consortium, my clandestine guild, who were thankfully away on their own missions that I was not of proper clearance to know the details of.
“Immerall the Sevenfold is fast approaching demigod-level power. All available Magi are advised to flee and go into hiding, using any aliases previously unused in order to protect what few resources we yet have. The destruction of Raviuk was a fatal error, something we did not foresee. Beings of many races, creeds, regions, and powers now understand the true depth of Immerall’s power and the havoc he can wreak. Make no mistake; we are now at war.”
Naturally, for security purposes, no names were used. But at least I have a heading. I’ll find this girl named Melodia, and I will find the others of my guild. I’ll find others who are able and willing to assist me in ending this fiend’s black-feathered curtain he has drawn over the skies of this world.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Rhymes With Month
I once said that the best hip-hop comes out of my homeland, Minnesota. While that may be true, this is not to say that all hip-hop that comes out of Minnesota will be the best. In fact, this short rap I wrote for a friend disproves that within the first three syllables.
My friend is going to California to watch Jay Leno's show (not really my type of humor, but all the same, I'm jealous of her) and had announced she was writing a rap. Okay, sure, whatever. I had a bit of a laugh and asked her to end a line with "month", knowing full well that there isn't a single English word that rhymes with "month". Afterwards, she asked for my help writing the rap. This is what I came up with.
Damn it, I'm a poet, not a rapper! An author, not a mixmaster! I may enjoy spoken word, but I find myself limited by musical meter. Let's hope I never rap again-- I wouldn't want to disrespect the art.
My friend is going to California to watch Jay Leno's show (not really my type of humor, but all the same, I'm jealous of her) and had announced she was writing a rap. Okay, sure, whatever. I had a bit of a laugh and asked her to end a line with "month", knowing full well that there isn't a single English word that rhymes with "month". Afterwards, she asked for my help writing the rap. This is what I came up with.
Minnesota’s the land of ten thousand lakes
But we’re here in California by no mistake.
Better listen up, Leno, and make some noise
Because I’m here to have a party with the West-coast boys
Somewhere between M N and O C
Is a bit of a dilemma with LAPD
I promise I’m a good girl, stay out of trouble
But can I help it if I want to turn the city to rubble?
It’s hard bein’ blonde, I ain’t gonna lie
But I don’t let it get to me, no, I don’t cry
Cuz you know, when this girl just wanna have fun
I don’t stop, I don’t quit, you know I’ll get it done.
 | |
| I know, Xzibit, I know... It sucked... You don't have to look at me like that... |
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Why?
Why did you do so much for me?
I talked down to you and spat insults at you.
Why did you give so much love to me?
I used you for my own gains, and left you cold and deserted in my wake,
With pain in your belly and blood on the ground.
Why did you go against your better judgment, and the advice of your loved ones
And give me so much of your soul?
Why did you let me ravage your self esteem, rob you of your freedom and assassinate your trust
When you were a resource to me?
Why did you trade so many pieces of your heart with me,
So I would always have a bit of you with me?
Why did you let me do the things I did?
Why did you love me?
Why couldn't I see what I was doing?
Why was I so blind to the tears, so deaf to the heaving sobs?
I had no rhyme or reason to the rampage I wrought.
I was rolling dice
And stacking bets with emotions.
Why do you still give me this love?
Why am I shown such grace?
I don't deserve it now, just like I didn't deserve you then.
Why?
Why did you whisper to me, "You're a good man"?
Why did you tell me, "I will do anything for you"?
Why did you give me so much so soon?
Why, out of all of the ones you saw, you chose me?
I talked down to you and spat insults at you.
Why did you give so much love to me?
I used you for my own gains, and left you cold and deserted in my wake,
With pain in your belly and blood on the ground.
Why did you go against your better judgment, and the advice of your loved ones
And give me so much of your soul?
Why did you let me ravage your self esteem, rob you of your freedom and assassinate your trust
When you were a resource to me?
Why did you trade so many pieces of your heart with me,
So I would always have a bit of you with me?
Why did you let me do the things I did?
Why did you love me?
Why couldn't I see what I was doing?
Why was I so blind to the tears, so deaf to the heaving sobs?
I had no rhyme or reason to the rampage I wrought.
I was rolling dice
And stacking bets with emotions.
Why do you still give me this love?
Why am I shown such grace?
I don't deserve it now, just like I didn't deserve you then.
Why?
Why did you whisper to me, "You're a good man"?
Why did you tell me, "I will do anything for you"?
Why did you give me so much so soon?
Why, out of all of the ones you saw, you chose me?
Thursday, May 26, 2011
A Walk Through the Forest
I've been filling my time up with three main activities: Playing Pokemon, rereading some of my favorite books, and searching for some form of employment. Two of these three activities have been successful, and I don't think you need to think to hard to guess which one has been a flop. I'm not terribly stressed about it, though. As much as I genuinely do want to work, I don't at all mind the downtime either. With my parents working, my younger sister at school, and my older sister and brother in law doing their own thing, the house is quiet. That sounds pretty obvious, but trust me, between the girls of my family (who can and will talk your ear off) and the student teachers that have in the past lived with us, the house normally had some form of noise going on. It wasn't obnoxious, but it wasn't exactly what I would call peaceful.
So I've been doing a lot of writing and a lot of thinking. You'll get to see the writing before too long, but only after I think it's "done". I put the term in quotation marks, because as Leonardo da Vinci once said,
Another reason that art is never finished is that once the artist has chosen to abandon a specific piece, she leaves everything up to the eyes or ears of the audience. It's very scary, being a painter or singer, a writer, sculptor, or speaker. You are revealing your real self to your audience whenever you display your work. Each time you put work out there, you essentially open the door so that anyone may come in and say "Listen here, bub, this sucks and I'm going to tell you every reason why."
In a way, every artist is walking through a deep, dark, dense, damp forest. I don't mean a bunch of trees outside a schoolyard, I'm talking an Old Growth forest where the trees are so ancient that they block out light from the sun so smaller plants rarely grow beneath the huge blanket of branches and leaves. The kind of forest that you might be scared to walk through-- not because of what could be in there, but because you fear altering some part of it. Every artist's soul is like that forest. Each branch, root, bird, beast and insect hums with life.
Walking through the forest is intimidating, but through practicing their art, they are able to traverse, map, and really familiarize themselves with the forest and navigate it and travel from one area to another, eventually coming to a completely different and new region: the soul of another. Through art, the artist discovers herself and this helps her come closer to others.
My art is mainly through words, as you all have seen. I always feel like it's not very good, but I try and get it out there so I can become better and better. I try and connect (albeit indirectly) with my readers, and with other artists, by just writing a lot, whether I think it's shit or I think it's enough to make Ralph Waldo Emerson roll in his grave.
I haven't forgotten about the original purpose I gave this blog: To use my words to fight for what I know is right. Even if it seems subtle or even absent, I am sharpening my blade with every stroke of the key.
So I've been doing a lot of writing and a lot of thinking. You'll get to see the writing before too long, but only after I think it's "done". I put the term in quotation marks, because as Leonardo da Vinci once said,
"Art is never finished. Only abandoned."I think that's true for a number of different reasons. The first reason being that the artist will always have more to express. This artist could choose to express that idea (or set of ideas) all through one piece, but that then risks spoiling the purity of the expression found in a particular single piece. Thus, the best choice for the artist is to continue the work in another piece. Whether the artist ever realizes it or not, all of her pieces are interconnected because of that one intrinsic feature.
Another reason that art is never finished is that once the artist has chosen to abandon a specific piece, she leaves everything up to the eyes or ears of the audience. It's very scary, being a painter or singer, a writer, sculptor, or speaker. You are revealing your real self to your audience whenever you display your work. Each time you put work out there, you essentially open the door so that anyone may come in and say "Listen here, bub, this sucks and I'm going to tell you every reason why."
In a way, every artist is walking through a deep, dark, dense, damp forest. I don't mean a bunch of trees outside a schoolyard, I'm talking an Old Growth forest where the trees are so ancient that they block out light from the sun so smaller plants rarely grow beneath the huge blanket of branches and leaves. The kind of forest that you might be scared to walk through-- not because of what could be in there, but because you fear altering some part of it. Every artist's soul is like that forest. Each branch, root, bird, beast and insect hums with life.
Walking through the forest is intimidating, but through practicing their art, they are able to traverse, map, and really familiarize themselves with the forest and navigate it and travel from one area to another, eventually coming to a completely different and new region: the soul of another. Through art, the artist discovers herself and this helps her come closer to others.
My art is mainly through words, as you all have seen. I always feel like it's not very good, but I try and get it out there so I can become better and better. I try and connect (albeit indirectly) with my readers, and with other artists, by just writing a lot, whether I think it's shit or I think it's enough to make Ralph Waldo Emerson roll in his grave.
I haven't forgotten about the original purpose I gave this blog: To use my words to fight for what I know is right. Even if it seems subtle or even absent, I am sharpening my blade with every stroke of the key.
"Nobody tells this to people who are beginners, I wish someone told me. All of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste. But there is this gap. For the first couple years you make stuff, it’s just not that good. It’s trying to be good, it has potential, but it’s not. But your taste, the thing that got you into the game, is still killer. And your taste is why your work disappoints you. A lot of people never get past this phase, they quit. Most people I know who do interesting, creative work went through years of this. We know our work doesn’t have this special thing that we want it to have. We all go through this. And if you are just starting out or you are still in this phase, you gotta know its normal and the most important thing you can do is do a lot of work. Put yourself on a deadline so that every week you will finish one story. It is only by going through a volume of work that you will close that gap, and your work will be as good as your ambitions. And I took longer to figure out how to do this than anyone I’ve ever met. It’s gonna take awhile. It’s normal to take awhile. You’ve just gotta fight your way through."
— Ira Glass
Friday, May 20, 2011
Airports
I have mixed feelings about airports. When I'm traveling, I love them. When I'm at home, I'm fascinated by them. When one of my friends leaves, everything about them makes me upset.
Today, I said goodbye to one of my best friends. She's going back to her home, in Ethiopia. Thousands of miles away. There have been a bunch of gatherings of friends to sort of ease the blow, make sure she goes out with a bang, and give her good memories. Something tells me it only made it harder on a lot of us, having that many goodbye hugs.
I woke up this morning knowing what was going to happen. Saying my final goodbyes to my friend, making sure I only shed (at absolute maximum) TWO manly tears, out of one eye, not both. After that, a job interview at 2:45. Two big events that I was not (and am not) prepared to deal with. On top of all of that, when I went to the airport, I had completely forgotten my wallet. That, however, offered something to cheer me up.
I sincerely doubt that all of you responsible readers would forget your wallets, so I am going to assume that none of you knows what happens when you are unable to pay for parking at an airport. The nice lady asked me to move my car off to the side of the road, which I did. I waited for an hour-long 10 minutes for someone to come talk to me. I explained that the only money I had on me was the 100 thou Vietnam đồng-- only about 5 dollars-- I kept in my small notebook for sentimental value. The man who came to discuss what they could do just sighed, smiled, and said "Well, get back in line for number 15. I'll see what I can do." I smiled, bowed, shook hands, and thanked him, obeying his instructions.
Instead of being billed for $10 ($5 for parking and $5 for being a dumbass and forgetting my wallet), the man lowered the fee to $3, swiped his own credit card, had me sign a small form, and wished me safe travels. Now, $3 is by no means a lot of money, but he did that for a complete stranger. A scatter-brained kid who he didn't know the name of. I drove away, crying for the second time that day because of the undeserved kindness I have received from friends and strangers alike.
For Rebka
Every time I’ve gone to an airport
It’s begun to rain.
This time, it’s no different.
When I heard that you’d be leaving
I didn’t know how to react.
Will you leave soon?
Will you come back?
Will you keep in touch?
Will I ever see you again?
I felt these questions hit me like a waterfall to the top of my head.
Every time I've gone to an airport
I've felt like my stomach was made of stone.
This time, it's no different.
I remember days of smiles
Days of tension
Days of injera and phở
Days of learning
Days of forgetting.
Every time I've gone to an airport
It's been for a goodbye.
This time, it's no different.
You say, “I’ll be back”
But I know you’re reassuring yourself, not me.
I know I’ll see you again
On this soil, or on Abyssinian ground.
I kiss your forehead and wish you safe travels.
Only now, through tears, do I clearly see.
Sometime soon, we’ll live in the days of forgetting again.
Today, I said goodbye to one of my best friends. She's going back to her home, in Ethiopia. Thousands of miles away. There have been a bunch of gatherings of friends to sort of ease the blow, make sure she goes out with a bang, and give her good memories. Something tells me it only made it harder on a lot of us, having that many goodbye hugs.
I woke up this morning knowing what was going to happen. Saying my final goodbyes to my friend, making sure I only shed (at absolute maximum) TWO manly tears, out of one eye, not both. After that, a job interview at 2:45. Two big events that I was not (and am not) prepared to deal with. On top of all of that, when I went to the airport, I had completely forgotten my wallet. That, however, offered something to cheer me up.
I sincerely doubt that all of you responsible readers would forget your wallets, so I am going to assume that none of you knows what happens when you are unable to pay for parking at an airport. The nice lady asked me to move my car off to the side of the road, which I did. I waited for an hour-long 10 minutes for someone to come talk to me. I explained that the only money I had on me was the 100 thou Vietnam đồng-- only about 5 dollars-- I kept in my small notebook for sentimental value. The man who came to discuss what they could do just sighed, smiled, and said "Well, get back in line for number 15. I'll see what I can do." I smiled, bowed, shook hands, and thanked him, obeying his instructions.
Instead of being billed for $10 ($5 for parking and $5 for being a dumbass and forgetting my wallet), the man lowered the fee to $3, swiped his own credit card, had me sign a small form, and wished me safe travels. Now, $3 is by no means a lot of money, but he did that for a complete stranger. A scatter-brained kid who he didn't know the name of. I drove away, crying for the second time that day because of the undeserved kindness I have received from friends and strangers alike.
For Rebka
Every time I’ve gone to an airport
It’s begun to rain.
This time, it’s no different.
When I heard that you’d be leaving
I didn’t know how to react.
Will you leave soon?
Will you come back?
Will you keep in touch?
Will I ever see you again?
I felt these questions hit me like a waterfall to the top of my head.
Every time I've gone to an airport
I've felt like my stomach was made of stone.
This time, it's no different.
I remember days of smiles
Days of tension
Days of injera and phở
Days of learning
Days of forgetting.
Every time I've gone to an airport
It's been for a goodbye.
This time, it's no different.
You say, “I’ll be back”
But I know you’re reassuring yourself, not me.
I know I’ll see you again
On this soil, or on Abyssinian ground.
I kiss your forehead and wish you safe travels.
Only now, through tears, do I clearly see.
Sometime soon, we’ll live in the days of forgetting again.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Spread the Word!
Leafing through a few of my old posts, I realized something odd. I didn't have the "Yay, first post!" kind of first post. I jumped right into it, with one of my earliest bits of writing. Odd. Another thing I noticed is that the Ballpoint Blade is coming up on its 2000th page view. It may seem petty, but I'll look for any reason to celebrate. I really appreciate all of my dedicated readers, my followers, and those who read from across the ocean. It means a lot to know that what I lay down on paper and on this site is being read by others.
Therefore, I have a favor to ask of you all.
It helps bloggers a lot to know what kind of people (and how many people) actually regularly read their blogs. As a result, I'd like to see people who read regularly but don't Follow this blog become members (if you don't have a Google account) and just click the tiny little Follow button. Doing this will help me get a greater idea of who's out there!
Another thing that I request is that you take just a few minutes (or even less than that, depending on how fast you talk/text/type/et cetera) and talk to your a friend or two about the site. Most often my mindset about the blog is to use it as a place to store my thoughts, but I'm gonna be honest, it's a good feeling to know other people are reading. So, if it's just a room mate or a friend or a lover or Grandma or anyone, just tell one or two people. That's all I ask.
Thanks a lot for your support, everyone, and I hope you continue reading The Ballpoint Blade.
Therefore, I have a favor to ask of you all.
It helps bloggers a lot to know what kind of people (and how many people) actually regularly read their blogs. As a result, I'd like to see people who read regularly but don't Follow this blog become members (if you don't have a Google account) and just click the tiny little Follow button. Doing this will help me get a greater idea of who's out there!
Another thing that I request is that you take just a few minutes (or even less than that, depending on how fast you talk/text/type/et cetera) and talk to your a friend or two about the site. Most often my mindset about the blog is to use it as a place to store my thoughts, but I'm gonna be honest, it's a good feeling to know other people are reading. So, if it's just a room mate or a friend or a lover or Grandma or anyone, just tell one or two people. That's all I ask.
Thanks a lot for your support, everyone, and I hope you continue reading The Ballpoint Blade.
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