Sunday, May 24, 2009

Nature's Story

To the left is my beautifully wild and spirited cat, Beethoven. Her name is all the explanation she needs :)
Somehow this piece was saved from the loss of my laptop. I emailed myself a lot of my work and saved some writings on my parents computer. I wrote this extremely unfinished short piece in August of 2007. It's one of those pieces where I am not sure where it's going, but I know and remember what I was feeling and I tried to best illustrate that through writing. It's not very mature, or polished because this is the first time I am seeing it since I wrote. Perhaps some day I will go back and re-exam but I like keeping them the way they are. It shows more of the character that was me when I wrote it, and that's why it's special to me. Whether is actually good or not, it has some personality.

I hope you enjoy:

She slid her hands ever so gently across the white crimson petals so as to not break the fragile beauties. The bees floated along the honeysuckles like clouds float in the skies, except there intentions are greedy, not as clouds are, which are to provide imaginative creatures, shapes and sometimes protection from the sun, she thought. She watched the wind create ripples in the grass, moving as such do waves. The grass was long and hair-like, except pointing in the opposite direction. She often thought about standing on her head, if she could, so that the grass was right side up-but the effort was too grave. She also thought about braiding a few strands of the grass but voted against it-she didn’t like disturbing the winds mean for play.
The trees stood tall and mighty like giants with kind faces. Most of the trees had long string-like branches with small leaves falling softly above her head, she liked to think of it as the trees way of saying hello. These trees provided shade and sometimes donated there long string-like branches with leaves attached for her to play with. She liked to pretend she was a warrior, hunting through the wilderness or she would use the branches for jewelry to keep the tree, her protector, with her always. In the end, she always gave it back, the branch, she didn’t like to keep. After all, the branches weren’t hers to begin with, the tree was merely sharing.
Under the tree she would stare aimlessly at the ants. They marched one by one, one after the other all over the roots of the trees, one tree in particular actually. She always wondered why. Just like she always wondered why no one else came to this spot. She was particularly glad of it, but was a bit saddened that it was neglected from time to time when she could not make her regular visit. Reality summoned her often and seemed very demanding of her.
The ants followed each other robotically, as if some being controlled their every move. When one ant distorted the line, the others would attack it, punishing it and ultimately killing it. She didn’t like watching this part, though she couldn’t help but watch the murderous act. She felt obligated to feel pity for the ants whom died in vain.
Most times she felt robotic, which was exactly why she came to this spot so often: to dream, to wonder, to explore.

Sunday, May 10, 2009

The Randomocity of my mind

This is an awesome picture I took when at the Plateau. I love how the light just bursts through. Its beautiful.

...So I often will get glimpses, more like dreams, of possible future stories. I write them on a piece of paper and then they usually get thrown in the back of my folder or put in a pile on the ground by my desk. This story was lucky enough to get through the mess that is my life. It found a little bit of light, hence why i put the bursting of light picture up.... I am fond of it this writing. I don't know what it means or where it is going. But I like it. So I will share it:

11 April 2009
Not long ago I was a child, a wild spirit. Full of dreams, fairy tales and magic- I was surrounded by peace. Blue skies were endless, even when the clouds tried to over power; it was a game we played. There were times when I welcomed the clouds, the constant rain, the fever of the cold, and the dark empty spaces. It was what I connected to the most; and most days, still do. And in those dark spaced I played games with fire flies. I’d capture them in the web of my despair and they would respond with a glimpse of the future. It felt like dreams, like the magic I use to capture in the innocence of my youth. Time would freeze and the cold felt like fire burning beneath my skin. It was a drug. A drug I sought night after night to escape these urges that overpowered me every day. In time, I became a stranger to myself and to reality. Nothing seemed real anymore.