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“It's a lot easier to be lost than found. It's the reason we're always searching and rarely discovered--so many locks not enough keys.”
-Sarah Dessen

"Happiness doesn't come from doing what you like, but rather, loving what you do."
-Becca & Scott (JC & AC)


Monday, June 10, 2013

Seem

Everyone here is in shock. The few that are left, are grieving. Others, solemn.  It seems, that instead of thinking, why them, everyone is thinking, why me? No one wants to be left on this planet. No one except… me.

They do not seem to understand that, here, every time they look into the distance with mourning, was every time I was looking into the distance with hope, there. The past, is past. They do not seem to understand that, we do not know each other. We can be anyone and everyone we want to be. They do not seem to understand that this is a new page. A new beginning for humanity. They do not seem to understand that this… is… it. Or, maybe, they do understand. Maybe, they just can’t face reality. Maybe, they can’t face the future. Maybe, they can’t face themselves. Or, maybe, they just do not seem.

Seeming… it is a funny thing. It is a funny thing that toys with my mind—plays with my heart. If everything seemed… well, nothing would be quite what it would be, now would it? Nothing would be quite what it would be. If only everything seemed.

The clock on the floor would not seem to be ticking.

The regrets of my life would not seem to be hurting.

The  breath of my soul would not seem to be succumbing to the darkness.



Thursday, May 23, 2013

Untitled


Sometimes, life throws itself at me.
It throws curve balls, and fast balls,
And sometimes the pitch is so crazy, that I feel I can't hit the ball.
I live up to everyone's expectations,
I am told that I am perfect, all the time.
And sometimes I feel like the world depends on me.
Everyone closes their doors on me,
And I am left standing alone in the hallway,
Trying to unlock everyone's door.
And sometimes, I don't have enough keys.
Sometimes, I feel as if it has been me who has locked themselves away.
I try to be the light in everyone's tunnel,
Be the dancing feet to the never ending beat.
But the rain always seems to cast a shadow over the horizon.
Sometimes dancing in the rain is so hard for me, that,
Sometimes,
I strike out. 

Tuesday, May 14, 2013

Linked.


If they say that the chain is only as strong as the weakest link, why do we make weak links even weaker? Aren’t we just hurting our chain, ourselves, by putting down those who are weaker than us? What if we took the initiative to make these weak links stronger—bring them to the strength that we pursue. Think of all we could do then. Just think. Our chain is only as strong as our weakest link. But… what if there were no weak links? What if… we all worked together as one—as a chain would—and all be strong? What if?

Why do we play life like it is a game? A chessboard.. there is a queen, a king, some knights… and there are pawns. We aren’t afraid to sacrifice those little guys. They are in the front row, taking the blows of the other team...of you… but, yet, they are protecting you. Don’t you understand? These pawns want so badly to be a part of that royal kingdom that really isn’t so royal on the inside. We hurt them so much that they fly off of the board. We are left with just our royal family. And our revenge.
Guilt.
Pride.
Ego.
Shame.
Reputations.
Whatever you want to call it, we are left with evil. How would we vent out these foul thoughts? We take it out on the back row. The precious ones. We would fight and fight until the others have been injured, and pretty soon, the only one left standing on one lonesome square. Is. You.  And what is worse than this-- being alone? Fighting alone. Left to defend yourself against the other team. Against your team. When, in reality, you always needed these pawns as much as they need you. Because, you aren’t bringing down individual links of this chain. No, you will never. You are bringing down yourself.

Life is a Broadway show. You will always have those people cheering you on in the audience, so far away… so far beneath you. They are the ones that don’t really care for you—they just like watching you from below with hopes that they could one day stand where you do. You will always have those people cheering you on from backstage… so close… yet, they aren’t on stage until scene twelve. They support you—they care… yet, not enough for you to call them a friend. You will always have those people cheering you on from the dressing rooms… yet, they cannot see your beautiful face. These people truly do wish that they could see your big debut, but, how could they, when they have something more important to do. The attention, of course, comes only if you are the star. The adoring crowd will roar, clap, and cheer your name as you exit stage with an armful of flowers, but there will always be the person left to sweep up the petals.  A person who would be willing to pick up your leftover drops of gratitude. A person whose collection would gradually grow, and grow, until they have enough petals to be the blossoms of hundreds of roses. A person who would have thousands of petals, but not one stem to piece the petals together.

And when we hear of more cuts to the wrist, more medication to the brain, more wounds to the body—to the soul, we just blow it off.
“Oh, we knew they were that kind of person.”
“No one likes them anyway.”
“Everyone already knows.”
Words like these blur our thoughts. We know, inside, that we need to help—bring this person roses, for once, instead of just petals.  But… wouldn’t that bring our chain down? If we betray our words-- the “I won’t” that once followed the desperate words “please…don’t tell anyone,” we would bring our chain down. If we let them be, it would bring our chain down. Falling… falling  to the ground under the weight of everyone else. Ask yourself… would you be willing to free fall for our chain to come back stronger?

Because, after all, our chain is only as strong as our weakest link. 

Friday, April 26, 2013

Response to "A Clean, Well-lighted Place" Text to Film


“Some lived in it and never felt it but he knew it all was nada y pues nada y nada y pues nada. Our nada who art in nada, nada be thy name thy kingdom nada thy will be nada in nada as it is in nada. Give us this nada our daily nada and nada us our nada as we nada our nadas and nada us not into nada but deliver us from nada; pues nada.”
I feel like this line means a lot to the overall tone and voice of this story. Exactly translated, this quote means: Therefore nothing and nothing, nothing and nothing. Our nothing who art in nothing as nothing, be thy name thy kingdom nothing thy will be nothing in nothing as it is in anything. Give us this nothing our daily nothing and nothing us our nothing as we nothing our nothings and nothing us not into nothing but deliver us from nothing; because nothing. Looking at the structure of this quote, I think that it is paralleling the “Our Father” from Christianity. By substituting key religious and meaningful words with “nothing” or “nada” I think that the author is portraying that he believes in nothing, and that nothing is the central focus of his life.
However, I thought that this line in the film adaptation was incredibly mashed together and confusing. After the camera roles down the line of “nothing” people in the bar, the nada speech starts, where I think it should have started as the camera showed the people with a life of misery. I, in addition, did not like the 7 (about) voices saying this line at once… I felt like it took away from the meaning of the text. The director/actors should have said little bits, as they go down the line, so that one person would say a few words, the next person would say a few words, and so forth. This would create a whole different effect in the film. By having many people murmur the lines at once, the audience is being shown that these people live in a web of nothingness, when really, nothing is nothing so why complicate it? By having people go bit by bit, the audience is exposed to a whole different meaning of this scene. Rather than complication of nothingness, it would just state their lives of nothing, their lives of nothing that they are all bonded with.

Thursday, April 18, 2013

Deflecting Deceptions

Author's Note: I know that I haven't posted a creative piece in a while, so I decided to write a Stream of Consciousness, and this is how it turned out-- some prose poetry. Feel free to leave constructive feedback and opinions. :)

If I were to tell you to wear a red shirt, you’d wear a green one.

 If you thought that I looked happy, you would ask me “What’s wrong?”

If you saw me start to walk towards you, you’d walk from me.

You and I live in a world of opposites, an expression of life.  I don’t know what ever happened to make us communicate in such ways that deflect the others’ idea, but somehow, somehow, that little bit of craziness makes sense when I’m with you.

Somehow.

That world of opposites, isn’t really opposite as long as we both live in that dimension together. Without you, without me, I would just be a chaotic ball of nothing, but somehow,

somehow,

when we collide, we both aren’t nothing anymore.

 That green shirt looks so much better on you anyway, and really,

when I looked happy, the insides were hurting as surely as heaven. 

Although I walk towards you and you walk away, if you turn the image of yourself upside down, walking from me turns to walking to me. 

Walking from me turns to walking to me. 

Thursday, March 14, 2013

The Colors of Eyes

Everything in nature is connected, as a cycle. A newly delivered mist from the sky waters the seeds that hide underneath dirt, and we are left with beautiful, lush grass which is then trampled on by graceful animals prancing through the woods. Everything in nature is connected, as a cycle.

 Just like everything in nature is connected through a cycle, a pattern, so are humans. We are all connected with visions, with actions, with our eyes. We look to someone else’s eye color to determine what we think of them, and then that person mocks that behavior in return. We are all connected through the colors of eyes. 

Ponyboy Curtis from S.E. Hilton’s The Outsiders is just one of many who admit to looking at the color of his gang member’s eyes to portray to us-- as the readers--his perceptions of them. From Dally’s piercing blue eyes to Johnny’s big black eyes, symbolism and truth behind each character’s eyes is reflected perfectly in their personalities.

 You know that kind of person in your life that you can totally trust, and you can run to for anything? Soda is that kind of person in Ponyboy’s life. Strong, grounding, enduring… it only makes sense that his eyes are brown. Deep brown, as the dirt on the ground may lay. Forever there and ready to catch you when you fall. Deep brown, as the trunk of the tree. Sturdy and protects you from harm. Deep brown, as in a warm winter sweater. Cozy, and keeps you from the cold of the world. We can see these qualities especially once Ponyboy is hurt and has to be taken to the hospital, and Soda takes over the motherly role, and takes care of Ponyboy. Soda says, “We stayed with you so much that the doctor told us we were going to end up in the hospital ourselves if we didn't get some sleep. But we didn't get any anyway...” (139). Deep brown—Soda.

 Johnny is also one of the people Ponyboy can trust most in The Outsiders—in fact, I would call him Ponyboy’s best friend. That saying “a friend will bail you out of jail, but a best friend will be right there with you saying, ‘Wow—we screwed that one up!” applies to Johnny perfectly. Johnny is the guy who ran away from murder, taking Ponyboy with him, and setting a church on fire (accidentally of course). And, although Johnny may seem like the adventurous type, he actually is nervous, full of secrets, defeated. He is vulnerable, scrawny, the weakest link in the chain. His past holds him back. Just like the night—dark, unknowing. We can’t see anything clearly. What color would best represent defeat and darkness? Black. Pitch black. Black—Johnny.

 Although we have comforting people in our lives, there are also those people that make us… shiver. They are cold, mean, hard. Icy. A piercing blue would suit this person well. It only makes sense that Dally’s eyes are blazing blue. But, like the snowfalls of and ice of winter, though dangerous and cold, can also be beautiful. We can see the soft side of Dally when Ponyboy and Johnny ask him for help to run away. Dally says “’Git goin’!’ He messed up Johnny’s hair. ‘Take care, kid,’ he said softly” (56). Icy blue—Dally. 

The brotherly role in Ponyboy’s household is played by, none other than Ponyboy’s actual sibling, Darry. Darry is the classic older brother: controlling, annoying, but also, the occasional supporting and loving. Dally’s blue eyes merged with the energy and invulnerableness of the color green make Darry’s eyes unique. Grass would represent this kind of green perfectly; it is soft, and springing up from the ground with all of its energy. Darry’s actions speak louder than his words, and we can see his love through his actions to Ponyboy. “ Soda was shaking me gently. ‘Hey. Ponyboy, wake up. You still got to get to the house.’ ‘Hmmmmm,’ I said sleepily, and lay down in the seat. I couldn’t have gotten up to save my life. I could hear Soda and Darry, but as if from a great distance. ‘Oh, come on, Ponyboy,’ Soda pleaded, shaking me a little harder, ‘we’re sleepy too.’ I guess Darry was tired of fooling around, because he picked me up, and carried me in...” (92). I personally think that by carrying someone when they are weak is the ultimate symbol of love—you are picking someone up when they are hurt, when they fall. You are there to support them. Blue green—Darry.

 Two-Bit’s eyes are gray. You could say that his eyes are like a storm—daring and dangerous, but I think that his stormy eyes portray the fact that he is unpredictable. Watching the weather, it is hard to predict the exact time a storm will hit—sometimes we are taken totally by surprise, sometimes we are a few days off, sometimes just a few hours. Two-Bit is stormy in that sense. One minute, he is making funny remarks, the next he is being escorted by police because of, yet another, shoplifting spree. Two-Bit’s behavior is impulsive just like a storm. Gray—Two Bit.


 Just like how all of these characters are emotionally connected between the bond of a gang, and connected through Ponyboy, these characters are also connected by the symbolism of nature in their eye colors. We have deep brown, like dirt, pitch black, like the night, icy blue, like winter, energizing green, like grass, and soft gray, like a storm. When all of these physical qualities are added together as a cycle, and work together as a team, we have one beautiful earth—one beautiful friendship.

Monday, March 11, 2013

Her mirror,
A clean slate,
Of crisp reflective pools,
Slanting to her bare yet welcoming walls.

My mirror,
A whiteboard of reminders, notes, and fun,
Hand prints seal the mirror with memories of resting my hand on the surface-- applying stage makeup to my eyes,
Or, perhaps, from tracing my image while singing into a hairspray bottle.

Her bag,
A backpack stuffed orderly with some pens,
Her valued camera(s),
A few paintbrushes.

My bag,
A pink bundle of joy,
Cluttered with my laptop, my vocal book for the latest musical I have pursued,
And my sweat-moistened dance shoes.

Her dreams,

My dreams,

Sit.

Watching us from our mirrors.

Waiting in our bags.



Waiting


No matter where I go,
What I do,
I'm second place,
Compared to you.

You comfort me,
Find my weak spot,
Say it's alright,
When we know it's not.

And words of kindness,
Seem to fail,
When sadness seems,
To tip the scale.

For what are words?
Broken promises that mock,
My eyes close
as the clock "tick-tocks".

Wednesday, February 13, 2013

Shatter


Millions of them, falling, falling, to the ground. The eyes, the horrible, horrible, eyes mocking perhaps, what we would call a mirror. The delicate glass floats in the air—a portal to our past—a dangerous trap, that one.  They attempt to lure us to the dark side, and they will, unless we wait, wait, for them to… shatter.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         

Thursday, January 31, 2013

Broken Trees


In this sliver of nothing,
Absence,
It holds everything.

Demons,
They try to cut normality,
Shape it,
In their unwilling, vastly envious,
Hands.

Shape it,
So that the insanity,
Might fall through the cracks,
Of their wisps we call fingers.

The memories,
Held up by long, ever stretching pillars,
Trees,
That, in the making,
Seem to lost themselves.

And,
Like a cell,
We are enclosed in strips of irrationality.
Memories,
Of broken trees.