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| I'm moving to Wordpress - I'm tired of Xanga's crap. It's simply a slow, cumbersome system and I've been looking to move for a long time. However, being the slow-witted system that Xanga is, it does not allow for a simple post export, so I have to make this lame link redirect comment. Here's the new site:
http://theshapeof.wordpress.com/
Goodbye, Xanga.
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| Foreword: I haven't written an actual story in a while... Please remember that these stories are all off the top of my head and don't always have meanings behind them... but sometimes they do. Bottom line is, don't assume the story is autobiographical (also, my forewords are always written and etched in stone before starting to write unless I say otherwise - on my honor as a student [signed]).
Eliot Stern hated his father, as many sons are apt to do and for many of the usual reasons: he was always working, he was an angry drunk, his smoke filled the whole house, he yelled louder than mother, he was stubborn, he missed every piano recital and basketball game, and he didn't love anyone but himself. Mother has been dead for more than four years of a failed heart; Eliot liked to believe it died trying to love his father. At the funeral, Eliot endured the lies of his father's friends like, "your father was a good man" and "he will be missed" and every time Eliot silently responded with "no he was not" and "no he will not."
After the ceremony and after his father was finally buried, Eliot sat in a well-lit living room with a stout glass of champagne with a large chunk of ice in it.
When Frank Stern held Eliot for the first time, all the tense emotions of the previous nine months melted away: all the arguments with Wendy, the shotgun marriage three and a half months before, two sets of angry parents, tests, doctor's appointments, a part time job, parenting tips, homework, finances - they all melted away. The fact that Eliot's hand could instinctively grip his finger blurred the hospital fees that he would later have to pay out of his own pocket for lack of insurance. His grip even blurred the fact that his new wife, snoring silently on the bed next to him, didn't love him nor did he love her.
Every new years eve, Frank would look out a window and resolve to spend more time with his son. After a few moments of daydreaming, he would look back at whatever work he had that year and realized that he could never reasonably meet that resolution. Every Christmas, the house was warmed by gas heaters. Every Christmas, Frank was cold. Every night Frank would come home and slump into bed - it was all the strength he had to reach the bedroom. Yet somehow, he would always manage to go a few more yards and crack Eliot's door just enough to look in for a few seconds.
Frank never said a word to Eliot; he was ashamed of his low education; he was afraid of Eliot's opinion; he didn't want to find out if his own son respected him or not; he was too scared to find out if he loved him back. So he never said a word, he drank them back down.
When Eliot graduated high school, he went to college on a scholarship and ran as far away from home as possible. When Wendy died, she and Frank were strangers in the same house. When he died, it was of a failed heart in an empty house with the gas heating shut off.
Post Script: After finishing, I feel like the whole thing was kind of cliche and melodramatic, but that's what you get for 45 minutes of work. Anyway, appreciate your parents. Yeah...
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| Foreword: This short poem is an actual thought I had at the beach in the exact way its described. Therefore, it's a true story... true poem?
As I looked out at the raging sea, I took a glance to my feet
And pondered silently, "Why is everyone so busy
Staring at massive frothing waves, when all the while we stand
On perfect little waves of sand?"
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| Foreword: I really don't want to start studying for my ENGL final. Also, usually I'm partially kidding when I say I failed my ASL test, well this time I'm not: I got a 62 on the receptive half of my final. haha. It should be okay though, I get the points back on the expressive half. I don't know what I'm going to write, I just really don't want to study.
I see as I ride rolling tempest waves,
Along the black horizon all around
Stand walls of storm and the clash of armies;
The sea begins to quake with mighty terror
At the swift sea-change and storm surrounding
Yet in this haven I am safe and dry.
In His eye, do I stand afloat, confident.
On these calmer waves can I walk in faith.
This must be His presence, this calm, his peace.
Within this circle I am my king.
A gust of wind then throws me from - myself -
Your undertow pulls me through darkling waves -
I do not rise - I drown - behind black walls -
I scream and breathe Your salt and sea water -
My eyes - they burn - my lungs - they melt away.
Only when my eyes shut... do I cease to
Sink. And as my body floats limply up,
My bones and sinews peel off, fall away.
Upon the verge I float not left nor right;
For in every direction stand the walls.
Thus in His Eye am I always certain,
The tempest round will never cease to rage
And should I drift again into the storm,
Again to erratic dissonance lost -
His eye will find me, again redeem me.
Postscript: There's been a decent amount of thought put into the punctuation and meter and whatnot, which is one thing I love about poetry. God, as usual, pervades this poem, but the message is somewhat multifaceted. Unfortunately, I used a pretty boring cliche image: the storm. But, oh well, what can you expect of an hour of my time? Anyway, hope you enjoy it, etc. | | |
| Foreword: This is one of the very few dreams I remember. Or care to remember.
I once had a dream that continues to haunt me with its peaceful tranquility and warm beauty.
While sitting on a pier with God,
We watch the setting of a warm sun.
Someone sits herself next to us
And joins us, watching the horizon.
Postscript: It's kinda emo and lonely and sad with a hint of hope and whatnot, I know. But it was a dream I had, it happened exactly like that. And it was the best dream I've ever had.
EDIT: man... it's not THAT emo! It's just a dream I had. It's the entire dream in 4 lines of verse. Gosh -___-
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