The time has come.
It's over now, all over.
My body is just too weary to go on
And, sadly (although expectingly)
my mind dropped off the world
a while ago.
Everything is whispering to me.
No, singing. They're all singing to me.
Wait...
It's, it's a... lullaby
Oh, sweet lullaby
But no!
I cannot end this now,
I must continue my trek
It cannot end here,
not like this,
not now!
The rooms moving a little,
My eyes, they're so sluggish
And I feel as though I'm trying
to walk in warm wax
Mmm...
So warm,
So comfortable..
So...
It's as if time is slowly along with me
The second hand on my watch is still
Maybe time is slowing for me
Letting me take a...
Moment..
Of...
Its...
Oh no...
It's... over...
ZzZzZzZx
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Giggles | WS
So,
Where do you find happiness?
I asked
The little girl was looking up at me;
Seemed confused
It's right there
She said, pointing
Her face changed and she began to watch something very contently
A wicked grin flashed, excitement was displayed in every feature
She lunged for some imaginary something, letting out a squeal
Looked like she just captured a grasshopper
Pulling her arms in close she stepped to me
Look here
Whispering she pulled back her fingers to show me
Aww... I didn't get it
A little frown took over, she looked up into my eyes
Her expression again changed, excited again
Sitting now, legs crossed before her she watched something
Eyes and head would pivot back and forth
Like seeing a fish swimming
Darting in and out of view
I was curious, sitting facing her
I tried to follow the image too
Without warning she lunged for a spot
I missed it!
She exclaimed, eyes wide and searching
I think you're sitting on it, hurry!
Pushing me she tried to see under
No.. Not there.
The little girl sighed, sitting again. This time
she just sat and watched something in the air
Ooohh..
You could see the excitement again
She closed her eyes, biting gently on her lower lip
Waiting.
I watched her there for a few quiet minutes
Wondered if I should say something
Even peered into the sky, looking for what she saw
Giggling softly, the little girl fidgeted a bit, eyes still closed tightly
The air settled, time stood still
Time stopped without even noticing
The girl fell back, rolling with laughter and joy
You found me!
Where do you find happiness?
I asked
The little girl was looking up at me;
Seemed confused
It's right there
She said, pointing
Her face changed and she began to watch something very contently
A wicked grin flashed, excitement was displayed in every feature
She lunged for some imaginary something, letting out a squeal
Looked like she just captured a grasshopper
Pulling her arms in close she stepped to me
Look here
Whispering she pulled back her fingers to show me
Aww... I didn't get it
A little frown took over, she looked up into my eyes
Her expression again changed, excited again
Sitting now, legs crossed before her she watched something
Eyes and head would pivot back and forth
Like seeing a fish swimming
Darting in and out of view
I was curious, sitting facing her
I tried to follow the image too
Without warning she lunged for a spot
I missed it!
She exclaimed, eyes wide and searching
I think you're sitting on it, hurry!
Pushing me she tried to see under
No.. Not there.
The little girl sighed, sitting again. This time
she just sat and watched something in the air
Ooohh..
You could see the excitement again
She closed her eyes, biting gently on her lower lip
Waiting.
I watched her there for a few quiet minutes
Wondered if I should say something
Even peered into the sky, looking for what she saw
Giggling softly, the little girl fidgeted a bit, eyes still closed tightly
The air settled, time stood still
Time stopped without even noticing
The girl fell back, rolling with laughter and joy
You found me!
Friday, November 2, 2007
When I Write | WS
Next up!
When I Write..
I write when things just can no longer be held inside me, usually. Like dropping a bottle of soda and then opening it. The ideas are all fine, and sit in my head for any amount of time usually. I walk around with them, and shake it a little bit, just a bit, and it keeps me going. One day I'll 'drop' this mental bottle of soda and pick it back up. Fizzing and fighting to be free but it dies down after a couple second. Looks safe, huh? Turn the cap, and instantly, the contents spring their surprise attack and raid the outside world. The important time for me to write is after I 'drop' the bottle. If I don't at least begin to write about what I've been lingering on, it will settle out and be fine after time. I'm pretty amazed at how many ideas really could of taken off if I had stopped and wrote something when I get excited and find I drop the bottle. So, back to the real topic, I write after really thinking about something. It's just looking for some outside force, the drop, or hidden inner motivation to get me to put the ideas on paper. As of time of day, I'll have to say I write at night. Not necessarily because I enjoy doing it this way, but it's when time is abundant and most my worries have managed to settle in for a bit.
Wish I had some ending to this, but, I'm not writing a story, or giving an opinion.. I'm simply writing.
When I Write..
I write when things just can no longer be held inside me, usually. Like dropping a bottle of soda and then opening it. The ideas are all fine, and sit in my head for any amount of time usually. I walk around with them, and shake it a little bit, just a bit, and it keeps me going. One day I'll 'drop' this mental bottle of soda and pick it back up. Fizzing and fighting to be free but it dies down after a couple second. Looks safe, huh? Turn the cap, and instantly, the contents spring their surprise attack and raid the outside world. The important time for me to write is after I 'drop' the bottle. If I don't at least begin to write about what I've been lingering on, it will settle out and be fine after time. I'm pretty amazed at how many ideas really could of taken off if I had stopped and wrote something when I get excited and find I drop the bottle. So, back to the real topic, I write after really thinking about something. It's just looking for some outside force, the drop, or hidden inner motivation to get me to put the ideas on paper. As of time of day, I'll have to say I write at night. Not necessarily because I enjoy doing it this way, but it's when time is abundant and most my worries have managed to settle in for a bit.
Wish I had some ending to this, but, I'm not writing a story, or giving an opinion.. I'm simply writing.
My writing space... | WS
I've had incredible writers block.. I've had the idea for draft three just simmering in the back of my mind for several weeks, and it's sadly, slowly, being destroyed by my lack of actually writing it and criticizing what work I have done on it.. So, wanted to post up the little exercises we did in class, hopefully it will help me clear my mind a bit.
My writing space..
The temperate, for the perfect atmosphere, has to be bordering that line between warm and simply neutral. It's incredibly difficult to achieve. You either have to have it be just a bit cold and then be bundled a bit, just enough to fight off the cold and add that angel soft touch of warmth, or it has to be naturally just about that warm, can't have the sun right on you, or it will end up heating to just a bit too much.
Depending on the time of day I tend to change what type of light sources I enjoy. For example, in the morning I really love just the natural light that often will spill under your curtains. The earlier times give off practically a blue light, and when it gets a little brighter it gently warms. During the afternoon, when the suns high and everything is bright, I usually let it light fill ever bit of space. Any lamp I have it turned on, curtains are open. The white walls seem to be as smooth as anything, the light fills any impurity. Later, when the sun starts to yawn, I start to become fond to just a single, tiny lamp that I own. Tiny might be a little off, but the light it gives is. A shinny, silver, touch lamp, the kinds that have different intensities. I tap it twice, giving it the 'medium' affect and it gently beams down. The silver shade captures what light races to the ceiling and instead keeps it all flowing down. The single light source gives everything a direction. Shadows are defined, made from the existence of light and solid as iron. The best is when you have a pencil, and you're writing on simple notebook paper. The important aspect to this is the top of the pencil, how shard the shadow looks. The pencil is the tree, and the shadow shows where it would fall if a figurative lumberjack came along and ended the pencils life. Can see the past and present, right there. The paper is important too, I mentioned simple notebook paper, but if you have some drawing paper it's magnificent. In my own opinion, perfect drawing paper gives your pencil extra drag and it has irregular ridges and valleys that are all pretty much invisible when you're just looking at it. But when you add this light, the direction of the rays, you watch the paper revel all it's hidden secrets. Dragging a pencil though the valleys gives me an omnipotent feelings, I change the paper, add to it in some ways while destroying it at the same time. Creation.
We are in the technology age though, and I only rarely end up pulling out a pad of paper write solely on it. I do use one because I cherish the style and history of it, but only for jotting notes and developing things when I need a break from the ever glowing screen. Most of my writing occurs were I am now. Typing is enjoyable. I would say I type roughly seven to ten thousand words a day. Some days I'll only get a very little bit, but other days I just keep moving my fingers, and words race out of my electronic friend non stop. Most of the words are sadly not where I'd love to see them spent. As much as I enjoy writing stories, or speaking my opinion in papers and such I tend to type out purely as a form of communication. Either IMing friends, writing long emails, papers, notes, random babble.
Seeing as I'm getting way off topic.. I stop this here.
My writing space..
The temperate, for the perfect atmosphere, has to be bordering that line between warm and simply neutral. It's incredibly difficult to achieve. You either have to have it be just a bit cold and then be bundled a bit, just enough to fight off the cold and add that angel soft touch of warmth, or it has to be naturally just about that warm, can't have the sun right on you, or it will end up heating to just a bit too much.
Depending on the time of day I tend to change what type of light sources I enjoy. For example, in the morning I really love just the natural light that often will spill under your curtains. The earlier times give off practically a blue light, and when it gets a little brighter it gently warms. During the afternoon, when the suns high and everything is bright, I usually let it light fill ever bit of space. Any lamp I have it turned on, curtains are open. The white walls seem to be as smooth as anything, the light fills any impurity. Later, when the sun starts to yawn, I start to become fond to just a single, tiny lamp that I own. Tiny might be a little off, but the light it gives is. A shinny, silver, touch lamp, the kinds that have different intensities. I tap it twice, giving it the 'medium' affect and it gently beams down. The silver shade captures what light races to the ceiling and instead keeps it all flowing down. The single light source gives everything a direction. Shadows are defined, made from the existence of light and solid as iron. The best is when you have a pencil, and you're writing on simple notebook paper. The important aspect to this is the top of the pencil, how shard the shadow looks. The pencil is the tree, and the shadow shows where it would fall if a figurative lumberjack came along and ended the pencils life. Can see the past and present, right there. The paper is important too, I mentioned simple notebook paper, but if you have some drawing paper it's magnificent. In my own opinion, perfect drawing paper gives your pencil extra drag and it has irregular ridges and valleys that are all pretty much invisible when you're just looking at it. But when you add this light, the direction of the rays, you watch the paper revel all it's hidden secrets. Dragging a pencil though the valleys gives me an omnipotent feelings, I change the paper, add to it in some ways while destroying it at the same time. Creation.
We are in the technology age though, and I only rarely end up pulling out a pad of paper write solely on it. I do use one because I cherish the style and history of it, but only for jotting notes and developing things when I need a break from the ever glowing screen. Most of my writing occurs were I am now. Typing is enjoyable. I would say I type roughly seven to ten thousand words a day. Some days I'll only get a very little bit, but other days I just keep moving my fingers, and words race out of my electronic friend non stop. Most of the words are sadly not where I'd love to see them spent. As much as I enjoy writing stories, or speaking my opinion in papers and such I tend to type out purely as a form of communication. Either IMing friends, writing long emails, papers, notes, random babble.
Seeing as I'm getting way off topic.. I stop this here.
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