an inspiration in my drugged up state.
The Pill Glass
Calls to me, alluringly,
shimmer, sliver, shine of light,
gleam of amber bottle.
Black letter on a white form
entwine and encase my beloved.
A cap of hard resistance
mocks me,
prevents the child within,
crushes my ambition.
Lovely bottle
in your lofty heaven sit,
gaze over my sleeping form,
A gentle reminder of a choice to make in years yet to come
Monday, December 29, 2008
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Sleepless in PA
CAN'T SLEEP!!!!!
I'm so buzzed right now. I slept from 3 to 10 today, so I'm kinda jazzed right now. I've got a lot on my mind right now... I think too much, or so I've been told. I also worry too much.
Well I'm happy to be home. I missed it and I missed Max. Love my cat, which is funny since I never saw myself as a cat person... maybe I like him so much since he act like a dog. he plays fetch... and like his belly scratched... and he's an attention whore... and yes, I'm still talking about my cat.
So, I don't really have anything creative to put up here... which is sad. I didn't write at all today, just read Godot and some HP. Now I'm listening to DJ Chachi who's AWESOME!!! Give his stuff a listen. He's got a nice mix of oldies and new stuff.
Okay, well if I come across something creative I'll post it. In the meantime here are some more pics:
I'm so buzzed right now. I slept from 3 to 10 today, so I'm kinda jazzed right now. I've got a lot on my mind right now... I think too much, or so I've been told. I also worry too much.
Well I'm happy to be home. I missed it and I missed Max. Love my cat, which is funny since I never saw myself as a cat person... maybe I like him so much since he act like a dog. he plays fetch... and like his belly scratched... and he's an attention whore... and yes, I'm still talking about my cat.
So, I don't really have anything creative to put up here... which is sad. I didn't write at all today, just read Godot and some HP. Now I'm listening to DJ Chachi who's AWESOME!!! Give his stuff a listen. He's got a nice mix of oldies and new stuff.
Okay, well if I come across something creative I'll post it. In the meantime here are some more pics:
Friday, December 19, 2008
okay, so I need to pack, but I'm bored and don't want to so I'm gonna post instead. I'm the epitome of a procrastinator.
Gah, my life right now is just like that bathroom stall - out of order. I'm sick, confused, and I feel like for all the time I've been at college I've achieved nothing (except wright a scathing essay on George Washington and become obsessed with the scandals of Andrew Jackson - woot history!). I feel like my life's out of control, like a puppet on strings being forced to dance around to the master's delight. I'm not sure how I ended up here, but I believe it has something to do with my mother's dreams for me and a lot of money being thrown at me. Just goes to show: money is the root of all evil.
There's a literary magazine on campus which my friend wants me to turn some of my work into, but I'm not so sure about it. I don't like people I know being able to read and critique my work. If some stranger says they don't like one (or all) of my creative endeavors, then that's fine, it doesn't bug me. But if someone I know and love doesn't approve, well I don't know how I'd take that. Maybe I'll try submitting anonomously...
okay, so poetry time! exciting, no? This is something I wrote instead of an essay I couldn't focus on.
I'm not writing an essay right now
like I should be.
Been working for hours,
not a single word done.
I've lost all motivation,
especially on a topic I hate.
Question my beliefs
and tear my faith to shreads.
More like an attack than discourse.
Still I stand strong
and endure.
And yet, my paper lays
a dream in whisps of future words.
Words unwritten tell the best tales
of stories yet to come.
The words I need are dull
like rusted old pennies;
non--existent,
decrepit.
Still I write and no essay comes.
Oh well.
I will write eventually.
But I'm not going to class tomorrow
anyway.
I'll just slip it under her door before I leave.
okay, and here's some more musings that have nothing to do with boredom and everything to do with mythology!
I press my face against the cold stone
That separates me from my love.
My love,
my life,
I live for him
and yet the days seem long since I've
seen his face,
felt his warmth,
and danced in the mulberries.
Thisbe by John William Waterhouse 1909
He sings me sweet melodies
and whispers soft rhymes
of love and freedom soon to be
from our intolerable confines.
His eyes,
like oak and deep as Neptune's sea;
alight my soul and fly to thee.
Loving words for loving ears
to reach thee sweet o'er all the years.
Enought for now.
'till later.
Gah, my life right now is just like that bathroom stall - out of order. I'm sick, confused, and I feel like for all the time I've been at college I've achieved nothing (except wright a scathing essay on George Washington and become obsessed with the scandals of Andrew Jackson - woot history!). I feel like my life's out of control, like a puppet on strings being forced to dance around to the master's delight. I'm not sure how I ended up here, but I believe it has something to do with my mother's dreams for me and a lot of money being thrown at me. Just goes to show: money is the root of all evil.
There's a literary magazine on campus which my friend wants me to turn some of my work into, but I'm not so sure about it. I don't like people I know being able to read and critique my work. If some stranger says they don't like one (or all) of my creative endeavors, then that's fine, it doesn't bug me. But if someone I know and love doesn't approve, well I don't know how I'd take that. Maybe I'll try submitting anonomously...
okay, so poetry time! exciting, no? This is something I wrote instead of an essay I couldn't focus on.
I'm not writing an essay right now
like I should be.
Been working for hours,
not a single word done.
I've lost all motivation,
especially on a topic I hate.
Question my beliefs
and tear my faith to shreads.
More like an attack than discourse.
Still I stand strong
and endure.
And yet, my paper lays
a dream in whisps of future words.
Words unwritten tell the best tales
of stories yet to come.
The words I need are dull
like rusted old pennies;
non--existent,
decrepit.
Still I write and no essay comes.
Oh well.
I will write eventually.
But I'm not going to class tomorrow
anyway.
I'll just slip it under her door before I leave.
okay, and here's some more musings that have nothing to do with boredom and everything to do with mythology!
I press my face against the cold stone
That separates me from my love.
My love,
my life,
I live for him
and yet the days seem long since I've
seen his face,
felt his warmth,
and danced in the mulberries.
Thisbe by John William Waterhouse 1909
He sings me sweet melodies
and whispers soft rhymes
of love and freedom soon to be
from our intolerable confines.
His eyes,
like oak and deep as Neptune's sea;
alight my soul and fly to thee.
Loving words for loving ears
to reach thee sweet o'er all the years.
Enought for now.
'till later.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Random Musings
Just some random musings from today and some pics I took a while ago. Haven't titled any of them...
My love grips at me with cold hands,
Pulling me down to depths of immorality
and shades of despair.
I cry out:
"Free me from my solitude.
End my enduring anguish,
My masochistic torture."
His eyes too hard to penetrate.
An endless pain steeps in the snow,
Of long days gone and soon to come.
His death a token at my feet.
I choose to leave it, kick it far,
Forget the past with no regrets.
A drunken love of lover's dare
to hide the blushing cheek.
Cry out again in pain and stare
at Death's dark door, Love's keep.
He holds her in a tight embrace
with sneers at modesty.
He takes the tears upon her face
and ends such Purity.
And while she cries for lovers lost
He bursts upon her 'new
The silent form of Love the cost,
still in the morning dew.
The sun o'er head, the birds a'flight,
While Death's work lays in early light.
A beaut' once 'live, no more shall be
Death's love Love ends, eternally.
My love grips at me with cold hands,
Pulling me down to depths of immorality
and shades of despair.
I cry out:
"Free me from my solitude.
End my enduring anguish,
My masochistic torture."
An endless pain steeps in the snow,
Of long days gone and soon to come.
His death a token at my feet.
I choose to leave it, kick it far,
Forget the past with no regrets.
to hide the blushing cheek.
Cry out again in pain and stare
at Death's dark door, Love's keep.
He holds her in a tight embrace
with sneers at modesty.
He takes the tears upon her face
and ends such Purity.
And while she cries for lovers lost
He bursts upon her 'new
The silent form of Love the cost,
still in the morning dew.
The sun o'er head, the birds a'flight,
While Death's work lays in early light.
A beaut' once 'live, no more shall be
Death's love Love ends, eternally.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Sick and Sulking
I hate being sick. It's so annoying. I feel as if I'm helpless, a child, and I can do nothing about. Hopefully I'll get better soon (like now). Anyways here's two excerpts from another piece I'm writing:
For the first week I didn’t believe it was happening. I thought it was just a night mare, a dream I’d soon awake from. I wished it was a joke, a cruel practical joke that’d gone too far. I lived in a fog, a protective cover of delusion. Disbelief was the only thing keeping me sane. Every morning I awoke expecting to see my beautiful sky blue walls and instead found darkness and a dank smell. I remember not knowing what was going on. A plate of food, a sliver of light on the ceiling, big dark men, and pain; I surely remember the pain. Coldness, that too. It’s funny how slowly that first week passed in comparison to the next few.
The second week I realized that I was there, I was trapped, but I figured it wouldn’t be long before I was rescued. I fell into a routine: eat, sleep, use the outhouse. Yes, the only movement I did was a thirty step walk from my cell to the outhouse, blindfolded so I didn’t even get to see the light of day. Through all this I survived on the thought that my dear, sweet Simon was coming to rescue me. I knew he wouldn’t take long.
My body screamed at the over exertion. My limbs felt stife and sore and tired all at the same time. The rain soaked me to the bone and added unappreciated weight to my dress. Tree branches whipped my face as I stumbled after my unknown savior. I only hoped it was Simon, though I knew it wasn’t.
I tripped on a root and slamed to the ground, mud caking the side of my face. I laid there wanting to give up. Cold wet seeped through my body, freezing my marrow. I sat and just gazed after my rescuer, who happened to glance back and notice me on the ground.
“Hurry it up!”
His voice, deep and husky from all the exertion, sent shivers through my body. His eyes were fierce and bright blue under a mass of brown hair and pierced me to the core. My gut tightened and my pulse raced. I got up and ran to him, some new energy pulling me and helping my tired body move.
For the first week I didn’t believe it was happening. I thought it was just a night mare, a dream I’d soon awake from. I wished it was a joke, a cruel practical joke that’d gone too far. I lived in a fog, a protective cover of delusion. Disbelief was the only thing keeping me sane. Every morning I awoke expecting to see my beautiful sky blue walls and instead found darkness and a dank smell. I remember not knowing what was going on. A plate of food, a sliver of light on the ceiling, big dark men, and pain; I surely remember the pain. Coldness, that too. It’s funny how slowly that first week passed in comparison to the next few.
The second week I realized that I was there, I was trapped, but I figured it wouldn’t be long before I was rescued. I fell into a routine: eat, sleep, use the outhouse. Yes, the only movement I did was a thirty step walk from my cell to the outhouse, blindfolded so I didn’t even get to see the light of day. Through all this I survived on the thought that my dear, sweet Simon was coming to rescue me. I knew he wouldn’t take long.
My body screamed at the over exertion. My limbs felt stife and sore and tired all at the same time. The rain soaked me to the bone and added unappreciated weight to my dress. Tree branches whipped my face as I stumbled after my unknown savior. I only hoped it was Simon, though I knew it wasn’t.
I tripped on a root and slamed to the ground, mud caking the side of my face. I laid there wanting to give up. Cold wet seeped through my body, freezing my marrow. I sat and just gazed after my rescuer, who happened to glance back and notice me on the ground.
“Hurry it up!”
His voice, deep and husky from all the exertion, sent shivers through my body. His eyes were fierce and bright blue under a mass of brown hair and pierced me to the core. My gut tightened and my pulse raced. I got up and ran to him, some new energy pulling me and helping my tired body move.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Brand New Day
Well, first post and it's not going to be a good one. Sick and bored so I created this blog. It's a place to post my musings and creative impulses that also won't be seen by many people. I guess I'll just say a little about myself and post and old piece or two.
I'm a dance major though I have no clue where my life is taking me. I have no clue where I'll be tomorrow and I'm not sure how I ended up here today. I've always felt a greater sense of direction in my life and I feel like I'm finally making decisions on my own, taking control over life, and making what I can of it. I'm not going to write about what college I'm at or much personal information at all because I don't trust the internet. So, I'll write a lot about things that happen to me, but very little of the places and people involved. Sorry about being vague but it's how I am.
Okay, so here's some stuff I wrote for creative writing last year:
This is a stream-of-consciousness piece entitled Last Thoughts. It’s short, but eh, I like it.
“Milk; cheese; butter. Milk; cheese; butter. Milk; cheese; butter. God, why does mom need to have them now, why can’t she just go get them herself. Eleven twenty-two! How can it already be eleven twenty-two! Where does time go? Why, why did I have to have my cell phone on? Or why didn’t I just ignore the call, then I’d be on my way to Bettie’s and wouldn’t be late. Crap, I forgot the movie. Okay, so I’m going to get this stuff, drop it off, rent the movie, and then get to Bettie’s. What time did she say? Oh right, eleven thirty. That’s not going to happen. Hmm, what movie should I get, Everafter or Pride and Prejudice? Oh, actually I should probably get something a little less romance a little more girl power, Chad and her just broke up. He’s such a jerk. Cute, but a jerk. I can’t believe they only dated for two months, they were so attached. She really liked him. Oh well, Bettie will get over it …eventually. He has a really nice butt though. Like Chad Michael Murray. I wonder if all guys with that name have good butts. Oh wait, never mind, I forgot about Chad Phillips. Ew. Attractiveness definitely has nothing to do with a person’s name.
Oh look a dollar! This is my lucky day! Ew, it’s all wrinkled and dirty. Oh well, a dollar is a dollar, and those of us who are broke can’t complain. I really need to ask for a raise. I can barely get by on what Greg’s paying me. Maybe I’ll ask tomorrow. Oh, and I’ll wear my blue shirt! Ha, he won’t stand a chance. What is it about that shirt? You know what, who cares! I always seem to get what I want when I wear it. What I want… What do I want? A boyfriend. Ha, no seriously. Crap what am I supposed to buy again? Uh… Milk. Beans? No, no beans. Coffee? Mmmm, I could go for a mocha right now. Yummy. Wait, I still don’t remember. Oh right, Milk, cheese, and butter. What is my mother making? I guess she just ran out. Goodness, you think she’d realize when she’s running low on something and would grab it on her weekly shopping trips. Try our new super spicy breakfast burrito? Um, thanks, but no thanks. Ew, who would eat that in the morning? Why would you want something spicy? Weird. Okay, so milk, cheese, butter. Milk cheese, butter. Milk, cheese-
Gun!? Shit! Shit! Crap! Ah! No! What? Please, please no! Ah! Please, don’t-don’t shoot! No! Ah! Oh Shit! Ow, My God!"
Gloria lay dead, all thoughts silenced. Her digital watched blinked and changed to read 11:23.
So, there's the first one. Here's and excerpt from something else I've started:
Dara ran around the corner leaving Matt and I alone in the elevator narthex. He stared at me silent and intense. My body grounded to the spot while his eyes penetrated mine. Deep blue oceans surrounded by liquid gold, I drowned in them. The silence continued and I blinked breaking the intensity a little.
“Well, I guess I’ll see you around,” I offered into the weighted silence. Matt took a step closer to me and pursed his lips, contemplating something lost to me. He started to lean in ever so slowly, his deep eyes never leaving mine. My heart raced, anticipating the feel of his slightly parted lips against mine. I started to lean forward too when suddenly he stopped, pulling back slightly. A question passed from my eyes to his unasked but full of meaning. Again his lips came together while he formed an answer.
“I’d kiss you but-”
“It’s okay, you can kiss me,” I interrupted, hopping not to sound too anxious for his touch. He smiled, half shook his head and leaned in once more.
Soft warmth against my skin sent shivers of satisfaction down my spine. Matt’s arms wounds their way around my waist filling the space preexisting space between us with our bodies. I could hear the thunder of the falls in my ears, or maybe the pounding of my heart. We flew together through time and space, distant past and future mingles as one, planets and moons were ours to traverse. The eternity lay before us and the world stood still at our feet.
"Rebecca,” my father called from around the corner and the spell broke. We were in a hotel in Niagara, Canada and my father was right around the corner, possibly about to discover me with a guy two years older than me. I pushed away from him with a smile lingering on my lips and started to go. Matt caught my hand.
“Tomorrow, I’ll be at the pool around seven doing laps. Meet me.”
“Okay,” I answered, the silent plea apparent in both our eyes. He held my gaze for another moment before turning back to the elevators. I left him, still exultant over the memory of a few moments ago.
So that's it. I'll post more another time. Now I'm going to update my profile.
UPDATE 7/19/09: I just edited this post. The second story was actually based on a real account and since last names aren't used I figure why bother lying? so I change the names back to the actual participants. Oh, and if anyone actually does read this here's an interesting tid-bit: that story (in Niagara) is about my first (real) kiss!
I'm a dance major though I have no clue where my life is taking me. I have no clue where I'll be tomorrow and I'm not sure how I ended up here today. I've always felt a greater sense of direction in my life and I feel like I'm finally making decisions on my own, taking control over life, and making what I can of it. I'm not going to write about what college I'm at or much personal information at all because I don't trust the internet. So, I'll write a lot about things that happen to me, but very little of the places and people involved. Sorry about being vague but it's how I am.
Okay, so here's some stuff I wrote for creative writing last year:
This is a stream-of-consciousness piece entitled Last Thoughts. It’s short, but eh, I like it.
“Milk; cheese; butter. Milk; cheese; butter. Milk; cheese; butter. God, why does mom need to have them now, why can’t she just go get them herself. Eleven twenty-two! How can it already be eleven twenty-two! Where does time go? Why, why did I have to have my cell phone on? Or why didn’t I just ignore the call, then I’d be on my way to Bettie’s and wouldn’t be late. Crap, I forgot the movie. Okay, so I’m going to get this stuff, drop it off, rent the movie, and then get to Bettie’s. What time did she say? Oh right, eleven thirty. That’s not going to happen. Hmm, what movie should I get, Everafter or Pride and Prejudice? Oh, actually I should probably get something a little less romance a little more girl power, Chad and her just broke up. He’s such a jerk. Cute, but a jerk. I can’t believe they only dated for two months, they were so attached. She really liked him. Oh well, Bettie will get over it …eventually. He has a really nice butt though. Like Chad Michael Murray. I wonder if all guys with that name have good butts. Oh wait, never mind, I forgot about Chad Phillips. Ew. Attractiveness definitely has nothing to do with a person’s name.
Oh look a dollar! This is my lucky day! Ew, it’s all wrinkled and dirty. Oh well, a dollar is a dollar, and those of us who are broke can’t complain. I really need to ask for a raise. I can barely get by on what Greg’s paying me. Maybe I’ll ask tomorrow. Oh, and I’ll wear my blue shirt! Ha, he won’t stand a chance. What is it about that shirt? You know what, who cares! I always seem to get what I want when I wear it. What I want… What do I want? A boyfriend. Ha, no seriously. Crap what am I supposed to buy again? Uh… Milk. Beans? No, no beans. Coffee? Mmmm, I could go for a mocha right now. Yummy. Wait, I still don’t remember. Oh right, Milk, cheese, and butter. What is my mother making? I guess she just ran out. Goodness, you think she’d realize when she’s running low on something and would grab it on her weekly shopping trips. Try our new super spicy breakfast burrito? Um, thanks, but no thanks. Ew, who would eat that in the morning? Why would you want something spicy? Weird. Okay, so milk, cheese, butter. Milk cheese, butter. Milk, cheese-
Gun!? Shit! Shit! Crap! Ah! No! What? Please, please no! Ah! Please, don’t-don’t shoot! No! Ah! Oh Shit! Ow, My God!"
Gloria lay dead, all thoughts silenced. Her digital watched blinked and changed to read 11:23.
So, there's the first one. Here's and excerpt from something else I've started:
Dara ran around the corner leaving Matt and I alone in the elevator narthex. He stared at me silent and intense. My body grounded to the spot while his eyes penetrated mine. Deep blue oceans surrounded by liquid gold, I drowned in them. The silence continued and I blinked breaking the intensity a little.
“Well, I guess I’ll see you around,” I offered into the weighted silence. Matt took a step closer to me and pursed his lips, contemplating something lost to me. He started to lean in ever so slowly, his deep eyes never leaving mine. My heart raced, anticipating the feel of his slightly parted lips against mine. I started to lean forward too when suddenly he stopped, pulling back slightly. A question passed from my eyes to his unasked but full of meaning. Again his lips came together while he formed an answer.
“I’d kiss you but-”
“It’s okay, you can kiss me,” I interrupted, hopping not to sound too anxious for his touch. He smiled, half shook his head and leaned in once more.
Soft warmth against my skin sent shivers of satisfaction down my spine. Matt’s arms wounds their way around my waist filling the space preexisting space between us with our bodies. I could hear the thunder of the falls in my ears, or maybe the pounding of my heart. We flew together through time and space, distant past and future mingles as one, planets and moons were ours to traverse. The eternity lay before us and the world stood still at our feet.
"Rebecca,” my father called from around the corner and the spell broke. We were in a hotel in Niagara, Canada and my father was right around the corner, possibly about to discover me with a guy two years older than me. I pushed away from him with a smile lingering on my lips and started to go. Matt caught my hand.
“Tomorrow, I’ll be at the pool around seven doing laps. Meet me.”
“Okay,” I answered, the silent plea apparent in both our eyes. He held my gaze for another moment before turning back to the elevators. I left him, still exultant over the memory of a few moments ago.
So that's it. I'll post more another time. Now I'm going to update my profile.
UPDATE 7/19/09: I just edited this post. The second story was actually based on a real account and since last names aren't used I figure why bother lying? so I change the names back to the actual participants. Oh, and if anyone actually does read this here's an interesting tid-bit: that story (in Niagara) is about my first (real) kiss!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
