Why is it so dark? The light's are off..?

I'm back from the deep, darkness of the human mind and consequences. It's been awhile... I always get relatively despondent and nostalgic in the winter around the holidays. I really don't like the cold. And the deadness of the outside world. Add in the pressure of family members you really don't remember but have to play nice with.. Like that weird 18 year old 3rd removed cousin that will probably be the next 40 year old virgin who stares at your ass all the time. I swear anytime I get the chance at the punch that everyone fakes innocene at how Uncle Terry spikes it with rum every year; I'm downing the whole thing.

I love family. I love Christmas. I love New Year's parties.... But everything leading up to it is so boring I think I could run off for a few days and this will finally be the time for them to realize I've run off. It's so boring they have nothing to do but pay attention the kids. No work, no school, no staying late at the office, no after school stuff...just family. And what do you do with the family all together? Last Christmas we exhausted all excuses for getting out of being with each other. So I have no idea what will happen this year.

My favorite part of the season though, I must include. When all the adults are blown, excuse me, tipsy, the children are tired and satiated with food and presents, and someone gets the bright idea to play charades. Oh my gods, it is the most pitful yet hilarious sight in the world to watch drunk people play charades. The kids are thouroughly entertained to, because they've never seen grown-ups acting so...silly.

So.... it snowed.

A Conversion Perhaps

Apprehension. Resent. Waiting, oh waiting. Praying to every god out there. Maybe even a little promise to a devil or two. Wanting more than anything for this fear to go away. Wanting this sinking feeling, this real feeling to go away.

Give me pain. Give me loneliness. Take whatever you want from me. Give me nothing in return save for this one....simple, tiny little wish. Give me blood. Give me agony. Make me wish for it to stop though really its what I need.

I can't care for that anymore. I can't think of anyone but myself and my family now. I understand. I understand Karma, you bitch. I'm getting the memo, Jesus. I'm feeling the stake, Allah. Buddha, oh little Buddha, what the hell happened to non-violence and forgiveness? I've learned my lesson. I will repent. Show me the light in this desolate world of all my sparkly material things.

I'll wear rags. I'll become a nun. OK. I can't start making promises I can't keep. Because my ambitions do not include celibacy piety. And I'm not saying my ambitions include several belts full of notches. No no. I want to be something great. I want to lead and help others. Do you think that will happen if this doesn't end? You bet your divine religious asses it won't. And do you know what will happen if this continues? My life will end. Along with the other. I'm not so rash or stupid to even contemplate suicide But figuratively, yeah. My life will end.

And I'll die inside myself.

I'm not the kind of person who could bounce back from this. And do you guys really need another bitter shell walking around this world unproductive as shit and living as though they've already died? No. I think not. So please. I've learned the moral of this story.

Make this waiting end!

White is the Color of Regret

It was taunting me. That white. It was glaring at me, screaming at me. Young, so very young. I don’t feel young at the moment, but I know that later on it will be so. I changed out of white and reached for black, but I stopped, and grabbed red instead. I wasn’t mourning, I was in pain.


Not the physical pain, that was nothing compared to what was going on in my head. At first it was the creeping, worming sort of regret. Now, it was agony; agony for the future hurt I will cause to myself and to the one close to me.


I’m a fool. I’m an idiot. I am still just a child.


I didn’t think that what could cause such pleasure would cause such guilt. Regret for giving so much, and so quickly, to someone who won’t matter years from now.


It was hot. The air conditioner was broken upstairs. I could see the guitars and electric piano in the corner. The carpet was itchy like insulation against my bare skin. What was I thinking? I don’t remember. What was I doing? I don’t remember that either. But I do remember liking it, but loathing it underneath everything else.


I remember being able to see a bit of sky out the window behind me. So blue. So dark. There was a white bird flying in the blue. I watched it until I couldn’t see it anymore, but still I watched it. I watched the bird fly past the roof tops of houses, over trees and towards the sea. There was a red spot on its chest. Was it just a red marking of beauty or a stain of blood?


Why does it continue to occupy my thoughts and haunt my dreams more than any other part of this?

Straight to Hell

They tell me I need religion. God will fix me. I'll go to confession. drink some wine, eat some bread, get dunked in water, and it'll all be good. Make my donations to the churh and secure a spot in the all-coveted utopia. 'Kay then... But uh, I think you have me confused with someone who cares...? See, having a little therapy, drinking alcohol, and eating etc. doesn't sound too bad; however, I think I'll pass. I don't exactly want to fix what they call my "sins." I'm a little prideful, but that's a given. Yeah, I'm a tad lusty, but what teenager isn't? I'm greedy, sure, but let's examine the rest of America shall we?



Let's travel that dark, dark road into the horrors and sins of society. It's not hard to choose right from wrong; its just that, well there are so many versions of good and evil. Gandhi VS PRS, Love VS Hate, Politicians VS People, Sex VS Celibacy, Drugs VS Pain, Palin VS Obama etc. I could go on and on. But I'm sure I've offended just enough people already to make things interesting. Religion is an escape for us that need hope like a fat kid needs calories, and Lois Lane needs Superman. Humans can't survive without hope. Hope, love, ambition, and opposable thumbs separate us from the animals we once were.


How can life be fulfilling if we don't live it how we want? Rules and principles are definitely needed; like religion. Religion is needed to keep people from feeling as alone as we all are, from getting depressed, and from over-throwing a government because it does not share the same values as the people. We all need something to believe in. So please, believe in it. Make your world brighter, let it make every day feel meaningful. But please. Please, please, please with a cherry on top---don't tell me what i need or should want. Don't transfer your own fears on me. If I go to a hell or a heaven it will all be on my shoulders. You need not worry for my soul. It's mine. Worry about yours.

Dreams

The world was crumbling. The sky was falling and the ground trembled and quaked. Clouds fell into vapors and her whole universe was enveloped in blue. What used to be the most solid thing in her world was breaking to bits. Eventually even the ground beneath her feet fell in. Instead of feeling weightless like you should when in the air; if felt like she carried the world with her. The kind of weight that as she fell it felt like her chest would cave in and she would be swallowed from the inside.


"Summers for the healing, child. Don't forget it. There's magic in the air that will rival any season. Senses are heightened and possibilities are easier to grasp in summer. Make the most of it. Always..."

"Freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose...
Then let's lose ourselves even more"

"Cause you know and so do I. The high road is hard to find"

"I hate you"

"Never look back. Always look forward, and take my hand..."

"Reality is: nothing is for free, sex is too easy to get, along with drugs, and love is too hard to find."

---
The world was showered in gold. It made everything glitter and everything glow with life. It was the summer sun. Beautiful and painful, everything was better in the summer sun.

The girl stood alone on a white sand beach staring, just staring, at the surf. The waves were lazy today. No good for surfing but amazing to look at. She wished she was the kind of artist who could paint. The kind that could mix just that sort of cerulean blue, who could paint the white crested waves as the broke gently against the beach, the kind of artist that could get that shimmering arch of the sun just right with a stroke of a brush. It would be so much easier to make a piece of art that was worth a thousand words than describe the scene in a thousand words.

The girl's silhouette against the horizon seemed quite thin, frail even. Though she was tall and a an athletic build. She used to boast to everyone that all she needed was a beach, the ocean, and the sun, and she would be content. She was really wishing she wouldn't have boasted that.

Maybe if she had seemed a little more fragile, or a little less independent; she could have held onto people longer. People she loved and enjoyed. It used to be that the sea could always make her feel better, no matter the situation or the feelings. It used to..

This time, however, not even the ocean could heal her. She was alone. Alone with her thoughts. It seemed being in all this beauty and peacefulness intensified it all and made it so much worse. All she could see were mistakes, all she could hear were condescending remarks on how she should have lived, she couldn't speak anymore. Her voice was no longer her own. She couldn't feel; not the grit of the sand, not caress of the wind, not the rush of the waves as they pulled under...

She couldn't even appreciate her favorite place. The girl had been on that white sand beach next to that lazy ocean for longer than she could comprehend. Days and summers passed unending. Not that she could feel it, she could only bear witness.

Though most of her thoughts were agony, she could still remember good things, yearn for things, wish... Most of the time those thoughts were worse. Because she would never have them back, or have anything more than memories.

---
She was falling through space again. That felt almost like a dream. No...it was more like a memory of sorts. Time pulled at her-she couldn't tell anymore-was it her body or her soul that was weighted down by the Earth's memories? How could she, one girl, carry the weight of billions of years of remembrance? She would never find another ground to keep her steady and to take the weight from her'; only endlessness. Only oblivion. When she finally accepted the responsibility mankind had hidden from for years the weight was lifted and replaced by something else. A new burden. But this burden was different.

It was warm, and wrapped around her like silken wings . It made her weightless yet grounded at the same time. It was the burden of possibility. And with it, along with endless potential came a responsibility. A responsibility that was lost on, and never fully taken up by most of mankind. Our lack at seizing our capabilities and slacking in paying for our crimes is what destroys us. Forever settling for what we can get. All this the girl learned in a second, in a lifetime--in a moment of infinity.


"Come on. Come back to me. Let's go."

"Ah, insanity. Thy fruit is msuch sweeter than thy cousins reality."

"I love you."

"It's only one. Come on, you only live once. It'll be fun."

"Once upon a time there was a beautiful girl who would stare out her window at the world around her. She wanted to be part of that world. But she was scared. That world was full of monsters... Am I reminding you of someone? Anyway, one day a boy came by and saw the girl staring out the window. He wanted her to come with him, but she was too busy preparing for going outside to actually take the first step...."

---
The sun fell and crashed into the water. While the girl just stared over the lazy waves. It was night now. It hadn't been night in a long, long time... Maybe, she thought, maybe I can sleep now.

Listlessness can be the mother of invention too.

I feel like some poetry would do the soul good. My soul, your soul, the occasional wandering soul caught between here and there.. Whichever, I finally wrote some decent poetry and have decided to share. Possibly against better judgment, but oh well.

Corrupted

Children once so innocent

People once so pure

Have now been corrupted to think; justice, is anything but served

Watch the world unravel, doing nothing to stop it

Helping is out of the question

Just sit there, and watch it

I Can't

I can hear you, I can see you.

Though you are so far away, I can't touch you.

Why do you cry? Why do you lie?

Please don't waste your time.

Okay, you've had your show, now go.

I'm sorry, but no. You're still too far away.

Always Apologies

It's too late to apologize. It's too late to set it right again. I've fallen too many times. I've had enough. Do you feel better now, after you've hit me around? Just shut up. I don't care. I'm getting off the ground, and I'm walking out that door. It's too late to apologize.

So do not even try.

Dead on Arrival

Eyes wide shut

Mouths gaping closed

Fingers fisted touch,

Souless stars alighted on faceless mothers.

Minds fighting dead

Hearts beating cold

Feet walking still,

Dawning flowers' breathing through wet whispers of

Smoldering hopes and decaying dreams of,

Promises of love and long lives fading against backgrounds

Of forced smiles and closed lipped apologies of life lost.

War

Ancient skulls forced to grin for eternity

watch quietly.

Whithered trees forced to stand erect with magled branches

await the advances.

Blind mothers forced to live as their children die

belate their cries.

Naive sons and daughters forced to kill

see the blood spill.

While the gods watch the doomed

of Fates twisted loom.

This is a sample of what came out of a rainy day of utterly silent boredom. The boredom was so great it rivaled that which has always kept me sane. Music. I could barely even hear it over the sound of the silence ringing in my ears and the feeling of uselessness with nothing to do. If they are good please comment. If they are dreadful comment too. I have many more that could be written here..

#4 Our Distance and That Person

***Once again, another story I wrote that I loved. I like this one better than the other. Its quite short, but gets my point across.***




Lies. That is all there is now.
Lies. Are the only thing that holds us together.
And the sad thing is....I don't mind.
___________________
We live in an age when all there is---is deciet. We thrive off of deception and fabrication. Look at our role models: a little nip here, a little tuck there. Then there is our media; who has been false since the start. Then finally are those little white lies. They aren't supposed to hurt anyone, right? No. Maybe not then. But later it will.

So of course, with lies seeping into every crevice and mind of our culture; why not have relationships built on lies? Well, we weren't built on lies. In fact, we tried to start out completely honest. That wasn't hard. You were handsome, I was beautiful. You were the track star. I was Volleyball team captain and Class President. We were perfect, All-American kids. On the right track and so in love.

Ha, I was in love with your influence over the students; you were in love with the thought of having the most wanted girl in school. Absolutely perfect for each other. My need for influence and power matched your need for having the best there is over everybody else.

Of course we were honest.

I'd make out with you and kiss you in front of your friends; you would help me win votes. Perhaps this should bother me. But honsety in our deception is too good. It makes too much sense not to lie. The distance between us isn't too far with our bridges made of falcity.
So smile for me, help me win hearts. And I'll kiss your lips and help you be the envy.

Problem? Yes. Solution? Not likely.

I'm beginning to love Blogger. It has offered me a way to express things, and get annoyances off my chest. And I find it kind of nice to think that maybe someone else is reading it. I don't know why...to most this would seem like a diary being read.. People don't like that, right? Their diary being read? Well, whatever the case I definitely find this a nice release. Writing here also helps me think. As I write my thoughts I think things through and I'm less impulsive. Which means I get into less trouble. Which-in turn-is good. I guess... Yeah it is.

Anyway, like always, I'm writing on here because I have another problem. It's sort of the same problem, well no...it's an extension of the same problem. Let's just settle with it has connections to the earlier problem. However, instead of writing about the problem I'm just going to let it toil inside for awhile. I'm tired of being so open on here. [Yes, I did just say I loved this place for it, but yeah...] Instead I'm just going to put some pictures in here. :)

A whirlpool in the sky.

Cat in a box....

Picture of my plane's wing going down to Florida.

Aunt's engagement ring.

I must be out of my mind

I prepose a toast. A salutation to all lost causes, and idiots. I believe that we should celebrate all of society's woes. They're people to you know. They may be annoying, irresponsible, infantile, and all sorts of other adjectives that cause many normal, hardworking people grief. However, they are still a much needed part of our social order. Without idiots, and annoying people, how would we be able to really succeed? It wouldn't seem such an accomplishment without all the people who suck(for lack of a better word.) We need people who are lower than us in some way to make us feel better. Without them we wouldn't be where we are today. Sad but the truth.

That, my friends; is how all humans think. Well, not think, but we just...know. We'd never admit it of course, that's just plain rude to say what is truth. However, I'm relatively positive that I am about... I don't know, this close (__) to committing some sort of felony, I am so angry. Anger is a big problem for me, so in order to stop myself from doing something I'll most likely regret later--I'm blogging. Isn't that funny? Oh, and would anyone like a guess at why I'm angry? Contrary to what would've been thought from that first paragraph; it's something that should make me sad.

It did. For about maybe, twenty minutes. Then I got angry. And I have been angry for about two hours now. Anger seems to be my defense against feelings. That makes no sense, but for every other emotion I feel, I feel anger two-fold. I should be devestated, I should be crying my eyes out, having friends over to share teary-eyed stories over a pint of ice cream; but no, when it happened, I couldn't even dredge up any tears. Dry as they always are, I've even been trying to get some sort of response from them. I tried thinking about it-that made me mad. I tried talking to him-that made me angry. I tried cutting myself off from the world and turned on disgusting little love songs, and I think I'm going to be sick if I hear another word about "I miss you, I love you" songs.

Becaus I literally don't. Even now, as the anger is melting away with every word I type into this little screen I can illict no emotional response. I do not miss him, I do not-and did not-love him, he was a play thing to me. He cried whenever he said we should just be friends. What is up with that? I always do the breaking up, I always cut the ties; never before in my life have I been broken up with. And by him! That's what gets me, it was the guy who is always broken up with. How did I let myself fall? I am so angry at myself! My pride feels like it was slapped in the face, my ego is quite miniscule right now. I think I need a race to win. It's humiliating, being the one on the other side of the break up. And I have to say, as much as I shouldn't be focusing on this, that it is quite interesting. I'm not joking, it's a very humiliating experience.

I guess I should be thankful it came now. My humiliating experience. Now I'm finally becoming a member of society. I've had my "heart broken" apparently, and I've been on the other side of the break up. There's a new experience. However, I have to keep coming back to this--why can't I cry? As a selfish human being shuldn't I be able to cry at the first insult on my pride? I couldn't cry when my grandmother on my dad's side died....but then again I never liked her. She was abusive and a mean woman. Yet, my mother cried for her, and she liked her least of all. It is my scientific conclusion that there must be something clincallywrong with me. Is there a disorder that prevents people from crying? Should I start using those "Artificial Tears" stuff? I mean, I can cry when I hurt something physically, or when something I'm doing doesn't look like its going to be accomplished.

I tore three tendons from my bone doing pointe at dress rehersal for a recital I had worked hardest on. I cried then, mostly because I didn't feel like my solo-or even my participation in the recital was going to happen. But I took a lot of pain medication and did both shows the next day. Only to go to the doctor Tuesday and have them tell me I am the biggest idiot they've seen. Because my ankle injury was so bad they told me that I would never dance again. I cried then. So what exactly is wrong with me? I don't know and it's me. I think it's time for a vacation. May be to somewhere like Haiti where I can do some Red-cross work and stop feeling sorry for myself.

#6 The Space Between Dreams and Reality

***Okay, this is a short story that I created in response to the Thirty Kisses Challenge. One day, my best friend and rival accused me of having not one romantic bone in my body. She went on to tell me that I could talk my way in and out of everything, but I wouldn't be able to write love stories to save my life. She recently took up the "challenge" and gave the topics to me. We are still in the process of completing it. Here is one of my favorites that I wrote. So there Sarah, I can be mildly romantic...kinda.***


The music was pulsing through his rock solid body with every beat blasting from the speakers in the large club. A drink in hand, back leaning against the bar with brown eyes scanning the huge crowd on the dance floor, his blonde hair turning every shade of neon from the lights; he was a sight to behold for any passing female. Of legal age or not, every woman openly stared at him, except for one.
With hands raised to the Music Gods, lithe body responding to every pound of the bass, eyes closed; hiding from the world a beautiful shade of blue, she was the only one to hold his attention.
No man could keep her beat, her movements were to smooth, and her ease to intimidating. Setting down his empty glass, a smirk on his face, his feet led him straight to her.
They met body, mind, and soul. And it was perfect. Fire mixed with gunpowder, dreams met with reality, and instead of two separate entities, they became the space in between without even trying.
Onlookers watched mesmerized. They had never seen a bond before as the two were demonstrating on the dance floor. Whispers flew through the crowd like wildfire. "They must practice every day!" "I wonder if they are lovers?" "That's love in the purest form right there."
They were almost right. The two did practice everyday, with guns and words but never music.
Love, sure they loved each other. They would die for each other. The words had never passed their lips but it was never a big factor in their relationship anyway.
An hour or so later found them standing outside the large doors of the dance club as music continued to pound behind it. She smiled at him slightly. Neither breaking the silence because it wasn't all together uncomfortable. At their jobs they talked all day, it was nice to be silent. And with their blood still pumping they were both acutely aware if the fine line they danced every Friday night.
Finally she closed the distance between them with a short step. Hugging him on her tip toes she whispered, "I enjoy dancing with you." The other words wouldn't, couldn't leave her mouth. Then she kissed him lightly on the cheek and backed away.
He smiled lightly and his brown eyes showed a depth of sadness and unfullfillment as she walked away. She was his dream and he was the only thing keeping her grounded in reality. The world needed them separate. The only way they ever truly existed together was when they danced. So as long as she was in his life, his dreams were never empty, but he would never be her reality.
Yin and Yang were meant to balance each other but never, to be together.

Sore muscles and enlightenment

If I love something. It would be running. There is no easier way to fill accomplished and to have my ego stroked than to run. Since a very tender age I've been running--to, or away from something--I haven't decided. Though I hope it is to something... Anyway, though my only dull spot on my record is because of my strange need to run away (it only got me 24 hours in juvie hall the second time they caught me) it also is one of the most anchoring things I do.

There is something so simple, so beautiful, and most of all easy, about running. To run is part of our innate behaviors. The "Flight or Fight" survivalism. But running isn't about "Flighting" so much as wanting to get somewhere. And for me the best part of running is being a part from everything else, and accomplishing that course all by myself. I like to run until my lungs are screaming and my muscles are numb. Then I run some more. Its nice to run 3 miles and show off to people, but what is great, is running 6 miles to show off to yourself. To push ones body to what feels like its breaking point and then to keep going is amazing.

I ran a 5k today and came in third. That doesn't disappoint me at all. I'm quite proud, I haven't run in 2 weeks and my muscles are agonizing still. It was spur of the moment but I loved it. It sprinkled throughout which only added to the majesty. When I run everything is working in unison, and there seems to be a harmonizing of all the sounds i make. The breathe in, step, step, step, breathe out, step, step, breathe in...creating the percussion undertone. The the swish, whap, swish, whap, of my long hair hitting my back, a base rhythm. Then the whooshing of the wind in my ears harmonizing, and melding it into the Runner's Symphony..

(It was overcast..but nice:)

Has anyone heard, "Russian Roulette" by Rihanna? There is something vaguely scary about that song...and other vague meanings that I just can't comprehend I guess, but I can feel that they're there.. I think I'm going to start posting some of the short stories that I write on here.

Same old thing...but not.

I haven't been on here for such a long, long expansion of time it seems.. I have so much to do, I've done so much, and I still have more to do. Hmm. It all seems like complaining of a spoiled child, even to me, the one who says it. I've always wondered, when people say they are to busy to accept another burden, or another task are they just trying to get out of it? That sentence was not put well, but its hard to think well at the moment. Anyway, they say "oh, i would but I have this to do, and that, oh and this. Sorry." Or its, "I can't I'm helping so-and-so with this and then I have to do this." But I believe they could spare one little ounce of time to help in some way. I do everything possible, and I always help when someone needs it; even though I have so very much to do... And I am so very tired.

It makes me mildly ticked off at the people who have church and homework so they can't help because that would just be to much for them. I stay after school for two and a half hours every day of the week except Fridays because I choose to participate in sports, clubs, and teams. Yet, I still find the time to be active in my community, to work on the weekends, to tutor, and do my own homework. It's infuriating to watch the indolent people at my school sit on their arses all the time without lifting a finger to do something! Then I help anyone that asks for help. And I hate that I simply do not have all the time I need to help everyone. There aren't enough of me. It makes me feel like the lazy bums when I really cannot help to my standards because I have so much else.

I am not whining as a spoiled child. I am complaining about lazy people. I do everything because its my choice; I choose to do so much, to rarely sleep, and make sure I have a project to do every waking minute. I know that it is no one's fault but my own that I am stretched so thin; however, I do wish others would just stretch an inch, hell, a centimeter more. I'm starting to despise laziness as much as idiocy.

Ha, I have totally lost the reason I was going to write a post. I was reminded by this laziness because I'd just finished writing the report for my group (by myself) and I was mildly ticked. Oh well. Onward to writing in this precious respite of mine.

(This photo has no purpose at all, but look at my bird! She is the most beautiful bird known to me:)

I wanted to write about thoughts. I wanted to convey feelings. Alas, that is still rather impossible to do for me. The only feelings I feel well are primal. The feelings humans as a species have carried since our mind was evolved. I feel anger, fear, joy, sadness, desire, surprise, and disgust. They are easy because they're programmed for survival and continuation.Secondary emotions, the feelings that are caused by primary emotions, are very tricky for me. I think too much. I question too much to ever fully delve into those scary little emotions like love, sympathy, envy, depression, or nervousness. I do, however, have some secondary emotions down. I am very often exasperated. I am always prideful of my work and projects, and myself. And of course sometimes lusty, I'm a normal teenager physically.

Anyway, moral of my babbling story is that I wished to express some sort of emotion. Besides anger. I write anger incredibly well, I know this. I try to write poems, and everyone compliments them, only few are ever able to look at them at tell me quite frankly that they suck. If they held some sort of emotion I could be one of the best poets, but that is what I lack most. My word play is amazing, I am very verbal anyway so its no problem, but I lack those silly little emotions and it seems as if all my poems are; are masks. Beautiful, bright masks, gilded with tangible words and dabbed with glittering cubic zirconium feelings. Always close, but in the end, nothing more than cheap knockoffs.

So to conclude this story I will include a little masked poem for you to judge for yourself.

Revenge tends to be a bitch, doesn't it?

You completely deserve what you're going to get

I tried to help you, but you're a lost cause

You cannot be fixed, you have too many flaws

So go ahead, grab the bottle, see if I care

And when you drive yourself home, I won't be there

I'm not sitting by and watching you kill yourself

You can't comprehend what I'm trying to yell

I'm sick of the bullshit and tired of lies

And being the only one who tries

I'm the only one who has ever given a shit about you

Take another sip, you're the one who's screwed

Here's your keys, driving home should be a blast

I'm not going to stop you from driving to fast

Or when you pass that stop sign and barely miss a truck

Don't you dare come crying to me to give a fuck

What are those blue lights that are beginning to follow?

The cops are after you, but you won't slow

You won't get so lucky tonight

Maybe it'll help you see that you're wrong and I'm right

I bet you won't even see that big tree

Your last thought will be regret-you should've listened to me

Revenge tends to be a bitch, doesn't it?

I wish you didn't deserve what you are going to get

I wrote this after I got fed up with a friend who was an alcoholic. He's gotten help now though. An angry poem full of feeling. How I wish I could write like this with the simple little poems also. Maybe someday.

Whenever I'm bored, I wish I were here...

I loved it here, my favourite place we visited. This was on a small boardwalk jutting out from the Iguana Farm. (iguana farm, I'm not kidding.)

There must be something in the air...

(this pic has nothing to do with my post, but it needs a picture.)


Well....my birthday has come and gone. I feel no more wiser or older than I did a week ago, but still...yeah 15?

Anyway, I don't know what is wrong around here, especially at school. Its almost scary. Actually, its annoying, incredibly, blisteringly annoying. My annoyance is unfathomable. Especially the fact that the grievance that annoys me is so trivial. I hate these shallow things, and I hate how much hype goes into them, but I just can't escape them. They are a part of normal highschool, teenage life. However, for those abnormally clear-headed and logical few such as myself, these normalities hurt my intelligence. I mean, just look at this paragraph, how repetitive and boring it must seem; how many times did I use annoying or annoyace? Exactly. It stupidity-inducing, these trivial highschool formalities.

At risk of sounding pompous or school girl I've delayed the exact reason for the rant, but I see that I cannot let the mystery go on much longer. Its a Winter Formal. Military Ball, to be exact, since I am in JROTC. I would not pay much attention to this otherwise, of course I would go if only to dance, but all of these...bothersome rituals are--dare I say it again--annoying. And now that everyone has decided that I am to be "Freshman Attendent" for the girls, its a horrid nightmare. Its like being in homecoming court, for JROTC. But that isn't the worst problem, now every damn guy, freshman to senior, who has ever had a crush on me is asking me to go. Its maddening! I'm not the dating type, I have a serious commitment problem, yet I'm bombarded.

I've tried twice now to relinquish this "honor" to the runner-up. But she won't take it because, and I quote, "I don't take hand-me-downs from charity." Isn't that infuriating? Not only did I not even want to be in the running, she gets pissy because someone who didn't want it wins. Its not my fault! And to call me charity! Thats just plain rude. I even told her if she would stop being so stuck up and helped other people and not just herslef every now and again more people would like her. Apparently that was not a good thing to say. Which I don't understand; I was only being honest and she acts as if I had slapped her or insulted her mother.

I might have to chalk this insanity up to the weird air around here. Its like Tennessee can't decide whether or not it wants to have a really early Spring or a really cold Winter. Then there is the fact that everyone seems to be coupling. Its starting to freak me out. Does everyhting change in highschool? Do girls loose their pride and minds over boys like everyone is now? Do guys loose what little intelligence they had in the first place do be on the football team to get the girls? I find this rather confusing myself. It was getting stupid in middle school but now it is just plain idiotic.

I've always had a lot of guys that were friends, most of them older than me. Now in highschool you can't be firends with a guy without people thinking you're dating. Heaven forbid you are friends with multiple guys and guys with girlfriends. Then everything gets hairy. A mess, a mess, a mess. I hate this drama. And there seems to be no way to stop it. (if there are any pointers out there, I'd love to be clued in)

Well, enough of this mentally deteriating fluff. Its taken me a week, I believe, to write this post. I started forever ago and now re-reading it it feels like I'm an example of the very girls I laugh at. Sigh. Oh well, perhaps I've gotten this out of my system. Actually I'm pretty positive that I have; it seems even more frivoulous now then it did at the time....I think this post needs some pictures.

Snow Day

At 9am it was barely snowing, by 4pm it looked like a blizzard! Its amazing, I've never seen so much snow in my life! I also rarely use as many exclamation marks in my writings so this post is a first. But snow deserves exclamation points, I think, because it makes everything look new and bright! Its so strange and foreign, yet you immeadiatly accept it as something beautiul.

Snow seems to do something to a person. It makes people want to write poetry, snuggle up with a lover by the fire place, make children beg to go outside and play in the fairyland, and make elders reminisce. I wanted to take pictures. And I took many pictures. I found it very cold, and very annoying when my brothers started to chase me around with snowballs. I end up running around trying to protect my camera. Eventually I ended up sliding on icy concrete and landing on my butt. My camera, however got through the fall unscathed.

Afterwards I started chasing them back, two against one, but I believe the game was a tie. I'm faster than them even though they are both taller than me and only one is older. Its so sad, I was hoping to reach 5'8, but alas I had to stop growing two inches short. Anyway, back to snow. I'm not much of a poet but I did devise (to my own surprise) a short haiku.

Anticipation

As the world is enveloped

White blurring the land

It kinda sucks, but who cares? I like it. Something is in the air, I believe, because every school child is waiting to know if school will be closed tomorrow also. We all want this four day weekend and more snow to play in. Haha, snow makes everyone children. I should've been doing my biology project, but the lure of the pristine landscape got the best of me. And I had to be out there before it was disturbed to take pictures, of course.

Out there as it was snowing I watched it gather on everything it could, barely feeling the cold on my cheeks, and felt so at peace it almost frightened me. Is that strange? To be frightened by peace? To feel a slight panic that nothing was happening, therefore something is wrong? It was very strange, and it made me start wondering, "is this why we fight so much?" Now I am definitely not saying that this is the cause for wars and all the terrible things that are caused by human faults. But I do think that somewhere in the back of our minds we're afraid of peace. What would we do if we had no disputes to settle, no vengence to take, or no wars to fight for our country?

What would we do?

Its sad but I think its part of our nature. There will never be real peace until we become less human or there are no humans at all.

Wow, at the begining of this post I was using exclamation points and was practically overflowing with happiness, now it ends so soberly. How melancholy and pessimistic I am. Oh well.

Photographs

I like to watch people. (yeah that sounds strange..) Whenever I'm out where there are lots of people; at school, the mall, walking downtown etc. Its just a little quirk I picked up at an early age. I know we all, when children, learn by watching the people around us. We learn what face to make when we're angry, we mimic and we learn in the process. This is when we begin to understand that peoples actions and body language talk also.

I never got out of the habit of watching people, I like to see how different people interact and how they handle situations. I'm always analyzing and categorizing. I love the psychology of people and their emotions and reactions. I find it especially interesting to watch the interaction between parents and children.

You can tell the parents are fed up, especially the new parents, yet their children continue to act hyperactive and, like well, a child. What else can you expect them to do? The parents put on their patient voice and try their best to calm them and get them to act right without causing a scene. But the child doesn't understand, "I've been acting like this the whole day? What happened?" is what they think. So both the child and parent get frustrated, and the the parent believes the child to be misbehaving, the child is just confused, and onlookers chalk it up to bad parenting.

A vicious cycle.

When I was younger I saw so much, so I continued to look and watch. Then I discovered photography and I began to take pictures of everything I thought was interesting, or what I deemed beautiful. My family was confused and often angry that I was "wasting" pictures on people I didn't know, and "its sweet that you like nature so much...but really...this many pictures of our farm?" They didn't seem to comprehend (and still don't :P) that I refused to take fake pictures.

I hate when you see those photos of families smiling and posing on their vacations. I want to take pictures of my family smiling, but I want real smiles, not artificial "oh, here's a camera. I have to be happy" smiles. Because I know from personal experience that a family could have just been fighting, yet they put on those smiles for the camera. I want real pictures. I can't stand to see something, I know is false, being shown around to other people as if we are the perfect family.

Its all lies. I want reality. I know, however, that there are those that hold unto false memories to make them feel better. I guess we all desire the comfort of fantasies when we have no comfort of our own...but that still doesn't make it any less delusional.

So a lot of pictures are going to posted on my blog as part of my story. Some will be of my family like the two above, some will be of random people, and most will be of nature.

Nature and plants are the most honest things on Earth, and they give back as much as they recieve.

The Intro

Every good story, has an introduction-or preface if you like that better- and in the story of life it seems as if our Preface is the longest part. However, what I want to ask, is when can we say our story has finally begun? Or when has it finally concluded? Is the conclusion our death?

Or is it when we give up?

This blog is my own story, I can edit and fabricate as I go, (because honestly, TN can get quite boring at times) but mostly it will be truth. I tend to have a problem with lying. In fact, I've been told that I need to be a little less brutally honest. But with all the sugar-coating and "white" lies that turn out to hurt people...honesty doesn't sting as much.
I think.
But, then again, I am just a naive girl that still hopes for world peace.
And so-the intro to my intro-is concluded.